hm? huh? what?

sol, 20, they/them. terfs, i will personally see you rot in hell for your absolute bullshittery. dni.

[menchichew]

Nanami Kento childhood headcanons .𖥔 ݁ ˖

This was really fun to write I hope you guys enjoy it! I tried to keep him in character and make everything as accurate as I could lmaoa

Request from: @markittykatt

Little!Kento whose parents were always just out of reach was born in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood in Setagaya, Tokyo. It was an area of neat houses, well-tended gardens, and an unspoken pressure to maintain appearances. His father was a mid-level executive at a trading company, often away on business trips, while his mother managed the household with an efficiency that bordered on coldness. Their love was expressed through expectations, not affection. They provided him with everything he needed: a clean room, nutritious meals, and enrollment in the best cram schools. What they didn't provide was their time.

Little!Kento who learned early on that his own company was his only guarantee. His favorite things as a kid were solitary pursuits. He spent hours meticulously building complex Lego architecture, following the instructions with a precision that pleased him more than any praise from his parents. He loved the smell of old books and would lose himself in encyclopedias, reading about anything from deep-sea creatures to the mechanics of a wristwatch. His favorite subject, however, was geography. He was utterly fascinated with a place called Kuantan, Malaysia. He'd stare at the vibrant photos in travel books—the turquoise water, the sprawling beaches, the lush greenery. It was a world so completely opposite of his structured, grey life in Tokyo. It became his secret dream to go there when he got older, a fantasy he'd nurse in the quiet of his room. Sometimes, in his most hopeful moments, he'd even imagine his parents coming with him, all of them walking on the warm sand, their schedules forgotten. His parents saw this not as childhood curiosity, but as a sign of his maturity. "Kento is so self-sufficient," they would tell their friends, a statement that felt less like a compliment and more like an excuse for their absence.

Little!Kento who matured so fast, learning to pack his own lunch, do his own laundry, and navigate the train system alone by age eight, that it became ingrained. The boy who once waited by the door for his father to come home stopped waiting. The nonchalant, almost detached persona he wears as an adult isn't a mask; it's the armor he forged in the silence of his childhood. There were rare, fleeting moments of silliness—a small, private smile when a pigeon did something particularly stupid, a quiet chuckle at a cartoon—but they were quickly suppressed, emotions he didn't know what to do with.

Teen!Kento who stepped through the gates of Jujutsu High was a paradox. The strict upbringing had created a young man who was fiercely independent and responsible, but the chaotic, vibrant energy of the school chipped away at his edges. He was still the calm, aloof one, the stark contrast to Haibara's relentless optimism and Gojo's boundless ego. He was the one who made sure everyone's homework was done and that they were on time for missions. But for the first time, he was part of a group, and that was a terrifying, thrilling thing.

Teen!Kento who experienced moments of genuine, unadulterated happiness that felt foreign to him. During a rare downtime weekend, Geto managed to drag them all to a small festival near the school. Nanami, who had planned to study, found himself watching Haibara try to win a cheap prize at a game stand, his face scrunched in concentration. When Haibara finally won and held up the ugly stuffed frog with a triumphant yell, Nanami felt a real laugh bubble up in his chest—a quiet, breathy sound that made Shoko glance at him in surprise. He had to turn away, the unfamiliar warmth of camaraderie overwhelming him. He'd step away to buy a drink, taking deep breaths to center himself, forcing the emotion back down before returning to the group, his expression carefully neutral.

Teen!Kento who developed a strange, grudging fondness for his friends. He would scold Gojo constantly. "Satoru, if you consume one more piece of mochi, you're going to be sick on the mission tomorrow," he'd say, his tone flat as he watched Gojo inhale his fifth snack. But Nanami had a secret sweet tooth, a holdover from a childhood where a single piece of candy was a rare, treasured treat. One evening, Gojo caught him meticulously breaking off a piece of a chocolate bar he'd bought, savoring it with his eyes closed.

