Max Catstappen For Ur Consideration

How I feel after skipping past all the smut in a fanfic cause I’m only in the mood for fluff

Absolute art omg

MONA LISA ⋆˚࿔⸻ Nanami Kento

THE WAY YOU LOOK I UNDERSTAND THE HYPE, YOU KNOW YOU'RE JUST MY TYPE꩜ .ᐟ Gotta, gotta, get ya, 'cause you know just what I like.

cw ꩜ .ᐟ nothing, just fluff, but there is a dumbass ex, whirlwind romance sort of cliche, some suggestive stuff, but just me being a poetic dumbass mostly, i heard the song and i was like yes, so just enjoy.

a/n: fully inspired by mona lisa by jhope

Nanami Kento is a connoisseur of art. He is the greatest opponent of the philosophy presented by Plato, that art is an imitation of an imitation, and therefore not a true representation of reality. He believed that art has always been and will always be the direct and indirect reflection of reality. And if Plato were alive today, he would not hesitate to blurt it out in his face. 

So after saving up for a while and doing an insane amount of overtime, when he found himself in Paris, all by himself, he knew exactly where he wanted to explore first and foremost.

The Louvre museum was somewhere he always wanted to explore, not vicariously through a digital screen or how Gojo flew out his girlfriend there for her art history project—he wanted to see everything with his own two eyes, and just get lost in there if possible.

He expected the crowd. Even when he scheduled his visit at an odd time, to enjoy some serenity in those masterful pieces from the past. He wanted to find the Venus de milo, the coronation of Napoleon, and of course, the Mona Lisa.

But instead he found you, standing opposite to the Mona Lisa herself, just staring at Veronese's wedding feast at Cana.

Even when he came on a weekday, during downtime, there was still a crowd in front of the mona Lisa. But honestly, he would get in a queue to watch you instead. Maybe frame you in his eyes forever, if it is possible. He never really got the hype about Mona Lisa anyway, of course it has its own significance with how the colors and techniques were so sophisticated for its time that it was thought to be irreplicable. But Nanami was not fascinated by the, now, dull colors of the painting. But he is sure if it was you that Vinci decided to immortalize in his painting, the crowd would have to be bigger, and the queue has to be longer. And the colors have to be more vibrant and acute. And even then he could not have captured your beauty. 

But then again, you do not need such empty validations.

He never thought of himself as a person to think his type was a pretty face, if you asked him, he would say personality. Yet here he is walking up to the gorgeous woman of his dreams, and asking her if she wanted to stroll around the museum with him. 

If only your, now ex, boyfriend took a second too long before saying he wants to break up with you to get with the younger hotter girl at his office; he would not have been backtracking from that statement in a panic when you told him right after that you got two tickets to Paris for your anniversary. And he would have probably been here standing next to you. But thankfully you threw him out of your apartment, threw everything of his in your home, on the street. And got a considerable amount of refund on his ticket, and made your way to Paris. Fortunately instead of your ex, this gorgeous stranger, who looked really dazed when he came up to you, and gave you company through the rest of your trip. All he said was a simple, 

“Hello.” a gorgeous voice to match a gorgeous voice. 

And suddenly it was as if you two were in a movie, about two strangers falling in love, in the city of love. You did every cliche tourist thing with him, to your heart’s content. From going to the Pont des Arts to the Eiffel tower. And doing things out of visiting historical monuments, like struggling to order a croissant and coffee. The days you spent with Nanami in Paris, became some of the most cherished memories you have created in your life. And you can only hope you get to have him around for more memories to create. 

While you were too busy wallowing in your own head about never possibly seeing him ever again after this—Kento was becoming borderline obsessed with you.

The amount of time you occupied in his thoughts and his journal, was getting concerning. You simply have him bad. And he is ready to submit himself, nay, devote himself to you. Frame you in a picture, make a shrine out of it and call you his religion, his one and only. 

By the third day of knowing Nanami Kento, you somehow ended up in the same hotel as him. With different room numbers to your name, you still somehow always ended up in each other’s rooms. At first it was petty excuses like the bed is better in your room, then it was the shower not working well, the lights in your room were too fluorescent. These were things easily solved by calling the front desk, but then it would mean these were real problems and not made up excuses. 

And everytime your horrible ex tried to call you and ruin your mood, he was there for you with some bottle of wine he found at the grocery store down the street. Along with some variety of cheese and fruits, to make you a charcuterie board of sorts.

And you appreciated it all. The cheap wine, cheap ‘i heart Paris’ t-shirts, wild little flowers from some random park you two stumbled upon, to the diamond earrings he insisted on buying you. Something about them matching your smile too perfectly to let them be bought out by someone else. And you have never felt so at ease to be spoiled like so. Never with your parents, nor with any ex, or even friends. And it was all too much and too easy to get used to. 

“Will I ever see you again, after this?” you were in his bed, fully clothed and in his arms, but never in your life have you ever felt so naked. 

“You are asking the wrong questions sweetheart.” he moved his head just enough to take it off the top of your head, and came eye to eye with you. His one hand steady as ever on your waist, slightly bunching up the satin of your nightdress. While the other held your own hand in comfort, with the most delicate touch. As if you were some exquisite work of art that would crumble with just one thoughtless touch.

“What should I be asking then?”

“How can I look at you for the rest of my life instead?”

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune. header is Monalisa by Leonardo da Vinci.

big Plato disliker here. you can say i loathe him even. fuck Plato. first Nanami work woooo!!! also shit i made up from my own trip to paris like when i was a wee baby so it is def not accurate i think.

I LIKE MY GIRLS PRETTY IN THE FACE ART PIECE TO FRAME MONA MONA LISA YEAH I NEED YA

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @alygator77 @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi

babydoll

frat!gojo x shy!fem reader !!

wc: 6.5k

part one ! part 2 ! part 3 !

part two in the works…

disclaimer !! slow burn, fluff, angst/comfort, yearning satoru, whipped satoru, satoru is just so enamoured with reader omg. follows the ‘was i just a bet?’ premise!! eventual smut (most likely). reader is implied to wear very cutesy kinds of clothings and enjoys very girly and feminine things !!

artist: thatsallitcheif on x!

“yo, toru. whatcha lookin at?”

standing so sweetly in line at jujutsu university’s student cafe, stood the most adorably breathtaking girl satoru swears he’d ever laid eyes on. looking up at the variety board of drinks with one adorable manicured nail tapping your chin, you shyly made your way up to the counter.

you we’re what he was staring at.

suguru nudged the white haired boys shoulder as they sat back on a bench, not far from the café’s store front. they lounged back with widespread legs, still dressed in their sweaty basketball jerseys.

“hey man, i’m talking to you.”

shaking his head trying to regather his thoughts, satoru half heartedly responded.

“yeah man that sounds good. whatever you wanna do.”

the purple eyed man let out an annoyed huff, “that’s not even— you know what? forget it.” used to his best friends frequent ditzy zone-outs, suguru knew it was best to just drop it and try his luck asking about what had him so enamoured later.

satoru paid no mind to it, still trailing his eyes over your frame as you seemed to stumble over your words when ordering whatever cute little iced drink he’s sure a sweet thing like you enjoyed. he wasn’t sure what had his eyes suddenly so drawn to you, a random campus girl he’d never seen in his life.

maybe it was the fact you had the whole, ‘girl next door’ thing down pat, or maybe how you looked like you owned fifty vintage Hollister sweaters, the real tight ones that showed off your body in that innocent kind of way. you were clad in just that, a grey one, paired with a cute skirt, some stockings and those leg warmers he always saw the cute girls on instagram wear.

very attractive, in his opinion.

he let out a deep breath through his lips as he watched you sip the straw of what looked to be an iced latte, your rosy pink gloss slightly staining the white paper. how could he see from so far away? no one really knew, satoru gojo was known for having real good eyes.

he was known for a lot, actually— his trust fund worth more than what it cost to build the prestigious university and then some, or his effortless charm that never failed to nudge pretty sorority girls into his bed.— but most of all, satoru gojo was most renowned throughout jujutsu for his insane ragers; the ones where the cops get called one way or another, and hundreds of drunken collage kids scramble in all directions out of his notorious frat, alpha phi. and sure, he was at uni for basketball like his buddy suguru, but satoru could ace any course this school had to offer, and that was the scariest thing about him, his sheer wit.

