Significant Figures

by anqelbeom

Summary:

Gojo grinned shamelessly. “Baby,” he drawled, voice practically purring now, “are you curious about torque?”

Nanami blinked. He peered up at Gojo in confusion. “Torque?”

“Yeah, we can learn about it,” Gojo went on, leaning in with all the audacity of a man who had nothing to lose, “by placing your mass on my rod.”

-

In which Gojo's time working on his thesis might demand more than just precision, but his boyfriend, Nanami, wants to matter in more than just decimal places.

Notes:

Hellooo, this is sort of an early birthday chapter post from me so that I can get the second chapter up and ready for the big dayy

Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll I created over on the bird app — I made two tweets about Nerd!Jo that inspired this fic because we cardinally need more Gonana and Nerd!Jo so why not feed the masses myself :’)

WARNING: Anything mentioned that is physics-related has been drawn from a deep dive search in physics, so I apologise to anybody if it's inaccurate in any shape or form. That being said, I will apologise now to those who are currently undergoing/completed a PhD, or know anyone who is doing one. I know basically nothing about them, so again, this is based on research + what little creativity my brain has to offer.

Sorry if this isn’t up to everyone’s expectations of Nerd!Jo - I hope I did it justice as much as I can :’)

Chapter 1: one

Gojo Satoru was always busy. Nanami had accepted that long ago — ever since the man’s utterly formal, borderline theatrical ‘courting proposal’ during his first year of university. Courting. How traditional. Then again, Gojo came from a family with a long-standing tradition to uphold tradition with vehemence. 

It had been two weeks — maybe even three — since Nanami last saw him. The last he heard, Gojo had a routine meeting with his supervisor — just a check-in, he said — and yet he seemed more rattled than usual. As far as Nanami was aware, Gojo was right on track with his PhD. His research for Theoretical Physics was going smoothly, and Gojo knew he wasn’t wasting anybody’s time with it.

Nanami, being the diligent boyfriend that he was, understood how stressful this time would be for him. After all, he was an acclaimed child prodigy and surpassed practically all of his teachers’ expectations.

When Gojo first asked him out during his freshman year, Nanami made it clear that he wanted a relationship, not a friends-with-benefits situation, and Gojo assured him that that wouldn’t be the case.

But now, years later, it felt like that — something Gojo could brush aside easily.

Doing a PhD wasn’t easy, and he was proud of Gojo every day, no matter what he did. He had tried not to take it personally. His boyfriend was smart; he, of all people, knew that, and he was good at anything he laid his hands on. Gojo had always chased brilliance at the expense of everything else: sleep, sanity, relationships. Nanami had thought, foolishly perhaps, that he’d be an exception. The exception.

Gojo was the one to reach out, for the first time in what felt like forever, said that he hadn’t seen Nanami in aeons and wanted him to spend a night or two at his apartment. Nanami blindly agreed. Why would he be silly and ignore an opportunity to see his man?

He knocked on the door once and waited. There was no sound of any kind of movement inside. He knocked again.

Nanami sighed as he re-adjusted the strap of his overnight bag higher on his shoulder. Usually, Gojo opened the door almost instantly for him. He rushed over after his last lecture ended. Had he already forgotten about their date? He had messaged Gojo earlier in the week to double-check that they were still good for today, but he hadn’t received a reply until three days later.

A few moments later, the door opened to reveal none other than his boyfriend, in an old graphic tee and grey sweats. His glasses were perched precariously in a messy nest of white hair.

“Kento, you’re here early,” Gojo stated in lieu of a reply, a sound of surprise laced in his tone.

Nanami frowned. “You don’t sound pleased to see me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Gojo said, shaking his head. He opened the door wider, enough for Nanami to slip inside with quickness. “I just thought you’d be coming over later, that’s all.”

“We agreed on 7,” Nanami said. He carefully slid his loafers off, neatly putting them to the side next to Gojo’s own shoes. “Unless you’re busy, then I’ll come back another time.”

It wasn’t ideal at all, but Nanami supposed he could wait a little longer for Gojo, as he always did.

“You do remember that you have a key to my place, right?” Gojo asked instead. He’d given Nanami a key weeks into their relationship, and yet, Nanami hasn’t ever once used it on free will unless Gojo, somehow, lost his set of keys.

“And you do remember that you have a boyfriend, right?”

Gojo pouted. “Good point.”

Nanami watched as he followed Gojo into the living room. The apartment looked worse than Nanami expected; with stacks of papers teetering on the edge of the sofa and pens scattered everywhere on the coffee table, several half-eaten sweet wrappers littered on the floor, and Gojo’s laptop blinking with open tabs. The room smelled faintly of a never-ending sugar rush and days of sleep deprivation.

Gojo looked worse: his hair was unkempt, strands falling out of their usual places, and his shoulders were painfully hunched. The back of his shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing his porcelain skin to the cool air of the apartment, and one leg of his trousers was rolled entirely up to his knee. Usually, Gojo would greet him with a sloppy kiss, but that has suddenly become an afterthought, almost like Nanami himself.

“Is Geto-san still here?” Nanami wondered. He dropped his bag on the edge of the couch, the only spot devoid of any mess from Gojo’s belongings. Judging the room, one would think that only Gojo lived here, completely disregarding the life of his roommate and best friend, Geto.

“Nah, Suguru left a while ago to go see Haibara. Something about him blowing up his phone with a bunch of texts about seeing a film.”

“Must be nice.” The corners of Nanami’s lips quirked up just the tiniest bit. “At least they’ve found time to see each other.” Unlike some people. He glanced sideways at Gojo. Nanami could feel an arm reaching up to tug at his cardigan’s sleeve. 

The older stared at him with a blank expression. Silence permeated the air, with tension mixed in, making it all too stifling. The gaze of his beloved’s piercing blue dropped, fingers twitching like Gojo was debating something. Then, without a word, he stepped forward.

In a flash, Gojo had pulled Nanami into him, Nanami’s front flushed against Gojo’s, with his arms easily wrapping around Nanami’s entire body. Only then did Nanami’s body slightly heat up - the longing, the familiarity and security all returning in one wave after so long. 

He dropped his head on Nanami’s shoulder. “You’re not leaving me,” Gojo said, voice low and almost shaky. The lines of begging and confidence blurred together. His hold on Nanami tightened, just the slightest. “I’m sorry, Kento. I didn’t mean to shut you out like that. I just… I can’t think about anything else right now. But I missed you. God, I miss you.”

Nanami nestled his head deeper into the white-haired man’s chest. He inhaled Gojo’s cologne, a mix of sandalwood and earthy scents. He’s missed this – far more than he’d like to admit.

“That’s not fair,” Nanami huffed. “You don’t get to just say that you miss me after shutting me out and think you can get away with it.”

Even without looking, he knew Gojo was frowning. “It wasn’t deliberate, I swear. My supervisor changed halfway through, and the new one is an absolute dick—“

“I know that,” Nanami interrupted, tone even and eerily cool. Gojo visibly shivered at his words. Nanami was the one who received the call immediately after Gojo’s meeting had ended with this new supervisor, a professor who had transferred from Kyoto. Unfortunately for Gojo, he seemed to have an agenda against him due to his family name. “But it still hurt. I don’t hear from you for days, and when I do, it’s half a sentence and a link to a research paper you want me to proofread quickly. You say you miss me, but I’m starting to wonder if you only remember me when you’re stressed and need comfort.”

Gojo reeled back, pushing Nanami away from him at arm’s length. His arms journeyed up to Nanami’s shoulders, gripping them in a vice. “Kento,” he said, gaping.

His mouth opened, then shut, like he didn’t trust himself to speak. His fingers tightened slightly on Nanami’s hips.

Nanami exhaled slowly, controlled. “I didn’t come here to fight. I came because I missed you. Because you asked. But I can’t keep doing this — holding all of this space for us and getting crumbs in return. You need to meet me halfway.”

For a second, Gojo looked wrecked. Not in the dramatic way he acted, but genuinely gutted.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, nodding. “I’m sorry. I’ve been… I’ve been an idiot about all of this. I wasn’t trying to push you away, Kento. I think I just… start drowning in the work and forget how to breathe. And then I miss you so much it hurts.”

Nanami studied him, noting the sincerity in his expression and the slight crack in his voice. Eventually, he sighed again and rested his head against Gojo’s chest — not in surrender, but in exhausted acceptance.

“You’d better fix it,” he muttered.

“I will,” Gojo whispered.

Then, without hesitation, he cupped Nanami’s jaw and kissed him — slow, grounding, and real. Nanami leaned in before he could stop himself, muscles softening like he’d been waiting for this exact pressure on his mouth all night.

Finally.

He hated how well his boyfriend knew him. Hated how a kiss like that could erase the worst of his moods in seconds. Nanami hated it, and yet he wanted more of it.

Gojo didn’t pull back right away. He pressed one more, barely-there kiss to the corner of Nanami’s mouth, his breath fanning across Nanami’s cheek as he smiled against it. “You always feel like safety and comfort,” he murmured. “Even when you’re pissed at me.”

Nanami rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you missed me.”

Nanami gave the smallest, grumpiest nod on Gojo’s shoulder. “Unfortunately, I do. I do miss you.”

Gojo cooed. Wordlessly, he pulled away and started to walk backwards, guiding Nanami with him as he plopped back onto the sofa, pulling the blond into his lap.

Nanami should’ve resisted the way Gojo tugged him down so easily — but the need for closeness, for being seen, had won out. It’d been too long, he thought. Let me indulge just this once. As if he didn’t do that plenty already. His arms wrapped around Nanami’s middle, tugging the man closer to his chest as Nanami’s legs bracketed his hips.

Gojo didn’t let go.

He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

He tucked his face into Nanami’s neck, breath warm against his skin. His arms relaxed, holding Nanami loosely — but not too loosely, far too afraid to let the man slip through his fingers again.

Then, Gojo murmured, “Can we stay like this for a little while longer?”

A beat passed.

He then added: “Or maybe forever?”

Nanami’s fingers curled into the edge of Gojo’s sleeve, nails close to digging into the man’s bicep. The ache in his chest pulsed slowly and deeply. This was the Gojo he rarely got to see — not loud or flippant, but honest. Tired. Needing. For Nanami and Nanami only.

He let it sit there, let Gojo have the moment. But eventually, he leaned back enough to look at him, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, barely.

“Forever sounds good,” Nanami agreed, yet he shook his head. “But not now. Not when you still have your thesis to work on.”

Gojo threw his head back and groaned. “Way to ruin the moment.”

Nanami was quick to flick his forehead, earning a whine from Gojo in response. He rubbed at the offending spot with a pout.

“You did this to yourself by agreeing to do a PhD. Face the consequences.”

Gojo huffed. “And what will you do in the meantime?”

Nanami quickly scanned the room, eyes twitching at the mess of it all, excluding the mess he called Gojo Satoru.

“You’re going to work on your thesis,” Nanami reiterated.

“Uh, yeah, we’ve established that al— hey, Kento, where are you going? Come back!” Nanami was quick to get off of Gojo’s lap, beelining to grab at a pile of unwashed articles of clothing: a t-shirt, a pair of shorts and some socks.

“I’m going to clean your apartment,” Nanami declared.

Gojo looked at him, suddenly torn. “I didn’t ask you here to do housekeeping for me.”

“And I didn’t ask you to abandon me to work on your PhD now, did I?” Nanami quipped back in a quick succession.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” His boyfriend whined, kicking his feet in the air like a child while almost hitting his laptop in the process.

Nanami turned. “I don’t tolerate a sullied home, no matter the occupants living in it.” He narrowed his eyes, giving Gojo a scathing look.

In return, Gojo blankly stared at him. “I will not be able to focus if you’re going to act all domestic in front of me.”

Ignoring him, Nanami placed the bundle of clothes in one pile at Gojo’s feet. He then leaned into Gojo’s space, sniffing his t-shirt before quickly retracting with a grimace. “This smells. Take it off so I can put it in the wash for you.”

“What?!” Gojo squeaked, jumping slightly as his face grew crimson. His hands flew to his thighs, gripping onto the fabric in a vice. “B-But I’ll be shirtless!”

“And?” Nanami raised a brow. “Take off your sweats, too. Who knows when it was the last time since you washed them.”

“Kento.”

“What? You’re acting as if I’ve never seen you naked before.”

“Th-that’s not the point!” Gojo sputtered.

Nanami gave him an unimpressed look. “You fuck me with and without clothes on, Satoru,” he deadpanned. “I think I’ll be able to handle you in just boxers.” But then, Nanami went quiet, pondering. Thinking. Should he poke the bear further? “Unless those aren’t clean either? Then you might as well take them—“

“No!” Gojo interrupted. “They’re very much clean. I promise. Don’t worry, I showered before you arrived, my underwear is fine.”

Nanami could only roll his eyes. Yet, his hand was outstretched for the remaining fabrics. Gojo couldn’t protest anymore, even if he wanted to try. He was quick to remove his t-shirt, pulling it off in one fluid movement before doing the same with his sweatpants. He threw them at Nanami without ceremony.

“That’s not funny.” Nanami scowled. Luckily, his catches were still good and caught both fabrics.

“You’ve stripped me down,” Gojo scoffed. “Happy now?”

Nanami swooped in and pressed a quick kiss at the corner of Gojo’s mouth, before retreating away for what hopefully is the final time until Gojo is done working for the night. “Much,” he murmured. “At least the apartment will smell less.”

His boyfriend was practically gaping at him. Gojo’s ears grew red, as did his face. Something bloomed inside of Nanami, knowing he still had that effect on the man after all this time. “You know, people would pay to see me like this.”

Nanami rolled his eyes, refusing to give a suitable response. Gojo wasn’t lying — he knew that better than anyone. Over the years, his boyfriend had been a constant source of eye candy for his peers and the university population as a whole.

Every corridor, every lecture, Gojo’s name would be spoken of like a call to prayer by someone, somehow. Whether it was due to a crazy lab experiment he took part in, or what he wore on a particular day. 

Like Nanami, Gojo hardly attended fraternity parties during his undergraduate and his master's studies. There just wasn’t time, he claimed. Too busy reading the latest research paper he found in Tokyo’s Physics Journal online, or his head buried deep into learning about a new theory while burning the midnight oil in the library.

Nanami was quick to make his way to where Gojo’s washing machine was, further into the apartment in its own little room just near the bathroom. Meticulously, he folded each one and placed them inside with precision.

Nanami was halfway through tossing in Gojo’s t-shirt when he paused. It wasn’t cheap — a limited edition piece from a previous Digimon collection a few years ago. Nanami couldn’t personally justify spending all that money on something as trivial as a t-shirt, but Gojo—the less frugal one between them— bought it on the spot, and now it’s become one of his prides and joys in life.