Teen!Kento who froze when Gojo's signature smirk appeared. "Well, well, well. Nanamin has a sweet tooth." Nanami froze, the chocolate halfway to his mouth. A faint blush crept up his neck, the most flustered anyone had ever seen him. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, his voice a little too tight. "It's for energy." But Gojo just kept grinning, and from then on, a spare sweet would somehow always find its way onto Nanami's desk, left without a word. It was an annoying, unwanted gesture of friendship that he secretly appreciated, another crack in the armor he had spent a lifetime building.

Teen!Kento who, the first time he stepped onto the Tokyo Jujutsu High campus, felt the air was different. It wasn't the oppressive humidity of a Tokyo summer, but something heavier, charged with an energy he couldn't name. His parents had dropped him off at the gate, his father's hand on his shoulder a little too tight, his mother's smile a little too brittle. "Make us proud, Kento," his father had said, a command disguised as a plea. He had nodded, the perfect son. He didn't tell them he could feel the curses lurking in the shadows of the ancient trees, or that the very ground beneath his feet hummed with a power that both terrified and thrilled him. They wouldn't understand. They only understood report cards and prestigious career paths. Being a jujutsu sorcerer was neither, but it was the only path for someone like him. He was assigned a room and met his classmates. There was Shoko Ieiri, who regarded him with a lazy, analytical gaze, a cigarette already dangling from her fingers. There was Suguru Geto, whose polite smile didn't quite reach his eyes, a depth of sorrow already swirling in his aura. And then there was Satoru Gojo. Gojo was a supernova. Loud, brilliant, and utterly without a filter. He draped an arm over Nanami's shoulders within five minutes of meeting him, his grin blinding. "So, you're the new guy! Nanami, right? You look super serious. We're gonna have fun with you." Nanami stiffened, the unwanted physical contact setting his teeth on edge. "It's Nanami. And I'm here to work." He shrugged off the arm, his voice flat. Gojo just laughed, unfazed. "Work, work, work. That's Haibara's line, too!" And then there was Yu Haibara. Bubbly, earnest Haibara, whose sunny disposition seemed like a personal affront to the gloomy corners of Nanami's soul. "Don't mind Gojo, Nanami-senpai! He's just... like that. I'm Yu Haibara! Let's do our best together!" Nanami gave a curt nod. The group was a whirlwind of personalities he had no framework for. They were loud, expressive, and unapologetically themselves. It was overwhelming. He spent the first few weeks in a state of rigid professionalism, completing every assignment with precision, his 7:3 haircut a perfect line against his scalp. He was a machine, and that's how he survived.

Teen!Kento who felt the first crack in his carefully constructed facade come during a rare downtime afternoon. They were in the common room, a chaotic mess of scattered manga, snack wrappers, and the faint smell of Shoko's smoke. Gojo was attempting to balance a stack of sweet buns on his forehead, while Geto tried to read a book, periodically swatting at Gojo's hand as he tried to steal a page as a bookmark. "Gojo, if you eat one more of those, you're going to rot your teeth out," Nanami found himself saying, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. It was the kind of thing his parents would say, a judgment disguised as concern. Gojo's eyes, those impossible blue eyes, peeked over the stack of buns. "What's wrong, Nanami? Jealous? You want one?" He held one out, a taunting gesture. Nanami's stomach did a traitorous flip. He did. He had a secret, shameful sweet tooth, a relic of childhood afternoons spent stealing glances at pastry shop windows. "No," he said, his voice colder than he intended. "That's childish." But Gojo, the bastard, saw it. He saw the flicker of longing in Nanami's eyes. "Liar," he sang, popping the bun into his own mouth with a loud smack. "You totally want one. I saw it!" A hot flush crept up Nanami's neck. He felt exposed, raw. He stood up abruptly. "I have to study." He fled the room, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was just a sweet bun, but it felt like Gojo had reached into his chest and pulled out a vulnerability he hadn't even known was there. He stood in the hallway, leaning against the cool wall, taking deep, steadying breaths. He was overwhelmed. This camaraderie, this teasing, this warmth—it was an emotion he had no experience with. It was terrifying.