“suguru, d’you know that girl sitting over there, at the cafe? the one with the cute sweater.”

his friend raised his head from looking down at his phone to meet where satoru was pointing.

“ah, so that’s what you were looking at. glad i got my answer ten minutes fucking later, tsk.” suguru pocketed his phone and sat back against the bench, continuing.

“yeah i know her, the names y/n. she’s in my ethics class, a real cute one, huh? really quiet, always fiddling with her hair and shit, classical doll faced nerd.” he said pulling out a cigarette.

satoru nodded and hummed in response, still watching you from afar as you tapped at your phone, shyly tucked away at a table outside the cafe and under a big oak tree.

‘y/n…’

“what, you wanna talk to her or something? the whole shy and prude thing isn’t really your type, fuck boy. i’m almost certain a sweet thing like that doesn’t need a frat boy ruining her life, don’t cha think?” suguru chuckled with a now lit cigarette between his lips.

god, he was right. sure satoru had pretty much pictured your adorable little self in a long white wedding dress already—not sure why, since he never entertained the idea of getting married; especially not anytime soon—but the way you carried yourself, the way your sparkly little nails traced the lid of your cup as you looked down through your long, pretty lashes at whatever was on your phone had him completely entranced.

“jesus christ satoru. you look like a dog in heat staring daggers through her head like that.” the black haired man took a puff before continuing. “if you really want to, just go over and sweet talk her, get her number, fuck ‘er real good and get it outta your system.” suguru said nonchalantly.

satoru shivered a bit at the thought, like for once, just fucking someone and dipping was suddenly disgusting. for once he looked at someone he found attractive and instead of feeling the urge to rut inside and fulfil his desires, he felt a compulsion to care for and protect them. god what was he? a fucking dog? reluctantly, satoru sighed and stood up infront of the other male.

“nah man… you’re right, she’s just a bit too… ‘pure’ looking for someone like me. let’s get outta here, i need a drink.”

suguru chuckled as he clasped hands with his friend, satoru pulling him up from his seated position. “pretty girls like that deserve better than us, toru.” he only let out a breathy chuckle, knowing deep down he was very right, that he should just ignore the deep feeling of warmth inside his gut from when he was staring at you earlier.

~

later that night, now dressed in a black shirt and grey sweats (get my reference) paired with the classic fuck boy silver chain and jordan’s, satoru was sat on his frats couch, sipping the jungle juice him and nanami made earlier for tonight’s party.

bodies clashed on the makeshift dance floor as the smell of weed and booze hung heavy in the air. on any normal night, satoru would be in the middle of it all, dancing and making out with whatever sorority chick he chose for the evening, but now? he was moping alone at the edges of the crowd. his mind was hazy with a distant feeling of… dread? was he seriously feeling anxious in the one place he thrived the most?

he let out a sigh and stood up, downing his drink, trying to revoke some sort of ‘party satoru’ he knew was swimming somewhere inside him. but with each faked smile he plastered on his pretty face when greeting his fellow frat brothers with claps in the back, he felt himself growing more and more uneasy.

each thought swimming around in his head was full of one thing, and that was the cutie he saw at the cafe earlier today, ‘y/n.’

he repeated the name over and over again in his head. it was an adorable name, one fit for someone as sweet looking as you. what would she be doing right now? sleeping? studying? showering? his thoughts were interrupted when he heard the name he was just singing in his mind come from the familiar mouth of his friend, choso.

“y/n? who the hell is that?” suguru, choso, and yuuji were all standing around in a small semi cirlcle, drinks in hands as suguru was letting the alcohol talk for him.

“just this girl satoru couldn’t stop eye-fucking today.” he said slightly slurring his words.

satoru rolled his eyes and turned to join them. “what’s new? he’s always doing that.” said yuuji, earning a chuckle from choso. suguru also laughed before continuing.

“yeah, but this girl was different. she’s the sweet type, y’know? the ones that look so cute and untouched you feel bad for even lookin at em in that kinda way. ain’t that right satoru? poor guy didn’t even go up to her..”

the blue eyed man rolled his eyes. “tsk, so what i was staring? she was cute. and i didn’t want to sleep with her alright. just eye candy, that’s all.”

all three guys were inwardly confused. their party animal of a friend, the most confident ladies man they knew was getting all hung up over a quiet, shy girl he saw at a damn cafe? what the fuck?

choso tried to stifle a laugh. “you’re telling me you saw a girl you liked and didn’t fuck her? what’s wrong with you man, are you sick?” the small group laughed, and so did he. because they were right, not once had he not gotten what he wanted from a girl, but this time he held back.

why? why the hell didn’t he just go up to you and ask for your number? now he was stuck at this party he didn’t want to be at anymore getting harassed by his stupid friends. he was sucked out of his self pity when choso nudged his arm.

“gojo, five hundred dollars says you can’t fuck her by the end of june.” the brunette man said, taking a swig of his drink. before satoru could outright refuse, suguru jumped in. “raise that to one thousand. this guys not doing it.”

they were winding him up, and it was working. “you fuckers are so lost. but fuck it, whatever. two thousand dollars says that i can fuck her by the end of may.” it was currently march, so that meant two months to woo you.

god, he shouldn’t of shortened it. he shouldn't of said that at all! but what else could you do when your fuckass friends try brusing your ego?

suguru and satoru shook on it.

~

the first time you had ever seen satoru gojo was late one afternoon on campus, he had his tounge down a very pretty girls throat, one from your chemistry course. the girl was a tad bit bitchy but she never bothered you, so you just assumed it was her boyfriend and didn't think much of it.

oh were you wrong.

from then on out you had managed to catch the white haired male flirting, touching up on, and kissing four different girls on four different occasions throughout the collage grounds.

'oh, so he's a slut.'

you didn't have the brain space to think too much about the stupid frat guys that ran the school like teenagers with too much testosterone, so you never once thought of the guy again, chalking him up to just another fuck boy.

his friend suguru however? you weren't gonna lie, totally your type. he was in your ethics class and he knew his shit. he was tall, dark and handsome and god he looked like some guy out of a punk rock band. he was your little hallway crush, but you knew of his frisky behaviour being apart of a frat and all, so you only really payed attention to him when you needed something pretty to look at.

like right now, as suguru and the white haired guy you were yet to know the name of sat together squeezing water into their mouths from their water bottles after a basketball training session. they were both pretty guys.

you were walking from your physiology class to the library, shyly taking glances at the black haired male when he suddenly caught your eye. you quickly turned away and walked abit faster to your class, missing the way suguru nudged satoru's elbow with a grin.

"look, it's that girl we made bets on last week."

satorus head flew up to trace your retreating figure. 'god even from this far away she looks stunning.'

he had been searching for you around campus for almost a week straight, under the guides of 'scoping out some fresh meat.' he stood up almost as fast as his head rose and started jogging to catch up to you. god you were adorable, you were dressed in the cutesy style you always stuck to, walking so prettily as your shoes pitter pattered against the concrete. what the hell was he even gonna say when he got to you? he had no idea.

once he had caught up, not even slightly out of breath and still in his sweaty basket ball uniform. he slowed down and walked around beside you, clearing his throat as he stood off to the side but infront of you. he looked down to meet your eyes, and to say he was flabbergasted was an understatement.

shit, you looked even cuter up close. your big eyes and those fluttery lashes had him choked up, the way your hair framed your face, how your long sleeved shirt hugged your figure in all the right ways. he was speechless in your presence.

you were startled when the 6'4 jocked up guy you knew to be a notorious player suddenly approached you. he was towering over you, so much so that you caught a whiff of his heavenly cologne mixed with abit of his sweat.

gross? sure. hot? absolutely.

you assumed he was just trying to pass by so you also cleared your throat gently and picked up your pace, nodding politely in apology as you walked past him completely.

this made satoru panic. he stammered a bit before choking out an awkward "hey! wait up!"

you turned on your heel to see him still standing where he was, bashfully rubbing his neck as he looked away almost... shyly? what the hell?

you nervously played with the sleeves of your shirt that covered the better parts of your wrists, slowly rubbing your lips together as you looked up at him through long lashes. seriously this was getting weird, what did he want? this overly confident frat guy who was known for being rowdy and tuff was almost shying into himself as he stood infront of you.

