That moment where Nikki tells Bear that she's writing a love story that isn't a romance, and he doesn't get it. Can't recognize the difference between the two things, and the way it dooms them all. ugh. UGH. NOBODY TOUCH ME
Sarah being tied up and naked, legs tied open, and a shell of herself, is what Freaky Nikki believes what Bear likes because he is using Nikki without her consent/ she isnât there.
Nikki threatens to shoot herself in the vagina and actually pulls it out of there and limps. Because he cares about having sex with her, not her as a human being. It also emphasizes that the demon associates her vagina with violence bc of Bearâs SA on nikki
I'm SICK and TIRED of the Kento Nanami mischaracterization.
(Now playing, "Sweet" - Cigarettes After Sex)
(MDNI! Lots of nsfw/sex talk, Husband!Nanami, fluff, comfort(?), smut, short drabble, Reader is heavily implied fem, pregnancy talk, I suppose? Just soft sex with Nanami.)
Kento Nanami does not fuck.
This man is not coming home after a hard day at work and "fucking the shit out of you." Half the time, he can barely get the dinner you made him in his stomach before he's crashing.
This man is not getting off on being called daddy. Or spanking you while calling you his "good little girl."
Nanami views the idea of coming home to you as the only good thing about leaving in the first place. So when he does come back home to you, he expects softness. Comfort. Not lust.
Nanami isn't a lustful man. This isn't to say he doesn't like sex. He adores it. With the right person, of course. But it's not something he does for his own greed. Kento does not fuck. He makes love.
As cheesy as he knows he'd sound if he ever said it out loud, it's the only descriptive that's ever felt right to him. Nanami doesn't want to grab you by your legs and pin you to the wall and "fuck" you. That sounds aggressive, degrading. As if his spouse, his love, his reason for coming home at all, was something to be used.
Nanami pours all of his love into having sex with you. (Literally and figuratively)
He's not grabbing your chin and spitting into your mouth. He's interlocking your fingers, his lips ghosting over yours as his forehead rests against your own.
He's not saying "look at this pretty fuckin' thing..." while admiring the way your cunt clenches around him. He's saying, "You're so pretty... my angel.." while looking into your teary eyes.
Yes, Nanami is Cumming inside of you. But it's not because he wants to "claim" you or prove he "owns" you. But because he wishes to one day start a family with you. A real family. With the love of his life.
This man isn't rolling over and falling asleep on the opposite side of the bed after sex. Nanami cleans you up as if the touch of water on its own will make you disintegrate like cotton candy. He wraps you up in his big arms, knowing there's not a single place on earth you could be safer. He's kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back as you both fall asleep.
ăA/N: stop headcannoning Nanami as some weird lowk abusive freaky BDSM husband đ SUKUNA IS RIGHT THERE.ă
siobhan dropping in with Iâm coming to thanksgiving as their third was the type of truly brilliant strategic battle tactic that would make a warlord of a less ambitious woman
tenya iida, after you took the first step and asked him out, made it his absolute mission to be the one to initiate your first kiss.
you, being you, had taken the majority of the âfirstsâ in your relationshipâfirst flirt, first date, first hand-holding, first sleepover, first cheek kissâand itâs not like iida didnât enjoy you taking initiative! he enjoys everything you do and have done! but. . heâd like to do at least one thing since youâre, from what he has heard from mina, ânot gonna give up on proposing first! like, at all, ynâs, like, dead-set on it!â.
the thing is, though, iida doesnât. . well, he, uhm. . he just, you know. .âokay, okay, fine! fine. itâs just that iida canâtâdoesnât know how to. . to kiss! heâs kissed you on the cheek, of course, andâand, sometimes, when heâs feeling a bit bold, on your knuckles where your version of the promise rings the two of your wear rested! but he doesnât know how to kiss. how to. . makeout, you know?
so. . youtube becomes his ally, and he gets really, really intimate with his pillow. itâs embarrassing, sure, and he knows he can ask you! but then, heâs not doing it himself. and iida wants to do one thing himself, you know? however, itâs not like he can practice on someone real if that someone isnât you, so his, uhm, training, of sorts, comes up short. nevertheless, he trusts himself to not mess this up! heâs learned twice as hard as he does when heâs in sensei aizawaâs class, so heâs going to do his absolute best! aka: perfection.
