Jjk X Y/n - Blog Posts

Here’s a ferret picture as an apology for my absence

I’ve been in a rut with my mental health, but I deep cleaned my room yesterday and got lots of cuddles from my baby Lucas (ferret^)

So. I’m hoping I’ll get something out today.

Sorry for my absence 🥲

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⋆.˚✮Lex's Jujutsu Kaisen Master List.✮˚.⋆

❤️‍🔥 - smut

💋- spicy

🌸 - fluff

🥀 - angst

🌺 - neutral

Satorou Gojo

⋆ Secret. Satoro Gojo x Fem!Reader. ⚝ ♡Valentines Prompt♡ 🌸

Yuji Itadori

Coming soon…

Megumi Fushiguro

Coming soon…

Kento Nanami

Coming soon…

Ryomen Sukuna

Coming soon…

Toge Inumaki

Coming soon…

Suguru Geto

Coming soon…

⋆˙⟡ Secret. Satorou Gojo x Fem!Reader ⟡⋆˙

⋆.˚✮ Valentine’s Day story 7/14 ✮˚.⋆

Fair warning, this is the first time I’ve written for Gojo, so sorry if it’s a little off!

Enjoy my darlings ✧˖°.

🌸

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Gojo yawned as he walked down the side walk, the people bustling about around him. Things had been slow that day, surprisingly.

His errands were taken care of, he’d caused Ijichi grief, and handed Yuji off to Nanami. Yup, everything was done and accounted for.

Now it was time for his favorite part of the day. He strolled lazily through the side walks, before making his way to a flower shop.

Gojo hummed as he passed by gorgeous bouquets, really though, all he was looking for, was a pretty pink bouquet of roses.

He’d never even celebrated Valentine’s Day before recently, when a certain someone managed to catch his eye.

He chuckled lightly to himself and shook his head. There he was, a special grade sorcerer, buying pretty pink roses for his little secret.

He eventually found them, taking a modestly sized bouquet and strolling to the counter.

Gojo smiled at the woman at the register, who looked starstruck by his silky white hair and blindfold over his eyes.

“Well hey there, it’s not nice to stare” he teased lightly, the cashier stiffening before quickly accepting his money “right! I’m sorry-“ she scrambled sheepishly for his change and receipt.

She handed him the change and slip of paper. He chuckled and shook his head “it’s alright, just don’t get distracted next time” Gojo said with his cool, laid back tone. He took the flowers and chirped a ‘Thanks’ to the cashier, who embarrassedly returned it.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the cool Febuary air in his lungs and on his skin. He smiled a bit, his usual grin on his lips as he made his way back to his apartment.

✧˖°.

It wasn’t long before he was walking in the front door, excited to greet his little secret. “Y/n! I’m home baby girl” he called out, looking around before hearing soft footsteps.

You peeped out from the hall and smiled “Satorou, hey” you walked over to your secret lover, wrapping your arms around his neck, his arms wrapping around your waist “how was your day?”

Gojo shrugged and let out a sigh, chuckling a bit “boring, no curses or anything.” He shrugged and cupped your cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding the roses “I’m sure my pretty girl missed me. Hm? Heaven knows she can’t live without me”

You huffed and smirked, rolling your eyes “you wish, bone head” you kissed your boyfriend’s cheek, turning and beginning to walk off.

Gojo wasn’t having any of it.

“Hey, baby girl, where do you think you’re going?” You squeaked as you felt an arm snake around your waist and pull your back to a warm and broad chest. “I bought you flowers you know” he smiled from behind you, you could hear that bastard’s smug and attractive smile in his voice.

You shivered as he whispered in your ear, but blushed even harder as flowers suddenly were held out in front of you. Pink roses. They were gorgeous. “Oh..Satorou..” you murmured softly

He chuckled softly and pressed his face to your neck “I know. I’m the best aren’t I?” He expected some quippy remark, however, he didn’t get that.

“Yeah..” you murmured softly, leaning back against him.

Gojo’s heart paused in his chest, seemingly stopping forever at your soft and genuine expression of affection.

He smiled softly and pressed a kiss to your cheek “you’re too sweet, baby girl, you know that?” He mumbled, his hand releasinf the flowers as you took them in one of yours.

You angled your head to the side, smiling at him softly. You cupped his cheek with your free hand, your thumb running over his cheek bone “only for you, Mr. Special Grade Sorcerer”

Gojo chuckled lightly and sighed, shaking his head “I love you, Y/n” he said with a small grin.

“I love you too, Satorou” you murmured before gently placing your lips on his.

Sure, he kept you a secret, god knows what would happen if a curse found out about your existence, but that didn’t mean he loved you any less.

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AGHGHGTH I hope you liked this, I was a little nervous writing this, because Gojo has a kind of sarcasm that i don’t really know how to write into a romance? So I hope this was good, if not, feel free to leave your criticism in the comments. Enjoy your nights, loves 🩵

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐒 satosugu x m!reader — 2.3k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: 3some, reader deepthroats geto, ass eating (idk what this called lol), fingering, penetration lol, mentions of a toxic ex, gojo and geto might come off as kind of manipulative-ish (barely), orgasm denial (once)

KAI SAYS: hi again....