"...yeah?.." your voice caught him a little off guard, it was silky smooth yet shy and unsure.

'very feminine', he thought.

'what the hell are you doing man... she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but here standing next to someone like you.' he sighed and tried to push away his self deprecating thoughts. with a deep breath he stared back into your pretty little eyes and finally opened his mouth.

"you're uhm... your hair clip, it's pretty cool."

'her fucking hair clip? really satoru? the prettiest girl you've ever seen in your life is standing right infront of you and you chose to compliment her hair clip of all things?!'

he inwardly groaned, feeling more than embarrassed.

he was shoved out of his own head when he saw your cheeks dust an enticing pink as you fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. you looked so fucking good right now.

"oh, uh. thank you so much." you said with a small smile, trying to stay polite despite your immense discomfort at the moment. he nodded and coughed into a closed fist awkwardly.

'now what?!' since when did talking to pretty girls become this hard for him?! the two of you stood their staring at eachother stiffly, none of you sure what to say next. you were beyond confused, you were sure this was some stupid frat thing where they went up to random girls and tried poking fun at them.

"so uhm... your name is what? i mean- what's your name?" he mentally facepalmed at his idiocy, biting his lip as to not let anymore corny word vomit escape.

you brushed a strand of hair out of your face and blinked up at him, now noticing how ripped he was. each and every muscle on his visiable forearms were perfectly sculpted along with his sharp facial features and piercing eyes.

"it's y/n... and you?"

of course a sweet closeted thing like you didn't know his name. he was more-so famous around the greek scene, but nethertheless he felt his ego take a hit at the lack of knowledge. he looked you once over, trying his best to surprise the noise of appreciation for your absolute perfection from humming out of his throat.

"satoru. satoru gojo."

"uh, cool. did you... need something? from me?-"

"your number." he blurted it out almost a little too loud, immediately covering his mouth and flushing abit red. he cleared his throat and said it again. "could i have your number, please?" he readjusted himself, trying to regain abit of his confidence and act like he knew what he was doing, because he did, he'd done the whole flirting thing a million times for god sake! you were just making it abit difficult with that adorable confused look on your face.

you didn't fully process what he was saying, just that a guy way out of your social circle was trying to get your number, and you were gonna give it to him because you had absolutely no confidence to say no.

so, pulling out your phone encased in its cute pink cover and tons of dangly charms, you pulled up your number and showed it to him to copy down.

satoru, now composed and feeling abit more like his usual self, smiled at your shy gesture. he too took out his phone and quickly jotted down the number into a new contact, you watched him save it under 'n/n 💗' .

still flushed, you timidly watched as he pocketed his phone, turning his head to look back at where suguru was sat at the bench not far too far away.

"thanks, sweetheart. i'll text you later, yeah?"

he said it with more calm in his voice, a stark difference from how he first approached you. you nodded awkwardly and turned around to finally walk away. once you were a good distance away from satoru, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. did that really happen? why the hell did he of all people want your number? you were getting a tiny bit scared he'd use his frat boy charm to get you into bed and then ditch you like it was any regular friday.

you tried pushing it down, opting to forget about the entire interaction. it would be better on your psyche.

satoru on the other hand, he was estatic. he practically skipped back to suguru with a big goofy smile on his face.

"i got it! man aren't i awesome!"

suguru just smirked and patted his back like a proud father.

"good job, man. now all you gotta do is actually get close enough to her that she'll let you in her pants. an easy 2000 dollars, right?" suguru said a tad condescending.

satoru sucked in a breath, oh yeah, the bet.

~

later that evening, you found yourself studying quietly in your cozy dormitory. it was clad with plushies of all shapes and sizes, a pink plush bed full of fluffy blankets and pillows, and a beautiful vintage style vanity off to one side. your books lay scatters over the soft rug beneath you, you sat beside your bed re-reading the notes taken today in chemistry. with your major being in the science feild, you had frequent nights like this; cramming knowledge inside your pretty little head like there was no tommorow.

you were distracted from the comfort of your blanket pile on the floor by a buzzing on your phone, situated on the vanity across the room.

sighing and standing up with a small groan, you grabbed it and plopped onto your comfy bed. opening up messages, you saw an unknown number pop up the top with another notification.

xxx xxx xxx xx : hey pretty girl

xxx xxx xxx xx : it's gojo

xxx xxx xxx xx : hope i didn't scare you off too badly today 😅

you found yourself getting flustered at the messages. sure you got hit on pretty much all the time, but coming from someone as popular as satoru had you quirking your brow due to the clique difference between the two of you.

the only other guy who was similar to satoru that had tried his luck with you was sukuna… and that was a shit show. a big frat guy with an even bigger ego mixed with a sweet girl like you was not a good partnership. safe to say you two ended after a few months of being him pushing you around like his own personal plaything.

the thought of being involved with another mean frat boy like that really did frighten you, you wanted to feel loved, not like a trophy to show off.

reading satoru’s messages once over again, you decided to not respond. sure he was kind of sweet today asking for your number all akward and bashful, complimenting the hair clip you took five minutes this morning trying to pick out; but deep down you knew you didn’t really want to give him your number. you were just too shy to say no. at least now you had a choice to talk to him or not, and you chose the latter. better to keep yourself safe.

before you could set your phone down, another influx of messages appeared.

xxx xxx xxx xx : read? looks like i did scare you off :(

xxx xxx xxx xx : i’m sorryyy i came off too brash didn’t i?

xxx xxx xxx xx : i was being such an akward loser today

xxx xxx xxx xx : please let me redeem myself 🙏🏻

you once again found yourself smiling, maybe responding just once wouldn’t hurt.

n/n 💗: hey, sorry for not responding earlier !!

n/n 💗: i was pretty swamped with course work 🙁

you clicked on his number and made him a contact before he responded.

gojo : oh hey!

gojo : no worries, glad you're working hard 🤝

on the other line, gojo was grinning like a madman at the thought of your nose stuck in a text book.

he was lazing in his room shirtless with a pair of black shorts, his signature thin silver chain dangling from his neck. his room was dimly lit with posters of all the bands he loved plastered on the wall, what a perfect opportunity for a photo. smirking to himself he snapped a photo of his shirtless top half with a big smile on his face, clearly showing off his beautifully sculpted chest.

gojo : [Attachment 1 image] for my contact photo ;)

you did a double take at the photo, clicking into it and zooming in to make sure you were seeing what you thought you were seeing. you weren't normally the type to get all hot and bothered over guys, but shit, he was hot. you shook your head and saved the photo, making it his contact photo since you really didn't have anything else to set it as. your phone dinged again.

gojo : so? where's mine? can't have your photo blank now can we?

you bit your lip nervously. sure you put a lot into your appearance and knew a lot of people thought you were 'absolutely adorable', but you weren't really convinced yourself, so taking selfies wasn't something you were used to.

regardless, you found yourself putting on a small smile and snapping a picture of your pretty face. giving it a once over you hovered over the send button. why did you care about what this guy thought of you anyways? weren't you the one who was just lecturing yourself about not getting involved with another guy like sakuna? you huffed and sent the picture trying not to think too hardly of it.

n/n 💗 : [Attachment 1 image]

gojo : wowza 🤯

gojo : you're fucking stunning 😍😍

on the other line, satoru could feel his blood rushing south at the photo you sent, it was innocent and oh so adorable. everything about your features made his heart feel woozy. after staring for a good five minutes, analysing each and every aspect of your face and what he could see in the background, he set it as your contact, smiling to himself.