on the night that iida wants to intiate the very first kiss of your relationship, he makes sure his dormroom is absolutely perfect (like the first kiss will be!). candlesâelectric ones! heâs not going to break more rules than he already has just to be perceived as romanticâare placed strategically around his dormroom, rose petals are in the shape of a heart on his bed (many google searches gave him that idea), and a heart-shaped box of chocolates with a large, oversized, bow-tie wearing teddy-bear are resting against the foot of his bed (the chocolate is being held by the bear! cleanliness is key when it comes to romance). iida surveys his room, nods in confirmation and reassurance of the ill words plaguing his mind, flips his arm over and look down to check the time: 8:35pm. youâll be here in, approximately, five minutes! iida is, once again, growing butterflies in his stomach. different forms of the same feeling arise, and the all pinpoint to one thing: iidaâs unsure.
heâs never been unsure of something before! not when he wanted to become a hero, not on any test or pop quiz, not when he accepted you asking him out on your very first date nor when you asked him to be your boyfriend officially, not on anything before this, his first kiss with you. should he intiate? should he let you take the lead like always? should heâoh god, what should he do! his internal freak-out is cut short by the sound of your knuckles rapping against his door. deep breath in, deep breath out, deep breath in, deep breath out, deep breath inâiida opens the door with a smile, and moves aside for you to come in after you kiss him on the cheek.
stick to the plan, tenya, he told himself, trying to make sure he didnât implode before your lips were firmly, or what is softly?, pressed against his.
you looked around the room in awe, giggling at the electric candles and teasing him for always playing it safe. little did you know, heâs not tonight! heâs going out of his zone, out of his metaphorical shell, and is venturing into the unknown zone of your relationship. iida shyly shows every tiny aspect to you, flushing more and more each time you complimented him and his ideas or called him cute or smart, before leading you to your designated seat: the edge of his bed. you, as instructed by the video, sit on the left and he sits on the rightâso he could lean in whilst the notebook, voted no. 1 most romantic movie on reddit!, played in the background. his plan, so far, has been going swimmingly and will end on the absolute highlight of the night when he kisses you.
after the movie begins, iida does one of the, as the internet said, best romance movies of all time. he yawns, stretches, and places his left arm over your shoulders. you turn to him, smiling with narrowed eyes, and ask: âare you flirting with me, mr. class president?â
his face bloomed a shade of red that was nothing but him becoming flustered from your words. the thing is, he wasnât prepared for this. you werenât supposed to say anythingâoh god. does he stick to the âbookâ? does he quote-unquote âwing-itâ?
iida looks at you, his glasses reflecting what the characters were doing on his tv, and he leans in. he leans in, tilts his head so his nose does not press-up against yours, and his lips softly peck yours. soft, gentle, unsuspecting. you did not kiss backâhe shouldâve asked. oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuckââiida. . was all this just so you could. . so you could kiss me?â you let out a laugh that has him retracting his arm from around your shoulders and his face turning to face away. embarrassing. he feels embarrassed. youâre laughing at him, obviously, for how inexperienced he is and howâhow horrible this whole thing was!
you move closer to him, place your right hand on his solid, thick left thigh and your left on the right side of his face in order to gently turn his face towards you. youâve never seen iida this flushed, fucking adorable.
âdonât laugh,â he says.
you grin, âiâm not.â then, you see his eyes move from yours and down to your lips. yours, as theyâve always done, do the same. his are a soft-pink, dusted with the gloss thatâd transferred from your lips to his own. heâs pretty, impossibly so, and you smile. âdo you want to try that again? promise, i will not laugh.â iida holds out his pinky, you mimick zipping your mouth shut and handing him the key, and you intertwine your pinkies. he takes a deep breath in, heâs very cute when heâs very nervous, and he slowly but surely leans in. he obviously wants to have control of the first kiss in your relationship since it must be an astronomical milestone to him, so you lean in miles slower than him.