Teen!Kento who came back ten minutes later, his face a mask of neutrality, and sat down. He saw no one mention his abrupt departure, they just continued their chaotic afternoon. He slowly, painstakingly, began to loosen up. It wasn't a conscious decision; it was a slow erosion caused by the persistent, gentle tide of his friends' friendship. One evening after a grueling mission, Haibara suggested they go to a small ramen shop Geto knew. He was exhausted, every muscle screaming, but the thought of returning to his silent room was worse, so he agreed. The shop was warm and steamy, filled with the slurping sounds of other patrons. He squeezed into a booth, and for the first time, felt like he was part of something. He watched Haibara chattering animatedly about a girl in his class, and Shoko complaining about the quality of the cigarettes she had to buy. He saw Geto quietly listening, a small, genuine smile on his face. He saw Gojo was stealing pickles from everyone's bowls. He barked "Hey!" when Gojo's chopsticks darted towards his bowl. Gojo just grinned. "Sharing is caring, Nanami!" As he looked around the table—at Haibara's bright eyes, Shoko's smirk, Geto's calm presence, even Gojo's infuriatingly cheerful face—he felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest. It wasn't the heat from the ramen. It was something else. It was a feeling of belonging. For a moment, he let his guard down. He let a small, almost imperceptible smile touch his lips. It was genuine. He was happy. He saw Geto catch his eye and give him a subtle nod of understanding, as if to say, "It's okay to feel this way." He quickly looked down at his noodles, his face heating up again. He was still learning how to process these moments, these flashes of pure, uncomplicated joy. Later that night, walking back to the dorms, he felt Haibara fall into step beside him. He heard him say softly, "You smiled tonight, Nanami-senpai," his voice full of wonder. He didn't deny it. He just hummed in response, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It was good ramen," he offered, a flimsy excuse. Haibara agreed, his grin wide. "Yeah." He knew he wasn't talking about the ramen. For the first time, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this overwhelming, terrifying, wonderful feeling of having friends. He was still Kento Nanami, serious and reserved, but his armor was no longer impenetrable. It now had cracks, small fissures through which a hesitant, unfamiliar light was beginning to shine.

Teen!Kento who found that the more time he spent with them, the more his rigid boundaries began to blur. He started finding himself in situations he would have once avoided at all costs. Like the time Gojo dragged them all to a karaoke bar, insisting it was "team building." He planned to sit in the corner and sip his soda, but an hour later, after Haibara's passionate but off-key rendition of a pop song, he found himself holding the microphone. He chose an old, melancholic enka ballad, something his father used to play. To his own shock, his voice was steady and clear, a deep baritone that silenced the room. When he finished, there was a beat of stunned silence before Shoko wolf-whistled and Haibara burst into applause. He felt a blush creep up his neck, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. It was a different kind of exposure, not the raw vulnerability of the sweet bun incident, but a quiet revelation of a hidden part of himself.

Teen!Kento who, on a rare free day, was found in the library by Geto, not studying jujutsu theory, but poring over a large, glossy travel book. He was so engrossed he didn't notice Geto approach until he spoke. "Planning a trip, Nanami?" He jumped, snapping the book shut, but not before Geto saw the cover: "A Traveler's Guide to Malaysia." Geto didn't tease. He just pulled up a chair. "Kuantan?" he asked, his voice soft. Nanami just nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "It's a good dream to have," Geto said simply. "Don't let this life take it from you." The quiet understanding in Geto's words was a balm to a wound Nanami didn't know was so raw. It was the first time someone had acknowledged his dream without judgment or dismissal. It felt like a sacred pact, a secret shared between them.

Nanami Kento who loved his friends more than they knew..