n/n 💗: thank you

he chuckled at the some what dry response. he could tell you weren't very comfortable and he desperately wanted to change that.

gojo : hey, so i was thinking... you seem really cool to hang with, we should totally go out some time, yeah?

he hit send quickly so he wouldn't overthink it too much. he watched his screen a bit worriedly. he wasn't sure how you'd respond to that after only just meeting him today, but it's the best he had under his belt. satoru was strictly a hook-ups-only kind of guy, going on dates was foreign for him, but for you, he would.

he saw you read the text and type out a reply, delete it, then type out another.

n/n 💗 : thank you for the offer ! i'm sorry if this sounds abit rude, but we kind of just met today... and you suddenly want to hang out with me of all people?

n/n 💗 : is this like, a prank or something like that?

gojo cringed at himself for making you feel like he was trying to hang out with you for ulterior motives -which he kind of was considering the bet- but it was more than that, he genuinely did think you were cute and wanted to get to know you.

gojo : what? no! i just thought you were really cute, that's all. if you don’t feel comfortable hanging out i totally get it!

he anxiously watched as you read his message, fiddling with the sheets beneath him.

you did feel bad, really you did. and god knows you're way too shy to outwardly reject anyone. so, you let out a sigh and decided to humour him.

n/n 💗 : no, no! it's fine don't worry, we can hang out.

with all his anxiety dissipating, gojo let out a breath and quickly typed out a reply.

gojo : awesomee how does tomorrow for coffee at lunch sound? my shout, ofcourse.

n/n 💗 : okay!

gojo : sweet, i'll meet you outside the cafe at 12, see you then sweetheart ;)

~

the next day came faster than you'd expected. your fingers toyed nervously with the zipper of your off shoulder jacket as you stood beneath the awning of the student cafe, you were standing off to one corner trying not to stand out too much as your eyes scanned the crowd for that unmistakable shock of white hair.

your mind was still reeling, you believe you’d said yes to him. the rational voice in your head had spent the entire morning trying to talk you out of it, replaying memories of the only boyfriend you’d ever had being a frat boy. sukuna.

but here you were—waiting for gojo. the satoru gojo.

he showed up exactly at 12:03, He strolled toward you like he owned the pavement, hands shoved into the pockets of his grey sweats, his messy white hair tucked under a backwards baseball cap. He wasn’t wearing his usual frat-boy grin—instead, his eyes flicked over you, softening as he approached, his lips curving into something almost bashful. maybe the frat thing didn’t look so bad on him. maybe.

“hey, sweetheart,” he said, voice light but laced with a note of something softer, something real. “hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

you shook your head, smiling shyly up at him. “just got here.”

you weren’t used to towering boys like satoru opening doors for you, but he did, motioning for you to walk in first. surprisingly gentlemanly. the café was warm, the windows fogged with spring condensation, the air filled with the soft hiss of the espresso machine. once you’d sat outside under the same oak tree he’d first seen you under, surprisingly, satoru stayed mostly quiet. he wasn’t bombarding you with charm or flirting overkill like you expected. instead, he seemed… careful. like he didn’t want to scare you off.

he glanced at the menu, but looked back at you quickly. “tell me what you’re having so i can grab it. i promised i’d pay, remember?”

your lips parted slightly in surprise—no cocky comment, no flirtatious undertone. you told him your order, voice soft, and he nodded like it was the most important thing in the world, striding to the counter with ease. you watched him exchange a joke with the barista, his laugh echoing warmly through the small space. he really was effortlessly charming, you had to admit that.

you shyly bit your lip as you replayed the whole situation you were in right now. you had to tell your best friend yuki all about this later.

he returned with two drinks—your regular iced latte and something caramel-colored for himself—and two pastries. “didn’t know what you liked, so i got a cinnamon swirl. it looked like something a girl as cute as you might like,” he teased gently.

you smiled, biting back a laugh. “thanks a bunch, i like cinnamon.”

“see?” he leaned back in his seat with a smug little grin, sipping his drink. “i’m good at this.”

it was awkward at first. you weren’t sure where to look—his face, the window, the table?—but he made it easier than you’d expected. he asked about your major, why you chose it. he didn’t interrupt. he didn’t make jokes at your expense. when you mentioned how much you liked microbiology, instead of zoning out, he asked, “that’s the one with the cute little organisms, right? like, the blob guys?”

you giggled, making his cheeks flush slightly pink at the sound. “kind of, yeah.”

he grinned wide, pleased with himself for making you laugh. “you like what you like. that’s cool. most people don’t talk about something and light up like you just did. i could get used to seeing that cute smile more often, y’ know.”

you felt your cheeks warm and looked down, hiding a smile behind your drink. you didn’t know what you expected from this coffee date—maybe a few hollow compliments and an invite back to his place—but you didn’t expect to feel... seen.

“i’m glad you came,” he said after a pause. his voice was a little quieter now, more honest.

you glanced up at him, unsure of what to say. so instead, you just nodded.

and for now, that felt like enough.

satoru and you spent the rest of what would of been your chemistry lecture talking about how much you loved being feminine, doing your make up and creating a dormitory that reflected fragile femininity to the tee. satorus smile never seemed to drop as he asked you question after question never seeming to get bored of your shy voice.

“so like, are you into james charles and stuff? he’s the only make up person i know.”

he said with a little laugh. you joined in, gigging to yourself.

“not really, i don’t go as heavy as him. i just like to… i don’t know, make my face look abit cuter? does that make sense?”

you covered your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket as you looked up at him bashfully.

his face seemed to soften seeing you hide behind your sleeve, reaching over and pulling it down, causing you to let out a small noise of surprise.

“you don’t need to hide your pretty face from me. it’s too cute not to be seen, you’re obviously doing a good job if you look that adorable.”

after a pause you nodded your head, making a note to try and not touch your face out of nervousness as you usually did.

“you know,” he finally said, tapping the table with one ringed finger, “i don’t usually do this.”

you blinked. “do what?”

“go for coffee. with girls.” his tone was sincere, his brows lifting slightly as if he was the one feeling small. “usually it’s just… parties, hookups, and then nothing. but you’re… different.”

you bit your lip, unsure how to respond. “because i look innocent?”

satoru let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “no. because you are innocent. but not in a bad way. you’ve got this whole thing about you that makes me—” he paused, chuckling at himself. “—makes me wanna, like, put on a sweater and meet your parents or some shit.”

you couldn’t help but laugh quietly, hiding your smile behind your cup. “you’re weird.”

he grinned like he’d won the lottery. “yeah, but you smiled. that’s a win.”

and for a moment, as the sun filtered through the oak leaves and warmed your cheeks, you let yourself wonder—maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the start of a cruel bet or a frat boy’s usual game.

the minutes turned to hours and suddenly you had sat through a five hour conversation with satoru about his basketball, your course work, the hobbies you both had, and the friends you liked the most.

“mmm. if i had to pick, i’d say suguru is my best friend. do you know him?”

‘ah, suguru.’ the hot guy in your ethics you have a small crush on, of course you knew him.

your face heated up as you turned your head to face or the window, stuttering for the first time in about four hours.

“y-yeah… i know him.”

satoru raised a brow at this. he wasn’t sure why you were suddenly so nervous, he thought he had overcome your shy barrier a few hours ago?

he cleared his throat, continuing on. “so? i hear you guys are in ethics together. is that like, good?”

‘is that like, good? seriously man? you’re sounding like a loser right now.’ he thought to himself.

“i.. yeah.. it’s good… he’s really smart, and pretty. p-pretty good at the subject, i mean!”

‘that was a shit save, y/n.’ you inwardly groaned. you could see satorus face slightly drop from his usual laid back grin.

satoru’s brow furrowed for a moment as he processed your sudden nervousness. it was subtle, but enough for him to catch it. he leaned back in his chair, studying your face, the way your eyes darted away from his and your hand fiddled with your jacket sleeve. something wasn’t adding up.

he wasn’t sure what was bothering you, but for the first time that afternoon, he felt a flicker of doubt. he had been so careful, so mindful of you—why were you suddenly pulling away?

