Nanami Realest Jjk Character

Gojo would 100% be that over-the-top, chronically online boyfriend, the kind who turns every mundane moment into a viral TikTok or Instagram story. The fact that he's dating someone who barely texts back, has no social media presence, and just doesn’t care about internet clout? It drives him insane in the best way.

He’s all over his feed, posting thirst traps with captions like, “POV: You’re the luckiest girl alive,” tagging you even though you’ll never see it. Then there’s you—completely unbothered—rolling your eyes every time he shoves his phone in your face for a new TikTok.

“Babe, say hi to my followers!” “Gojo, what followers?” “The millions of them, obviously. Now give them a little wave—” “No.”

Gojo would totally make a TikTok of you fixing his car with some absurd soundbite like "A MAN, A MAN, AMMMMAANNNNN" while dramatically zooming in on your face covered in grease. Meanwhile, you’d just be looking at him like, "Do you ever shut up?"

And his followers? Eating it up.

Then cuts to a thirst-trap selfie of himself, just because.

Imagine him dragging you into a video where he’s like, “POV: You bagged a billionaire,” and you're standing there in your work clothes holding a wrench, absolutely done with his antics.

“Do you ever get tired of being embarrassing?” “Never,” he grins, “it’s part of my charm!”

And the nepo-baby billionaire vibes? Oh, he’s unbearable in the best way. You’re the grounded yin to his unhinged, internet-addicted yang, and somehow, it works perfectly.

Bouns:

He tries to rope you into one of those TikTok dance trends, but you’re having none of it. “C’mon, babe! Just do one move!” “No.” “Just clap at the end!” “No.” He eventually edits the TikTok with a cardboard cutout of you in the background while he’s dancing alone, captioning it: “Relationship status: She’s too good for me.”

<><><><><>

jjk fans we need, this tomorrow is a rough day for us 😩 let's thug it out together.

He hates the rain :(

𐔌 、kakashi　ﾉ　you quietly play the role of dutiful wife—until you uncover his secret stash of smut and realize your aloof husband might just be a filthy, pervert 𓈒　◟

cw: arranged marriageノdubcon undertones ノ obsession ノ explicit content ノdark themes ϑϱ

୨ৎ dead dove: do not eat！minors, blank & ageless blogs will be blocked ୨୧

You married him under sakura blossoms and a sky the color of secrets.

Kakashi Hatake never looked at you during the ceremony. His Sharingan was covered, his visible eye lowered, posture slack like this whole thing bored him. A political bond, they called it. A strategic arrangement. You were nothing but a name on a scroll, a signature in ink. You half expected him not to show up. Maybe a crow with a note tied to its leg instead—Sorry, too busy training. Best wishes.

But he came. He said "I do" with a shrug.

You moved into his quiet house tucked into a hill on the edge of the village, where the wind always carried the scent of pine and earth, and the porch creaked with age. He gave you the larger bedroom, disappeared into the smaller one down the hall. Never touched you. Barely spoke.

"Don’t trouble yourself," he murmured the first day, not even glancing up from his book. "I won’t get in your way."

So you didn’t. You dusted. Swept. Folded. You ironed his uniforms and laid them out with care. Cooked meals and left them covered with a little note—If you're hungry. Most went untouched.

You tiptoed around him like you were afraid to wake a sleeping wolf. A wife in name only. You kept your head down, told yourself it was fine. Maybe even peaceful.

Until one day you were cleaning.

It was raining. The sound of it tapping against the window made the silence heavier somehow. Kakashi wasn’t home. An early mission. You hummed as you dusted the shelf in his spare room—a room you weren’t supposed to touch, really, but something about it called to you today. Maybe it was the crooked frame. Maybe it was boredom. Or maybe it was the little pull of curiosity that always got girls like you in trouble.

You tugged the drawer open.

And froze.

Stacked. Neatly. Organized alphabetically, even. Rows of smutty novels. The kind with aggressively suggestive titles and lurid covers—The Icha Icha Chronicles: Lust in the Mist, Kunoichi Heat 3: Forbidden Jutsu. One was dog-eared right in the middle. You flipped it open before your brain could stop your hands, and—

The scene inside made your face go hot.