somehow, you two old, ancient, aged snails kiss. the two of you kiss, and he fucking melts against you. he hands move upwards from being positioned at his sides like boulders. one cradles your face, the other holds onto your waist. his lips mold against yours, and everything sounds like heaven. the angels are singing, the suns shining out godâs majestical ass, and youâre kissing your hunk of a boyfriend. not just one kiss, not just two kisses, and not even just three! five consecutive kisses. FIVE consecutive kisses! five sweet, soft, kind, gentle, hot, heart-pounding, romantic consecutive kisses.
when iida pulled away, glasses pushed upwards in order for you to not lose an eye, he, nervously, asked: â. . was that okay?â
you responded with a kiss. and then another kiss. and more and more and more and many, many more kisses. your boyfriend is the cutest human known to manâyou love him. . youâll let him have the first âi love youâ, though. heâs obviously aching to win this little competition.
Summary: In a world still flickering after near-collapse, Nanami returns home to find his wife unraveling under years of masked behavior she canât hold together anymore. What begins as another quiet evening turns into a fracture point: her first admission that something in her mind has never worked the way others assumed. Nanami listens, not with comfort but with precision, piecing together what everyone else ignored. A study of long-term partnership, misread patterns, and the slow, deliberate work of understanding someone who has survived by hiding in plain sight. WC: 2.6K Oneshot Megumi's TBA.
A/N: For folks who reached out to me for this. This piece was drafted from an interest in masked behavior and how characters like Nanami & Megumi would respond when someone finally stops performing competence for them. The symptoms are intentionally broad so readers can map their own experiences without the fic prescribing a diagnosis. Megumiâs section expanded as I wrote, so expect a longer arc than planned. If thereâs interest, I can explore other character angles later. Enjoy the chapter. Megumi's will be next & final. Feel free to substitute the mentioned illness for your own.
Playlist: https://youtu.be/oAjjtUpxwJ4 Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Edit by @/blondeeguywithgoggles on Insta.
The world outside their apartment looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to society and left it half-melted. Cities had survived post the almost-apocalyptic events of petrification, barely, but the infrastructure still flickered the way old fluorescent tubes did, humming with the sound of a power grid held together by optimism and duct tape. People lived, worked, and crumbled inside that unstable glow.
Nanami adapted. Because there was no other choice.
And heâd survived far worse.
Yet there were still evenings when he came home, crossed the threshold, and felt his pulse stutter. Not from fear, but from an old, quiet ache that had begun forming the day he first realized his wife was unraveling silently in front of everyone, including him, and no one had noticed, not even her.
Not until this moment.
Her silhouette sat curled near the balcony door, back to the room, cheek pressed against her knees, hands dug into the sleeves of her oversized shirt. The cityâs failing neon lights flickered across her hair in slow, uneven rhythms. She looked like someone waiting for a disaster sheâd already lived through twenty times over.
Nanami loosened his tie. Heâd learned long ago to be quieter, because anything louder made her flinch.
He slipped off his glasses and stepped closer, each movement measured and predictable, a choreography he had perfected not because he was a romantic but because he genuinely saw her with the kind of patience born out of loving someone who didnât know how to be safe around anyone. Even him on rare occasions.
Today, she didnât look up when he entered the room.
Her breathing was shallow and far too controlled, the way people breathed when they were holding back the edges of panic. Or when they were trying to look ânormalâ for someone elseâs peace of mind. Her shoulders were stiff and rigid, masking, he realized, not for him specifically, but out of habit, as if she didn't know there was another option.
He sat on the floor beside her, not touching.
Because touch, heâd learned, could feel like a hurricane to a nervous system already fighting the world.
So he waited.
It took her a full minute before she whispered, âI think somethingâs wrong with me.â
Nanami closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, because the sound of her voice like that, raw and cracking, sliced him in a way curses never could.
When he opened them again, his face was steady. âWhat happened?â
She shrugged, small and tired. âEverything. My entire life. Every relationship. Every job. Every⊠meltdown. I thought it was my upbringing or my trauma. Maybe itâs still trauma. But maybe itâs,â
She stopped. Words tangled. The way they did when emotions became heavier than language.