He held the fabric up, inspecting it with narrowed eyes. It was a dark charcoal colour with a few characters on it that Nanami couldn’t identify. It was loose, oversized, and the collar stretched from years of wear. Soft in the way only old shirts could be. There was a faint smell of detergent mixed in with expensive cologne and something distinctly Satoru. His nose wrinkled at first. Then softened.

Nanami looked down at himself — a light cardigan over a plain white tee and slacks. It wouldn’t hurt to get comfortable now, he thought. His own clothes were still packed away in his overnight bag, and Gojo’s t-shirt was right here, in his very hands.

Whatever. It’s just a shirt. Satoru wouldn’t mind, anyway. 

He was quick to take off his clothes, tugging the t-shirt over his head without care, letting it fall over his frame. The hem swayed somewhere just above his thighs, riding high enough to expose the edges of his navy briefs when he moved.

It was comforting. Ridiculous. But comforting.

Soon after, the detergent was poured out, and the machine whirred to life, ready to begin its cycle.

With his clothes in tow, Nanami made his way back into the living room, paying no mind to the furious clicking sounds coming from Gojo’s keyboard as he crouched down to stash his clothes away in his bag.

Suddenly, the sound of harsh clicking stopped. He turned his head to find Gojo eyeing him with a somewhat predatory look.

“You…” Gojo gulped, frantically looking around the room in case someone were to appear suddenly. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Nanami arched a brow and resumed picking up wrappers and cans with practised efficiency. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this — and it wouldn’t be the last, either. “It’s soft.”

“Yeah, I know it’s soft,” Gojo said, voice slightly hoarse. His grip on the laptop's edge tightened. “I just didn’t expect you to look like… that in it.”

“In what way?” Nanami asked, feigning innocence. His back was turned to him, his posture relaxed, as he bent slightly to scoop up a stray granola wrapper from under the coffee table.

Gojo made a noise — something between a whimper and a wheeze.

“You can’t just walk around like that and expect me to work,” Gojo hissed. “That’s entrapment.”

Nanami glanced over his shoulder, deadpan. “I’m cleaning your apartment.”

“In my clothes.”

“In your shirt ,” Nanami corrected. “The one you threw at me, remember? Or has your brain already gone foggy from those physics equations?”

“You’re not wearing pants.”

Nanami gave him a long look. “Would you prefer I do this naked?” 

“For science, yes.”

Nanami stared. “For science,” he parroted flatly.

Silence.

Then, just to test him, Nanami made a move to lift the hem of the shirt, and Gojo practically lunged.

“No!” Gojo squawked, almost jumping out of his seat. “K-keep it on,” he mumbled. “Just… Don’t be s-so distracting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Nanami drawled and went back to cleaning.

He didn’t wear the t-shirt to tease, not really. But he wasn’t blind to the way Gojo’s gaze dragged across his thighs either. Part of him liked it. Part of him missed it. Being looked at like that. Knowing he is—and will be—the only person Gojo has ever looked at like this.

Nanami could tell that Gojo was watching him from the sofa, chin propped on his hand like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t watching at all. But he was. Intently.

Gojo, who had actually returned to typing for a whole two minutes, hummed innocently. “I’m a scholar,” he said, as if the two were interchangeable. “I thrive in chaos. Like Newton, or Frankenstein.”

“You mean Einstein, the doctor, not the monster?”

“Baby, I’m the monster. You knew what you were signing up for when you let me court you.”

Nanami ignored him, choosing instead to reach for a ball-up hoodie half-tucked beneath the coffee table. The movement caused him to shift onto his knees, bent forward slightly, his back curved.

Gojo’s breath hitched.

“God, you’re so hot when you clean,” he muttered, voice just loud enough.

Nanami didn’t turn around. “I will throw your thesis into the bin.”

He could hear the grin in Gojo’s voice. “Good, it’d probably be an improvement. Maybe my supervisor will cry and finally leave me alone.”

And yet, despite himself, Nanami felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

Infuriating. His man was infuriating, and Nanami loved him all the same.

Nanami brought the fabric up to his nose, and it still smelled relatively clean. He turned to Gojo, only briefly, to throw it at him, landing directly smack bang in the middle of the white-haired man’s face.

“Wear this,” he coughed. “Or else you’ll get a cold.”

Gojo raised a brow. “What happened to you being able to handle me in only my boxers?”

Nanami huffed, deadpanning, “As hot as I may find you, you’re not fun to cuddle when you have the body of an iceberg, so please put your damn hoodie on.”

Gojo blinked. Starry-eyed, grinning like a man possessed — all blinding teeth and unbearable glee. “Kento, you think I’m hot?”

In that moment, Nanami vowed to commit arson on anything science-related Gojo had in his apartment and lab before he set the man on fire. Maybe that way, he’d actually be a warm teddy bear for him.

Gojo was silent for a full minute after Nanami’s last line, hoodie now pulled haphazardly over his head. His laptop sat forgotten on the couch beside him, screen dimming, fingers still poised on the keyboard as if pretending to work would trick his brain into ignoring the very obvious, very real distraction standing barefoot in his living room.

Nanami didn’t notice—or at least, pretended not to see—until Gojo moved. Not subtly. Not even gracefully. Just the low sound of the sofa creaking, followed by bare feet padding over hardwood.

The next thing he felt were fingers at his waist, slow and warm, tracing light circles over the hem of the Digimon shirt.

“You need to stop,” Gojo let out a low growl. “It’s infuriating how distracting you are.”

Nanami didn’t flinch. His hands stilled in the middle of sorting through a disorganised stack of lab reports on the coffee table. “I’m hardly doing anything worth a distraction.”

“Oh, really?” Gojo nosed at the shell of his ear, shameless and far too pleased with himself. “Walking around like you own my place, wearing my t-shirt, acting like my very own little domestic housewife, making sure I’m working and kept fed. That isn’t distracting to you?”

Nanami let out a slow breath through his nose. “One of us has to take care of you. You clearly can’t be left unsupervised.”

Gojo chuckled — the kind that was felt more than heard. He slid his hands lower, thumbs ghosting over the elastic waistband of Nanami’s briefs. “God, you’re lucky I love you,” he said. “Otherwise, I’d be absolutely feral right now.”

Nanami didn’t dignify that with a response. He bent to pick up a pen that had rolled under the edge of the table, back curving again — and Gojo groaned, full-bodied and shamefully loud.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Gojo accused, lips brushing the back of his neck. “You have to be.”

“I’m literally cleaning,” Nanami replied flatly, standing upright again, only to find Gojo right there, flushed and practically vibrating.

A beat.

Then Gojo grinned shamelessly. “Baby,” he drawled, voice practically purring now, “are you curious about torque?”

Nanami blinked. He peered up at Gojo in confusion. “Torque?”

“Yeah, we can learn about it,” Gojo went on, leaning in with all the audacity of a man who had nothing to lose, “by placing your mass on my rod.”

A long silence.

Nanami turned to face him, expression unreadable. “That’s the dumbest line you’ve ever said to me.”

“You liked it a little.”

“I didn’t.”

“You laughed.”

“I exhaled out of my nose.”

“That’s laughter in Nanami-speak.”

“I am going to slap you.”

Gojo’s grin widened, dangerously boyish. His hands hadn’t left Nanami’s hips. “C’mon, Kento, indulge me. Sit on me, just for a bit. I’ll even type with you on my lap. We can make it our thesis.”

Gojo’s hands were warm.

That was the first thing Nanami noticed — or rather, let himself notice, once his defences began to dull under the steady pressure of touch and voice. They were warm, familiar, and large enough to span across his hips with ease. They fit like they always had. Like nothing had changed.

It had been… weeks. Too long.

Long enough that Nanami found himself hesitating for the sake of hesitation — some leftover instinct to resist Gojo when he was like this. Playful. Coy. Too pretty for his own good and too smart to be stopped.

He always hesitated. Always told himself that this time, he would say no. Make Gojo work for it. That he’d stand firm, force him to focus like a real adult should.

But then there was the warmth.

And the way Gojo’s grip settled, sure and steady, like he already knew the outcome.

Nanami breathed in slowly.

They’d done this before. Many times. Enough that it had earned a kind of rhythm, a strange sacredness — a compromise between obligation and craving. Between the man trying to finish his PhD, and the man who wanted him close.

That was the truth of it.

It wasn’t just want.

It was need. Quiet, aching, embarrassing. To be touched like this again, even if only through skin and tension and something halfway between sex and comfort.

Nanami let out a quiet breath and turned in Gojo’s hold, settling a hand against the centre of his chest.

“Do you want to focus,” he asked, looking up at him, “or do you want to fuck me?”

Gojo blinked. Caught off guard.

“I mean—” he licked his lips, a little grin already tugging at the corners. “Can’t I do both?”

Nanami didn’t smile. But his hand didn’t move, either.

“You’re the one who said you needed to work.”

“I do,” Gojo replied, softer now. “But I can work better with you on me. Just—” His fingers squeezed at Nanami’s hips. “—just let me?”

Nanami glanced past him at the laptop screen. Code. Equations. A rough draft of something brilliant was in the making. He’d be the cruelest person in the universe if Gojo didn’t pass because of him.

He could argue. Could make him wait, make him sweat, and get on with the rest of the cleaning like a normal person.

But then again… it was already late. The washing machine was on. The sun had started to dip, casting gold across the apartment’s worn-out floorboards.

And it had been so long since they had one another like this — reverent and ridiculous, all at once.

So, without another word, Nanami stepped forward — then pressed firmly at Gojo’s chest.

Gojo blinked. “Kento—?”

But Nanami didn’t say anything. Just applied a little more pressure until Gojo got the message and let himself be eased back into the cushions with a soft, winded huff.

He looked up at Nanami with wide eyes, blinking beneath the stark white of his hair, lips parted as if to say something innovative. But nothing came.

Gojo’s breath hitched.

They fit. Perfectly too well. Almost like they were made for one another, there must’ve been some science behind it — he needed to ask Gojo, but that was going to be another day.

They settled together like that: Gojo leaning back slightly on the couch, Nanami in his lap, knees pressing into the cushions, thighs spreading easily around him. The t-shirt still hung low around Nanami’s hips, riding up ever so slightly with every shift of weight.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t urgent.

Just familiar.

Gojo’s hands ran up the sides of his thighs, reverent. Slow.

Nanami’s lips twitched, faintly. His hands reached up to play with the toggles of Gojo’s hoodie, tying a bow and undoing it.

“Set a timer,” he replied. “An hour.”

“An hour is perfect.” Gojo laughed. “I love you.”

“I know.” I love you too.

Gojo’s hands slid down to grip the waistband of his underwear, pulling it down in one smooth motion, his fingertips warm and grounding. “I should probably help,” he murmured. “A quick study break.”

Nanami stayed quiet, reaching up to card his fingers through Gojo’s hair. He already knew what he meant, anyway.

Gojo reached behind him and opened one of the coffee table drawers, pulling out a bottle of half-empty lube. Trust Gojo to have a stash in the living room, of all places. Did Geto-san know about it? Did they share it, or was it only Gojo’s? 

“We haven’t done it here before,” Nanami said idly. He made sure they kept it strictly to Gojo’s bedroom or the ensuite, for the sake of respecting the fact that Geto also lived here. Maybe if they were feeling reckless, then the kitchen would be the next christening location, but it had never been the living room.

Gojo smiled up at him giddily. He hummed as he popped open the cap, pouring a generous amount to coat his fingers. “I may have or may not have jerked off to the thought of spreading you open on this very table five or seven times.”

Definitely Gojo’s.

Nanami could only roll his eyes at that. He was about to make a remark when he jolted at the cool touch of Gojo’s fingers prodding at his entrance.

“Easy,” Gojo whispered, with one hand holding Nanami’s hip.

“I’m fine,” Nanami breathed, easily dismissing it. It’s been a while; it just caught him off guard.

“Promise?” Gojo asked.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he easily said back. I trust you.

Satisfied, Gojo captured Nanami’s lips for a searing kiss as he pushed a finger inside, quickly followed by a second one. The gasp that Nanami let out was swallowed up as soon as Gojo pushed his tongue in.

Nanami could only hold onto Gojo’s shoulders for a sense of balance as Gojo thrusted, slowly crooking his fingers at angles he knew Nanami liked. All he could do was grunt into Gojo’s mouth as his hips involuntarily rocked to the rhythm of Gojo’s fingers, slow and reaching deeper as a third and fourth entered afterwards.

“S-Satoru,” he hissed, nails digging into the fabric of Gojo’s hoodie. “Please, th-that’s enough.”

Gojo immediately shook his head, slowing his pace down but never once stopping. “No, I know you. It’ll hurt. Just a few minutes more, baby, I promise.”

And it was — just a little more. Minutes passed, not rushed, just steady, before Gojo slipped his fingers out.

“Ready for some studying?”

Nanami stayed quiet. He lifted his hips, and Gojo followed suit, shimmying out of his boxers for Nanami to take over. Nanami grabbed his cock and positioned it before he sank down, taking it in inch by inch, before reaching the hilt, thighs flushed against Gojo’s.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” Gojo moaned, low and guttural. His head fell back against the back of the sofa, lips parted on a shaky exhale, and hands twitching as they reached around to grip Nanami’s ass, causing the blond to let out a breathless moan. Already, his face grew absolutely crimson once more at the sensation. Nanami could feel Gojo just pulsing inside of him. “God. I’ve missed this.”

“Me too,” Nanami panted quietly. Missed you.

The stretch had faded into fullness — a familiar ache, comfortable in its own way. His breathing was steady now. Not quite relaxed, but adjusted. Grounded.

“You said you’d work,” Nanami reminded, voice quiet.

Gojo blinked up at him. “Right. Yes. Work.”

Nanami adjusted his position minimally — a calculated shift, slow and deliberate, meant purely for comfort. But the way Gojo whimpered made it feel like sabotage.

“Don’t move,” Gojo gasped. “Fucking hell, you’re trying to kill me.”

“I’m not moving. I’m multitasking.”

“That’s worse. Focus for me, Kento.”

He cracked his knuckles, then placed his hands back on the keyboard. Typing one-handed, trying — and failing — to pretend he wasn’t completely undone beneath him.

Nanami glanced down at him, one brow raised. “You realise I’m not going to do anything.”

“Liar,” Gojo muttered, shifting under him with zero success. “You’re doing everything to me and you know it.”

“I’m sitting.”

“Exactly. And you’re heavy, and hot, and warm, and your thighs are doing things to my concentration levels—”

Nanami reached up and gently, purposefully, covered Gojo’s mouth with one hand.

“The timer hasn’t started yet, Satoru,” he said calmly. “You still have an hour.”

Gojo made a noise — muffled and guttural.

Nanami didn’t move his hand, just watched with mild interest as Gojo’s eyes fluttered closed for a second.

Gojo didn’t move much.