Menchichew™ 2026. Please DO NOT copy, feed my works to Al, reconstruct, or repost on any other platform ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

[swearimnevergivingup]

⭑ pt. 2 is out!

phone sex operator!nanami, whose voice is the first thing you hear when the line connects. it’s a low, smooth husk — carrying just the right amount of warmth to help ease your nerves a little. he does his intro — and it’s nothing overtly sexual — just a simple “good evening, what’s your name?”, but it’s enough to make a shiver run up your spine anyway.

the way he speaks to you makes your thighs instantly squeeze together, breath hitching. he’s entirely real, and not just some disinterested voice going off a script with a bored drawl. you don’t know his face, and you don’t even need to. just his voice alone is enough to leave you desperately, achingly wet.

phone sex operator!nanami, who doesn’t rush you when you stammer, only patiently coaxing you out of your shell with soft words and gentle questions. he asks for your name — and you give it to him, figuring there’s no real harm in offering that small truth to a stranger on the phone.

phone sex operator!nanami can tell that you’re nervous, possibly inexperienced — he hears it in the stutter of your voice each time you speak, in the tight edge of every breath of take. the sheets rustle every time you stumble around a reply, and nanami knows exactly what that sound means. you’re squirming. “it’s alright,” he tells you gently, “we can take it slow. what about you tell me what you’re wearing?”

phone sex operator!nanami talks you through it. he guides you through every lewd detail with a honeyed voice like he’s painting a picture just for your imagination alone. “i’d have you lay back for me,” he murmurs, “nice and slow. slide your hand down your stomach for me — lower,” and hums when you whimper in response. “there you go, sweetheart,” he praises. “don’t think. you’ve had a hard day. just listen to my voice.”

phone sex operator!nanami, who starts getting filthier right as the low rasp of his voice has you locked into a trance. your breath hitches, but you obey his every instruction, sliding your hand past the band of your cotton panties, the other slipping under your shirt to tease your breasts, exactly like how he instructs. you’d be so good on my cock, he murmurs. i bet you’d take me so well.

phone sex operator!nanami, whose voice is better than any vibrator, any fantasy, any late-night porn video you’ve desperately tried — but failed — to get off to. he doesn’t hang up the second you cum, instead staying on the line, whispering praises in your ear that have you twitching from the overstimulation.

“you did so well for me,” he tells you. “sounded so pretty when you fall apart.” and the way his breath brushes across the receiver makes it feel like it could really be his lips pressed that close to your ear. the intimacy of it all makes you shudder, especially when he says, “you can call me back anytime, sweetheart. i’ll be here.”

phone sex operator!nanami, whose voice sounds suspiciously similar to that new neighbour who just moved down the hall — that blond dude with the pressed suit and weary eyes who always works till late and graciously holds the elevator button for you when he sees you down the hallway.

he’s the same man whose gaze lingered just half a second too long in the elevator today, before quietly murmuring a low “good morning,” in greeting. you’ve never spoken beyond mere pleasantries — but now, in the late hours of the night, you simply can’t unhear the way the man on the phone says your name.

it’s the same cadence , the same low drawl… and it might just be a trick of the mind, but you could swear that he smiled at you just before the elevator doors slid shut; and that he said your name even though you’d never once told it to him in person.

a/n: i genuinely can’t tell u what the hell i was thinking whilst writing this. only that it came to me in a dream last weekend and grabbed me by the neck. i’ve been thinking about phone sex a lot and this will not be the last you hear of it… i kinda wanna make a whole series with the jjk men as phone sex operators i feel like sukuna or toji would be so fun (and filthy)

[analikalee]

[itterhorns]

Satosugu obviously 🥀

[knullkhan]

The 3 Sukunas

[wuucchoo]

happy new year!

[wuucchoo]

birthday!!!

[riritzuu]

acceptance.