Someone tied up. Begging. Calling the man sensei. Pages sticky from too much use. You dropped it like it bit you and stumbled back.

Kakashi—stoic, unreadable Kakashi—was reading this filth?

You snapped the drawer shut and ran.

You didn’t bring it up. How could you?

You just scrubbed harder. Smiled tighter. Tried to push it out of your head. But then your panties started to vanish.

Not the plain ones. Not the folded cotton briefs. No—it was the delicate lace, the soft silk, the ones you only wore when you were feeling fragile and feminine. You thought maybe you misplaced them. Laundry mistake. Until it kept happening. Until you knew.

Then it was the scent. On the laundry. Faint, but there—something musky and warm and male. You started doing your laundry in secret.

And then one night, you caught him.

You woke for no reason. A soft creak. A breath. The door cracked open.

You pretended to stay asleep.

You kept your breaths slow, steady, heartbeat hammering in your ears as you felt his presence at the edge of the bed. So close. So quiet. Something shifted on the sheets.

You waited until he was gone to peek.

Your underwear drawer. Still open.

The next morning, Kakashi sipped his tea like nothing happened. Same bored look. Same lazy posture. The man who used your panties as a midnight addiction was smiling politely and asking if you wanted more sugar in your tea.

Your head spun.

How could he look at you like you were glass, when he was sneaking into your room just to press his face into your scent? How could he act so unaffected, when the flush on his throat betrayed something molten just under the skin?

You started watching him. Closer. The twitch of his fingers when you bent over. The way his eye followed the line of your throat when your robe slipped just a little. You tested it—dropped a towel "accidentally," bent slowly. Kakashi didn’t move.

But he stared.

When you turned to look at him, his nose was buried in that damned book again. As if he didn’t just imagine bending you over the table and fucking you till your knees gave out.

He was a ghost in the day and a deviant in the dark.

And you were the good little wife who smiled and served tea.

But you felt it now. The tension curling around both of you like smoke. The sharp awareness. The way his voice dipped low when he said thank you for breakfast, like it had a thousand meanings under it. The way your thighs clenched when he stood too close.

One night, you found a pair of your panties—worn, damp, and warm—folded under your pillow.

Your hands shook. You didn’t throw them out.

You tucked them away.

You weren’t sure who you were becoming.

But it made you wet just to think about it.

Maomao, every time she looks at Jinshi:

the getaway driver & his gunman | theyre the duo you probably didnt want to run into on the road at night 🏍💨

Pretty writers please can you feed me more nerdjo works of arts please ? I need them to breathe.

i miss you summer geto

maomao when every important figure in the empire keeps asking for her help

❝𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝❞

Royalty AU || Crown Prince Megumi x Reader

"Either way, you weren’t supposed to catch the eye of the Crown Prince. But you did — not because you tried to impress him, but because you didn’t."

wc: 2.1k warnings: none :)

part 2

The capital was alive tonight.

Festival banners flapped from balcony rails and rooftop chimneys, catching on the breeze like ribbons loosed from a dancer’s hair. Lanterns painted the cobblestone roads in soft orange, fluttering shadows of people moving together, laughter spilling into the humid air. Merchants sang out their prices with theatrical flair, children darted through alleys with sweet-stained mouths, and musicians strummed wild, joyful notes like the world might end tomorrow.

You were halfway through a skewer of grilled eel when the drums began to roll.

“Must be the opening ceremony,” someone murmured beside you, eyes turned toward the main pavilion at the center of the square. You followed their gaze only briefly, already familiar with the routine — the arrival of the royal family, the crown prince's cold, obligatory speech, the nobles parading their newest silks.

You wiped your hand on your sleeve and turned away before the first horn blew.

It wasn’t that you disliked the royal family. You just didn’t care for the spectacle — for the desperation in the way people craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the gilded puppets who ruled the realm from their marble towers.

