HOW I SEE THE JJK MEN !

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[papamin au 🐅] silent night 🎄

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Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: on the rare occasion that sukuna takes his nephew out to the park, he notices another kid with blush pink hair— a baby to be exact. he tries not to stare too much, but it’s hard not to, it’s a rare hair color. it’s not until the baby’s mother takes her out of the swing set and back into her stroller when he realizes why you ghosted him almost 2 years ago.

genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

notes: im very excited to announce this upcoming one-shot as a part of @indiewritesxoxo friday night flicks event! the release date is still tba and im limiting the tag list to 50, but i’ll definitely be giving updates throughout the writing process ❤️

can someone make a gojo fic inspired by the song love hangover plsplsplspls actually it doesnt even have to be gojo

ino is hopeless.

nanami knows it. anyone with half a brain could see it—except for ino himself, apparently.

it starts subtly. little things that nanami catches because he’s perceptive, because it’s in his nature to notice details others overlook. at first, it’s harmless: ino’s eyes lingering on you for a beat too long when you speak, the way he straightens up whenever you enter a room, how he suddenly remembers the most trivial of errands whenever you’re around—just so he has an excuse to stay a little longer.

nanami finds it mildly amusing. he’s well aware of how attractive you are, how effortlessly charming, even without trying. it’s only natural that someone like ino, young and overeager, would fall for you.

but then, it escalates.

one evening, you drop by jujutsu high, bringing nanami a homemade meal because you know he’s been too busy to eat properly. you show up in casual clothes—just a simple, fitted sweater and jeans—but the way ino reacts, you’d think you walked in wearing a red carpet gown.

he visibly stiffens when you greet him, gives you a stammered “hey” that’s painfully awkward. nanami, who’s been flipping through reports at his desk, glances up just in time to see the way ino’s gaze flickers down your body before he forces himself to look away.

ah. so that’s where this is going.

ino is crushing, sure, but there’s something else now—something more desperate, more embarrassing. nanami recognizes it instantly, and this time, he does smirk. just a little.

ino, poor fool that he is, doesn’t realize nanami has noticed.

“kento,” you sigh, walking past ino like he isn’t even there. you set the bento box on nanami’s desk, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his temple. “you really need to stop skipping meals.”

nanami catches the way ino’s mouth parts slightly, like the air’s been knocked out of him.

“thank you,” nanami says, calmly, like he hasn’t just witnessed his protégé mentally combust.

“it’s nothing,” you hum, straightening up. “besides, if you keep working late, i’ll just have to start showing up every night.”

ino makes a strangled noise. nanami takes a sip of his coffee, unbothered.

—

later, nanami watches as ino struggles to focus during a sparring session.

it’s bad. the kid’s already a mess under normal circumstances, but today, he’s downright sloppy. his stance is off, his movements sluggish, his strikes lacking any real force. nanami doesn’t have to guess why.

he sees it in the way ino flinches when you walk past the training hall, his shoulders tensing like he’s physically holding himself back from looking. but his restraint only lasts a second—his gaze flickers toward you anyway, like a moth drawn to a flame.

it’s pathetic.

nanami doesn’t even need to move much to dodge the sloppy punch ino throws next, sidestepping effortlessly. ino tries to recover, shifting his weight, but nanami can already tell he’s not putting his full strength into it. he’s distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“you’re unfocused,” nanami states plainly, effortlessly blocking another weak attempt at a strike.

ino exhales sharply, shaking out his arms like that’ll somehow fix his obvious lack of composure. “just—just tired, that’s all,” he says, forcing a weak chuckle.

nanami stares at him, unimpressed.

“tired,” he repeats, tone dry.

ino nods, a little too eagerly. “yeah. long night.”

nanami doesn’t comment. he doesn’t need to. he’s known ino long enough to recognize his poor attempts at deflection. besides, nanami doesn’t have to say anything—not when ino completely exposes himself a second later.

because just as nanami steps forward to counter, you laugh at something in the hallway.

it’s not even loud. just a soft, amused sound, barely audible over the rhythmic thuds of sparring in the dojo. but ino hears it. worse, he reacts to it.

his body goes stiff, his focus snapping completely. nanami sees the exact moment his mind short-circuits—his fists unclenching, his stance faltering, his attention slipping from the fight entirely.

and so, nanami does what any good mentor would do.

he knocks ino flat on his ass.

“fuck,” ino groans, wheezing as he stares up at the ceiling.

nanami looms over him, arms crossed.

“if a simple distraction is enough to take you down, you won’t last long in the field,” nanami remarks coolly.

ino groans again, rubbing his face. “that wasn’t—i didn’t—”

nanami tilts his head. “if you’re tired, you should be able to focus through it,” he continues, watching as ino freezes. “unless, of course, something else is affecting your concentration.”

there it is. the telltale flicker of panic in ino’s eyes.

instead of pressing the issue further, he simply offers a hand. ino stares at it like he expects a follow-up attack, before reluctantly grasping it and letting nanami pull him to his feet.