“Oh, darlin’, your ex finally dump you?”

“Yeah…”

“Ok, we’ll be there in a few, ‘kay? I’ll pass the phone to Suguru now.”

You sniffled, nodding your head absentmindedly despite the fact that you knew neither Gojo nor Geto could see the motion. It didn’t matter though. What did matter was that they cared. More than your ex — who just dumped you for some random chick — did.

“Hey,” you heard Geto’s voice on the other side of the phone. “I’m sorry. Me an’ Gojo’ll hit up the store to buy your favourite, we’ll be there in a bit.” You could hear Gojo in the background, complaining, and it made you giggle softly.

“Thanks,” you whispered, “don’t take too long though. I want to see you two.”

You could hear the shuffling on the other end as Gojo presumably snatched the phone from Geto. “Yeah, I bet you do,” He said almost jokingly. “We do wanna see you too though so we won’t keep you waiting for too long.”

“Promise?” You whispered softly.

“Promise,” Gojo responded.

You grinned for the first time in a while. Gojo and Geto — your best friends — you could always rely on them to cheer you up, somehow. They were everything you needed. Kind, funny, successful, handsome, they were everything, and they meant everything to you.

The three of you met in high school, and now the three of you are in college. Together. Your eyes were always drawn to whichever one of them you’d see in the halls passing by and you craved their attention whenever you were with them. And, a lot of the time, they gave you what you craved, constantly showering you with gifts and taking you out.

It was… amazing. Gojo and Geto were amazing.

Your ex managed to get between that, unfortunately. But, now that your ex was gone, you hoped they’d still treat you like they did before. With love, and laughter, and with tender and caring touches… You missed them, really.

You smiled softly, collapsing against the plush of your bed that was now dirtied with crumpled tissues from your crying. As you stared at the roof in thought, the familiar sound of the door unlocking and opening reached you. Gojo and Geto were the only ones you’d ever given keys to your apartment to, meaning it was them.

You sat up brightly, greeted by the slam of your bedroom door slamming open. Gojo stepped in first, smiling wide as ever, and then Geto followed soon after, his hair not even pulled up into his usual bun.

“You guys actually came…” You whispered, almost choking on unshed tears.

“I promised, didn’t I?” Gojo grinned at you, dropping the plastic bag filled with groceries by the door as he leapt onto the bed and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“We couldn’t just leave you…” Geto added, moving to sit beside you. His hand found yours, intertwining your fingers together. He gave you a gentle smile and you felt your chest go warm.

“I… I really appreciate this,” You said softly, eyes slowly shifting between the two of them. “Y-You’re the only ones that didn’t leave,” You continued bitterly, still sad and angered about your ex.

“Oh darling,” Geto sighed, tilting you to lean against his chest with Gojo still pressed against yours. “We would never.”

Gojo nodded his head. “In fact, I — we are tired of pretending we don’t—” Geto’s curled fist met the top of Gojo’s head swiftly. Gojo winced. “Geto.” He whisper-yelled. “I thought we would—”

“I said we wouldn’t, remember?” Geto whisper-yelled back, though you were confused as to why they wouldn’t just speak to each other since you could hear them anyway.

Gojo groaned, an arm leaving your waist only to be thrown up in defeat. “What I was trying to say,” he glared at Geto, “was that we’re done lying that we don’t like you.” Gojo’s grip on you tightened and so did Geto’s hand on yours. “You keep datin’ all these shitty guys — no offence — but me and Geto think…” he looked over at Geto, “that we could treat you much better, doncha think?”

Geto nodded his head while you went into a state of… shock? You knew you felt something for the two, but you never considered yourself attracted to them like that. “I— I don’t know guys…” You whispered. “I do love you, but I don’t know if it’s like that.”

“Well then, there’s only one way to test that now,” Geto said, his lips pulling into a grin.

“And that is…?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“We—” Geto started.

“We fuck, of course!” Gojo interrupted, his grin even wider now.

Your jaw dropped. They wanted to fuck — have sex, of all things — to see if you liked them back. “W-Wha…?” You mumbled, at a loss for words. “Is that really what you— what we should do…?”

“Well…” Gojo drawled. “Maybeee we might just want to fuck you but—”

“Don’t say that!” Geto grumbled, smacking Gojo’s head again.

“Ow! Ow! Fine,” Gojo grumbled, finally relenting. “Look, ok, we really like you. Me and Geto — we've liked you for years, ok?”

Geto nodded. “We would never want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable or anything like that, so if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.” He smiled softly at you, bringing a hand to trace your cheek.

“I…” You said hesitantly. “I do think I feel something for the two of you, but god you guys, I’m scared. If I do like you back, what’s to say you won’t leave me like my ex did.”

Gojo heaved a sigh, pressing his face into your neck. “We would never,” He whispered softly.