You weren’t here for the crown.

You were here for the chaos. The color. The sense that, for one night a year, everything felt real.

Which was why you didn’t notice him at first.

You were leaning against a stone wall, drink in hand, watching a group of fire dancers carve patterns into the night sky. The scent of charred cinnamon and plum wine hung in the air, dizzying. Around you, the crowd stirred and shifted. Whispers rippled out from the direction of the royal carriage — excitement, reverence, awe.

And then the hush.

The kind that falls when something sacred enters a room.

You didn’t bow. You didn’t crane your neck like the rest. You simply turned your head and looked.

And that’s when it happened.

Your eyes met his.

Crown Prince Megumi Fushiguro stood a few meters away, half-shadowed by the guards at his side and the height of the ceremonial platform. He was dressed in deep navy and obsidian black, a sharp contrast to the lanternlight glow that softened everyone else. His hair was pulled back, silver threading the edge of his collar, and a ceremonial sword rested at his hip.

He looked like something carved from dusk.

He was already scanning the crowd — out of duty, you guessed. The kind of passive observation someone in power did automatically. But when his gaze passed over you, it stopped.

Not paused.

Stopped.

And held.

You blinked, surprised. Not by the fact that he was looking — but by the way it felt.

Not hungry. Not judgmental. Just… curious. As if he were trying to figure out what exactly it was about you that didn’t match the room.

Your heart knocked once, uncertain.

You didn’t bow. You didn’t look away. You simply raised one brow in return — a small, almost amused expression. Not mocking. Just present. Undaunted.

You weren’t supposed to catch the eye of the Crown Prince. You weren’t a noble. You weren’t dressed in silk or painted in powdered makeup. You weren’t fawning or smiling or trying to be noticed.

But you had his attention.

And you knew better than to show it affected you.

So you turned away first.

You didn’t expect anything to come of it.

The festival carried on. The dancers performed. You wandered through back alleys and vendor stalls, slipping through the thick of the crowd without ceremony or fanfare.

But hours later — long after the sky turned navy and the music dulled — you returned home and found something odd.

Tucked just inside your windowsill was a piece of folded parchment, weighted down by a small violet.

You stared at it for a long moment.

You hadn’t left the window open. No one had access to your home. You lived in the upper floor of a bookshop, above the creaking floors and scent of aged paper, and the only one who knew your habits was the shopkeeper’s cat.

You unfolded the paper slowly.

Neat handwriting. Sharp strokes. Precise lettering.

"You didn’t say much, you didn’t need to. That’s what I liked about you."

No name. No title. Just that.

And the flower.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t want to believe it — but deep down, you already knew. You remembered that stare. The weight of it. The way his eyes had followed you not like a predator, but like a question.

You turned the note over.

Blank.

You reread it once. Twice.

Then you tucked it away in a drawer and told yourself it meant nothing.

But of course, the world wasn’t kind enough to let it go.

Because three days later, you saw him again.

You were crossing the narrow bridge near the west gardens, a shortcut to the shop. The early morning mist still clung to the stone, curling around your boots like smoke.

You didn’t expect to see anyone there.

So when the figure appeared from the other side, you froze.

He wasn’t dressed like a prince this time.

No crown. No royal colors. Just simple dark fabric, travel-worn boots, and gloves tucked into his belt. But you knew. The way he walked — steady, upright. The way he carried himself like someone who bore weight on his shoulders no one else could see.

Megumi Fushiguro.

You stopped at the center of the bridge.

So did he.

A silence stretched between you.

Then.

“You didn’t bow,” he said.

It wasn’t a reprimand. Just an observation.

You lifted a brow, mirroring the expression he’d given you days earlier. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

His mouth twitched. The smallest shadow of amusement.

“I wasn’t expecting you to remember me,” you added, tone light.

“I wasn’t expecting to notice you,” he replied evenly. “But I did.”

The air between you stilled.

You swallowed. “Is that why I found a flower on my windowsill?”

“I don’t leave flowers for just anyone.”