Not in the way Nanami wanted him to. Not in the way he should be doing.

Instead, he was locked in — eyes flicking across his laptop screen, tapping steadily at the keyboard with one hand, the other resting absently against Nanami’s thigh. Like, Nanami wasn’t even in his lap. Like he hadn’t been split open and filled, only to be forgotten in favour of linear algebra.

That hand didn’t squeeze. Didn’t drift. Just rested there. Warm. Static.

It was almost worse than nothing at all.

This was the ritual — the unspoken agreement that had, over time, taken shape between them: Nanami cock warms while Gojo worked because it helped him focus. A strange sort of intimacy that balanced on the edge between indulgence and necessity. A way for Gojo to focus — anchored, he said, by Nanami’s weight — and for Nanami to be close. To feel wanted. Needed. Present.

But right now?

Right now, it felt like a test of patience.

And he was losing.

The pressure between his thighs ached — not painful, but maddening. The stretch had dulled to fullness long ago, nerves humming with quiet frustration, body coiled tightly beneath a surface of calm.

He reached for the pile of laundry beside them, grabbing a pair of sweatpants — Gojo’s, predictably inside-out and wrinkled. Nanami smoothed the fabric across his thigh, tugged the legs straight, and folded it with quiet precision. Muscle memory, like everything else, is between them.

He kept his eyes low, watching the clothes pile shrink one by one as he folded them neatly, not because it needed to be done, but because doing something helped. Made him feel less idle. Less needy. Less like he was sitting in his boyfriend’s lap, ignored and leaking around the cock currently buried inside him.

He hated how accustomed he had become to this. How natural it felt to fall into these roles.

He paused over a t-shirt. Gojo’s again — some faded grey thing with stretched-out sleeves. Nanami ran his fingers along the collar, folding it sharply and evenly. He always bunched the sleeves. Never straightened the seams. Nanami couldn’t help but fix that.

This wasn’t his home. Their home.

It could be. It should be. But it wasn’t.

Geto had mentioned some time ago that he and Haibara were looking for a place. Something a bit quieter, a bit more ‘theirs’. Gojo had smiled when he told Nanami, and laughed a little at the idea of having the whole apartment to himself.

Nanami had nodded. Congratulated them. Didn’t say anything about the echo that settled in his chest afterwards.

Because the truth was, unlike Geto and Haibara, who were constantly on-and-off since that very first night at the Fresher’s Party, Gojo and Nanami had been together nonstop since they got together.

Considering the inconsistency in Haibara's relationship with Geto, Nanami had been with Gojo for years longer.

But they hadn’t moved in. They hadn’t even talked about it seriously. They just… existed like this. Half in, half out. Like the idea was always somewhere down the line — something inevitable, but not yet. Not urgent.

And maybe Gojo hadn’t noticed that Nanami was waiting.

Not for a ring. Not for a declaration. Just something that said: we’re building a life together. A life that’s ours and ours only.

Nanami reached for another shirt and folded it slowly, swallowing around the hollow in his throat. He wasn’t a crier, but sometimes, sometimes he was so damn close to breaking.

Gojo shifted slightly beneath him.

The weight of his palm on Nanami’s thigh hadn’t moved. Still passive. Still warm.

Nanami turned his head just slightly, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Gojo, brows furrowed, lips pursed in thought. His glasses were still perched in his hair.

Without thinking, Nanami reached up to tug them down, sliding them gently onto his face, adjusting them with practised care until they sat just right.

Gojo blinked, glancing up at him with a soft grin. “Thanks.”

Nanami didn’t reply.

Because he was looking at him now — really looking — and the way Gojo looked in glasses was just… so unfair. Domestic and brilliant, with his white hair pushed back and his jaw shadowed with the faintest stubble. Nanami loved the possible skin burn he could get from rubbing against Gojo’s stubble, as if he were a cat. He looked like the kind of man Nanami would be walking down the aisle to already, if either of them had ever stopped long enough to say it out loud.

His heart ached.

And his cock twitched against Gojo.

A low throb spread through his gut — not from Gojo, who was maddeningly still, but from the sight of him. From the glasses. The laptop glow reflecting off the lenses. The soft little huff of breath as he edited something in his research methods section.

Nanami shifted without meaning to.

Just a tiny roll of his hips. Just enough to feel.

The reaction was instant.

Gojo’s hand tightened, firm around the apex of his thigh. His breath caught. He stared down at Gojo, curious.

“Don’t,” Gojo warned, his voice low. “You’ll make me lose my train of thought.”

Nanami stilled.

He let out a quiet, dejected breath, folding the final t-shirt in the pile. The movement of his fingers was tight. Controlled. Every line creased perfectly.

Gojo didn’t look at him— just why wasn’t he looking at him?

He tapped something out on the keyboard, nodded a little to himself, then leaned back — just enough to brush his nose against the curve of Nanami’s neck. Not a kiss. Just contact.

“I want to,” Gojo murmured. “Believe me, Kento. I want to so badly, but I’ve just cracked something I’ve been stuck on for weeks. I can’t stop now. Just… be good for me, baby.” Gojo squeezed his thigh once more. His mouth was saying one thing, but a single look at those piercing blue eyes told him another story: utter desperation.

Be good.

Nanami blinked down at the folded shirts. At the pile of clean, crinkled fabric in a space that still wasn’t his.

He swallowed the ache and said nothing.

He could be good.

But it was getting harder.

Nanami shifted again, smaller this time — a cautious tilt of his hips, like testing the edge of a knife. He let out a hiss. It earned him nothing but the ghost of pressure. A hollow reminder that Gojo was still hard inside him, but entirely unmoved.

No sound. No breath. No pull of fingers at his hips.

Just stillness.

He suddenly missed the bruises and handprints Gojo often left on his waist whenever they got rough. Even gentle, he’d still be decorated in everything Gojo. Because that’s what Gojo did — anything he put his paws on became his and his only. And Nanami wouldn’t have it any other way if it meant he was Gojo’s. He is Gojo’s — he needed to remember that.

Gojo typed steadily, occasionally muttering to himself, clicking between windows with infuriating efficiency. His hand returned to Nanami’s thigh like it was meant to soothe, but the weight of it was a leash. Steady. Anchoring. Loving.

Nanami hated how loving it felt.

He ran his palm over his own thigh in a quiet motion, as if to chase away the warmth that Gojo wasn’t giving him. The folded laundry now sat neatly to the side. His hands had nothing to do. His body didn’t know what to do with itself.

This was how it always went.

He told himself it was enough — being close, being needed, being the grounding weight in Gojo’s lap while he mapped the future on a screen. And sometimes, it was enough.

But not now.

Not when it had been weeks.

Not when his whole body was aching, hungry for more than frictionless closeness. For movement. For noise. For attention.

Not when Gojo looked like that in glasses, with his fingers twitching and his brow furrowed, utterly oblivious to the fact that Nanami was clenching around him with every shallow breath.

He looked down at his own thighs. Spread wide across Gojo’s lap, slightly shaking. Soft red marks where the fabric of the Digimon shirt bunched at his hips. Sweat prickled faintly at the small of his back. His body was begging. Quietly. Obediently.

Gojo hadn’t even noticed.

He rubbed his cheek along the side of Gojo’s head, under the guise of affection and not need. Pressed a kiss to his temple that was maybe more of a plea. He pressed another kiss to Gojo’s jaw, right against the stubble, causing Gojo to hum and shiver. 

And yet, he kept typing.

Nanami’s jaw ticked. He brought one hand to the neckline of Gojo’s hoodie, gripping it loosely, like he might tug — or strangle. He didn’t do either.

He whispered, “I said an hour.” He never set that timer; he truly doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he’s sure it’s been over an hour by now.

Gojo leaned slightly into him, eyes still scanning the screen. “Almost there, baby. You’re doing so well.”

Nanami said nothing.

He sat, tight around him, painfully aware of how little friction he was getting. How every breath only served to remind him that he was stiff and untouched, ignored and aching, cock pressed against Gojo’s stomach with nowhere to go.

He wondered, bitterly, how many times he had done this.

How many times has he let Gojo hold him like this: not to use, but to be held? Like a comfort blanket. Like a tool. Like a weighted blanket with a pulse.

It was domestic. Familiar. Safe.

It was also, at this moment, maddening.

His nails pressed gently into Gojo’s chest. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to feel.

“Don’t tease,” Gojo murmured, not even looking. “I mean it, Kento. You’re gonna mess me up.”

“ I’m already messed up,” Nanami muttered. And it’s all because of you.

Gojo didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he did — and chose not to answer. How rude. Nanami may be the listener while Gojo yapped, but he also adored capturing his boyfriend’s attention whenever he spoke about anything and everything.

Either way, Nanami fell silent again. Tried not to think about the heat spreading up his chest. Tried not to think about how much it would mean for Gojo to see him right now, to realise how tightly he was holding himself together.

How far he was from calm.

How close he was to breaking.

And that’s when Gojo’s phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third time in rapid succession.

Gojo made a soft noise of annoyance — the kind reserved for anything that wasn’t his thesis — and reached for it, barely shifting Nanami in the process.

Nanami felt the angle of him shift inside.

His jaw locked tight.

Gojo’s thumbs moved over the screen fast. Then he paused — the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

“Ah. Shit,” he said, almost fond. “I forgot we said we’d hop on tonight.”

Nanami’s stomach dropped.

Gojo glanced up at him, finally really looking. “Baby. Do you mind if I game for a bit? It’s just some of the guys from my course — they’re already in a lobby. I’ll only play one or two matches, promise.”

Still inside him. Still seated deep. Still hard.

And Gojo was asking if he could pause this moment – pause him – for a game.

Nanami looked at him, expression unreadable. “You forgot,” he said quietly.

Gojo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t forget you. I just thought they wouldn’t actually log on.”

Nanami didn’t speak.

He could feel his heart beating in his throat. Could feel the sweat sticking to the inside of his shirt, the ache in his gut, the dull pressure of need curled up inside him like something starving.

Gojo was still looking at him, expectant.

And Nanami — a man who folded laundry while cockwarming, who cooked for him, who cleaned for him, who had never once asked to move in — said, with perfect calm:

“Go ahead.”

Gojo smiled, relieved. “You’re the best.”

Nanami didn’t answer.

He just sat still. Sat full.

Hooked on Gojo’s cock. Forgotten again.

And watched the screen light up with the title menu of some game he didn’t even know the name of.

Nanami closed his eyes.

This was hell.

And he’d crawled in willingly.

Chapter 2: two

Summary:

the real smut happens here + nanami finally gets to say his TRUE feelings to gojo … someone tell gojo to wife him up already please, for everybody’s sake.

Notes:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME <3

Let's hope I can spend this next year with good health and providing more gonana hehehehehe

And happy birthday to Sara for yesterday! (31/07) For Sara, I asked her if she wanted anything incorporated and well, I'll let everyone figure out what Sara wished for hehehe

I hope you enjoyyy and apologies for the incoming angst :D

“Come on… come on…” Gojo growled into his mic, his thumbs smacking against the buttons of his controller as he dodged another attack by a player.

Usually, his coursemates were quite skilled in online gaming—much better than in real life, that’s for sure—and they did make a strong team — that is, when they weren’t being useless and playing poorly. Against him, of all people. 

They’ve been begging me to play with them for how long now, and this is how the thanks I get?

This was stupid.

They told him two rounds. He promised Nanami only two rounds. But they were on a high, getting one of the highest scores possible as a team and in the server overall, which is why they agreed to one final round. Whatever lucky spell was cast upon them had disappeared because now they were losing by a margin. 

“Can someone help me over here?” He asked for the nth time in the last half an hour.

Silence.

Gojo clicked his tongue. Typical sportsmanship from these fools, especially when some of them played for the university’s sports teams. He never bothered joining any sports clubs during his time as a student - it simply didn’t fit into his busy schedule.

He then slumped further into the sofa.

Fine.

He’ll play solo then.

With a new tactic in mind, Gojo pressed the mute button on the side of his headset and pushed the mic away from his mouth as he began to fight his way through the other players. His kill count started to increase as it should’ve done twenty minutes ago. 

His leg bobbed up and down as he powered through different areas of the map, completely ignoring the pleas his teammates were making into the mic:

“Can someone get this guy for me? Wait, where’s Gojo going?”

“Gojo’s completely gone out of our zone.”

“Dude, come back down and help us, man!”

All the while, completely ignoring the whimpering mess that was his boyfriend, Nanami, writhing in his lap and almost getting dislodged by Gojo.

“S-Satoru!” Nanami gasped, hips rolling enough to drive Gojo’s cock deeper.

Gojo slammed the jump button, almost keening over the controller with Nanami still hooked on.

“Not now, Kento,” Gojo said through gritted teeth, jaw clenched. He did not need the guys to know Nanami was with him—Nanami would murder him in cold blood—and he could not afford to come before the game ended.

What he needed to do was focus so that he could win. And then he could fuck later.

Nanami let out a groan, low and guttural.

In the corner of the screen, the map showed his teammates were still near the bottom end, fighting the other players, while he was on his own at the top. Eyes locked on the screen, Gojo cut across the top lane.

He was done playing nice. Enough dodging. Enough teamwork. His avatar blazed forward through castle ruins, weaving through shadowed terrain toward the last objective. The treasure.

The map blinked red. There was an enemy presence nearby.

Gojo’s thumb twitched, hovering over the Run button, preparing to attack.

An unknown player lunged from the side, slashing into him before he could react.

“Shit.”

Gojo could only watch as his character staggered, the enemy unrelenting, making lunges with their sword.

If he could just bypass this guy, then he would be the winner overall, and their team would win.

Let’s do this.

He moved the joystick with ease, watching his character on the screen run towards the final player in his way before they locked into a fight.

They clashed fast. The guy was good. Sharp and relentless. It was as if he knew Gojo’s next move before he made it.

His health bar was low, and he was losing.

2 minutes left on the clock. Damn.

Nanami stayed quiet, muffling soft noises against Gojo’s neck as he rocked above him. His hands roamed all over Gojo, from his hair down to his shoulders. To the toggles of his hoodie, reaching down to hold onto his biceps.

Gojo hissed — hips stuttering from the movement. His cock flushed and trapped in Nanami’s heat. God, he was warm, and the way he clung to Gojo like a vice was turning him on even more.

“Kento,” he warned. “What did I say about moving?”

“But I need—“ Nanami bit back a moan, burying his face deeper. “Please, Satoru. I won’t… I won’t last much longer.”

His boyfriend was flushed entirely, thighs shaking. By all means, Nanami wasn’t a small man, but the way Gojo’s shirt—already stretched from constant wear—hung loose on him, the collar slipping off one shoulder, had no right looking that good. His collarbones were on full display, glistening with sweat, devoid of any marks.