“And if we did, you can just get Toji to beat our ass again,” Geto mumbled. You knew he hated Toji so to see that he was joking about the older man… Well, it had to mean something.

“Ok.” You said, steeling your nerves, and slightly surprised at yourself for how little convincing it took for Gojo and Geto to convince you. “Ok, let’s do this then, I guess.”

You could see Gojo pull off you with a wide grin. “Oh, you’re not regretting this, trust me.” And then you’re flipped over, lying on your belly with your face flat on the mattress. You felt your legs get lifted, your hands scrambling for purchase to find balance — and eventually landing on Geto’s thighs as you looked up at the black-haired man.

Eventually, Gojo positioned you with your knees bent and your ass up in the air while Geto just smiled down at you. “Ah, you’re so cute like this, you know?” He whispered in a soothing voice. His hand threaded through your hair before lifting your head by the strands and forcing your arms to prop yourself up for balance.

“He was always cute, Suguru,” Gojo said and you could hear the smirk in his voice. You felt his lithe fingers trace the edge of your shorts before yanking them down, an audible tear filling the room.

“Gojo!” You scolded, half embarrassed and half turned on. Your hands quickly darted back in a desperate attempt to save yourself some dignity because of course today was the day you decided to go commando — no boxers yay! — and of course, you somehow ended up with Gojo having a full view of your ass. “....Don’t look.” You muttered, hands covering your hole. You ended up face-first in Geto’s crotch after moving your arms out from under you and you could feel his boner against your cheek.

“Baby, I’m gonna be doing a lot more than just looking,“ Gojo grinned. He moved, his hands grabbing at yours and prying them away easily. You gave up on keeping some decency with a pathetic sound — which made Geto’s cock twitch against your face.

Gojo’s warm breath fanned over your ass and before you could even process it he was licking a wet stripe against your hole, forcing a muffled sound from your lips.

“Don’t do that,” Geto groaned softly and you looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. Do what??

“Fuck it…” He grumbled, his hand fishing through his pants to pull out his cock. You blinked. Ah shit, he was big. “Come on darling…” He murmured, his voice back to his sugary sweet and soft tone. “Suck, darling.” He requested. You watched in awe as he fisted himself a few times before tapping his leaky and flushed tip against your lips.

Hesitantly, you wrapped your lips around Geto’s tip, sucking softly. At the same time, Gojo’s tongue pushed past your rim, a finger of his following soon after. Shit. You moaned instantly around Geto’s shaft, your arms fumbling under you once more and you fell, forcing your throat to constrict around Geto’s whole length with your nose now pressed against his pubes.

“Fuck…” He whispered softly. “You’re really good at this…” His hand went through your hair as he slowly lifted your head, your tongue forced to drag along his underside, tracing a vein, before he abruptly thrust his hips up. Geto’s tip knocked against the back of your throat while Gojo’s finger curled right against your prostate, forcing a wet, muffled cry from your lips.

Your cock twitched pathetically, hanging uselessly between your legs and weeping copious amounts of pre all over the bed. “Please,” you tried to say.

Gojo curled his finger again and again, rhythmically thrusting his tongue in and out of your hole. Geto, on the other hand, just kept you in the same spot, lips wrapped around the base of his cock as you stared up at him pleadingly.

You needed more of it. More of anything. More of Geto fucking your mouth, more of Gojo’s tongue — it didn’t matter.

Gojo’s fingers continued to curl inside you, hitting your prostate over and over until you were practically seeing stars, eyes rolling back as Geto occasionally thrust up and into your mouth. Your hips rocked against Gojo’s tongue, desperately chasing your climax. You were close, so, so, so close.

And hell, Gojo could tell you were close. He sped up his ministrations, forcing your toes to curl and your body to twitch and shake. Wanton moans and cries left your lips — all muffled by Geto’s thick length.

You felt your tummy tighten as your hips pushed back — as far as possible — desperately chasing your orgasm. You were so close! And then, Gojo pulled away, his mouth pulling off and his fingers sliding out of your hole.

“Why?” You cried, almost delirious as Geto pulled your wet lips off his dick. “I- I was so close!”

“Tell us, then, if you want it so bad,” Geto whispered, his hand wiping the drool off your lips. “Do you love us?”

“I do!” You sobbed, leaning desperately into his hand. “I do, I do, I swear!”

“Promise?” Gojo questioned from behind you.

“I promise, I promise!”

“Good.” He didn’t even give you a second to breathe because in the next second his tip was lined up with your desperate hole and he was thrusting his dick into you. You sobbed in relief, only for half of it to get caught when Geto’s dick once again pushed into your mouth.

Gojo’s thrusts were brutal, the pace was much too fast and much too harsh but god you didn’t care because it felt so good when his tip knocked against that one spot inside you and when Geto’s shaft would stretch your lips so nice and wide when he started to match his pace with Gojo’s. Geto grabbed your hair, lifting your head for better access as his thrusts started to become faster and faster.