Nanami didnât finish her sentence for her. She hated that, people assuming her thoughts. People summarizing her feelings like she hadnât spent years struggling to articulate them in the first place.
She took a breath so sharp it sounded like pain. âI think I might be neurodivergent. Like⊠autistic.â She laughed once, brittle. âAt this age. Suddenly the universe pulls a plot twist, and Iâm the joke.â
He watched the tremor moving through her shoulders. âYouâre not a joke.â
âYou donât know that.â
âI do,â Nanami said simply. But there was conviction in his tone, as if the idea was as absurd to him as pigs flying.
She looked away, embarrassed. He could see it, that instinctive recoil, the reflex to shrink, the regret of speaking at all, the fear that sheâd overshared, said something stupid, or opened a vulnerability she couldnât close, and the bracing for judgment that never came. Years of being punished for emotions had carved those reflexes deep into her. Even crying in front of others was treated like an offense. So she learned to save it for the nights when she could bury her face in a pillow and choke down the sound before the misery swallowed her whole.
Nanami knew. Of course he knew. The first time he tried to comfort her, she reacted like sheâd been struck, stunned and defensive, then vanished from his orbit for three weeks. He realized then that she might never feel safe enough to hand him all the sharp, broken pieces of herself; too many people had taught her that trust was a trap.
So he didnât push. He just stayed close enough for her to reach if she ever decided to.
She pulled inward, shoulders tight. âOnly predators ever noticed something was off. No one else.â
Nanamiâs jaw tightened. He didnât need details. He carried enough fury in his ribs to destroy the world twice over if it meant she never had to say anything aloud that she didnât want to.
Instead, he asked, vulnerable only with her, voice lowered like he was setting down a weapon, âWhen did it start feeling like this?â
She paused, then exhaled like the answer had been waiting behind her teeth for years. âAlways? I think? I never liked when people stood too close to me. I stopped speaking when someone interrupted me. I walked in empty places for hours, alone. Pattern recognition and being alone were the only things that calmed me. Well, water calmed me the most, but I didnât grow up near anything big enough to drown my thoughts.â
He listened without blinking, shoulders tightening the longer she went on. Not uncomfortable. Protective.
She continued, voice wandering because it needed to. âMy family took me on a trip once, and I saw the ocean for the first time. It scared me and calmed me in a way my brain wasnât designed for. Ten-year-old me just stood there staring at the waves for hours. And for the first time in my life, everything went quiet.â She gave a small, self-deprecating snort, shaking herself back to the present. âSorry, Iâm getting off topic. My point is⊠people never felt safe or calming until I met you. You made me realize men could be predictable. And safe. Too safe, sometimes.â
Nanamiâs jaw flexed, barely, but it was the kind of movement that came from someone swallowing something sharp. Her words hit him like impact, not flattery.
She sank further into herself. âI thought I was dramatic. Or broken. Or stupid. Like I was faking my emotions even when I was crying. Faking my intelligence. Faking my love for superheroes because the girls where I grew up werenât like me. They didnât like games. They didnât like me, no matter how polite or kind I was.â
He didnât interrupt. He looked like he wanted to, but he didnât. His hand curled once against his knee before he forced it still; restraint felt too hard for him. Overrated, in fact. But he held on to it anyway because she needed him to.
âYou are none of those things,â he said, quiet but unwavering.
Her breath trembled again. âI donât get jokes half the time. I say weird stuff. People leave. Or they take advantage. And I never know why.â
Nanami finally shifted, just enough to tilt his body toward her in a way that wasnât aggressive, just deliberate. The kind of move meant to counter the weight she was carrying without touching it yet. âYou survived by studying people instead of trusting them. You learned to mask everything because you had no other choice. Anyone would misinterpret you when youâre only showing the version that keeps you safe.â
Her eyes flickered, hope, doubt, fear crowding each other. âSo you think Iâm right?â
He hesitated for the first time, not because he disagreed, but because he hated that she had to ask.