[bornfreakdraws]

Jujutsu Kaisen if it ruled or whatever

[baobei-bu]

❌ Go/jo ✅ Go+jo

[xamallo]

dear lord when i get to heaven

[wuucchoo]

:')

[wuucchoo]

bunnygumi and capybara :D

[reignpage]

❀ in which you and Nanami exchange emails where he asks for forgiveness slightly suggestive + features guests stars + nothing but fluff

From: [email protected]

Subject: Talk To Me Please

Good morning, dear,  Or rather, it would be, if my wife so much as looked in my direction this morning. Instead, I find myself writing to you like some forgotten soul behind enemy lines, using this means of communication as if I am but a mere stranger begging for a moment of your time. It is humiliating. Your refusal to hear your husband out is noted and begrudgingly endured but I forgive you (see? It is not so hard at all).  Please just answer your messages. We have a data plan for a reason.  Love, always,  Your Kento

From: [email protected]

Subject: Seriously?

Hello Kento,  I hope you are well.  Please refrain from contacting me via my work email. It is inappropriate and annoyingly endearing. Let me be mad in peace. Thank you.  Best wishes,  Your Wife

From: [email protected]

Subject: Please Forgive Me

Hello to you too, sweetheart, I must admit your response is both upsetting and encouraging. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you to respond at all. Of course, I wish your email was more welcoming but beggars and whatnot. What must I do, my love? I have apologised. Not once or twice, but countless times. So many times now it feels like ‘I’m so sorry’ were my first words. I rose early to prepare your favourite breakfast — drove clear across the city to find the precise ingredients (you and I both know there is only one acceptable brand of jam in this household). I plated it neatly, included a smiley face, just as you like it, though, I observed, it was met with a frown, thus defeating the spirit of these things.  Your work clothes were laid out, ironed with care and to perfection, if I may say so myself. I made sure the heating was on well before you awoke, so the chill wouldn’t bother you so — I’ve seen how cold mornings test your…patience, should we say. Your lunch was packed and ready, with a handwritten note tucked inside, although I’m sure you carelessly tossed it aside in your bid to destroy my will to live on a spiritual level. It was a new recipe, by the way. I hope it suits your taste. Do let me know. Perhaps by softening your glare when you arrive home since apparently smiles are beneath you. Even last night, I relinquished the duvet entirely — though I must admit, it was less an offering and more a tactical surrender after you ripped it from my body without mercy. I woke up frozen, on the brink of pneumonia. Need I remind you, I am at a tender age?  And after all of that… You walked past me. Not a word. Not even a glance. You washed the dishes (which is, and I cannot stress this enough, my responsibility), and shoved my work clothes off the bed because — what was it? The sleeve was ‘encroaching’ upon your own and the cotton needed space because ‘husband air is toxic?’ That was particularly hurtful. Entirely uncalled for. My blazer may never recover. Still, I could take it. I could take all of it. Because I admit my fault and I recognise my need to be punished. But to leave without kissing me goodbye? That, my love, was unconscionable. A line crossed. A declaration of war. An admittance of lesser character. I am disappointed in you. Thus, I now join your unrelenting form on the S.S. Marital Displeasure. Let’s see how we fare at sea, together. Yours, unwaveringly, Kento— the husband you once swore never to abandon P.S. Dinner is on me tonight. Please let me know what time you’ll be home. P.P.S. You looked radiant this morning. Even in silence. Even in a mood. You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Wow. Just Wow

Kento,  You infuriatingly adorable man. All those things you listed about this morning are things you do everyday. I know that was supposed to guilt trip me, but that just annoyed me more cause I get it — you’re totally perfect and handsome and tall and you smell nice. Ugh, you’re the worst. Lunch was yummy, by the way. Ten out of ten. The note, which I didn’t carelessly throw away mind you (that was very rude to assume, how dare you) telling me ‘you are loved even when you’re grumpy’ was not. I am not grumpy, Kento. I am aggrieved.  You have aggrieved me.  Also, don’t try to guilt trip me about the cover hogging. You run hot and you know we have a spare duvet in the closet. Many times now, I've begged you to take it because I know I have bad sleeping habits BUT you refused. You said, need I remind you, that you insist on sharing one to be as close to me as possible. Your words.  The work clothes thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to push it off, and I was trying to stay mad so I made up some lie. Tell your blazer I’m sorry. Tell its owner I will never forgive nor forget. You know what you did.  And I don’t want you to join my ship. We can’t both be on it. We’ll sink…damn that’s metaphorical. For your own good, get off now whilst you still can.  Lukewarm wishes,  Your Wife P.S. I’ll be home later than you, I have some things to finish P.S. There was only one other person in the room and that was you, and even then you were clearly the more beautiful one Mr. Wakes Up With A Five O’Clock Shadow And Silky Golden Locks. That pissed me off so much more. Try to be less perfect, thank you.