Why hadn’t he gotten Nanami to wear more of his clothes? Why had he gone all this time, depriving himself of such a sight?

“Fuck,” Gojo groaned under his breath, refusing to look away from the screen. If he turned, even once, he’d lose the game. And more importantly, he’d lose it inside Nanami. Way too early.

“I’ll fuck you, I promise,” Gojo growled. His hand gripped Nanami’s ass hard. “Let me finish this first.”

“No, forget your game,” Nanami whined, digging his fingers deeper into the hoodie. “Finish me . Now.”

Luckily, his teammates were too engrossed in their own battles to hear the whines and pants Nanami was making near his mic.

His rhythm was stuttering now — the occasional involuntary roll of his hips down against Gojo, searching for anything. Friction. Relief. Attention. Every breath came ragged and wet. Sweat clung to his temples. His nails dug into Gojo’s shoulders, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

Gojo swore under his breath, eyes flicking down for half a second — just enough to see Nanami’s flushed, sweat-slick body trembling in overstimulation.

He looked wrecked.

Beautiful and raw and trembling and—

Gojo blinked back up at the screen. The final player was charging. Time was almost out. He had 45 seconds.

“I’m almost finished, baby. I swear when I win, I will fuck you good, okay?”

Nanami didn’t respond. Just let out a broken noise against Gojo’s neck. And then, quietly, like a blade slipping under skin:

“No, you won’t.”

Gojo barely had time to process it before Nanami yanked the headset off his head with one hand, catching some of his hair in the process.

“Ow—fuck—Kento—”

The mic clicked on.

He must’ve hit the mute toggle mid-yank. Volume spiked. Voices came through crystal clear:

“Wait— what was that noise?”

“Uh, I think it came from Gojo?”

“Did you guys just hear someone moan?”

“Guys, where is Gojo on the map?”

He looked at the timer.

Only a minute and thirty seconds left.

Nanami was riding him.

Properly.

His pace turned merciless, grinding down against Gojo’s lap with a singular focus that made Gojo’s breath catch.

Then—as if to really punish him—Nanami grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and yanked it up over his stomach, and bit down on the hem. Teeth clenched around the fabric, lips parted just enough to keep breathing, brows furrowed in concentration like he was determined to fuck himself to the finish line.

And Gojo broke.

The sight alone—Nanami’s mouth tugging on his t-shirt like he needed leverage, eyes fluttering, his whole body flushed with exertion, tits bouncing in front of him—was almost enough to finish Gojo off on the spot.

His grip slipped on the controller. Vision blurred. He barely registered the battle still happening on screen.

K-Kento— fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re going to kill me,” he rasped, dizzy from the heat building under his skin. His hips involuntarily thrust up into the heat, causing Nanami to let out a loud and clear moan.

His health bar blinked red. Nanami continued to let out continuous moans and grunts as he slammed down on Gojo’s thighs. Another hit and he’d drop — no time for defence. He button-mashed, praying for something, anything — and landed the strike just before the screen flashed ‘Victory!’

He dropped his controller on the coffee table, ignoring the loud clattering noise it made as he slumped back into the sofa, his chest heaving.

Fuck, that was a study session and a half.

He didn’t notice Nanami trembling in his lap.

Not at first.

Not while the victory screen still glowed on the TV and his own breath was still ragged. Not while Nanami was so still, head pressed against his chest, the only sound in the room his quiet, uneven breathing.

That’s when it hit him.

Winning didn’t matter, not like this.

Ever since he got with Nanami, his priorities have been on studying and spending time with his boyfriend. When they both were free and weren’t working, Gojo would take Nanami out somewhere, anywhere he wanted, and spend the entire day with him. 

He loved it when Nanami’s eyes twinkled over fresh bread from the local bakery near campus. Or how peaceful he looked at the beach, legs stretched out in the sand as if the tide might carry all his worries away.

But his favourite moments were the quiet ones. When they were inside—be it his place or Nanami’s—having the younger tucked into his side, asleep or awake. Whether Gojo was working or they were watching a film on the sofa, Nanami looked soft and at ease. Letting his guard down in a way no one else got to see.

A soft whimper against his skin. Gojo felt it more than heard it.

He was trying to do this for them, right? Finish the game. Close the tab on his thesis. Mentally eject every obligation in his life so he could finally just be here with Nanami, the man who’d stood by him for years, who never asked for much, except to be seen. So they could sink into bed, no alarms, no distractions, just the two of them melting into each other like muscle memory.

But Nanami was already in his lap.

Already melting.

And Gojo hadn’t even noticed the shaking until just now.

His legs were trembling. Thighs quivering against Gojo’s hips. His breath came in broken gasps. He wasn’t moaning — not quite. But the kind of noises he was making weren’t just from arousal anymore.

Gojo’s stomach twisted.

How long had he been like this?

How long have I made him wait?

He hadn’t even looked at him properly — not since that first whimper. Not since Nanami had sunk down and clung to him and let Gojo get away with it, like he always did.

And Gojo — fucking idiot Gojo — had just kept playing.

He swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry,” Nanami mumbled. “I ruined your game.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Gojo said quickly, voice gentler than before. “I did. I got too wrapped up in the stupid game, and I ignored you. That’s on me.”

“I just…” Nanami’s voice cracked. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. And when I do, I’m left sitting here like I’m just… just something warm to keep you company while you play.”

Gojo’s breath caught.

Fuck.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“I know.”

“But I did anyway.”

He hadn’t meant to make him feel like that. He thought they were playing, teasing, stretching it out. But this wasn’t the usual game. Nanami had been waiting. And he’d let it go too far.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo said again, burying his face in Nanami’s shoulder. “I should’ve stopped the moment I saw your face. You didn’t even say anything. You were so quiet—”

“Didn’t want to interrupt your winning streak,” Nanami muttered bitterly.

Gojo winced.

He reached up and cupped Nanami’s face, gently coaxing him back so he could see him. Tear-streaked cheeks. Red-rimmed eyes. Lips parted and trembling. His hair clung to his forehead in damp strands.

Gojo shut his eyes.

“Kento,” he whispered, thumb smoothing along Nanami’s nape. “I wouldn’t have made it through this semester without you.”

A breath. He felt Nanami tense slightly, like he was holding himself back from reacting too much.

“I’m serious,” Gojo added, softer now. “You’re the reason I got anything done at all. You cook for me. You remind me to sleep. You… you sit in my lap and let me hold you while I work like you’re not the most patient, perfect person in the world.”

Nanami exhaled slowly against his neck.

“And,” Gojo continued, the words coming in one extended, fragile tumble, “when I feel like I’m failing — when it feels like the whole world’s too loud—you’re the only thing that makes it quiet again.”

A pause.

“You’re everything, Kento. I mean that.”

This time, Nanami did react. He didn’t speak — just shifted closer, fingers curling softly into Gojo’s hoodie like a silent apology. Or maybe gratitude. Or both.

Gojo pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’ll be better,” he said, half-into Nanami’s hair. “I promise.”

“I don’t want better,” Nanami replied, petulantly. His voice was strained. “I want you . Why can’t I have you?”

“You have me,” Gojo said. “You’ve always had me.”

Nanami shook his head. “I haven’t. Not for a long time, Satoru.”

The silence that followed was loud. Thick.

Nanami shifted as if he regretted saying it—but then, suddenly, he pushed himself up, off Gojo’s lap.

His hands moved to catch him, but Nanami was already up, already pulling his shirt down, cheeks blotchy and red, jaw tight.

He turned away, not even bothering to hide the tears anymore. “I should go.”

“Kento— wait—”

“I shouldn’t have come over,” Nanami muttered, almost to himself. His voice cracked halfway through, but he didn’t stop. “I should’ve known this would happen. You’d be too busy. I’d be a distraction.”

Gojo stood too, eyes wide, panic clawing up his throat. “Kento, you’re not a distraction.”

“Then what am I?” Nanami snapped, finally looking at him.

Gojo froze.

Nanami shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Don’t answer that. I already know.”

 

Gojo scrambled up after him. “Hey—what? You’re not a distraction. No, come on, baby—”

“ Don’t call me that,” Nanami said, sharp, breath trembling. “Not when you only say it to make me stay.”

The words gutted him.

“I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean to, Satoru,” Nanami cut in, voice rising. “That’s the problem. You never mean to hurt me, but it keeps happening.”

Gojo watched, helpless, as Nanami stepped back — not just physically, but emotionally. Guarded in a way that made his heart ache. The bag slung over his shoulder, his t-shirt half-rumpled from their earlier mess, the collar still damp with sweat and something else — and Gojo finally saw how tired he looked.

Nanami didn’t even look at him when he said, “You didn’t ask about my day. Not once.”

Gojo blinked. “What—?”

“Not once,” Nanami repeated, quiet and sharp. “I got up early to run experiments, I skipped lunch to meet with my advisor, and I spent three hours in the library outlining a case study I still have to present tomorrow—”

“You’re still working on that big policy module?” Gojo asked, confused. “I thought—”

Nanami laughed bitterly. “I’m doing my master’s , Satoru. Did you forget?”

Gojo flinched. He hadn’t forgotten. Not really. But he also hadn’t remembered, not where it counted.

“I thought tonight… when you messaged… ” Nanami’s voice trailed off. He vigorously rubbed his face, making the skin go red as he tried to wipe away the tears. “I was exhausted. But I thought—maybe we could have dinner. Maybe you’d ask how I was. Maybe you’d put your arms around me and tell me it’s okay to be tired.”

His voice cracked, and Gojo felt something profound and ugly pull in his chest.

“But you didn’t even notice,” Nanami whispered. “You dragged me onto your lap and worked, and then turned the headset on and never looked back.”

“I thought we were—” Gojo faltered. “I thought we were teasing. Playing. We always mess around during your reading breaks, and—”

“That’s the thing.” Nanami shook his head. “You thought. You assumed. You never asked. ”

Gojo reached out instinctively, but Nanami pulled back, just out of reach.

“We’ve been together for years, Satoru. And I still feel like I’m always the one who has to speak up. To make time. To reach out to you first. You say I’m your everything, but I’m not even part of your plan.”

He paused, his jaw working, like he was trying to keep from saying something cruel.

Then: “Geto and Haibara are planning to move in together. They talk about furniture, paint colours, and bills. And us? I still carry my toothbrush in my fucking bag.”

“We’ve been together for years. Years. And you still act like we’re in the honeymoon phase when it’s convenient, and strangers when it’s not.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Isn’t it?” Nanami whirled on him now, face blotchy and raw. “Tell me why Geto and Haibara—fucking Geto and Haibara—are looking at apartments together, and I’m still crashing at your place with a toothbrush I brought in my bag and spare clothes.”

That hit hard. Harder than Nanami probably meant it to be.

“You know their relationship is complicated—”

“Exactly!” Nanami snapped. “It’s complicated. But they’re still planning their future. What are we doing? What have we been doing? ”

Gojo had no answer.

Nanami laughed, but it was short and joyless. “You talk like I’m your whole world, but you won’t even clear a drawer for me.”

“That’s not true,” Gojo said, stepping forward again, this time quieter, reaching. “Kento. I was going to—”

“Yeah? When?” Nanami’s voice cracked. “After another thesis deadline? After another victory screen? You keep saying I’m everything, but I don’t feel like anything.”

He pulled away before Gojo could touch him again.

And that — that was the part that scared Gojo most.

The way Nanami didn’t want to be held.

The way he’d gone silent, arms wrapped tight around himself, still in only his t-shirt, like he was folding inwards, not to protect but to disappear.

Gojo’s voice broke on his next breath. “You are something. You’re everything , Kento. I’m the one who doesn’t know how to do this right, but I want to. I swear to you, I want to try.”

Nanami’s chest rose and fell unevenly. He stared at the floor for a moment like he wasn’t sure if he was going to stay or walk out that door for real.

Then, quieter now:

“I’m not asking for a ring. I’m not asking for a mortgage or some perfect plan. I just… I wanted to be asked how my day was.”

Nanami stepped toward the door and opened it.

He didn’t look back this time.

And Gojo panicked.

“Wait,” he said, crossing the room in a few fast strides. “Kento— don’t.”

Nanami didn’t stop moving. “I mean it, Satoru. Let me go.”

“No.”

Gojo’s arms wrapped around him from behind—fast, firm, not rough but immovable . Nanami froze, tense in his hold, chest heaving as Gojo dragged him back against his body.

He slammed the door shut with one palm, pinning Nanami between it and his chest before he could blink.

“Let me go.” Nanami snapped, but Gojo caged him in, forearm braced beside his head, the other hand gripping his hip hard.

“You really think I’m letting you leave like this?” Gojo’s voice dropped, guttural. “You’re half-dressed, legs shaking, leaking all over my shirt, and you want me to let you go? ”

He said it like it was a crime.

Nanami scoffed. “Oh, so now you notice what I’m wearing. You didn’t seem to mind before.”

His fingers curled around the hem of the t-shirt, tugging it up slightly — just enough to expose Nanami’s cock, still twitching, and the mess between his thighs. “This… this is what I ignored. This is what I don’t deserve.”

Nanami gritted his teeth. “So what now? You feel bad? Want to kiss it better? You think I’m just going to roll over and let you fuck me like nothing happened?”

Gojo leaned in, voice a near whisper.

“No. I’m going to earn it. Every moan. Every second. Every inch of forgiveness you won’t let yourself give me yet.”

Nanami didn’t answer.

Didn’t forgive him either — not yet.

But he didn’t tell him to stop either.

Good. Gojo didn’t want forgiveness. He wanted to work . He wanted to leave nothing in Nanami’s body that didn’t ache with how much he was loved.

He took that as permission, not to take, but to give . He grabbed Nanami’s thighs and hoisted him up, pressing him back against the door. Nanami grunted in protest, still not fully softened, but his legs instinctively wrapped around Gojo’s waist.

“God, Kento,” he gasped, pushing them away from the wall, stumbling through the hallway toward the bedroom like a man possessed. “I missed you. I missed us . I’ve been such a fucking idiot.”

Nanami didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

His nails dug into Gojo’s shoulders like punctuation marks — like he was letting him carry the weight, but he wasn’t letting him off easy.

When Gojo finally got him onto the bed, he was quick to rid them of the remaining clothing. First, the t-shirt and then the hoodie. He needed to see him. And God, he did. He looked down at Nanami — flushed, blinking back heat and anger and something more fragile — and it almost undid him. As if on instinct, Nanami spread his legs apart for Gojo to settle in between.

He leaned over him and whispered hoarsely, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Nanami didn’t.

“Words, sweetheart,” Gojo groaned. “I need your words.” I want to hear you. Let this idiot of yours hear your heavenly voice.

Nanami just stared at him, eyes burning, lips parted, then finally muttered:

“Then do it properly.”

Gojo’s breath broke.