There was something quiet in his voice. Not flirtation — no, he didn’t seem the type for that. It was something else. Something real. Unadorned.

You stepped closer, just slightly, until only a few feet separated you. The mist curled higher.

“Why?” you asked.

“Why the flower?”

“No. Why me?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dipped, just once, to your hands — ink-stained from morning deliveries, fingers curled loosely against the chill.

Then he looked up again.

“You didn’t try,” he said.

You frowned.

“You weren’t trying to be seen,” he clarified. “You didn’t perform. You didn’t pretend. You just... were. In a world full of people shouting to be noticed, you were quiet. And you meant it.”

Your heart stuttered.

No one had ever spoken to you like that before.

And certainly not him.

The Crown Prince.

You don’t know what possessed you to do it — boldness, madness, maybe the intoxication of being seen — but you smiled. Just faintly. The way a person smiles when they finally stop holding their breath.

“You shouldn't be out here alone,” you said softly.

“And you shouldn’t talk to me like we’re equals.”

“Are we not?”

That earned you the smallest crack in his composure — a breath of a laugh, hushed and tired and real.

“Careful,” he murmured. “People lose their heads for less.”

“I’ve already lost mine,” you said. “Might as well use what’s left of it to say something honest.”

His eyes lingered on you.

Like he was memorizing something he shouldn’t want to keep.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he took one step back.

“This bridge doesn’t exist tomorrow,” he said, voice lower now. “Not officially.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “But if it did, I might be passing it again. Just before dawn.”

You didn’t speak.

But when he walked past you, his sleeve brushed yours.

And it was the softest thing you’d ever felt.

Escort! Satoru- part five

Pairings- Escort Satoru Gojo x shy CEO F! reader

Warnings- mutual pining like a mf, obsessed ass/whipped ass Gojo, mutual pining, lots of yearninggg, kissing (I KNOW YAYYY) dry humping, teasing, fingering, public play, fluffy and cute- there will be a part six! (final) pretty woman vibes 🤭

<<<Part Four

Escort! Satoru finally does it, he asks you on that date, watching the shock in your eyes, the trembling of your lips as you step back, and Satoru feels it then, the hammering of his heart. Is it too late? Should he have reached out again to you after the first night, when you didn't answer? His blue eyes peer at you over those glasses, as the sunlight beats down on your skin, making his cheeks just a little reddened, striking across his pale skin.

Escort! Satoru eases his hands gently off your face, when you swallow nervously - he hurt you so badly that night, the embarrassment of asking him to hold you, dying for a mere kiss on the lips. How could you be so foolish, truly, you had to try to forget him in any way you could, after sleeping with him and knowing he would never be yours, always sharing him, he was just there because of your money and maybe he enjoyed it. But it wasn't more.

Escort! Satoru realizes how much he fucking missed you now, as if some void is filled by your presence, but you lower his hands gently, holding them for a moment. 'I was so...' stupid, you were stupid 'I'm very sorry I asked you for things you never do,' you sigh, looking around, seeing people walk by. 'I should have respected your-' Satoru stops you then, tilting your chin up, your gaze focused on him. 'I should have held you, okay? I'm sorry...' you feel your eyes fill with the tears, as words you've dreamed of are spoken, and they feel just like that- a dream. 'I want a real date, could we?'

Escort! Satoru eyes you when your phone rings, and you look down nervously. 'I have a date tonight, the first in... years' Satoru steps back now, glaring at you. 'With who?' you blink in surprise. 'Why does it matter to you? Do you think after months I wouldn't ever wanna try?' Satoru grips your wrist, thumb brushing against the veins gently, sending shivers down your spine, as he tries to compose himself, he has no right to be so mad, so jealous. 'Fine, then give me a date after' he murmurs, desperate for you, how can he see you and not try? After everything he's been yearning for appears before him, and he knows how badly he fucked up. 'I don't know...' you want to, god you do, but you also know how badly Satoru can hurt you, uniquely. 'Please just, give me a chance to explain myself, to be myself and not...' he trails off, the wind blows gently and a little blossom lands on your hair, which he sweetly brushes away. 'One chance'