The only sound left in the room was your muffled cries and the wet sound of skin meeting skin in a desperate chase for relief. Your hands managed to land on Geto’s thighs, curling and scratching through the fabric of his pants.

“You close darling?” Geto grunted from above you, his hand curling even tighter in your hair, Yes, you were close again and you wanted to cum so badly it almost hurt.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your toes curled. You clenched around Gojo’s dick, your moans getting louder and hoarser around Geto’s. “F-Fuck…” Gojo stuttered and Geto groaned in front of you. “You’re fuckin’ good at this, you know right?”

You didn’t have the energy to respond, merely letting your back drop into an arch as your hand reached down to tug at your cock.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Gojo taunted, slapping your hand away. “No touching. You’re only gonna cum ‘cause of our cocks. Ain’t that right, Suguru?”

“Correct,” Geto grunted, thrusting his hips again and again. He stopped for a moment, before spitting right onto where your lips were wrapped around his shaft, a wide grin on his face as he started his pace again.

“Damn, you’re dirty, aren’t ya?” Gojo questioned. He spread your cheeks, following Geto’s example and spitting right on your hole where his dick disappeared into as he thrust quickly. That was the last straw for you.

With a muffled sob, your body twisted and shuddered as you came, shooting thick ropes all over the bed under you. Your body was still convulsing when Gojo and Geto came shortly after. Geto’s hand pushed you all the way down onto his dick, holding you in place as you felt his warm seed coat your mouth while Gojo thrust until he was buried to the hilt before he came, flooding your insides.

“That was good, wasn’t it?” Gojo cooed, pulling out slowly and settling beside you and Geto.

“I-It was…” You muttered, voice still hoarse.

“Good,” Geto whispered, helping you sit up between them.

You smiled almost bashfully, grinning at the two. “I do… love you guys, you know?” You said.

They both smiled at you, Geto kissing your right cheek and Gojo your left.

“We know.”

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

THIS WAS SO ADORABLE I LOVED EVERY SINGLE SECOND OH MY GOSHHH!!! im gonna go hunt for more long gojo fics.

THE MAN ACROSS THE STREET — SATORU GOJO

pairing — neighbour!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — when you inherited your grandparents' victorian home, you thought the biggest challenge would be the renovations. what you weren't prepared for was satoru gojo—your insufferably perfect neighbour with his perfect smiles and unexpected talent for home repairs. but maybe, just maybe, he's exactly the kind of renovation partner you need. because four seasons might not be enough to fix a century-old house, but it might be just enough time to fall in love—moment by moment, season by season.

word count — 14 k

genre/tags — home renovation AU, neighbours to lovers, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn, domestic fluff, idiots in love, misunderstandings, found family, tension, happy ending, gentle romance, cozy vibes

warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, small renovation accident, references to past family deaths (grandparents)

author's note — would you believe this fic has been sitting in my drafts since last year haha. but i finally finished it after months of adding scenes and expanding seasons. i wanted to keep it shorter but well, now it is what it is lol. hope you enjoy <3

masterlist + support my writing

When you inherited your grandparents' old Victorian home, you thought the biggest challenge would be the renovations. The sagging porch, the outdated wiring, the kitchen that hadn't been updated since the 1970s — these were all problems you could tackle with enough time, money, and YouTube tutorials.

What you hadn't counted on was Satoru Gojo.

Your new neighbor lived in the equally grand house across the street, though his was perfectly maintained with its pristine white paint and perfectly tended rose bushes. You'd noticed him the day you moved in, impossible not to really, with that white hair and those eyes in the colour of summer skies that seemed to find you no matter where you were. 

It was frustrating, to say the least. 

You'd first noticed him through your kitchen window one morning, still half asleep and clutching your teacup. He was at his mailbox, and for a disorienting moment, you thought you were still dreaming. No shirt. Sweatpants low on his hips. It was really way too early for someone to look that good. It felt almost unfair, frankly. But then he turned, caught you staring and flashed you a smile that could belong in a stupid toothpaste commercial. 

You'd ducked under the counter so quickly you'd spilled tea all over yourself. It was ridiculous, really—hiding in your own kitchen.

Your first actual meeting came three days later, when you were balanced precariously on a ladder, trying to clear the gutters of last autumn's soggy birch leaves. You were reaching for a stubborn clump when a voice drifted up from below.

"You might want to secure that ladder before it slides." 

You looked down. Satoru stood there, one hand casually steadying the ladder, the other holding a steaming mug. His white hair caught the spring sunlight, shimmering like spun moonlight, and his eyes were the kind of blue that made you grateful you were already holding onto something.

“It’s fine, really” you said, even as the ladder wobbled slightly.

“Famous last words.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “But humor me? I’d hate to call an ambulance before I know my new neighbor’s name.” 

That had set the tone for everything that followed. 

He had an uncanny ability to appear whenever you were struggling—or perhaps he was stalking you. Either way, he had a way of offering help in a way that somehow never felt condescending. It was subtle at first—the way he'd bring over coffee when he saw you starting an early morning project, or how he seemed to have an endless supply of useful tools that were "just gathering dust anyway", as he always said.