He leaned in, mouth brushing against Nanami’s jaw, slow and reverent.

“I’m going to remind you who you belong to,” Gojo whispered against his skin. “And then I’m going to make sure you never feel that lonely in this relationship again.”

Nanami let out a shaky breath, but he didn’t pull away.

He nosed into the soft skin behind Nanami’s ear, teeth grazing just enough to make his boyfriend twitch, gasp, dig his fingers into Gojo’s hoodie again like he couldn’t decide whether to push him away or pull him closer.

“You love it,” Gojo whispered, barely holding himself back. His words sent shivers down Nanami’s spine. Watching the younger act all squeamish in front of him is so endearing. “You love me . Just as much as I love you.”

He didn’t need to hear Nanami’s words. Despite everything, he knew. Nanami loved him. Wasn’t always one for words, feeling far deeper than he ever let on — he knows that Nanami loves him. And that’s all he could ask for from the man. Besides being his life partner, but that’s for another day. Maybe even soon.

He was quick to descend on Nanami’s throat. Littering his flushed skin with hickeys and love bites, moaning at how quick Nanami’s skin bloomed purple under his mouth. 

Gojo then moved down to his chest, mouth immediately latching onto one tit. Nanami gasped, arching up into Gojo’s mouth, causing him to grunt as his hands scrambled to tug Gojo’s hair, caging him where he wanted him most. He swirled his tongue, licking up the sweat and Nanami’s natural scent. 

God, he was divine. The man beneath him was nothing but perfect. His other hand gripped onto the other tit, squeezing and playing with the nipple between his middle and index finger. Nanami moaned at the touch. Gojo could hear him trying his best to regulate his breathing above him, but it didn’t last long before Gojo switched to suck and bite at the other nipple, while he soothed the first with his fingers.

“Oh, Kento, do you think there’s science behind making you lactate?” Gojo murmured. “You know I’d drop my thesis in a heartbeat if it meant figuring out how to make you milk for me. I’d write a whole goddamn dissertation on it. Should I dedicate a week in the lab to figure out a way to make this milk for me?”

“ Nngh! N-no. Why would you want to do that?”

Gojo pulled back, pupils dilated. His hands moved urgently up and down Nanami’s sides, feeling the softness of his skin. His body was almost a blank canvas, but not for much longer.

“Because,” Gojo said, flipping the blond onto his hands and knees, ignoring the way Nanami gasped at the sudden act of manhandling. Clearly, it affected him, judging by the way he turned his head around, brown eyes far too adorably fixed on Gojo. Nanami was panting. He canted his hips just right as he spread his legs wider for Gojo.

And his hole. Oh, his hole was already wide open from being speared on Gojo’s cock. It was fluttering for Gojo. Calling him. Seeking him out. Speaking louder for Nanami. Gojo was a prideful man, but knowing he had his boyfriend hooked on his cock? Perfect.

“How do you want it?” Gojo carefully asked. How do you want me? 

His hands reached forward, planting them on Nanami’s hips in a firm vice. He leaned over and trailed feather-light kisses down his spine, following the way Nanami shivered and kissing along those spots too. If he was going to have his man, he was going to have him on his own accord, Gojo’s desires be damned.

“Hard.”

Gojo hummed. His thumbs circled the divots of his hips in slow, soothing motions. His beloved shook beneath him; he was growing desperate and needy — that much was obvious. Gojo himself wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. He hadn’t come at all tonight, but finally, he will make it happen.

“What’s the magic word, darling?”

“Please,” Nanami begged.

And that was all it took.

He spread Nanami’s cheeks apart, lining himself up before sliding right into home, bottoming in one thrust—the two shared twin groans. Nanami’s shaking grew more vigorous by the second.

“It’s okay,” Gojo cooed. He leaned down and pressed a firm kiss into his shoulder blades. Kento, take your time. Tell me when you’re ready.”

But Nanami shook his head once more.

“M-move,” He said, voice half-gone. “Satoru, I’m begging you, move.”

Gojo didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled out, leaving just the head in before slamming right back in. Nanami let out a loud moan, his fingers scrambling to grip onto the bedsheets below. Gojo repeated the motion, hard and long thrusts, delighted in the slap sound of his hips meeting Nanami’s ass.

His pace quickened for each thrust, the distance between his cock pulling out and entering Nanami’s heat grew shorter until he was grinding into the blond with no care. 

It was like a flash, one minute he was thrusting, the next, Nanami was clenching around him, hips faltering in their thrusts. Nanami let out a high-pitched noise as ropes of come seeped into the bedsheets.

Gojo froze.

“Did you just—?”

He waited for Nanami to come down from his high. But every time he tried to pull out, Nanami kept clenching him, keeping him locked inside.

“Baby?” Gojo asked. “You okay?”

Nanami nodded feverishly. “Why’d you stop? Continue.”

“Are you sure? We can—“

“You haven’t come yet.”

Gojo could feel himself throbbing inside Nanami, and so did he, judging by the whine he let out.

“I’m not leaving your apartment until you fill me.”

Gojo stilled. It took him seconds before he realised what Nanami meant. The weight of Nanami’s words slammed into his chest harder than any orgasm could. You’re not leaving until I fill you. That wasn’t just lust — that was a plea. A claim. A fucking promise.

“You can’t just—“ He whined, his hips suddenly growing erratic, thrusting sloppily in and out of him. “You can’t say things like that and think you can get away with it .”

Nanami didn’t respond. He arched his back, burying his face deep into one of the pillows, drowning out his cries.

Gojo puffed. He wanted to hear Nanami. Actually hear him. His hand reached up to wrap around the base of Nanami’s head and tugged him up, caging him flush against his chest.

“Covering your noises now?” Gojo growled. “Shouldn’t you have done this during my game?”

Nanami, red in the face, stared up at him, mouth wide open, as he continued to let out the most obscene noises. But that didn’t stop Gojo. It pushed him to go further. Deeper. He needed to carve himself inside of him.

“My coursemates probably heard you, you know,” Gojo continued. “All this wanting to keep our relationship a secret might not last for long. And then what? I get to tell everyone that I’m marrying you. Nanami Kento, the love of my life.”

“We’re not even engaged.”

“Do you want me to propose to you now?” He grunted, barely able to hold himself together for much longer.

At first, it was meant to tease. To edge. To see Nanami tremble beneath him like he always did when Gojo got a little filthy with his words.

But the second the words left his mouth — and Nanami didn’t scoff, didn’t roll his eyes, just clenched harder around him — something broke.

Nanami wanted it. He wanted to marry Gojo.

Gojo’s breath caught in his throat.

His rhythm faltered. Not from lack of desire — god, no — but because the weight of everything suddenly came crashing down on him all at once. The weeks apart. The missed calls. The ignored glances. Nanami, standing in the doorway earlier, was ready to walk away again.

He hadn’t seen him. Not really. Not until it was nearly too late.

“I should’ve proposed to you last year,” Gojo choked out, the confession ripped raw from his throat. “We could’ve been married with a baby on the way.”

His chest heaved. Tears welled up and spilt fast, soaking into the skin of Nanami’s back where his forehead was pressed. His hips didn’t stop — he was still fucking into him, slow and deep, like he could anchor himself in this one moment and never let it end — but his whole body shook.

“You’ve been so patient with me,” he cried. “You waited. And I made you feel like you were just… background noise. Like you weren’t the only thing keeping me together.”

He let out a shuddering breath — part moan, part sob — as Nanami reached back blindly to touch his thigh.

“I don’t deserve you,” Gojo whispered, voice trembling. “And I still want you to marry me.”

Nanami’s breath caught. He didn’t speak — just pressed his cheek to the pillow, body arching up as if to meet him halfway. To give Gojo everything he couldn’t say back.

“I love you,” Gojo gasped. “I love you so fucking much, I—”

His voice cracked again. The emotion was too big, too much, squeezing out of his lungs like water from a sinking ship. Every thrust felt like a vow. Every kiss down Nanami’s spine is a prayer.

“I’m going to be better. I swear to you, Kento.”

He didn’t even realise how tightly he was holding him — arms wrapped around Nanami’s chest, clinging like he’d never get another chance — until Nanami turned his head and murmured, barely audible:

“Then don’t stop.”

He pulled out immediately and flipped them over again, throwing Nanami onto his back. He grabbed him by the back of his thighs, forcing him into a mating press before he thrusted back in. Gojo buried himself deep inside him and broke all over again.

“Kento,” he moaned, voice thick with emotion and tears. “Kento, my love, you’re my everything. My Earth. My sun. My moon. The entire solar system. You are mine. ”

Gojo’s voice cracked. His chest heaved. His rhythm faltered for just a second, like he was losing himself in it, not just in Nanami’s body, but the weight of everything. Every moment, he’d taken Nanami for granted. Every time, Nanami had given without asking for anything back. Every second he hadn’t looked at him the way he should’ve.

And then Nanami spoke — breathless, trembling — but firm.

“Yes,” he gasped, arching up into him. “Yes, Satoru. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Gojo let out a sob, broken and raw. He curled forward, forehead pressed to Nanami’s as he thrust deeper, slower, needier. His hands shook where they gripped the back of Nanami’s thighs. He was unravelling — collapsing under the weight of love, of guilt, of want.

“And you’re mine,” Nanami whispered, lips brushing his cheek. “You hear me? You’re mine, too.”

That did it.

Gojo’s moans turned ragged, like he couldn’t contain the overwhelming rightness of it. His tears dripped down onto Nanami’s skin as he clung to him, driving into him in short, desperate thrusts.

“I love you,” he gasped. “Kento, I— fuck, I love you so much—”

He cried through it — messy, vulnerable, incoherent — until he was finally pushed over the edge. Gojo came with a sob in Nanami’s name, trembling, his whole body locking up like it couldn’t handle the weight of his own love.

And somehow – somehow – his glasses were still on.

Perched crookedly on his face, fogged up and sliding down the bridge of his nose, but on. As if they were holding him together when nothing else could. As if even his accessories knew he needed one thing — anything — to stay in place.

Nanami noticed, even through the haze of pleasure and exhaustion, and let out a soft, choked laugh. His fingers reached up, nudging them up Gojo’s nose with a touch that was half-affection, half-worship.

“You kept them on,” he murmured, voice husky.

Gojo blinked down at him, dazed. “Didn’t even realise.”

“You look…” Nanami’s breath hitched, pupils still blown wide, cheeks flushed. He was staring openly now, voice thick with affection and hunger. “You look so fucking hot in them.”

Gojo made a strangled sound — half-whimper, half-laugh — as if the compliment broke him all over again.

“You’re unbelievable,” he whispered. “I’m a mess. I’m crying on top of you, and my glasses turn you on?”

Nanami smiled — the soft kind, rare and honest and vulnerable. “I’m turned on by you. ”

Gojo let out another shaky breath, forehead pressing against Nanami’s.

“Where are yours?”

“Left them at home,” Nanami softly said. “I was in such a hurry to come see you. I forgot to pick them up from my nightstand.”

“You’re mine,” he said again, quieter now. “Say it.”

Nanami slid a hand behind his neck, pulling him close. “I’m yours,” he whispered, lips brushing his temple. “Always.”

One hand came up to cradle Gojo’s tear-damp cheek, fingers carding gently through his sweat-matted hair, anchoring him back down from wherever he’d flown. He pressed a gentle kiss to the bridge of Gojo’s nose.

“I know,” Nanami whispered. “I know. I’ve got you.”

Gojo’s breath hitched at that. His hips faltered for just a second — overwhelmed — and then he started to move again, slow and deep this time, each thrust like a promise he was sealing with his body.

“You really mean that?” he asked, voice breaking on the edges. “Even when I’m like this? Distracted? A fuck-up?”

Nanami nodded without hesitation, locking his ankles behind Gojo’s back to keep him close. “Especially when you’re like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Gojo finally whispered, voice wrecked. “For earlier. For everything. I— I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. Or lonely. I was just stupid. I get caught up in things. I lose track. But not you. Never you.”

Nanami let the silence sit, soft and full.

And then, his thumb stroked just beneath Gojo’s eye. “I know.”

Gojo’s breath hitched. Nanami pressed his palm flat to the curve of Gojo’s jaw, guiding his gaze back to him.

“I forgive you,” he said softly. “You’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot.”

That did it. Gojo let out a cracked little laugh that was almost a sob, his glasses slipping further down his nose again.

“Then let’s do it,” he breathed, like the words had been caged in his chest for months. “Let’s move in. Fuck— let’s get married, Kento. I want to come home to you. I want to see you making coffee in nothing but that stupid t-shirt and your frown lines every morning. I want your books next to mine. Your shoes are by the door. I especially want the babies– scratch that. I need to see you pregnant. I want everything.”

Nanami was quiet for a second — not because he doubted it, but because he was blinking fast, overwhelmed, too. Then he exhaled slowly and tugged Gojo down and pulled him in for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth and trembling hands.

“You’re getting tears all over your glasses,” Nanami murmured against his mouth, smiling even as his own eyes glistened.

Gojo thrust back into him with something close to reverence.

“Good,” he whispered. He leaned down and kissed him — slow and wet and open, more thank you than anything else. Their fingers laced together on either side of Nanami’s head. “Let them see because I’m not done with you. Not now. Not ever. They should know what it looks like when a man is completely in love.”

Notes:

WELCOME TO THE END!

I believe justice for Nanami was served here - what do you think? It isn't a serena fic with some mention of Gojo wanting to get Nanami pregnant <3

WHICH LEADS ME TO MY NEXT THING ... so for chapter 3, this will serve as an epilogue, but I'd like to preface now that there will be mpreg (it's me. I provide pregnant nanami okay) and if that's not your cup of tea, I totally get it! The main story ends here, and the epilogue is for my indulgence of a baby gonana so please forgive me or raise your glass in the air for gonana babiesss :D I just wanted to let you guys know before that chapter gets released jsjsjsjs

If you enjoyed this and haven't already, please drop some kudos. If you're feeling up to it, also share your thoughts on what you liked about either this chapter or the last one in the comments below! I LOVE reading comments, but unfortunately, I haven't had time to do so lately, but I shall soon! :')

I just wanted to quickly say thank you again to my lovelies over on the bird app for voting in the poll, and rest assured, I will get to write the other two fic candidates sometime in the future!

If you didn't know already, this chapter is loosely inspired by this thread I made over here ! and hey, if you haven't already come and join me and we can talk about all things gonana hehe

Thank you so much for reading again and I hope to see you again soon! x

Chapter 3: epilogue

Summary:

the final + epilogue to this little nerdjo fic of mine :)

Notes:

im sorry for the delay in dropping this - been undergoing a severe amount of writer's block among other things :')

please remember that this chapter does include mpreg, and if that's not your cup of tea, then you don't have to read it- the main story ended in chapter 2 and this is just a little indulgence for me :D

a massive thank you to my shayla alex for being my #1 supporter throughout all of this! it may not be 15k like i jokingly promised but without her love and excitement for the debut of baby gojo, i don't think i'd make it this far with this fic hehe

enjoy!