Escort! Satoru is furious thinking about anyone touching you, though it's toxic and unrealistic in every aspect. His job was to touch, though he'd throw it all away if you asked, god he would, because he doesn't find joy in any of it. No amount of money fills this emptiness, but he never thought he'd have a chance with you - only to ruin it. 'I'll go out with you this weekend, but you pick the place, and pick me up' you say softly, his heart thuds as he nods eagerly, desperate and pathetic for you - something he's never been until you ruined him with just your energy, your body, that laugh he'd love to have back. Memories of your night fill him then, as he aches to touch you, to know you, to kiss you.

Escort! Satoru plans the date to a tee, but the whole time he's wondering - where are you going, and with who? Would you prefer them over him? Meanwhile you're trying to get through that date, mind wandering, you just tried to open up for the first time since Satoru broke your heart - even if it was your own fault. You try to smile, and enjoy him, a handsome man that surely was perfect on paper, and interested in you. As the night goes on and the drinks pour, you think to yourself, you should try, letting him kiss you at the end of the evening, wondering what you'll feel. It's nice, but it's nothing like just being near Satoru. Frustrated almost to tears, you're laying in bed that night, as the man in your head that you almost pushed down enough, is back front and center.

Escort! Satoru can't stand it, knowing you're on a date, he almost texts you so many times before he caves - 'ready for our date?'- he smirks, hoping your with whoever it was. But you don't answer him for hours, until you finally write him - yes - and that's it, no sweet banter like the two of you had. It's different, had you really already moved on? He trembles as he texts you - 'how was the date?' - and you write - 'it was fine, any jobs tonight? - and that's when he realizes you're mad. The sweetest girl he met is so clearly mad. He hadn't taken a job tonight, and he's cancelled his week, but he gets it clearly. - 'no job tonight, I'm excited to see you' - He's never said that to anyone. You heart the message, emotions catching, excitement but apprehension in equal parts, you just don't know if he's serious, you're so scared to let go again.

Escort! Satoru picks you up that night in his car, some little Maserati sports car that looks like it goes way too fast. You can't act like he's not sexy as fuck as he steps out of it, opening your door and grinning at you, but you try to hold back, smiling with a 'thank you' as you slide in next to him. Satoru's hand craves to press on your thigh, but fuck if he's not nervous, he hasn't had a date since he started this career despite his job being to go on dates, not a real one, not with someone he asked. He's damn near shaking with his nerves, trying to play it off, as he drives through the quiet streets, smiling over at you with a quirk of his lips. 'You look beautiful' his words make you flustered, nervously tugging a bit on the gorgeous dress you're wearing, glittering like the stars in the sky - fuck your very skin itself glitters. 'you're saying it truly this time?'

Escort! Satoru glares now, foot on his break, scowling at you. 'what do you mean truly? you think I didn't mean any of it?' you blink back unexpected tears, looking out the dark tinted window as he drives once more. 'It was your job, that's all, and I told you I took it too far, you shouldn't feel bad that happened. I - ah!' he skids to a stop suddenly, pulling off the side of the road, and unbuckling your seatbelt so fast you can barely register. He's got you on his lap so fast, as cars whirl by, shaking the fucking car and shocking you further, as he handles you like it's nothing. You brace your hands on his chest, so nervous now, hands clenching the black jacket of his tux, breaths faster and faster. 'You are beautiful, I never said that because of a job' he swipes away your tears, lips hovering over yours, as he exhales, breath tickling your lips. 'What are you doing, Satoru?' your whisper is weak, as he drags you even closer, and his eyes dart to your lips. 'What I should have done that night'