“huh, really?” he said slowly, his voice softening, as if giving you space to explain. “didn’t know suguru was your type.”

you could feel his gaze on you, like he was trying to piece together something he hadn't understood yet. his usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by an unreadable expression that made you feel a little... vulnerable.

“ahhh, you’ve got it wrong. he’s… just a good guy,” you mumbled shyly, hoping the topic would pass.

but satoru didn’t let it slide. not this time. he was quiet for a few seconds, his fingers lightly tapping on the table. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more serious.

“y/n,” he began, his tone oddly gentle, “if you’re into him, that’s cool. i just want you to know, though, that i’m not here to play games. not with you.”

you looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. there was something unspoken in the way he said it, something that made your heart race like you had done something wrong. god you messed up. you’ve just had the most enjoyable time with satoru now he thinks you’re inlove with his best friend. yikes.

you were not one for confrontation, so you were getting nervous. you really didn’t like suguru, you just thought he was pretty, how the hell were you going to save this… you sighed deeply, peering into his orbs.

“hey, i don’t like him like that. i just think he’s a pretty guy… like you, you’re a pretty guy too.”

you bit your lip anxiously waiting for his reaction…

satoru blinked a couple of times, clearly processing your words. the usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found as his gaze softened, something almost vulnerable flickering behind his bright blue eyes. he leaned forward slightly, his arms resting casually on the table, but his posture had changed. it was like he was giving you space, like he was trying to understand you more than just joking around.

"i... i get it," he said, his voice low and a little more serious than you'd heard all day. "it's just... i’ve never really talked like this with any girl before, i’m not sure how this all works to be honest. and with suguru, i guess i was just making assumptions." he ran a hand through his white hair, looking out the window for a moment before turning back to you. "but, i’m glad to hear that. 'cause, you know, i really enjoy spending time with you. and i don't want you to feel like you have to explain yourself to me.”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, feeling some of the tension melt away between the two of you. "you’re a silly guy, huh?"

he smirked, the familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "yeah, i know. but i’m also a pretty straightforward guy. so just, uh, don’t feel like you owe me any explanations, okay? you’re cool, y/n. like, really cool."

your heart skipped at the compliment, but you were still a bit nervous, unsure of how to react to his change in tone. still, you managed a small smile, feeling a little lighter.

“t-thanks satoru,” you said, your voice softer now.

he leaned back again, relaxing into his chair with that signature confident grin returning to his lips. “no problem, sweetheart. you’re way too cute for me to get all weird about things. just... don’t go falling for suguru, okay?” he teased, his smile widening.

you rolled your eyes, feeling the nerves ease, though your cheeks were still a little flushed. “i’ll try my best.”

"good," he said, winking at you. "because you’re already way ahead of the competition."

you shied into yourself at the flirty gesture, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

suddenly, satorus face dropped from his laid back casual expression to one of almost annoyance. you saw his eyes trailing at the entrance of the cafe to see a group of what looked to be frat guys walking out.

“you uh.. okay?” you asked sweetly, watching him shift in his chair.

satoru didn’t answer immediately. instead, he stood up abruptly, muttering, “stay here. i’ll be right back.” his tone was sharper than usual, and you couldn’t help but watch as he plastered on a grin, striding toward the group of guys with his usual charm. but this time, it seemed different. there was a bit too much of a show in his smile, a little too much forced energy in his greetings.

“look who it is. how’s it, gojo?” one of the guys shouted, clapping satoru on the back. the others chimed in with loud greetings.

you watched from afar as he made conversation, subtly steering the group away from where you sat. after a while you saw them wrapping up.

“alright, alright, go on then. catch you later, gojo,” one of them said with a half-smile, walking away with the others. he slumped back into his chair with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder again to make sure they weren’t coming back.

“… are you okay..?” you asked, your voice soft, a little quiet. you could see the tension still lingering in his eyes.

satoru ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you for a moment. “yeah, just—” he sighed again, his voice lowering. “you know how it is. guys like them… they don’t know when to quit.”

“quit?” you repeated, brow furrowed. you were trying to piece things together, but his mood had shifted so abruptly. “what do you mean?”

he looked at you finally, his expression softening a bit. “they can be… fuckwits, to put it lightly. don’t want them coming over here and making any fucked up comments or anything.”

you blinked, realization slowly dawning on you. “you didn’t want them bothering me?”

“yeah,” he said quietly, avoiding your gaze. “i mean, it’s one thing if they’re messing around with me, but... you shouldn’t have to deal with their shit.”

your heart fluttered a little at his words. satoru was trying to protect you, even if it meant dealing with his friends’ annoying antics. it was... sweet. "thank you," you said softly, a small smile forming on your glossed lips.

he glanced at you, a slightly sheepish look on his face. “no problem. i just didn’t want them to say anything messed up to you. that’s all.”

“that’s really kind of you satoru, very chivalrous,” you said, your voice teasing yet holding its own sense of shyness.

satoru’s smile returned, this time a little more genuine. “yeah, of course. don’t know what you’d do without me.”

you raised an eyebrow playfully. “i’m sure i’d manage.”

“nah, i’m irreplaceable, girlie.” he grinned, his usual cocky charm back in full force.

you rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you were starting to like this side of him—the side that wasn’t always trying to show off. satoru may have been surrounded by chaos, but right now, in this quiet moment, he felt... real.

“well, thank you,” you said, your smile softening. “for looking out for me.”

“always,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and looking at you with a glint of something softer behind his usual cocky grin.

your date with satoru revealed a lot about his character. he was a dork, a cute dork. he was charming, funny, hot as hell, but he was deeper than that. satoru had a layer to him you we’re sure only those close to him were allowed to see, and for the time you we’re together, he showed that side you you. deep down he was thoughtful, he was kind, observant.

he cared for people and how he was perceived. and most of all he made you feel like the only girl in the world on that date. not too flirty, but just enough to make your heart flutter with life, something you hadn’t felt since you had broken up with sukuna about a year ago.

for a second, you wondered if maybe there was more to this guy than the image he liked to project, maybe he’d let you see it if you stayed around. maybe you needed to do just that.

chat my first start to a long fic on this app what do we think 😟😟

nanami prides himself on many things—his discipline, his work ethic, his impeccable taste in ties. but above all, he prides himself on his ability to communicate clearly and concisely, whether in speech or in writing. his text messages are a testament to this:

nanami: I will arrive at 7:30 p.m. Let me know if you need anything.

capitalized. punctuated. grammatically flawless.

then there is you. his lovely girlfriend. his chaotic girlfriend.

you: oks eeu thns

nanami blinks. once. twice. he tilts his phone screen away, then back, as if a different angle might help decipher whatever cryptic language this is. "oks eeu thns" is not english. nor is it japanese. it is… something else. something eldritch.

"what." he mutters to himself.

this is not the first time. nor will it be the last. your texts are a battlefield, a warzone of typos, autocorrect fails, and complete disregard for sentence structure. you do not "text." you unleash a tornado of half-formed thoughts at an alarming rate, as though your thumbs operate on a separate plane of existence.

exhibit a:

you: r u cmg home latr i wan ice cre nanami: Are you asking if I will be home late, and if so, whether you want ice cream? you: ye nanami: …What flavor? you: gimme mint sumn u kno the blue green w the chunks idk idc nanami: You want mint chocolate chip. you: ye

he has, over time, become somewhat of a linguist. an interpreter. a man who now instinctively knows that when you say "bcum," you mean "become" and not whatever horrifying alternative that initially flashes through his mind. but nothing—nothing—prepared him for exhibit b:

you: bby whn u cming hom i wan hug n u also i los a sock idk where she go nanami: I will be home at 6 p.m. I assume you meant to say you lost a sock. you: y au did nanami: What does that mean. you: *ya i did nanami: Understood.

he did not understand. he once tried to gently correct your typos. you responded by sending him "ok grammarly" and proceeding to text even faster with worse errors out of sheer spite. now, nanami has simply adapted.

you: i made pasta bt i dropd some :( rip lil guy nanami: Rest in peace to the fallen. you: he wud hv wantd us to eat his brothr in his honr nanami: Then we shall.

sometimes, he marvels at how two people so fundamentally different could love each other so much. and then he remembers the first time you sleepily texted him "gn ily mwuah" at 1:43 a.m. with no capitalization, no punctuation, just raw, unfiltered affection—

and suddenly, he doesn’t mind deciphering your nonsense at all.

he thinks he's gonna eat him

😔

BILLION DOLLAR MAN | a series.