“let’s go again.” nanami says, adjusting his sleeves.

ino exhales heavily. he nods, but nanami doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker toward the door one last time.

instead of stopping him, nanami lets him suffer through his own turmoil.

—

by the time ino realizes he never had a chance, it’s almost pathetic.

you show up one evening, like always, but this time, you don’t just drape yourself over nanami’s shoulders—you practically melt into him, sighing contentedly as he rests a hand on your hip.

ino looks like he’s about five seconds away from passing out.

it’s honestly impressive—nanami has seen the kid go up against curses twice his level, take hits that should’ve knocked him out cold, but nothing has shaken him quite like this.

the moment you walk in, all warmth and ease as you slide into nanami’s space, ino tenses. nanami doesn’t miss the way his gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his shoulder, fingers curling against the fabric of his suit.

“kento,” you murmur, leaning down just enough that your breath brushes against his ear. “let’s go home.”

nanami hums, his grip on your waist firm as he turns his head slightly, his nose grazing yours before he kisses you—slow and deliberate.

you sigh into it, and nanami uses the moment to deepen the kiss, letting his hand drift lower, just enough to make a point.

when he finally pulls away, he opens his eyes and—ah, there it is.

ino looks wrecked. eyes wide, mouth slightly open, standing there like a man who’s just watched his last shred of hope crumble to dust.

nanami meets his gaze, calm as ever, but there’s something sharp in his expression—something that makes ino straighten up like a scolded dog.

it’s not a threat. not really. nanami doesn’t need to threaten him.

it’s just a simple fact.

you’re his.

and ino? well, ino never had a chance.

—> part two(nsfw).

he thinks he's gonna eat him

don't be mad

husband!nanami who is also the father of your 2 children. dated for 6 years and married for 3–you couldn’t ask for anything more.

husband!nanami who is visibly confused during a conversation he had with his colleagues.

nanami usually avoids the break room whilst it was crowded. unfortunately, on a rare day that he’s forgotten to pick up his coffee from his favourite café, he had to walk into a break room full of a bunch of his coworkers talking about their children’s birthdays. they immediately turn to nanami who was standing in the corner and involved him in the conversation.

“it’s my daughter’s birthday soon. yeah i’m probably getting her one of those dolls and shit—she’s turning 5.” the suited up man takes a sip out of his coffee.

nanami nods apprehensively, wishing to leave the room already. “that’s nice. what are you getting for your wife?” he asks.

“what?” all four of his coworkers turned to look at him, and suddenly it felt like an episode of The Voice.

“…don’t you get your wife a gift when it’s your children’s birthdays??” the only time nanami is ever confused is when he does crossword puzzles. this.. is a whole different level.

his coworkers laugh at the absurd statement, some scoff and one pats nanami on the back.

—

nanami drives back home from work but he was more quiet than usual. he would typically turn the radio on and tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. the car however was dead silent.

“who doesn’t give their wife a gift..? tch.”

“do these young men even love their wives anymore? eugh.”

“y/n always seems really happy when i give her gifts on the girls’ birthday.. i can’t imagine not giving her any.”

—

he arrives home and parks in the garage, sighing and cracking his back before bursting through the door.

“i’m h—” before he could finish his sentence, his 3-year-old twin girls came running to hug him.

“daddy! daddy! you’re home!” they giggle and cling onto his legs as nanami leans over to place his hand on your back and kiss your lips. “hello my darlings,” he smiles.

“you’re home early.”

“just missed my girls a lot.”

—

it’s 11pm. the kids are asleep and you’ve done your skincare, the night lamp on as you lay in bed with your husband.

as you snuggle under the sheets, you suddenly feel big arms snake around your torso. you giggle and pull them closer to you before deciding to turn around and face the man beside you. you lay your head on his chest and he immediately caresses your back.

“my love?” nanami speaks up.

“yeeeees?” you sing. he holds you tighter now, before uttering: “you know how i give you a gift for the girls’ birthday?”

you smile softly at the memory—how could you forget? every birthday for three years, he always manages to surprise you with a gift. he treasures the day dearly. it’s your daughters’ birthday but it’s your birth-day.

“i just found out that not every father does that. at least.. my coworkers don’t.” you look up at him now, seeing his scrunched eyebrows and solemn pout—you can already tell it bothers him. “it’s absurd, isn’t it? what do you think?”

you hum, your eyes never leaving his expression. “to be honest, i’ve never witnessed someone do what you do. it’s not exactly common practice,”

nanami sighs, “i guess you’re right. i just love you so much, you know? i’ll keep showing my appreciation on the day that means a lot to me, to us. it’s the day we became a family and i.. i want to make sure you know how important you are, too.” his voice is soft, as though he's been carrying this thought for a while. you blink, the weight of his words settling in your chest. he doesn't say it often, but when he does, it’s clear he means every syllable.

a small laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity. “i know, baby. and i’m thankful for it, for you.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you as if he’s trying to hold on to the moment. “me too, darling. more than you’ll ever know.”

͙͘͡★ dividers by @bernardsbendystraws & @cafekitsune 👔

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.