From: [email protected]

Subject: I Miss You

My dearest, I’ve read your message precisely three times and still, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ve been forgiven or sentenced. However, I feel a sense of optimism, foolish or not.  Let me begin with your opening line: ‘infuriatingly adorable’— it is not quite a compliment but I accept it with caution regardless. I am adorable and I understand that you wish I wasn’t. As soon as possible, I will find a cure. Moreover, in reference to my morning route, you’re right, of course. The tasks I listed are things I do every day. Not as some grand gesture, but because loving you — actively, attentively, without pause — is part of my daily routine. Like ironing my shirts or making my coffee. It’s muscle memory now. If I were to stop, I fear I might just malfunction and catch fire. That said, if you are aggrieved — not grumpy, as I so mistakenly suggested, please forgive me for that too— then I humbly bow to your deliverance, Lady Justice. Though I maintain that the distinction is rather blurry when you’re stomping past me with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut marble, lips I dare say I wish I could kiss into their usual form. Regarding the duvet — yes, I recall saying that. I stand by it. Even if I must freeze to death one night beneath your siege of unconscious theft, I would still rather reach out and find you beside me than not. You will indubitably note that that was unnecessarily dark, I’m sure, and you’ll then make a comment about the phase we shall not talk about that I went through in my youth. Further, the blazer has accepted your apology. It insists you take it off me tonight. Is that too forward? You usually love when I’m forward but I worry this will only enrage you more, likely in a way that will leave me dangerously sore. Perhaps that is what I intend. I cannot tell anymore. I just miss your touch. As for the note, I didn’t assume you threw it away. I merely feared it. I know you well enough to know that even when you’re furious, you’re still gentle with the things I give you. It’s one of those things you do that melt my heart. Your ship — this solitary vessel of marital vengeance — sounds lonely. It is precisely that reason however that I must stay aboard, respectfully. With all my love, Kento – your infuriatingly tall, overly warm, occasionally smug but entirely yours husband P.S. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re home. P.P.S. I will attempt to be less perfect, though I make no promises. I’ve spent years mastering my five o’clock shadow, it practically comes in on its own when it senses you’re at your most vulnerable. As for my silk, golden locks, I owe that to you and your hair mask. Thank you.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Tempting

Kento. I’ve read your message. Twice. Once dramatically, on break. Once again, aloud, with emphasis, so the plants in my office could also judge you. And I must say... The audacity. The calm. The poetry. The charm. Ugh. Disgusting. I hate how you win arguments by being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly eloquent. Stop. Also, your blazer is so dramatic. I was always going to take it off you, that was never in question. And yes, I love when you're forward. I loved it just now. Reminds me of that time we snuck off into the janitor's closet and... Moving on. I will admit (reluctantly) that your words were very lovely, they usually are, and the image of you freezing like a noble idiot because you'd rather suffer than part from me for even a life-saving second was both tragic and romantic and exactly the kind of behaviour that makes staying mad at you basically impossible. I hate that for me. But fine. F I N E. You may stay aboard my metaphorical ship, provided you bring snacks and acknowledge that I am the captain and you’re just here for deck-swabbing privileges and forehead kisses. You’ll be handsomely rewarded ;) Love, Your Wife (Still aggrieved. But slightly less so. Like… 69% less.) P.S. If you’re trying to seduce me via dinner, it’s working. You might get that kiss. Or two. Depends how good it is.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Please Stop