He never pushed, never overwhelmed, but he was always there, across the street and you found yourself looking over to his house more often than you'd care to admit.

You told yourself it was just practical. He knew the neighborhood, understood old houses, and happened to be surprisingly knowledgeable about house renovation. The fact that he had a smile that made your chest tight, or that he looked unfairly good in everything he wore was entirely irrelevant. He's just a neighbour, you told yourself, even as heat rose in your cheeks. A ridiculously attractive neighbour—unfortunately.

But as spring melted into summer, and summer faded into autumn, you started to realize two very inconvenient truths: One, restoring this house was going to take far longer than you'd planned. And two, Satoru Gojo was becoming a much more relevant aspect of this restoration than you'd wished.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It all began with the pipes in spring. 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Spring was supposed to be about fresh starts and birdsong or whatever stupid idyllic nonsense romance movies peddled. Your old Victorian home, however, had other ideas. Because on one peaceful Sunday morning, the pipe under your kitchen sink decided it had had enough of gravity and time.

You were making coffee when you heard it—a suspicious gurgle, followed by a crack that could only mean trouble. And suddenly, your cabinet was a fountain. Lovely, really, if it didn’t threaten to turn your kitchen into an indoor pool. You managed to shut off the water and were now flat on your back under the sink, surrounded by tools, muttering curses at the rusted pipe, when a knock sounded.

“Having fun down there?”

You jumped in surprise and, naturally, hit your head on the cabinet. Of course it was him. Of course your ridiculously, unfairly attractive neighbor would appear right when you were sprawled on the kitchen floor, soaked and probably looking like a drowned rat.

“Ha ha,” you called dryly, not bothering to move. “I’ve got this.”

“That’s why there’s water running down your driveway?”

You closed your eyes. Counted to ten. “Don’t you have your own house to maintain?”

“Much less entertaining over there.” A rustle of movement, and then Satoru was crouching beside you. His white hair fell forward as he tilted his head, those stupidly handsome blue eyes assessing the situation. “You’re using the wrong wrench.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” He reached past you, picking up a different wrench. “Pipe wrench, not adjustable. Unless you’re aiming for an indoor pool, in which case, carry on.”

You glared at him, which was significantly less effective from your position on the floor. "Don't you have someone else to annoy?"

"On a Saturday morning? Please." He settled onto the floor beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in to examine the pipe. "Besides, this is a two person job. One to hold the pipe, one to remove the fitting. Unless you've grown extra arms?"

You hadn’t. Hence the problem. You'd spent the last hour trying to manage it alone and had only succeeded in getting thoroughly soaked and increasingly frustrated.

"Fine," you sighed, scooting over to make room. "But if you make one more smart comment—"

"Would I do that?" He gave you an exaggeratedly innocent look that almost made you smile.

Working together, it took only minutes to remove the damaged section of pipe. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing toned forearms, the sleeves bunching just below his elbows. You tried not to notice how he smelled faintly of sandalwood, or how his presence made your kitchen feel suddenly so much smaller.

"You'll need to replace this whole section," he said, examining the corroded pipe. "The hardware store opens in an hour."

"I know that." You definitely hadn't known that.

"Of course you did." His smile made you want to punch him. "Just like you knew about using the pipe wrench?"

"I will set your house on fire."

He laughed, the sound filling the small space. “No, you won’t. You like having someone around who knows a pipe wrench from an adjustable one.”

A strange warmth spread through you, followed by a healthy dose of suspicion. Was he…flirting? 

No. Impossible. Satoru Gojo didn't flirt. Or better said, he flirted with everyone—the barista at the coffee shop, the elderly woman selling tomatoes at the market, even the hardware store clerk he’d charmed into giving you a discount the other day. It was just his way. 

Still it did make the small space feel a little warmer. And the worst part was, he wasn't entirely wrong. You did appreciate his help. But you'd rather deal with a thousand broken pipes on your own than admit that and witness his self-satisfied grin.

“Don’t you have your own projects?” you asked, pushing yourself up, feigning a nonchalance you absolutely did not feel.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’, looking far too comfortable sprawled on your kitchen floor. “My house is perfect. Which leaves me free to watch you struggle with yours. Better than Netflix.” 

You grabbed a dish towel and threw it at his head. He caught it easily, because of course he did.

"Come on." He stood in one fluid motion that had no right to look that graceful. "I'll drive you to the hardware store. Unless you want water running down your driveway all day?”

You looked between him and your ruined cabinet, weighing your options. Pride demanded you handle this alone. Practicality pointed out that he actually seemed to know what he was doing, and you really did need that pipe fixed today.

"Fine." You sighed. "But I'm buying my own supplies." You blurted it out, remembering how he’d somehow paid the entire bill before you’d even reached for your wallet last time you'd run into him in the hardware store.