PAIRING: president!Sukuna x journalist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: you get in trouble with the law for hate speech (totally bogus; like, hellooo, Freedom of the Press, anyone?), and, in a way to get you out of further repercussions, the president, himself—whom you went to college with—proposes a deal: be his fake wife. totally preposterous, but, then again . . . your news column could use a little more publicity, and you were in need of a [pseudo] sugar daddy.

ⓘ MDNI; enemies-lovers; smut (every chapter); fake marriage trope; each headline will be additionally tagged on their respective posts.

A/N: the table of contents below is subject to change at any time.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈 : MAN of the HOUR ▷ preview. you've slandered his name all across your blog's public column since you got your master's degree, but tonight's gala is the first time you're seeing him face-to-face since your college days—ladies and gentlemen: Sukuna Ryomen, or, better yet, Mr. President.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈 : MIMOSA MONDAYS ▷ preview. would ignoring your work and avoiding paying taxes still be as bad if it meant joining the Mile High Club . . . ? when Sukuna drags you along on a business trip, there's only one way to find out.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈 : RED LIPS & RED BOTTOMS ▷ preview. to prevent any rumors, you two arrange going on a date—in public, where anyone could see. but, it's also so you two can finally get to know each other better, if that was even possible . . .

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐕 : FIRST LADY ▷ preview. years have now passed since that fateful encounter at the gala, and Sukuna's first term as president has come to an end; could the same be said about your fake marriage, though?

Sincere Apologies

A/N: apologies for being MIA for a week, finals and papers were just stabbing me violently as i sobbed in a corner. hopefully i pass everything, as an apology, have some cute/darkish nanami content

warnings: trophy wife, kinda sugar daddy behavior, not realistic relationship, nanami dilf, very rich nanami, obsessed nanami, reader that knows exactly how to play the game etc. slight smut? idk, i mean theres dirty talking.

The heavy oak doors to Nanami Kento’s office slam open.

His fingers freeze over his keyboard. His shoulders go stiff. His breath stills in his chest.

Because he already knows.

Before he even looks up, before he even sees you—he knows.

His wife.

His stunning, painstakingly perfect, effortlessly devastating wife.

And she was pouting.

He had a weakness for that pout. It was a dangerous thing—plump lips slightly pursed, red catching the light just enough to remind him that they belonged to him. It was a silent declaration of displeasure, one that he already knew was going to cost him. Dearly.

And when he does lift his gaze, slow, measured, bracing for impact—fuck.

You’re breathtaking.

Black Louboutins clicking against the marble, each step a deliberate statement. A dress that fits so exquisitely it looks like it was painted onto you—sleek, elegant, and sinful all at once, the kind of thing that demands to be touched. Silver jewelry gleaming against your skin, subtle but devastating, the perfect complement to perfection itself. Hair styled, nails manicured, every detail painstakingly crafted. You’re a masterpiece, a walking vision of power and indulgence, and all of it—every inch of it—is his.

And yet—you’re pouting.

A slight downturn of those plush lips, a delicate furrow of your brow, the barest tilt of your chin—but it guts him. Slices through him like a blade.

He knows exactly why you’re here.

Knows because he pays people to know.

His phone had buzzed earlier, a series of updates from the security detail assigned to you—updates he gets religiously.

12:30 PM: Madam has left the penthouse. 12:45 PM: Madam has arrived at Restaurant L'Ambroisie. 1:05 PM: Madam is still waiting. 1:20 PM: Madam has left the restaurant.

And now?

Now you’re here, standing in front of him, looking like that, dressed like that—for him. And he had made you wait.

Nanami’s jaw tightens. His fists clench against the desk.

“Darling—”

“You forgot.”

Your voice is soft. Too soft. Dangerous in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

You step closer, impossibly close, hands resting lightly on his desk. The scent of your perfume—expensive, delicate, the one he handpicked for you—wraps around him like a noose. His control is a fragile, fraying thread, snapping one fiber at a time.

His eyes roam—devour. The curve of your waist, the way the fabric hugs your body, the smooth expanse of your throat where your necklace rests.

The pout on your lips.

God, that mouth.

He wants to bite. Wants to mark. Wants to ruin.

“I—” He stops. Swallows. He doesn’t forget things. His mind doesn’t work like that. But work had been relentless, drowning him, dragging him down into a cycle of meetings and reports and phone calls that never ended.

And you—you had been waiting for him.

Dressed like this, expecting him, and he had left you alone.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is rough now, thick with something dark, something possessive. He reaches for you, fingers brushing your wrist—where the bracelet he gifted you glints under the soft glow of his office lights.

Your arms remain crossed.

Your lips press together.

“You know I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice lower now, almost pleading. A thing that no one—not his employees, not his shareholders, not his competitors—would ever think possible.

But with you?

With you, he is nothing if not desperate.

You tilt your head, lashes fluttering, and he knows you’re toying with him. Knows because you are brilliant, because you are calculated, because you know exactly how to play the game.

And Nanami—Nanami will always lose to you.

“Oh, I know,” you hum, stepping forward, placing your hands on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his crisp white dress shirt. You lean in, lips brushing just barely over his ear, voice syrup-thick.

“You’re so busy, Kento.” Your tone is laced with something dark, something teasing, something lethal. “Too busy to eat. Too busy to see me. Too busy to keep your promises.”

His grip on your waist tightens—too tight.

You let out a soft little sound—half a sigh, half a taunt.

Nanami’s jaw clenches. He wants to snap. Wants to drag you into his lap. Wants to press you into his desk and make up for every second you were sitting at that restaurant alone.

He breathes in slow. Forces restraint into his bones. Forces control into his voice.

“You know that’s not true.”

Your fingers trail down his tie- the very same tie you picked out for him this morning, playing with the silk, teasing him.

“Then make it up to me, Kento.”

His fingers tighten on you.

His vision blurs with want.

*-*

7:45 PM

Nanami Kento is waiting by the car, hands in the pockets of his tailored suit, watching the screen of his personal phone with the same level of intensity he reserves for high-stakes deals.

It’s a habit. A ritual. A necessity.

The only notifications that ever dare to light up this device are hers—or the ones detailing her movements.

7:30 PM: Madam is in the walk-in closet. 7:35 PM: Madam has selected a dress. 7:40 PM: Madam is trying on jewelry.

Nanami Kento had cleared his entire schedule.

Meetings? Cancelled. Calls? Postponed. Obligations? Nonexistent.

For the first time in months, the empire he meticulously built—the empire that consumes every waking hour—takes a backseat. Because his wife—his beautiful, brilliant, ruthlessly enchanting wife—deserves his undivided attention.

And he is a man who learns from his mistakes.

So when you want the best sushi in the country—you get the best sushi in the country.

Never mind the twelve-month waiting list. Never mind that reservations are impossible, that even the country’s elite have to pull strings for a chance at a table.

None of that matters.

Because Nanami fucking Kento wants a table, and when he wants something, the world bends to accommodate him.

So now he’s waiting outside the penthouse, leaning against the sleek, obsidian-black Maybach, his personal driver stationed at the front. His fingers drum against the cool metal of his phone, the only device he keeps on him after hours.

It only has two active notifications:

— You. — And the security detail assigned to you.

(The rest of the world can fuck off right now.)

The screen dings.

🔔 1 New Message [You]: Which necklace? The diamond choker or the one you got me in Milan? I’m wearing the dark blue dress.

Nanami’s breath stalls.

Because attached to the message is a photo.

You—standing before the full-length mirror in your dressing room.