Dear YN and Nanami Kento,  I hope you are both well.  Do forgive me for intruding me but, as Head of HR and as your friend, I feel a need to remind you both that you are liaising using your work emails which are monitored by HR. Resolving marital disputes on company hours and company mail is not recommended nor permitted. Please set this aside for when you get home. I also wish to remind you that your offices are a short distance from each other. There doesn’t seem to be a need to be communicating via emails at all. From my desk, I have been watching you two write your emails with smiles on your faces.  I suspect neither of you are mad at each other at all. So, YN, please just forgive him already. He hasn’t done much work all day, whereas your productivity has increased. We should probably hold a meeting to discuss both changes. I am concerned.  Lastly, your fight is distracting everyone. One colleague described it as ‘funny,’ another ‘sweet,’ and someone else called it ‘foreplay.’ I’m sure you understand why exactly I intervened. You are both already on two strikes. Please don't make me remind you of what exactly what happened the last two times. The company is still paying for therapy sessions for the affected employees. Do better.  Best wishes,  Ijichi Kiyotaka P.S. Why were you even mad? Did he forget an anniversary? Comment on your weight?

From: [email protected]

Subject: Kinda Embarrassed. No Longer Mad

Dear Kento, Did not realise the whole office was invested in this. No wonder the intern was giving me a look and Sharon from IT told me that she and her husband also fight like this to ’spice up’ their love life, and that its best when the husband gets mad too. TMI but appreciated. Are you even capable of getting mad at me? Well, anyway, you heard the man. Let’s continue this conversation at home.  And Ijichi, I know you’re reading this, you Peeping Tom. I hope you know we’re going to make sweet, dirty love tonight. All night. Bring this up to the Big Boss, I dare you. I know you haven’t forgotten the huge favour you owe me for beating Gojo up when he needlessly sent you on errands around the city. Please stand up for yourself. Do better, as you say. Kento, let’s go home together tonight. I need to apologise to your blazer as soon as possible and to catch up on kisses expeditiously. In fact, expect a knock on your office door.  Love,  Your wife

From: [email protected]

Subject: Didn't Notice Ijichi's P.S.

Dear Nanami, and Ijichi because you are reading these, He sat on my bunny plushie yesterday. He flattened her. I'm mad again. Hate, YN

From: [email protected]

Subject: Thank You, Ijichi

Dear wife and Peeping Tom colleague, You have no appreciation for the work I put in to get back into my wife's good graces. All your disclaimers about simply doing your job were clearly written in deceit since your gossiping self could not resist prying. Do not think I haven't overheard you collecting bets on why she was mad at me in the break room. Please expect Gojo's presence in your office with some new, overbearing task soon. You're welcome. Worst wishes (to Ijichi), Nanami Kento And nothing but love (to my wife), Ken

From: [email protected]

Subject: Don't Read This One, Ijichi

Ken, You're so hot when you're all assertive. Wanna get strike three? Preferably in your office, on your desk? Gojo can distract everyone for an hour...or two. Lust, Your Wife

From: [email protected]

Subject: Don't Keep Me Waiting

Sweetheart, Door's open.

From: [email protected]

Subject: I Am Not A Peeping Tom

I hate you both and you deserve each other. Regrettably, Ijichi Kiyotaka

From: [email protected]

Subject: Freakyyyy

Dear Nanami, YN, and my favourite Peeping Tom, This is what happens in the office? Wow, maybe I should get a desk job (lol that's probably what Nanami's getting right now, lucky guy) Can't believe I was slaving away, keeping the world safe, and you two were slacking off and getting it on. I'm expecting a baby Nanami soon. Make me the godfather pls pls pls Stay sexy, The Strongest P.S. Can I watch? I’m kidding…unless?

[zaabjam]

did i tell you that i miss you

[taldigi]

Hello???? Suggestions????

[letsdontdie]

Can he actually share it? Is this just a collective agreement on how infinity works?