"Whatever you say." He was already heading for the door, keys jingling in his hand. "Though you might want to change first. Not that the wet look isn't working for you, but—"

You looked down at your soaked clothes, then back at him. Your white shirt clung to you like a second skin and was practically see through. Heat rushed to your face.

Why was he only mentioning this now?

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

After the Saturday sink incident, you'd sworn to handle the rest of the plumbing yourself. You weren’t entirely sure why—maybe it was pride, maybe it was the way he’d teased you endlessly about it, or maybe it was the strange flutter in your chest whenever he was near.

Whatever the reason, you’d plotted your renovation schedule around his presumed absences, binged YouTube tutorials until your eyes blurred, and even took your coffee breaks in the backyard, convinced he couldn’t possibly find you there. 

But somehow, Satoru Gojo kept appearing anyway.

"That pipe threading looks wrong," he'd say, appearing beside you like some stupid house ghost. Or, "Those measurements seem off," right when you were about to make a cut. Or worst of all, saying nothing at all. He’d simply stand there with that look until you finally snapped and asked for help.

On one stupid cursed Monday afternoon, the bathroom pipes were your breaking point. You'd been at it for hours, surrounded by copper fittings and pipe dope, when his shadow fell across your work. You really needed to start locking the door.

“Don’t,” you warned without looking up.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it loud enough.”

“I was just admiring your work.” His voice held that familiar amusement that made your skin prickle. “Though if you’re planning on running water anytime soon—”

Your wrench clattered to the floor. “Fine. What am I doing wrong?”

“Would you believe me if I said everything?”

But the most infuriating part wasn’t just that he was right. It was the way he showed you. His large hands moving gently as he demonstrated the proper technique, his voice low and soft as he explained what you were doing wrong with such patience that made it impossible to stay annoyed with him.

By the time the bathroom was finished, you’d stopped pretending you didn’t need his help. By the time you tackled the upstairs pipes, you’d stopped pretending you didn’t want it.

It became a routine. You’d start a project, he’d appear with some tedious fact about old houses, and together you’d work until the sun dipped below the horizon. He never pushed, never took over, just quietly adjusted your grip on a tool or handed you the right fitting before you even asked.

“You know,” you said one evening, both of you tired and dusted with grime, “for someone with a perfect house, you spend a lot of time in my disaster zone.”

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer. Then, his voice, when it came, was different—softer, the usual teasing edge gone. “Maybe I like watching something beautiful come back to life.” 

You looked up, a question forming on your lips, but he was already focused on the pipe in his hands again, his expression shadowed in the fading light. 

The last pipe was replaced on a cool evening in late spring. You both stood in the basement and looked at your work.

“Guess you’ll have to find someone else to annoy now,” you said, trying for a light tone, though a strange heaviness settled in your chest.

“Your electrical panel looks pretty old.”

“Satoru—”

“And those windows definitely need reglazing before summer.”

“You don’t have to—”

“And don’t even get me started on that porch roof.”

You stared at him. “You’re not going to let me do any of this alone, are you?”

He smiled. “Now you’re getting it.” 

And standing there in your basement, covered in dust and sweat, you finally admitted what you'd been fighting all spring—maybe you didn't want to do this alone after all. 

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Summer arrived like a slow exhale, bringing humid days and the kind of heat that made everything a sweltering ordeal. 

The porch was your next project so that you could reclaim the space before the season completely slipped away. You envisioned lazy afternoons spent sipping iced tea in the shade, reading a book or simply napping. But looking at the porch now, with its peeling paint, crumbling railings, and warped floorboards, that vision felt miles away.

It had become normal to find Satoru on your porch in the mornings, armed with iced coffee and opinions about latest movies. You'd stopped questioning how he always seemed to know your schedule, or why he willingly sacrificed his free time to help you strip old paint from equally old wood.

“This is bad,” he said one stifling morning, poking a section of railing that crumbled at his touch. “How did it get this neglected?”

You swiped at the sweat trickling down your forehead, probably smearing paint stripper across your cheek. “Ask that my grandparents’ bank. Two years of bureaucratic hell before I could even touch the place.”

“I’m more concerned about what you’re doing there. You’re taking off more wood than paint.” His hands hovered for a moment before gently adjusting your grip. “Like this. Gentle but firm. Let the stripper do the work.”

Months ago, the correction would have annoyed you. Now you just moved your hands and noticed how the work immediately became easier. But the warmth of his breath on your neck and the familiar scent of sandalwood still sent a shiver down your spine. You swallowed, ignoring the flutter in your stomach. "Not all of us have a natural talent for restoring historic houses."

"No, some of us just inherited beautiful old houses and decided to learn through trial and error." His voice carried that warm amusement that had become familiar. "Mostly error."

You turned to glare at him, but he was already moving on to the next section, the muscles in his arms flexing as he worked. Not that you were staring. You definitely weren't staring. And if you were, it was purely to study his scraping technique.