The dress—deep, satin-dark blue, the kind that whispers power, elegance. Form-fitting, thigh-high slit, dangerously backless. But that’s not what sends blood surging through his veins like liquid fire.

No.

It’s the way the plunging neckline showcases your décolletage in unforgivable clarity. The soft, luminous glow of your skin. The subtle curve of your collarbones. The perfect swell of your breasts, barely contained, teasing at the edge of sinful.

His jaw flexes.

Nanami doesn’t move for a full minute.

Two.

His grip on the phone tightens.

His pulse hammers.

Because you know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve always known. You’re a woman who wields your beauty like a blade, precise and devastating, and he is your willing casualty.

He forces himself to exhale, thumb hovering over the screen.

But he’s not stupid.

You want him to suffer.

And he deserves to.

So he forces himself to wait—forces himself to stare, to commit every goddamn detail to memory, to let the slow burn of punishment sear into him.

Only after three minutes of grit-tooth restraint does he finally reply:

[Nanami]: The choker.

And then, because he hates himself:

[Nanami]: Send another photo.

You leave him on read.

God.

By the time you descend the marble staircase, heels tapping softly against polished stone, Nanami is already at the car door, opening it for you.

And fuck.

You are stunning.

No—beyond stunning. Otherworldly. The kind of beauty that destroys men. The choker sits perfectly against your throat, diamonds catching the soft glow of the city lights.

Nanami is silent.

Because words don’t belong in a moment like this.

You step closer, tilting your head up, lashes fluttering. “You’re staring, Kento.”

“I always stare.” His voice is low. Dangerous. “You know that.”

A small, wicked smile curves your lips. You step past him, sliding into the car with all the grace of a woman who knows she owns the room.

Nanami exhales sharply before following.

*-*

The restaurant is decadence incarnate.

An exclusive, private location overlooking the city skyline, filled with only the wealthiest, most powerful names in the country. The kind of place where privacy is sacred, where menus don’t have prices, and where each dish is a masterpiece.

But Nanami doesn’t give a fuck about any of it.

Because you’re across from him.

Because you’re sitting there, fingers delicately tracing the rim of your crystal wine glass, lips just barely brushing the edge before you take a sip. Because you tilt your head, watching him with knowing amusement, eyes full of mischief.

Because you haven’t stopped teasing him.

“You’ve been very quiet tonight,” you muse, voice honeyed. “Something on your mind?”

Nanami’s grip on his glass tightens.

“You know exactly what’s on my mind.”

You let out a soft, syrup-sweet laugh, taking another slow sip of wine. “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

His jaw ticks.

Your foot brushes against his ankle under the table—light, teasing.

Nanami barely suppresses a groan. His entire body is tight, heat simmering beneath his skin, because you haven’t stopped playing with him since the moment you stepped into the car.

You lean forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, giving him a devastating view of your cleavage.

Nanami forces himself to meet your gaze.

A mistake.

Because you’re smirking.

“Distracted?” you ask, voice smooth as silk.

His fingers drum against the table. Slow. Measured. Controlled.

Barely.

“You’re enjoying this,” he states.

Your smile is all innocence.

“Enjoying what?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, clenches his jaw.

Oh, you are so very cruel.

But he deserves this.

He deserves every second of torture, every ounce of punishment, for making you wait at lunch, for making you doubt—even for a second—that you were the center of his world.

And so he lets it happen.

Lets you tease.

Lets you toy with him.

Lets you sit there, whispering filthy little nothings while you sip your obscenely expensive wine, eyes dancing with mock sympathy every time he struggles to maintain composure.

Because tonight—

Tonight is about you.

And when the night is over—when he finally has you alone, pinned beneath him, your lips bruised from his kisses, your body trembling under the weight of his obsession—

You won’t be smirking anymore.

*-*

The torture continues.

Your eyes, bright with mischief, your lips, sweet with wine, your voice, a weapon in silk and lace—you flirt with shameless abandon, reveling in the way your husband unravels before you.

And Nanami lets you.

Lets you drag him to the edge with every low, sultry laugh, every innocent little touch, every deliberate brush of your knee against his under the table.

He sits there, tense, his restraint hanging by a thread, watching the way your tongue darts out to catch a drop of wine from your lip.

“You’re staring, Kento.”

“You give me no choice.” His voice is low, wrecked, his grip tightening around his glass as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

Your smirk is wicked.

“I give you plenty of choices.” You tilt your head. “You’re just a little obsessed with me.”

Nanami exhales sharply, a dark, humorless laugh escaping his throat.

Obsessed?

My love, obsession doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But he doesn’t say that.

No, he lets you play your game, lets you lean in too close, lets your fingers trail over the rim of your glass too slowly, lets your words sink into his already fevered skin.

“Tell me,” you hum, tracing the stem of your wine glass, “are you enjoying dinner?”

Nanami drags a hand over his face. “Dinner?”

You blink, feigning innocence.

“Yes. The food. You know, the thing you forgot to show up for this afternoon?”

Ah.

So that’s what this is.

Nanami licks his lips, tapping his fingers against the table in slow, deliberate movements, eyes locked onto you with unwavering intensity.

“You’re cruel,” he murmurs, voice deep, edged with something dangerous.

Your eyes dance. “Am I?”

His lips quirk—not quite a smile, not quite a warning.

“You know you are.”

You sigh, all soft and mockingly indulgent, tilting your head as you drag your nails lightly against the table’s surface. “I could go easy on you,” you muse.

Nanami exhales, slow. Measured.

“But you won’t.”

You grin, lifting your glass. “Of course not.”

And Nanami takes it.

Takes the punishment, the taunting, the pure, unfiltered temptation of your presence like a man devoted to suffering.

And when dessert arrives—when the decadent dark chocolate soufflé is set before him, when he takes a bite and it melts like silk on his tongue—he thinks, for a fleeting second, that this might be the best thing he’s ever eaten.

Until he remembers that he’s tasted you.

And then—then nothing compares.

*-*

By the time you return home, you’re still smirking.

But it doesn’t last.

Because the second the door clicks shut, Nanami moves.

You let out a delighted little squeak as he cages you against the wall, hands bracketing your head, his broad, towering form pressing into you, his scent—woodsmoke, spice, and ruinous devotion—curling around you like a promise.

The air thickens.

The teasing, the power play, the entire night of slow, torturous foreplay—it all boils over in an instant.

His fingers graze your jaw, tipping your chin up, and his hunger is absolute.

“I should make you beg,” he murmurs, voice rough, laced with dangerous affection. “I should drag this out, make you feel every second of what you put me through tonight.”

Your pulse skitters.

But then he exhales, a harsh, heavy thing, his forehead dropping to yours as his hands skim over your waist, down, gripping the curve of your hips like he needs something to anchor him.

“But I can’t.” His voice is raw, desperate. “Because I—”

He stops.

Swallows.

Closes his eyes.

When he speaks again, it’s almost reverent.

“I just want you.”

A sharp inhale.

Then—his mouth crashes into yours.

*-*

Nanami takes his time.

Because he can. Because you’re his. Because he will never rush through the ritual of undressing the most beautiful woman in the world.

He peels away your dress, inch by devastating inch, fingers trailing over every new expanse of bare skin as if mapping out something holy.

When he picks you up—when your legs wrap around his waist, when your arms lock around his neck, when he carries you to the bedroom like you weigh nothing at all—you giggle, head thrown back in pure, gleeful delight.

And Nanami smiles.

Because that sound—that sound is everything.

He makes love to you with devotion, with worship, with the kind of reverence only a man who breathes for one person can possess.

And his favorite moments?

When he licks his fingers clean, and the wet sheen catches on his wedding band.

When he laces his fingers with yours, and the glint of your ring reminds him that you are his.

When he kisses you stupid, over and over, until you’re laughing, until you’re sighing his name, until you’re clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

Because, to him—you are.

*-*

The next morning, you wake sore, satisfied, and thoroughly adored.

Nanami watches from the bed as you slip out of his grasp, stretching like a lazy cat, striding toward his walk-in closet.