Gojo had only been nervous a handful of times in his life. Whether it was for exams or a meeting with his parents over his grades, or even organising a date with Nanami that had to be spectacular— like every other normal human, he sometimes got nervous.

Now is a prime example of that.

Graduation had finally come after the gruelling years of undergoing his PhD. His supervisor had been begrudging about his thesis, but it was good. 

Scratch that. It was stellar.

Going above and beyond everyone’s expectations. 

They wanted him to make a speech to his cohort. To their families. What was this, high school? Since when did they still have Valedictorians for PhD students?

Weird. His university was weird.

But he didn’t regret the experience.

Gojo remembered one of his course mates speaking of the butterfly effect during a seminar—a concept whereby something so minimal can have a long-lasting impact on the person.

Looking back on it then, he thought it was ridiculous. Things like that weren’t true.

But now? It made the most sense.

If he hadn’t chosen this university and hadn’t agreed to pretend to be a first-year student with Geto to attend the party, he wouldn’t have met the love of his life. And he most certainly would not have been in a relationship for the majority of his time at university.

He waited on the side of the stage for the crowd to settle down before the university’s President made his welcome speech. He’d only met the President at a handful of events during his time, at the behest of his former supervisor, Yaga. His new one didn’t care so much about what he did.

Gojo shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. His graduation robes kept dragging down. 

His eyes fell on the culprit in question.

Gojo couldn’t help but smile. “You okay, there, bub?”

A familiar pair of blue eyes stared back up at him, scrunching into the most adorable frown — one Gojo had kissed off Nanami’s face more times than he could count. White hair was caught in a mound, courtesy of the baby ear defenders he put on him, to protect his little ears from the loud crowd. He wore tiny trousers with suspenders. Gojo wouldn’t shut up about — Nanami had pretended to be annoyed, but he’d kissed him for it anyway.

Their baby. A seven-month-old. A chaotic little gremlin that was the perfect carbon copy of Gojo that Nanami had no chance at saying no to when it came to that beautiful face. “Don’t forget you promised Daddy you’d help him get through this ceremony before we go see Mamamin, okay?”

Their son perked up a little at the idea of seeing his mama. “Yeah, I know. I miss your mama a lot, too, buddy. We’ll see him soon, okay?”

People were hurrying around them, technicians, other faculty members, and some of his peers. Gojo tucked his baby more securely in his arms, gently bouncing the infant up and down.

“Gojo-san?” A member of events management called. “You’re up next.”

He nodded, then looked down. “Ready for this? Make sure you put on your biggest smile for mama.” His baby let out a gurgle sound. Gojo chuckled, reaching up to boop his nose. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

He waited for a few more moments for the President to finish his speech.

“…and now I am pleased to welcome to the stage, Gojo Satoru!”

A thunder of claps and cheers echoed throughout the auditorium as he stepped into the spotlight. Gojo, ever the one to bask in the attention of others, laughed and smiled at his peers and faculty members. As much as today was his day, it was also his little one’s, too. Said-infant giggled in his arms, waving his little hands high in the air for everyone to see.

When he reached the podium, the mic was a little too low. Of course it was. He was too tall for his university’s liking. Gojo cleared his throat, adjusting the height with one hand — the other still cradling his son snugly against his chest — and stared out into the ocean of people.

Shit, there were a lot of people. A lot more than what he had during his undergraduate and master's. Where was Kento? Gojo had tried to book tickets as early as possible, but life had gotten in the way — raising a newborn whilst battling the last stretch of your thesis keeps one preoccupied, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. And most importantly, he wasn’t alone. Without Nanami, the only one to have kept him upright and afloat, Gojo was certain he would’ve drowned.

Gojo leaned down towards the mic, adjusting it up for his height, so that he wasn’t squishing his baby. The little one was quiet, his little fist clutched onto Gojo’s ceremonial robes tighter.

He coughed. Then flashed a bedazzling smile at the crowd, but his eyes were already scanning the room for his person. “Uh, hi everyone. You already know who I am, so I don’t think I need to introduce myself.”

Gojo tilted his head, all smug grin and blue twinkling eyes. “Oh? What’s with the faces? You didn’t expect me to look this good in a robe? Can’t blame you.”

That earned a laugh, but it didn’t snuff out the murmuring. If anything, it got louder. Gojo squinted, then followed the line of sight — only to realise all those eyes weren’t on him.

They were on his little one.

“Ah,” Gojo said, a hand dramatically over his heart. His grin widened into something wicked, sharp with pride. “You noticed, huh?” He adjusted the mic with one hand and tilted his baby just enough so the whole auditorium could see the tiny face peeking out against his chest. “Yeah, sorry, no one told you I was bringing a plus-one. He doesn’t have a degree yet, but give him time. He’s a genius like his daddy, and hey, he looks like me, too! Just without the glasses, of course.”

Gojo lightly chuckled, eyes falling to the infant. “Do you want to say ‘hello’ to everyone?” He looked up at Gojo and scrunched his nose before burying his face deeper into his chest. Gojo’s heart melted on the spot. “Sorry, my son’s a little shy.”

He looked over at the crowd again, but Nanami was nowhere to be seen. He only remembered he was in row fifty-seven, but where was that? Gojo couldn’t remember if it was near the middle or not. Heads craned, people pointed, someone audibly gasped. A ripple of whispers began in the front rows, rolling back like a tide. Someone near the front whispered, half-scandalised, half-awed: “He brought a baby—”

But the noise all faded for Gojo the moment he looked down. Gojo adjusted his glasses as he rocked his son gently. The baby yawned, which made a ripple of laughter sweep across the auditorium. Gojo grinned.

“Yeah, you see? Even he’s bored already. Don’t worry, kiddo, I’ll make it quick. Daddy’s only dramatic, he’s not trying to be long-winded.”

More laughter. He basked in it for a moment, then softened, his grin slipping into something quieter.

“But… seriously. I didn’t get here alone.”

His gaze swept across the sea of faces. A hundred people, two hundred, and yet the one face he needed to see eluded him. He knew Nanami was out there—row fifty-seven, he’d memorised it like scripture—but it was too far back, too many people between them. All he could see was an endless blur of black robes and curious eyes.

“I owe all of this to someone. Someone who… who gave me everything. Someone who believed in me, even when I made it damn hard to. Someone who… carried me through nights I thought I wouldn’t make it out of.”

His voice cracked—just once, quick, like a spark—but the mic caught it. He felt his son shift against his chest, and Gojo squeezed him tighter.

“I never told my cohort this. Hell, most of you probably didn’t even know I was in a relationship. I hid it. We hid it. Because the truth is… I was scared. Scared of what people would think. Scared of the whispers, the envy, the judgment. I wanted to keep my lucky charm all to myself without anybody truly knowing. So I kept the best thing in my life a secret.”

The hall had gone still, the air taut with curiosity. Gojo’s fingers flexed against the podium, knuckles white.

“And now?” He laughed, but it was hoarse, fraying at the edges. “Now I stand here and realise that I’d burn every ounce of that fear if it meant you all understood one thing: I didn’t do this alone. I did this because I had someone waiting at home for me, even when we lived in two separate apartments. Someone who—” His voice broke again, softer this time. He had to stop, clear his throat, and blink furiously against the sting in his eyes.

A few people in the audience shifted, the silence turning heavy. The way Gojo clutched his baby tighter, the tremor in his words — it almost sounded like grief.

“…someone who isn’t here the way they used to be.”

Gasps rippled across the auditorium. Gojo let the silence hang just long enough for that dread to settle. His throat worked, his eyes finding the far-off blur of row fifty-seven, the place he knew Nanami sat. His chest ached with the weight of the pause.

Then, softly:

“They’re not here the way they used to be. Not in the late nights I came home empty, not in the quiet mornings when their side of the bed was cold. Too busy attending to our little one, so that I could catch a few more hours of rest when it got too much. They may not be here in front of me, but they’re here—” He pressed his palm flat against his chest, his son squirming as if in protest until Gojo kissed the top of his white-haired head. “Always here. In my heart. In him.” He tipped his chin at the baby, who cooed right on cue, easing the tension with a few nervous chuckles from the crowd.

Gojo exhaled, and the tremor in his voice steadied into conviction.

“So today, I don’t dedicate this to myself. I dedicate it to the person I love more than life. To the one who gave me this family, this strength, this happiness. The love of my life. My partner. My Kento. And to our son — the most perfect proof that love can survive anything.”

He smiled, wide and wet-eyed, finally letting his gaze lock on a blur of blond he swore he could make out in the sea of faces. “This is for you. Both of you. We made it. Together.”

For a moment, silence lingered. Then the auditorium erupted — cheers, claps, a wave of noise so loud that his son startled against his chest before nestling back in with a soft whimper. Gojo bent his head, whispering quick soothing nonsense, swaying just slightly until the baby’s tiny fist unclenched against his robe.

When he looked up again, he couldn’t help but grin. Not for the applause. Not for the crowd. But because he swore — in that endless blur of black robes — he saw a hand rise—a small, deliberate wave. Blond hair catching the light.

Nanami.

Gojo’s chest ached, full in a way no degree or medal could match — a weight of love and wonder that made every sleepless night, every stressful deadline, every hidden heartbeat of longing for Nanami and this little one worth it.

Gojo straightened at the podium, adjusting his robes while cradling his wriggling son. “So… in the end, all I can really say is this: I didn’t get here alone. I had a partner, a team, a little genius who keeps me on my toes every single day.”

The baby, sensing the attention, reached out a tiny hand and smacked the mic. A soft, squelchy clap echoed through the auditorium. The crowd burst into laughter and applause, and Gojo laughed with them, eyes glinting.

“You see that?” he said, lifting the little one higher, “even he knows this is a big deal. And he approves.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of his son’s head. “Alright, that’s enough stealing Daddy’s spotlight. Let’s go back and let the real graduates have their moment… but don’t worry. Daddy’s proud of both of you.”

With that, Gojo stepped back from the podium, holding his son close as the audience clapped, hooted, and cheered, and returned to his seat, heart swelling as the little one gurgled happily, looking around at the crowd like a tiny conqueror in his father’s arms.

The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur. 

Despite returning to his seat, Gojo was back on stage within minutes to shake hands with the President and Vice-President — the two even going as far as to give handshakes each to his son, earning wriggling and nonsensical babbles from him.

After that, more names were called, and students lined up on the side, ready to take their moment on stage and receive their diplomas. But most, if not all, were distracted: their heads kept turning to where Gojo was sitting, too busy paying attention to the infant in his lap as he waved around the pamphlet with the ceremony’s programme.

Gojo paid no mind to the onlookers — his son was more important. He gurgled in delight up at him, and the gummy smile he gave to those sitting around them. Tiny teeth were just starting to show — teething was around the corner. They’d need toys, gels, something. That was okay. His heart swelled with pride at this little one that he got to call his own.

Leaning down, he nuzzled his son’s ear. “See that, bub? Some people just can’t handle the truth.” The baby giggled, drool landing squarely on Gojo’s robes. He laughed, letting the words sink in. “That’s right. Mess up my outfit all you want. Daddy’s proud anyway.”

Gojo ruffled the fine white hair and whispered conspiratorially, “You and me, buddy. We’re unstoppable.” The baby cooed back, reaching for Gojo’s face as if to confirm the deal.

He sat back, basking in it—the weight of his child on his chest, the way the room’s whispers no longer stung but fed into his pride. Once upon a time, he’d been mortified at the thought of anyone hearing how much Nanami unravelled for him. Now? He hoped the whole damn hall remembered. Because this baby—their baby—was proof that every moan, every whispered promise, every sleepless night had been worth it.

The baby fussed, pawing at the long tassel that dangled from his cap. Gojo watched as his son grabbed it in both fists, yanked it toward his mouth, then let out a little victorious squeal. The auditorium laughed softly with him.

Gojo chuckled. “Smart already. Wants to eat his diploma before I even get it.” He tugged the tassel free and tapped his son’s nose. “Patience, okay? We’ll frame the real thing for mama.” He’ll make sure it’s placed next to Nanami’s master's diploma. One day, they’ll have a wall filled with diplomas from theirs to this little one’s and any that come along the way. 

The little one babbled back at him — a string of nonsense sounds, but one of them slurred close enough to ‘mm-ma’ that Gojo’s heart clenched. He kissed the soft crown of white hair, blinking fast.

“Yeah, I know. You want mama, don’t you?”

His chest ached. He wanted his mama, too.

For all the pomp of the ceremony, for all the clapping and the half-hidden stares, Gojo found his gaze slipping back toward the crowd every few seconds, searching for blond hair, he couldn’t quite make out. The blur of Nanami’s shape, maybe.

It didn’t matter. Just knowing he was out there, watching, waiting, made Gojo’s pulse skip. The speech, the applause, the whispers — all of it dimmed against the single thought burning steadily in his chest: I can’t wait to get you both home.

And then, finally, the long string of names dwindled, the hall filled one last time with thunderous claps, and the faculty signalled for everyone to stand. Gowns swished, caps shifted, and the graduates began funnelling toward the doors.

The moment Gojo stepped out into the courtyard, the air hit different. Fresh, crisp, cooler than the packed auditorium. Relief washed over him — until he realised the relief wasn’t going to last. Because within seconds, people were on him.

“Gojo-san! Congratulations!”

“Your baby’s adorable!”

“Here, Senpai— flowers! And some chocolate!”

It was like a wave. Students, professors, and even strangers holding cameras. A dozen hands thrusting bouquets and wrapped boxes toward him, a dozen voices vying for his attention.

Gojo laughed, wide and easy, though his son squirmed a little at the sudden commotion. “Careful, careful! He’s taken, you know,” he teased, angling his baby away from the crowd with exaggerated protectiveness. “Only one person gets to steal him from me.”

The little one batted at the flowers shoved too close, tiny fingers brushing petals. The crowd cooed. Gojo soaked it in, balancing gifts awkwardly in one arm while bouncing his son in the other. It was chaos, but he loved it. This — all of it — was proof. Evidence of what they had constructed, what they had concealed, and what he could finally show to the world without shame.

But his son wasn’t nearly as charmed. He fussed, kicking against Gojo’s chest, little brows furrowed tight. The gummy smile from earlier was gone, replaced by a wobbling pout. He pawed at Gojo’s robes, then tugged at his tassel again — insistent this time, as though trying to redirect him. When that didn’t work, he let out a sharp squeal that made a few onlookers laugh.

Gojo tilted his head down, bouncing him again. “What’s wrong, bub? You were eating this up a second ago.”

The baby’s lip trembled; his fists pressed against his eyes. Another tiny squeal, higher-pitched this time, almost desperate.