So the days fell into a rhythm. Mornings were for demolition—tearing out rotten planks and stripping paint before the heat truly settled in. Afternoons were for repairs, matching new wood to old, rebuilding piece by piece as sweat dripped down your backs.

"My grandmother used to bring us lemonade out here when we were kids," you said one afternoon, both of you sprawled in the shade of the half-finished porch, and as you said it, you could almost smell the lemon, tart and sweet. Hear the clinking of the ice in the heavy glasses. "She had this really pretty set of vintage glasses."

Satoru lay on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes against the sun. “Let me guess—they’re still in the attic somewhere?"

“Along with about a hundred years’ worth of other stuff.” You took a long sip from your water bottle. “I’m almost afraid to look.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, the movement pulling his damp t-shirt tighter across his chest, revealing the faint outline of his abs and the curve of his bicep. A few stray beads of sweat trickled down his temple, catching the sunlight. "We should check it out. After the porch is done."

"We?"

"Unless you're planning to handle whatever horror show is up there alone?" He smiled. “Besides, I’m invested in this house’s resurrection story now.”

"Is that what this is?"

"Isn't it?" He gestured at the porch around you. “Old becoming new. Though hopefully with better plumbing this time.”

You threw a paint chip at him, which he dodged easily. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never.” He stood and offered you a hand. "It's too good a story.”

You took his hand, and for a moment, you simply looked at him. It struck you then how familiar his presence had become—the easy banter, the shared work, the comfortable silences. It felt like you’d known him forever.

“Alright, let’s get back to it,” he said, his hand still holding yours. “This porch isn’t going to rebuild itself. Unless you’re planning on serving me lemonade on a pile of rotted wood?”

“Who says I’m making you lemonade?”

He tugged you closer, just a little, until you were almost toe to toe. You tilted your head, your gaze locked with his, and something playful flashed in those sky blue eyes of his. “Aren’t I entitled to a little refreshment after all this hard work?”

“You have quite the ideas.”

“Hmh. I have another one.” He released your hand. “You should have a party here when it’s finished. Lemonade and those vintage glasses of your grandmother’s.”

“To celebrate what?”

He glanced over his shoulder, something soft in his expression. “That good things are worth the work.”

You looked away first and focused back on your own section of railing. If your cheeks were warm, it was definitely just the summer heat.

The porch took two more weeks to finish. Every board was carefully replaced or restored, every detail attended to with a gentle care that would have made your grandmother proud. You spent the final evening painting together, working in silence as the sun set.

“It’s beautiful.” You stepped back to admire your work. The fresh white paint glowed in the twilight, making the whole house seem to breathe easier.

“It is.” But when you glanced over, Satoru wasn’t looking at the porch. His gaze was on you.

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in cleaning your paintbrush. "So, about that attic..."

His smile, when you dared to look back, was warm and genuine. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," you echoed, trying to ignore the way your heart quickened at the way he said it—like a promise, like there would always be another project, another reason to spend these long summer days together. 

And it felt… good.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The attic turned out to be exactly the treasure trove you'd hoped but also feared it to be—a cavernous space choked with dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering through grimy windows. Air hung thick and still with the scent of dried wood and dust. Piles of furniture shrouded in white sheets were scattered among stacks of old books with brittle pages and dusty hatboxes tied with faded ribbons.

It was chaotic, let's just say that. 

But it was also so familiar it tugged at the edges of your memory, a feeling of coming home to a place you hadn't seen in years. 

The attic had started as a simple weekend project, mostly to fix the insulation before autumn. But each box you opened was like a time capsule of memories. You'd find yourself lost in old photo albums or mesmerised by your grandmother's book collection, renovation plans long forgotten as you sifted through the memories of their lives—and yours. And what you'd initially considered a "weekend project" had clearly been a wildly optimistic estimate.

You were so absorbed in sorting through another box that you didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs until Satoru's head popped through the access panel.

"Your door was unlocked," he said, as that would explain why he always appeared out of nowhere is your house. "I brought lunch."

"Normal people call first," you replied, not looking up from the box in your hands.

"Normal is boring." He pulled himself up without any effort, which was almost offensive considering how you'd stumbled up here earlier. "Besides, you skipped breakfast again. I heard your stomach growling from across the street."

"That's not even possible." But the gnawing in your stomach told a different story. You were hungry, but you hadn't even noticed between the years and years of memories coming back to life.

"And yet." He settled beside you, closer than strictly necessary in the cramped space, and peered into the box. "What's caught your attention this time?"

You held up a bundle of letters, tied together with a red ribbon. "I think they're my grandparents' love letters."

His eyebrows rose. "From the war?"

"Maybe?" You were surprised for a second, not expecting him to remember the little detail you had told him one lazy afternoon in the sun—that your grandfather had served in the army and had been separated from your grandmother for some time. You untied the ribbon, handling the aged paper like it might crumble. The first envelope was postmarked 1943. "Oh. They are."

Satoru leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours as you pulled out the first letter. His body was warm in the cool attic air next to yours, and you caught a subtle hint of sandalwood—a scent that had become inseparable from these shared afternoons.