It’s routine, the way you pick out his tie each morning.

And when you return, holding a rich navy silk tie between two fingers, he smiles.

You press it into his chest, tilting your head.

“This one.”

He hums, looping it around his collar, fingers moving with effortless precision.

Then—before he leaves, before he lets work consume him again—

“Lunch date?”

Your eyes light up. “Of course.”

And Nanami swears he’ll move heaven and earth to make sure he never misses another one.

*-*

And all morning?

He watches you.

Because his security team keeps him updated on your every move.

And every time his phone dings—every time he gets a notification that you’re shopping, reading, drinking coffee, existing somewhere in the world without him—he exhales, taps the screen, and reads every word like scripture.

Because he may be at work.

But his mind?

His mind is always with you.

A/N: i wanted to make this slightly poetic i hope y'all see it. anyways after the angst, a bit of happy fluff is always nice.

Masterlist.

:)

SURPRISE COOKIES FOR MAMA 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

ִ ࣪𖤐 featuring. nanami kento x female! reader

ִ ࣪𖤐 warnings. both of you have a three year old daughter, broken conversations from your daughter bcs she's a kiddo, i'm leaving all of you to name your daughter.

note. midterm week, i'm going to try uploading, but if i don't, just know that it's not me ignoring my wips or you. love you all mwah <33

"this me!" (daughter) pointed at an old picture of . . . a young you with a blue thin strap floral sun dress posing cutely in front of the camera — a big smile on your face, showing off your pearly whites, "i pretty."

nanami who had his back leaning on the couch could only muster out a soft chuckle, he had his hand on the young girl's small waist to hold her up right; preventing a tumble or two, "that's mama. she looks lovely, doesn't she?"

(daughter) craned her head up to face nanami, her e/c doe eyes blinking, ears unbelieving that the portrait was her mother, "mama? no, this me! i so pretty," she pointed her chubby finger towards the portrait, which is undeniably almost as big as she is.

"mhm, that's mama," nanami caressed his daughter's head lovingly, "you do look a lot like mama, you know?" he whispers, eyeing the portrait (daughter) had laying on her small lap.

half a decade ago — nanami told himself that he isn't fit to be a family man; he swore the both of you talked about kids, and how you'd both wait at least until later on into the marriage. but (daughter) was a surprise pregnancy, and the best thing that has ever happened to the both of you.

"this no mama, this me papa," (daughter) pouts, her soft lips puckering out slightly.

nanami used his free hand to flip the photo album, showing a picture of (daughter) as a newborn. a pink colored bandana around her small head, eyes shut in content, "this is you the day you were born," he cooed out, letting his daughter take in the picture.

what a bundle of joy she is. nanami remembered every second he spent inside the delivery room by your side — letting you dig your fingers inside his flesh, because he knew the pain that you were going through at that moment couldn't compare to anything else that he was feeling. all he cared about was you and his daughter.

"this me?" (daughter)'s meek voice resounds. nanami nodded, eyes gazing into his daughter's doe ones, "i so pretty."

nanami smiled warmly, "yes, you are pretty, just like mama," he compliments; pinching her chubby cheeks gently, "it still surprises me how you're an exact copy of your mama . . ." he pats her head, his palm engulfing her whole head.

(daughter) nods her head vigorously, "mama and me twins!" she cheers happily, kicking her feet.

the male chuckles, "mhm, twins," he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up — standing as he puts the picture album on top of the coffee table that sat in the middle of your living room, "mama's coming home soon."

"we take cookies out of cooler, papa," (daughter) pats her father's cheeks gently before wrapping an arm around his neck to hook herself close to nanami, "warm for mama."

nanami vaguely remembered the day he passed by a baking class near his office. where he first saw you, holding onto a young boy's hand — no younger than six years of age, guiding him to whisk what seemed to be cake batter. he stood out of the glass pane, staring into the class for at least the next three minutes out of his twenty-four hours just to look at you.

he thought you looked pretty (and the display cake looked pretty as well, but that was besides the point).

but he never saw you again until three months later at the same place, and you noticed him. surprising. considering he was staring yet again for the second time. but he didn't think that you'd go out your way to talk to him right at that moment — and he was thankful you did.

"mhm, we're going to warm it up for mama," with ease, nanami opened the cooler and grabbed a plate of messily made classic chocolate chip cookies wrapped with saran wrap. (daughter) contributed to most of the procedure, and nanami thought it was the third most beautiful thing besides you and her. he's a proud dad.

the process of warming the cold cookies was short — with (daughter) prepped on top of the counter, with nanami's arms right by her sides. the two of them smiling at each other in silence, waiting for the oven to let out the satisfying 'ding!', hopefully before you came through the door.

unfortunately, things don't always go the way he wanted. and there you were, with your usual (color) coat slung over your arm, heaving out an exhausted sigh, mumbling out a soft, "i'm home."

(daughter)'s head turn to face the door, eyes widening in panic as she then faced nanami, "mama home, papa," she whispers, covering her mouth to hold back a loud giggle.

nanami nuzzled his nose into hers, "want to go hide from mama?"

the young girl nods her head, almost immediately wrapping her arms around her father's neck, "go go go, papa, hide, hide!" she whispers, giggling as she fit her small face into the crook of nanami's neck.

nanami laid a hand behind his daughter's head, he passed by you who had just walked through the short hall leading towards the living room, sending out a slight signal through his eyes as he walks into (daughter)'s sage colored room. he laid the young girl down onto the rugged floor, "go go, hide from mama."

the girl wasted no time scurrying under her bed, giggling softly. on the other hand, nanami walked out of her room with a small smile, approaching you.

"something smells good," you greet the male, opening your arms for a hug. i mean — what else do you need after a long day of work besides a warm hug from your husband?

nanami's arms felt like a blanket engulfing your body, he buckled his knees slightly to press a short kiss on your lips, "(daughter) has your baking abilities, 'm not surprised. good day at work?"

you nod, "tiring day, a boy spilt heavy cream all over the floor and his mother blamed us for it," nanami's face hardened a bit after hearing your story, "she practically went on a cursing spree in front of the kids, the cops had to restrain her."

the male grazed his finger on your cheek, "i'm sorry about that, she didn't hurt you, did she?"

you shook your head, "no worries, where's my baby, hm?"

nanami pinched your nape gently, "she wanted to surprise you with her cookies, she's in her room hiding. go see her and i'll be there with the cookies, yes?"

"you're too nice to me," you jokingly said.

"just to you," he rolled his eyes, brushing his lips over the hollow of your nose, "go, go. she's waiting for you."

you pulled yourself away from his embrace, putting your coat on top of the kitchen's counter before sauntering over to (daughter)'s room, knocking on her door. which resulted in an indubitable string of laughter from your own blood and flesh from under the bed, "baby? where're you?"

her soft and hushed giggles didn't stop when you step inside her room, "are you . . ." you pretended to open the closet, "here!"

and (daughter) stifled back a laugh when you failed to find her. and the next attempt, you squat down to eye under the bed, "there you are," her loud laughs finally chimed out, "give mama a hug, please?"

the young carbon copy of you crawled out from under the bed, immediately rushing to your lap to give you a warm hug, "i miss mama . . ." she pressed a kiss to your cheek, "mama miss me?"

you cradled her body back and forth, "mama misses you so much."

"i have surprise for mama," (daughter) abruptly pulled back from the hug, "surprise cookies for mama!"

the scent of chocolate entered your nostrils as nanami walked inside the room with a plate of freshly warmed chocolate chip cookies, "it's not a surprise anymore when you tell mama about it, isn't it?" he asks with a slight chuckle.

"'ts okay, mama still surprised. i bake cookies with papa," (daughter)'s eyes twinkled with happiness when nanami laid the plate down on the floor, "i bake cookies like mama. try try mama!"

and so you did, "'ts so yummy, good job, baby!"

nanami tugged on your arm towards him, slithering an arm around your waist, "'f course she did, you're her mama, y'know?" the male leaned in to place a short kiss to the tip of your nose.

(daughter) shrieks out, "papa cooties!"

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