âI think,â he said slowly, âyouâve been fighting battles alone that you never shouldâve been left to face. And now youâre finally finding language for the way your mind works.â
He exhaled, a quiet, controlled thing that still betrayed him. âThat isnât being dramatic. Thatâs clarity. And you deserved it years ago.â
She swallowed, throat tight, and whispered, âWhy didnât anyone else notice?â
Nanami breathed out slowly.
He wanted to tell her the truth:
People rarely notice what isnât convenient for them.
They only notice things that benefit them: the girls who comply, the girls who over-give, the girls who hurt quietly, the girls who never protest until itâs too late. People who are hyper-literal, hyper-empathic, and exhausted from performing ânormalâ are the easiest to ignore.
But Nanami Kento wasnât a man cruel enough to give her the worldâs cruelty.Â
Instead, he gave her what she needed:
âBecause no one ever looked closely enough,â he said. âExcept the ones who wanted to use you.â
He watched her face crumple, not fully or even dramatically, but in the small, sharp way people break when they hear a truth they already suspected.
Then he added something else, not just because he loved her and that made him biased but because she didnât deserve the things that werenât her fault.
âYouâre not difficult. People just werenât gentle.â
Her breath caught.
He let the silence stretch; she was finally letting him witness her edges when tears came faster than she could wipe them.
âYou always notice,â she murmured finally, voice small. âWhy?â
Nanami glanced at her hands, clenched, nails digging in, then back to her face, where she was avoiding his eyes out of habit. Not fear. Just⊠overwhelmed.
âBecause I pay attention,â he said. âTo you. To the way your eyes get glossy when youâre overstimulated. To how you study social cues before responding. To how you regret past conversations in your head without realizing it. To how you tuck yourself into silent smiles when youâre afraid youâll say something strange.â
Her breath trembled. âThatâs embarrassing.â
âItâs human,â he corrected. âAnd itâs you.â
She hugged her knees tighter. âI hate being me sometimes.â
Nanami leaned back against the wall, gazing at her with the kind of tenderness that didnât soften him but deepened him, like gravity, quiet and relentless.
âYou lived through decades of misunderstanding yourself,â he said, softer still. âOf course youâre tired.â
Her lips pressed together. âDo you think Iâm too much?â
âNo.â
âToo broken?â
âNo.â
She looked at him then, eyes wet but focused, trying to read him, trying to understand why he wasnât pulling away the way people always did when the mask slipped.
âThen what am I?â she whispered.
Nanami didnât move closer, didnât touch her, and didnât make any sudden gesture that could overload her system. He just spoke with the calm certainty she loved him all the more for.
âYouâre someone whose brain was built for depth, not speed. For intensity, not superficiality. For survival, not performance.â
Her face wavered. âSounds like a curse.â
âItâs a strength.â His voice was steady as water flowing over small stones. âBut you were never taught how to use it without bleeding yourself dry.â
She let out a breath that sounded like an entire childhood unraveling.
Nanami continued, more quietly this time. âYou make sense to me.â
Her throat worked. âEven when I donât make sense to myself?â
âEspecially then.â
She stared, not scared. Never that with him, but startled, as if the idea of being understood without performing was foreign.
âWhy do you⊠stay?â
Nanami almost smiled, not a soft smile, but a tired one, the kind that came when someone finally admitted to a wound theyâd been hiding too long.
âI didnât marry a performance. I married a person.â
Her breath hitched; her tears were flowing freely now. âBut what if I get worse? What if I shut down again? What if you get tired of handling me?â
Nanami looked at her the way a lighthouse might look at a ship returning in a storm: slow, deliberate, and immovable.
âYou are not something to be âhandled,â and I wonât get tired,â he smiled a little more. âI get frustrated at the world, not at you.â
âBut Iâm messy,â she whispered. âAnd inconsistent. And intense. And sometimes even a little hypocrite. I get overwhelmed. I panic. IâŠâ
âYouâre human,â he interrupted gently. âAnd youâre learning who you are as an adult. That takes courage most people will never have.â
Her shoulders loosened enough that he could see the armor cracking.
Nanami waited a few beats, then held out his hand, not touching her, just offering.