Escort! Satoru slams his lips on yours then and there, you feel it like hot, electric shots going through your body when he does, when he's pressing those plush, glossy lips on yours, and you're shattering over him, lost in his kiss. Satoru has never felt anything like it, like finally kissing you, his tongue slipping in your mouth, drinking up your every cry, every gasp, as you roll your hips just right, and he feels the heat he's been dying for against his aching cock. 'Fuck...' his hushed words are met with your little cry, which just has him dragging you down harder, ready to devour every sweet inch of you, but barely being able to drag himself from your lips, gasping as he pulls back, eyes meeting yours, glimmering now. 'Satoru you... kissed me...' you're close to crying now, trembling as he sighs, cupping your pretty face, the one that's haunted him. 'I've wanted to since I first saw you'

Escort! Satoru keeps kissing you, over and over, desperate and messy, you almost cum just from that friction against you, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, as his huge hands press into your skin. 'I need you, fuck I need you sweetheart- god you have no clue' you're easing back, struggling to compose yourself. 'Am I so VIP?' you tease softly, and he feels it then, the soft way you're asking - not judging, but scared. He exhales, resting his head on yours, shaking his head and pulling you down again. 'I'll gladly delete my whole fucking profile, for a chance with you' his words sink in fully. Your cheeks are hot under his gentle touch. 'I just don't... Satoru, you don't have to do this for me. I understand...' He kisses you once more, before your phone rings.

Escort! Satoru glares, and you can't help but giggle. 'Are you jealous?' he just sets his jaw, as you look over and see it, holding the phone with a shaky hand, and he pulls you harder on his cock, having your eyes roll back in your skull. 'Tell him you're on a date' he whispers, gripping you so tight, before easing you to sit back in your seat, kissing you over and over. 'Let's get there, okay?' you're trying to compose yourself, seeing him shift and wince while he drives once more, pouting. 'You enjoying my pain, sweets?' you can't help but giggle again. The date is pretty and serene, the restaraunt on the roof top, swathed in moonlight. Satoru feeds you carefully, the two of you sharing dessert, talking and laughing like the first time he fucking met you - when he knew then, something was so special about you, something he could never pin fully, but he sees it, with how the candle light hits your face, your sweet blush as his hand slips up your thigh.

Escort! Satoru is not happy to learn you've had a kiss, and your amused little smile is quickly lost, when he slips his fingers between your thighs, and you wildly look around, as he smirks at you. 'That's cute, you kissed? did you like that?' he's taunting now, possessive gaze, that you can't get enough of, fuck you want all of him, even though you're scared, so scared to be hurt again. He's pressing his fingers against your panties, which are soaked, watching as your eyes get lidded, hand gripping the thick white cloth, and he slips under then, feeling the heat he'd been dying for, leaning in close. 'Asked you a question, hmm?' you lean closer, hips shifting, jerking as he thumbs your twitchy little clit, making you gush. 'Would you be mad if I liked it, Satoru?' he sighs, slipping two fingers in your slick hole, making you almost moan in the fucking restaurant now. 'You're wet for me, aren't you, all me?' He's curling them now, acting so casual as a waitress refills your wine, and you pray no one hears the squishing noises your juices are making.

Escort! Satoru can't help but suck you off his fingers, right before he makes you cum, and you're throbbing around nothing, wanting. You're clenching your teeth as you watch, as if he's finishing his dessert- and when he tastes you again!? He can barely control himself, eyes dilated while you sink into his tastebuds, ready to finally give you what you want, and need, and deserve, fuck you so good you can't function, and hold and kiss you. Satoru slips his lips on yours in front of the restaurant, and you taste yourself, whining into his lips. Suddenly a girl sees him, a frequent client who'd gotten too obsessed, and walks right up to him, crossing her arms. He eases back in the seat, as you look down shyly, unsure of who she is. 'I'm on a date' his words make your heart flutter now, as she glares. 'ah, so you do kiss? was this some special package, do you know how expensive you are?' you bite back a smile, and Satoru just grins, shaking his head like a little shit. 'It's different, she's my girlfriend.'

Escort! Satoru blushes when you whisper 'your girlfriend, huh?' in his ear moments later, as a very angry client stomps off, and he brushes back your hair, hard body against yours, studying your face. 'Would you... be my girlfriend?'

I need one more part for these two - it'll probably be all sex lolll hope you enjoy this one!

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