And then Gojo realised — he wasn’t crying for the crowd. He wasn’t crying for him. He wanted mama.

That knowledge tugged fiercely at Gojo’s chest.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, kissing the baby’s temple before looking back at the crowd with a sheepish grin. “Guess my time’s up. Someone’s not impressed with daddy hogging all the attention.”

Gojo shifted his grip, tucking the flowers awkwardly under one arm as he bounced his son higher against his chest. “Don’t pout, you’re making daddy look bad, and mama will get mad with me,” he whispered, but the words had no bite. His baby squirmed harder, pushing his tiny fists against Gojo’s chin like he could physically turn him in the right direction.

Gojo followed the line of those impatient tugs, and his chest loosened instantly.

The baby saw him, too. The frown cracked, his whole face lighting up in an instant. He let out a squeal so piercing and delighted that a few people turned, laughing, as Gojo nearly dropped the bouquet trying to hold him steady. Tiny hands flailed in the air, reaching, demanding.

“There he is,” Gojo murmured, pressing a kiss into his son’s hair. His grin was crooked, breathless. “Knew you’d sniff him out before me, huh? Daddy’s got terrible eyes, but not you. You’d find mama in a hurricane.”

The baby giggled, kicking against his chest, tugging at his robes with desperate urgency. Every ounce of him was pointed toward the oak tree, toward Nanami.

Gojo started pushing through the crowd, gifts bumping against his legs, people still trying to stop him with congratulations. He grinned, waved, cracked jokes — but his steps were already angling toward the only place that mattered. Meanwhile, his son’s squirming only grew worse as he shoved at his chest like he was offended by the delay.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Gojo laughed, trying to juggle three bouquets and a fancy bag of truffles without dropping his kid. “I know, I know, you want mama. But daddy’s too popular, what can I say?”

The baby whined, loud and insistent, tiny face screwed up with impatience. He pawed at the collar of Gojo’s robe, tugged his tassel, and even let out a shriek sharp enough to make an elderly professor flinch.

“He’s got good taste,” someone nearby joked, earning a ripple of chuckles. Gojo grinned weakly, but the truth was his son’s fussing made his chest ache.

Because he knew that cry, it wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t tiredness. It was need. Pure and simple. He wanted his mama, and Gojo was keeping him from him.

“Alright, alright, you win,” Gojo whispered, leaning down to kiss his temple. “Daddy’ll stop being a rockstar. Let’s go.”

He pushed harder through the sea of hands and congratulations until finally — finally — the oak tree came into full view.

Nanami stood there, steady as ever, his posture softening the second their eyes met. He wasn’t alone — Geto and Haibara lingered beside him, smiling — but all Gojo saw was the blond with a small bouquet of his own held against his chest. Simple. Elegant. Just like him.

The baby’s squeals peaked at the sight, tiny arms straining forward, his little body practically launching itself out of Gojo’s hold.

Gojo’s grin wobbled. Without a second thought, he let all the gifts — the roses, the chocolates, the applause pressed into his hands — tumble unceremoniously to the grass.

Because Nanami had flowers for him, and there was no universe in which he’d ever choose anyone else’s.

The gifts tumbled from Gojo’s arms in a messy heap at his feet, petals scattering over the grass. He didn’t even glance at them. All his attention — all of him — locked on Nanami.

God. Seven months postpartum, and Nanami still stole the air from his lungs. There was a slight softness clinging to his waist and chest, proof of what he’d carried and given, and Gojo thought it suited him better than any tailored suit ever could. His hair caught the sunlight in strands of gold, his skin flushed pink from the late-summer heat.

Ethereal. That was the only word. And Kento was only mine.

Nanami’s face, however, was doing its best impression of a frown — mouth flat, brows knit, the picture of stern disapproval. Gojo could practically hear the lecture about ‘not overexerting yourself in a crowd’ brewing.

But then the baby squealed again, high and delighted, and Nanami’s whole expression cracked wide open.

The smile that bloomed was brilliant, blinding. Teeth and dimples and eyes going soft all at once. He held the flowers tighter against his chest, but his other hand came up instinctively, reaching, as if his body couldn’t bear to wait a second longer without holding their son.

Gojo’s heart clenched so hard it hurt.

Nothing in the crowd — not the whispers, not the stares, not the accolades — compared to that smile.

Gojo didn’t move. Not yet.

The flowers Nanami held were simple — white lilies threaded with sprigs of lavender — but against his broad hands, they looked like something out of a painting. Gojo’s gaze lingered on the way his fingers curled around the stems, strong and steady, the same hands that had held Gojo together more times than he could count.

Their son wriggled in his arms, impatient, little fists patting against his chest as if to scold him for taking too long. Gojo kissed the crown of white hair to soothe him, but the boy only let out another squawk, eyes locked firmly on Nanami.

“Yeah, I know,” Gojo whispered against his baby’s ear. “You want mama. I do too.”

Nanami’s smile widened the longer he looked at their child, softening into something almost reverent. The frown lines were gone, smoothed out as though the baby’s gaze alone had erased them. His lips parted slightly, like he might laugh, or call out, or just breathe Gojo’s name.

Gojo’s chest burned. He wanted to cross the grass, push through the wall of people, and close that gap — but for once in his life, he let it stretch. Let himself drink it in. The sight of Nanami waiting for him, flowers in hand, smile brighter than the sun, and the proof of their love squirming impatiently in his arms.

It was almost too much. Almost.

The baby squealed in triumph as he was passed over, burying his face against Nanami’s chest with a noise so loud and relieved it had Gojo’s throat aching. Nanami pressed a kiss into soft white hair, eyes fluttering shut as he breathed his son in.

“You kept me waiting again,” Nanami murmured, his voice low but clear enough for Gojo to catch every syllable. He tilted their baby back just enough to look at him, frown melting into something unbearably soft. “Didn’t you, little one? You kept us both waiting.”

The baby gurgled, grabbing a fistful of Nanami’s shirt and squealing as if in agreement. Nanami laughed under his breath, brushing his thumb across a plump cheek. “You’re impatient. Just like your daddy.”

Nanami adjusted him on his hip, only for their son to immediately find something new to latch onto. “No, baby, don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.” He lightly scolded, prying small fingers away from the silver band around his finger. The baby babbled stubbornly, gummy mouth gnawing at the ring like it was his newest teething toy.

His baby teeth were slowly making an appearance, but that meant the teething stage was around the corner. They’d need toys, gels, something. That was okay. Gojo’s heart swelled with pride at this little one he got to call his own.

And then his gaze snagged on the ring again. The way it caught in the sunlight, clutched in tiny fists. His chest squeezed. It hadn’t been on Nanami’s hand for long, and yet it already felt permanent. He remembered the blur that had led here — Geto moving out, Nanami moving in, and then those weeks when Kento had started looking pale around the edges—the mornings when sickness clung to him like a second shadow. Gojo had stayed over more and more until it wasn’t even a question of whose apartment he belonged in.

It had been messy, clumsy, and terrifying. And now here they were — their son babbling with his mama’s engagement ring caught between his fingers, proof that every ounce of it had been worth it.

Gojo could feel his throat tighten. He couldn’t stop himself — he reached out, brushing his knuckles against Nanami’s hand until those steady brown eyes lifted to his.

For a second, it was just the two of them. The noise of the courtyard, the gawking crowd, even their son tugging insistently at the ring — all of it blurred away.

“You’re glowing,” Gojo said softly, almost reverently. “Postpartum and still… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Nanami huffed, somewhere between embarrassed and exasperated, but the faint colour rising in his cheeks betrayed him. “You’re late. You’re supposed to be paying attention to your son.”

“I am,” Gojo murmured, stepping closer until their arms brushed. “I’m paying attention to both of you.”

The baby squealed, as if in protest, and Gojo chuckled, dropping his hand to rub a small back before leaning in, his voice low and just for Nanami. “I kept you waiting too long, didn’t I? I’m sorry, my love. Never again.”

Nanami’s mouth parted like he wanted to reply, but Gojo stole the chance. He dipped down, kissing him—brief, tender, lingering—a promise pressed against his lips.

The kiss lingered just long enough to make Gojo forget where they were — until a voice cut in, loud and unfiltered:

“Seriously? In public? God, you two are freaks.”

Haibara.

Gojo pulled back with an irritated noise, but Nanami was already chuckling under his breath, lips curving into a smile that softened the sting of interruption.

They turned to find Haibara standing there with his usual shameless slouch, hands stuffed into his pockets, hair messy like he’d rolled out of bed and shown up purely to cause chaos. Geto followed half a step behind, arms folded, his expression torn between amusement and apology.

“Haibara,” Nanami said, in the same tone he used on their son when he reached for power sockets.

“What?” Haibara gestured broadly — at them, at the baby clinging to Nanami’s ring, at the faint, clear smudge of chapstick Gojo had just left on Nanami’s mouth. “I’m happy for you, I am. But I still can’t believe you two actually went and made another human being. That’s like… next-level freak behaviour.”

“Coming from you?” Gojo shot back, incredulous. “You and Geto are worse.”

“Hey!” Haibara protested, his ears going pink even as his grin widened. “We don’t go around making babies. We have boundaries!”

Geto sighed, smacking the back of his head without even looking. “Don’t listen to him. He’s thrilled, he just doesn’t know how to say it without being crude.” His gaze softened, slipping toward Nanami, then the baby. Geto reached out to ruffle the kid’s hair, earning a hum in approval from the little one. “We’re both really happy for you. Honestly.”

“My baby’s already smarter than you,” Nanami deadpanned, adjusting the baby on his hip.

Geto laughed so hard he had to grab Haibara’s arm to steady himself. “Finally, someone else said it.”

“Traitor,” Haibara muttered, though he was grinning too wide to mean it.

The four of them stood there for a moment, laughter spilling between them, messy and fond. For Gojo, it felt like a circle had closed — his family, his best friend, his brother, all intertwined in the kind of happiness he’d once thought was too fragile to last.

The baby gurgled, tugging insistently at Nanami’s ring, and Gojo leaned in to whisper against his fiancé’s ear, “See? Even he thinks Uncle Haibara’s full of it.”

Nanami’s eyes narrowed, and the corner of his mouth lifted in that tiny, deadly smirk reserved for people who’d misbehaved. “Language,” he said, tone clipped, low enough that only Gojo, the baby, and their onlookers could hear. “Not in front of my son.”

Haibara froze, one brow twitching. “He can’t even talk yet!”

“That doesn’t matter,” Nanami said, shifting the baby higher against his chest. The little one yawned and pressed closer to his chest as if agreeing. “He listens. He learns. And I won’t have his first words being one of yours.”

Haibara’s shoulders stiffened, a faint flush rising to his neck. “W-what do you mean, mine?!”

Geto, ever the protective one, stepped a little closer to Haibara, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Just… sit down, Yu. Enjoy the show.”

Haibara’s eyes darted to Nanami, then to the baby, and back to Nanami again. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly caught between awe and the sudden realisation that Nanami could shut down all three of them with a single look.

“You’re such a prude,” he muttered.

Gojo’s laugh bubbled up, quiet and fond, as he kissed the top of the baby’s head. Nanami’s frown softened immediately when the little one cooed, tugging at the silver band on his finger once more. The moment was quiet, domestic, powerful — and Haibara was left squirming, fully aware that Nanami’s ‘mama energy’ was now officially in charge. Haibara then shifted closer to Geto, almost as if by instinct. And Geto, without missing a beat, tilted his shoulder to make space for him. 

Gojo caught it instantly. The ease. The way Haibara’s restless energy seemed to settle when Geto brushed their hands together — not by accident, but deliberately. Fingers lacing, just for a heartbeat, before Haibara tugged them apart again, ears pink but smile tugging wider.

And maybe that was the difference now. Gojo watched the way Geto leaned just a little too close into Haibara’s space, the way Haibara didn’t pull away but tilted toward him instead, indulgent and steady. It wasn’t loud or showy like Gojo and Nanami, but it was there — a shift that felt permanent.

On again, off again, all through university. Years of push and pull, of Haibara’s walls and Geto’s ridiculous patience. Gojo remembered the late-night rants, the mornings after fights, the stubborn silences stretched for weeks. He remembered Haibara swearing he couldn’t do commitment — not again, not after last time. And Geto smiling through it, always ready to wait. Always ready to catch him when he circled back.

Now, though? The fight seemed gone. Haibara stood at Geto’s side like he belonged there. He was still restless, still mouthing off, but the edges had softened. And Geto… Geto had that look in his eyes. The one he’d worn at their pregnancy reveal—the one Gojo had seen on his own face in the mirror too many times to count.

“Don’t get used to me being all sappy about your kid,” Haibara muttered, still pink at the ears, voice pitched low like he thought no one would hear. “I couldn’t care less that Gojo was finally graduating. I’m only here because he’s cute.”

Geto hummed, quiet, amused. He didn’t argue, didn’t tease. Just slipped a hand into Haibara’s, fingers lacing through with a gentleness that shut him right up. Haibara froze for a beat — then squeezed back, the tips of his ears burning hotter, though his grin tugged wider.

It was simple. Easy. The kind of intimacy that didn’t need to be declared.

Yeah. They were in bloom. And maybe this time, it wasn’t going to wither.

Took him long enough, Gojo thought. Too busy, enraptured by Geto and the hopeless romantic in him.

Gojo’s chest eased, something warm blooming there. His family. His friends. All of them, in their messy, different ways, had made it this far.

The baby wriggled then, letting out a sharp squeal that had all four of them glancing down at once. His little hands smacked insistently against Nanami’s chest, his mouth working as if he were trying to get a word out.

“Think he’s hungry?” Geto asked, grinning.

Nanami adjusted him, checking with a soft hum. “Probably. It’s about time.”

Haibara perked up, already turning toward the street. “Then let’s fix that. I’m starving. There’s a soba place right around the corner.”

Gojo grinned, eyes crinkling as he leaned into Nanami’s space, brushing his nose against his temple. “Perfect. First round’s on me. C’mon — let’s feed the little guy before he declares war on us all.”

And just like that, the courtyard emptied into motion — laughter spilling easily between them, the baby’s squeals carrying above the crowd, and Gojo’s heart fuller than it had ever been.

 

-

 

By the time they got home, the night had settled thick and heavy around them. The city outside still hummed with distant traffic, but their little apartment was quiet — blessedly so after the nonstop chaos of the day.

Their son was drooping in Gojo’s arms, eyelids heavy, small fists clinging lazily to his father’s robes. Every so often, he let out a soft whimper, the kind that meant he was too tired to fight sleep but not quite ready to surrender.

Nanami slipped his shoes off by the door, already reaching to take him. “I’ll get him ready for bed. You should rest — you’ve done enough for one day.”