She stared at it like it was a foreign object.
Touch wasnât something she handled on command.
But after a long second, she slowly placed her fingers into his palm, light, trembling, and hesitant.
Nanami held her hand with the gentleness of someone who knew that too much kindness could feel like violence to a raw nervous system.
âYouâre safe,â he said eventually.
She exhaled long and shakily, as if the safety was something her body didnât know how to hold yet.
He shifted closer, just an inch, until their shoulders nearly brushed.
âThis isnât a flaw,â he said. âItâs a framework. And once you understand it, youâll stop blaming yourself for surviving.â
She stared at their hands, fingers already intertwined like muscle memory, voice breaking. âIt feels like I wasted so many years.â
Nanamiâs tone softened in a way only she ever heard. âYou didnât waste anything. You endured things most people canât comprehend. Thatâs not waste; thatâs your resilience.â
Her eyes filled again, but this time the tears didnât fall. They hung there, shimmering.
Nanami leaned his head back against the wall, voice lower now. âYouâre not alone in this.â
âEven if it takes years to fix myself?â She whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.
His fingertips brushed her knuckles, barely there, like he was afraid of startling her. âYouâre not something to fix.â
She swallowed. âThen?â
He turned toward her, meeting her gaze without a flicker of doubt.
âYou're mine. And worth putting in the effort to understand.â
Something in her chest cracked, not beautifully or even neatly like the movies talked about. Just the brittle edge of someone realizing she didnât have to hold the entire world by herself.
She exhaled, slow and uneven.
Nanami didnât rush to fill the silence. That wasnât him.
He just stayed beside her like a quiet pillar planted in the middle of a chaotic city, and his presence alone was enough to pull the air back into her lungs.
And for the first time in longer than she cared to admit, she breathed like someone who wasnât in the middle of drowning.
Not healed or whole or even something to fix⊠just understood.
And for Nanami, that was the start of something real.
He let the moment settle, then exhaled through his nose, practicality returning like muscle memory. âYou havenât eaten.â
She made a face, burrowing deeper in his chest. âI forgot.â
âI noticed.â His voice stayed soft, but a faint dry edge slipped in as his arm slid around her back, rubbing slow circles. âDo you want something delivered? Preferably before Gojo realizes Iâm off-duty and attempts to involve me in whatever disaster heâs cultivating.â
She huffed into his shoulder. âHeâs definitely blowing something up.â
âOr Yuji is,â he sighed. âGojo is only supervising the explosion.â
She shifted then, slowly, exhausted, and instinctively climbed into his lap, arms looping around his shoulders as she tucked her face against his neck. âCan we get fries? Like⊠irresponsible amounts.â
Nanami let out one low chuckle, already reaching for his phone with his free hand. âOf course. Enough for you, and enough for me to pretend I didnât also want fries.â
A laugh slipped out of her, thin and uneven, tangled with the remnants of crying, but undeniably real.
He didnât mention it. He simply placed the order one-handed, the other moving in quiet, rhythmic circles along her back, more grounding than comforting.
When he finally set his phone down, he rested his head against hers, the contact light but intentional. Close enough for her to reach for him again if she chose.
She did when he asked if she wanted to move to a city near the sea.
A/N: You'd make sense to Nanami.
Hygiene: Donât repost without permission, lift, or 'AI remix' my works.
Kento loves adoring you in the morning when you're still asleep in his embrace. He would slowly run his hands up and down your arms and whisper sweet nothings to you. âIs this the nightdress I got you? It looks beautiful on you.â And you reply in a half asleep state, eyes still closed.
And if you turn to the other side, your back against his bare chest, he would slip his arms around your waist and almost squish you. Face nuzzled between your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent. Since your body is really soft, Kento loves squishing you. He would give your belly a gentle squeeze which would stir you from your sleep, but won't be enough to wake you up.
He would hold your hand in his and compare the size. Will press soft kisses on your neck and cheek and even your nose. Strong buff arms wrapped around your small body, pulling you against him, to keep you like this for as long as he can. Legs tangled with his. Hands gently stroking your hair.