Gojo shook his head, grinning even as he crouched to set down the bag of gifts they’d carried home. “Uh-uh. Kento, you’ve been on your feet all day, too. Unwind. Read a book, take a shower, stare at the ceiling — whatever you want. I’ve got him.”

“Satoru—“

“Nope.” He kissed the baby’s head, then leaned forward to steal a quick kiss from Nanami too, his grin smug when it landed. “You carried him for nine months. You nurse him. You still wake up with him half the time, even when I tell you to let me do it. Tonight, I get bath duty.”

Nanami raised a brow, clearly about to argue — but then the baby stirred, making a soft, needy sound against Gojo’s chest. Gojo bounced him gently, rubbing his back. “See? He agrees. It’s daddy’s turn.”

For a moment, Nanami just watched — the way Gojo cradled their son, the tenderness tucked beneath every exaggerated grin. His lips twitched like he wanted to scold, but what came out instead was softer. “Don’t splash water everywhere.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “You wound me. I’m a responsible adult.”

Nanami gave him a long look, utterly unconvinced, then finally shook his head and pressed a hand against Gojo’s cheek. “Fine. But if he smells like shampoo instead of baby soap again, I’m never trusting you with bath time.”

Gojo nuzzled into the touch, grinning. “Deal.”

Nanami kissed their son’s temple, lingering just long enough that his eyes fluttered shut with a tiny sigh. Then he turned, padding toward their bedroom, shoulders relaxing at last.

“Response adult,” Nanami muttered under his breath, “So responsible, he got me pregnant before either of us even graduated.” 

Gojo watched him go, chest tight with something that had nothing to do with exhaustion. Then he glanced down at the small, drowsy face tucked against him.

“Just you and me now, bub,” he whispered, rocking gently as he made his way toward the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up, then bedtime, so Daddy can sleep with mama. Sound good?”

The baby gave a tiny hum, almost as if in agreement, and Gojo smiled so wide it hurt.

By the time bath time was finished, the bathroom light was soft, warm, reflecting faintly off the tile walls. Their son squirmed in Gojo’s arms, freshly bathed, his hair damp and smelling faintly of baby shampoo.

Gojo leaned back in the rocking chair, shirtless, the baby snug against his bare chest. Skin-to-skin, the warmth of their little one pressed into him never failed to make his heart swell. Even seven months in, he still loved this — the gentle weight, the soft sounds, the way tiny fingers curled against his skin like they were holding on for dear life.

“You did amazing today, bub,” he murmured, voice low, brushing a thumb over the baby’s damp white hair. “Suit? Perfect. Suspender game? Impeccable. Almost stole the show from Daddy… almost.” The little one gurgled in response, and Gojo chuckled. “See? Science agrees. Tiny humans exert gravitational pull, and apparently, you pulled everyone’s attention.”

He kissed the crown of the baby’s head, whispering, “You know, bub, pretty soon you’re gonna start copying us. That’s how it works—babies observe, then they imitate. Input, output. Like… data processing, but with drool.”

The baby cooed, mouth working around a fist, and Gojo grinned.

“Which means—” he tapped the tip of his son’s nose, “—you better pick your role model wisely. I’m funnier. Mama’s prettier. Either way, you win.”

His chest went soft, the kind of ache he could never name. He tilted his head, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “But if you start quoting Kento about compound interest before you say ‘dada’? That’s betrayal, bub. Just so we’re clear.”

The baby gurgled again, as if laughing at him, and Gojo kissed the crown of his head. He then laughed, “Ah, see? You agree with me.”

“Or,” a familiar voice cut in, low and even, “he’s laughing at you.”

Gojo turned toward the doorway. Nanami leaned against the frame, arms folded, glasses catching the dim light. Calm. Collected. His eyes were warm, but his tone carried the faintest reprimand. “He’ll decide what he wants to do in the future. But I’d prefer if you didn’t fill his head with science puns while he’s still learning to crawl.”

Gojo hummed, bouncing their son a little higher against his bare chest. “Aw, come on, baby. Science builds character.” His gaze flicked lower, and his grin turned slow and wicked. There it was—the faint, wet bloom soaking into Nanami’s shirt.

Nanami caught it instantly. The shift in Gojo’s eyes. The way his smirk sharpened. Heat crawled up his neck before he could stop it, his arms tightening across his chest like that could hide what Gojo had already noticed.

Gojo’s voice dropped, teasing, intimate. “Some of us are clearly already… overflowing with character.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched, his composure cracking for just a beat. He shot him a glare, cheeks flushed. “Satoru.”

Gojo bit back a laugh, kissing the baby’s temple instead, smug and hopelessly in love.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, and he adjusted his glasses like that could hide the pink creeping into his cheeks. “Don’t start,” he said flatly, though his voice carried that thread of warning only Gojo ever seemed to pull from him. “Not when you’re holding him. You should be focusing on our son, not…” His arms folded tighter across his chest, as though that could conceal the spreading damp on his shirt. “…not whatever that is.”

Gojo rocked the baby a little, slow and steady, pretending innocence while his grin curved wider. “Oh, I am focused. On both of you.”

“Don’t twist my words, Satoru.” Nanami’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t step away. Couldn’t.

Gojo tilted his head, brushing his lips across their son’s hair as though the act itself wasn’t enough to ground him in this moment. His voice softened, velvet smooth. “It’s alright. You don’t have to hide it. Once he’s down…” His eyes cut up, blue catching gold with deliberate heat. “I’ll take care of you. Properly.”

Nanami exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and a stifled sound that betrayed too much. He glanced toward the crib, as if it could save him, though his ears betrayed him, pink to the tips.

The baby yawned, little fists curling against Gojo’s chest, unaware of the current thickening between his parents. Gojo just kept rocking, smiling, infuriatingly patient, as though he had all the time in the world.

The baby was down at last. Gojo lingered by the crib, brushing his fingers across the soft white hair once, and then giving one last kiss to his son’s forehead, before he eased the door closed with all the precision of a thief.

The hallway was dim, golden with only a single lamp glowing down by their bedroom. Nanami was waiting there, back against the wall, arms folded. He looked every bit the stern professor he’d always been — glasses low on his nose, his shirt still rumpled where dampness had spread across the front, his mouth set as if he were ready to scold Gojo all over again.

Gojo grinned, padding barefoot across the wood until he was close enough to crowd into his space. “You’re still prickly,” he murmured, eyes dancing. “Even after storytime and bath duty. What’s it gonna take, hm?”

Nanami’s glare sharpened, but it wasn’t enough to hide the faint flush climbing his cheekbones. “What it’s going to take,” he said lowly, “is you learning restraint. You can’t—”

Gojo kissed him before he could finish.

It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, a press of mouth on mouth that tasted of every swallowed word and stiff line Nanami tried to hold between them. He stiffened, as he always did, but the hand that shot out to grip Gojo’s shoulder betrayed him.

Gojo hummed against his lips, breaking away only long enough to smirk, “Told you I’d take care of you.”

And then, slowly, deliberately, he reached up. Fingers hooked at the bridge of his own glasses, sliding them free with a single smooth motion. He didn’t toss them. He folded them one-handed, lazy, almost taunting — before setting them carefully on the narrow table beside them.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Gojo grinned against his lips, and with a sudden, practised ease, he hooked one hand beneath Nanami’s thigh, hiking his leg up high against his hip.

The move stole whatever composure Nanami had left. His fingers dug hard into Gojo’s shoulder, sharp enough to bruise, but he didn’t push him away. Couldn’t.

“Cheater,” Nanami managed, low and rough, but Gojo only kissed him harder, swallowing the accusation like it was another confession.

God, Gojo thought, nothing beat that reaction. Nothing beats showing him this — Gojo stripped down, no smirk to hide behind, no barrier, no distraction—just him. “Better,” he murmured, brushing his nose against Nanami’s as he leaned back in. “Now you’ve got all of me.”

Nanami’s hand clenched tighter at his shoulder, dragging him flush against the wall. His lips parted, as if he might argue, but Gojo swallowed the sound with another kiss — softer this time, coaxing and promising.

They didn’t make it far before Nanami’s back hit the bedroom door. Gojo nudged it open with a careless kick, kissing him like the world might fall apart if he stopped. By the time they stumbled inside, the lamp cast everything in warm amber, softening the sharp edges of Nanami’s scowl.

Gojo broke the kiss, chest heaving, and glanced down. Milk still dampened the front of Nanami’s shirt, a quiet reminder of what he’d been about to help with. His grin crooked, softer this time. “I should take care of that for you.”

Nanami arched a brow, still trying to hold himself together. “That was the idea.”

But Gojo shook his head, cupping Nanami’s jaw as if he were memorising him. “No. Not like that. Not yet.” His voice dipped, thick with something vulnerable that almost sounded like pleading. “I can’t… focus unless you’re in my lap.”

Nanami blinked, thrown for half a second, before realisation flickered in his eyes.

Gojo leaned in close, brushing their noses together, whispering as if it were a secret between the two of them. “Sit on me. Just… be with me. Let me hold you. That’s all I need.”

His thumb traced over the silver band on Nanami’s finger, grounding himself. “Otherwise, I can’t think straight. You should know that by now. You’re the only thing that makes the noise stop.”

Nanami gave him that long, assessing look — the one that always made Gojo feel like his heart was laid bare. And then, finally, with a soft sigh, he shifted, straddling Gojo’s thighs. The bed dipped beneath their combined weight.

The second Nanami settled in his lap, Gojo’s lungs worked again. He wrapped both arms around his waist, burying his face briefly against the curve of his neck, exhaling like he’d been holding that breath for years.

“See?” Gojo murmured, voice muffled. “Everything makes sense now.”

Nanami huffed, though the sound was gentler than any real annoyance. He let his hands rest on Gojo’s shoulders, his weight pressing warm and steady into his lap.

Gojo tipped his head back to look at him properly. The lamplight caught on the silver band around Nanami’s finger, and before he could stop himself, Gojo caught his hand, kissing the ring slowly. He lingered there, lips brushing metal and skin alike. “Not much longer now,” he whispered, eyes lifting to meet his fiancé’s. “A couple of months and you’ll be stuck with me for real.”

Nanami’s lips twitched. “Stuck isn’t the word I’d use.” His gaze softened, heavy with fondness. 

Gojo hummed low in approval, hands sliding automatically to Nanami’s waist, thumbs pressing lazy circles into the soft curve left behind from pregnancy.

“Better,” Gojo murmured, nuzzling against Nanami’s cheek. “Now I can actually think straight.”

Nanami gave him a flat look, though his lashes dipped when Gojo’s fingers flexed against his hips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. You weren’t saying that when I was pulling all-nighters with bub on my chest and my laptop balanced on the couch cushion,” Gojo said, voice pitching sly, teasing. “I told you, didn’t I? No way was I letting you stay up with me. You’d just given birth—your body needed rest. So I did both.”

Nanami’s eyes softened, almost despite himself. “…I remember.”

“Of course you do,” Gojo said, grin widening as he leaned in to kiss the corner of his fiancé’s mouth. “You’d always stumble out half-asleep at three a.m., just to check on us. I’d have him in one arm, typing with the other, and you’d just stand there looking at us like we’d hung the damn moon.”

A flush crept up Nanami’s neck, but he huffed quietly. “You exaggerate.”

“Do I?” Gojo tilted his head, smirk sharp. “You’re giving me that same look right now.”

Nanami made a noise of protest, but Gojo was already pressing another kiss to his jaw, trailing toward his ear. “Tell me, Kento,” he whispered, tone wicked, “if we made another one, would you look at me like that again? Watch me with two of them clinging to me while I write my next big science report?”

Nanami stiffened, heat rising to his face. “Satoru—”

“Oh, I can see it,” Gojo went on, unbothered, mouth brushing against the curve of his throat. “One little genius in my arms, the other hanging off your chest, sucking milk from these perfect tits—maybe both keeping you up this time. Not that you’d mind, right? You’d be too busy looking at me, thinking how good I look as a daddy of two.”

Nanami groaned, low and warning, but Gojo only grinned wider, reaching for his hand. He lifted it slowly, deliberately, kissing the silver ring pressed snug around his finger. “Not long now until the big day. After that? Who knows. Could start working on extra credit.” His teeth grazed the band, playful. “You like the sound of that, don’t you, Kento?”

Nanami’s breath caught, his composure thinning as he shifted in Gojo’s lap. “…You’re insufferable.”

“Mm,” Gojo hummed, sliding a hand up Nanami’s back. “You say that, but here you are—sitting pretty in my lap.” He tipped his head back just enough to catch his fiancé’s eye, the grin turning smug. “Feels to me like you enjoy it. Especially since you’re leaking again.”

Nanami’s lips parted, maybe for a retort, but Gojo didn’t give him the chance. He leaned forward, kissing his ring again, slower this time. His gaze flicked up, blue eyes glinting as he whispered:

“You and him—you’re my significant figures. Nothing else in the equation matters.”

The corner of Nanami’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile he didn’t want to give.

Gojo rolled his hips just slightly, just enough to make him gasp, then smirked widely. “Though… between you and me? I wouldn’t mind rounding up to three.”

And in the quiet of the room, with the soft glow of the night around them, that was enough for now, and forever. Gojo leaned in, brushing his lips gently against Nanami’s in a soft, lingering kiss—an unspoken promise of all the tomorrows they would share together.

“I love you,” Gojo whispered against his lips.

Nanami’s hand cupped his cheek, voice soft but certain. “I love you too.”

And in that simple exchange, everything else fell away. Just them. Just home.

 

fin.

Notes:

aaaaa welcome to the end!

thank you to those who made it and i hope you enjoyed this journey of gonana's :)

please remember to be respectful of my work as well as other creators' works.

if you haven't already, drop some kudos if you enjoyed this and only if you'd like to, drop a comment on what you liked most! i'd also like to apologise again to everyone who has commented on the other two chapters, i've been meaning to reply but unfortuntely life keeps getting in the way of that but rest assured, i will reply in the next few days :)

if you'd like some more gonana feels, do check out my other works for the fluff and domesticity with a little spice sprinkled in hehehe

i am over on the bird app if you wanted to see more of me loving gonana - it's the same as my user here :)

lastly a massive 'thank you' again to everyone who has come this far! i hope to be back quite soon with another gonana fic!

much love from me <3

Notes:

Welcome to the end of the first chapter :)

I apologise for the angst - I thought it would only be at the beginning, and I'm not entirely sure myself what happened at the end there

If you enjoyed reading, please don't forget to leave some kudos below and, if you're feeling up to it, comment and share your thoughts on what you've liked so far!

There are two more chapters after this, where our pookie Nanami gets his justice, and of course, the main smut and a little epilogue for my own indulgence, hehe.

In the meantime, you can read (or re-read!) any of my other fics - all filled with domestic and fluffy gonana, of course hehehe

See you soon :)