"My dearest heart," you read aloud, then paused, suddenly feeling like you were intruding on something private. But it’s been over half a century, you reminded yourself. They wouldn’t mind, surely. After all, they left all this to you. You continued, "The cherry trees are blooming here, and all I can think about is how we walked through the park last spring. Do you remember? You were wearing that blue dress, the one that matches the sky, and I knew right then I would marry you—"

"Your grandfather was a romantic," Satoru commented, a soft smile in his voice.

"Shh." You elbowed him lightly. "I carry your picture with me everywhere. The other men tease me about it, but I don't care. When things get dark over here, I just look at your smile and remember what I'm fighting for..." Your voice caught unexpectedly at the written words of your grandfather.

Satoru shifted closer and whispered, "Let me.” His chest brushed against your shoulder and his fingers slid over yours as he took the paper, the touch lingering for a moment longer.

“Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine I'm back home with you," he continued, lips close enough to your temple that you could feel the words as much as hear them. His usual playful tone was gone, replaced by something that made your heart melt. "Sitting on that porch swing, watching the sunset. Nothing grand or fancy, just you and me and the quiet. That's what keeps me going, the thought of coming home to you."

Satoru stood up, brefting you of his warmth and sat down on a dusty stack of boxes near the small window opposite you to get a better view of the letters. The afternoon light caught the silver strands in his white hair, making them glimmer like starlight. He looked younger, almost boyish in the soft light as he continued to read the letter. You watched him, struck by this unfamiliar sight.

"There are dozens more," you said after he finished, gesturing to the box. "Looks like they wrote to each other every week."

"Different time.” His startlingly blue eyes met yours, and for once there was no trace of his usual teasing smile. "People knew how to love back then. They took their time with it."

"You don't think people know how to love now?"

"I think we've forgotten how to do it slowly. How to let it build, letter by letter, moment by moment."

Your heart fluttered strangely, like a trapped bird. It was like glimpsing a part of him he usually kept hidden, a hint of the man beneath the playful nonchalance. Before you could process the feeling, before you could even form a coherent thought, he picked up another letter, breaking the moment with a small, almost apologetic smile. 

“My darling," he read, "Today Mrs. Henderson's cat got stuck in our rosebushes again, and all I could think was how you would have laughed..."

You smiled and settled back against the old boxes as he read, his warm voice washing over you like a soothing dream. The afternoon light caught dust motes dancing in the air, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell chimed.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

August arrived with a heatwave so oppressive, even the cicadas seemed to fall silent. You suggested starting at dawn, hoping to get some work done before the worst of the heat set in, and to your surprise Satoru had no objection, even though you knew he hated early starts and loved sleeping in.

And you were even more surprised when Satoru showed up right on time and you didn't even have to wake him up, armed with paintbrushes and a concerningly large supply of water bottles.

"You really don't have to help with this," you’d told him. "I can do it on my own, really. It’s not complicated or something.”

He arched a brow. "When has that ever stopped me?"

The house was a dull greenish colour. It had originally been a soft sage green, but it had faded over time. It was a colour your grandmother had loved, a shade that reminded her of the rolling hills of her childhood home. So you decided to paint it sage again. But by midday the heat had become almost unbearable, pressing down on you. Air thick and shimmering.

"You need to take a break," Satoru said, watching you sway slightly on the ladder. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," you insisted, even as your head throbbed. "We're almost done with this section."

"The paint will still be here in a few hours." He was already taking the painbrush from your hands. "Go rest before you fall off that ladder and give me a heart attack."

You wanted to argue, but the world was starting to spin in a way that suggested he might have a point. "Just for an hour.”

"Whatever you say." His hand steadied you as you climbed down the ladder, swaying slightly. "Go. Sleep. I've got this."

You wanted to lie down for a moment, just until the throbbing in your head subsided. Instead, you woke to the first gentle breeze of early evening, carrying the distant hum of a lawnmower from a neighboring garden. You stumbled outside, still groggy, and stopped dead.

The house. 

It was finished. 

Every inch of peeling paint had been replaced with perfect sage green and the trim was crisp white. It looked like a completely different house, restored to its former beauty. 

Satoru was putting away the last of the brushes, his white hair darkened with sweat and plastered to his forehead, his clothes splattered with green. He looked exhausted, but a genuine smile touched his lips when he spotted you. 

"You did all that?" you asked, still not quite believing it.

He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his toned stomach with sharply defined abs that you quickly looked away from. He must have seen your reaction, but for once, he didn’t comment. When you looked back, his shirt was down.

“You needed the rest. And I had the time.” 

"Satoru, this would have taken days—"

“A few hours with the right motivation.” He shrugged, as if it were nothing. “Besides, couldn’t leave it half finished. Would have ruined the aesthetic of the street."

You knew that wasn’t the real reason. Just like you knew he didn't spend every free moment helping you with this house because he was concerned about the aesthetic of the street.

It was absurd. He was Satoru, infuriatingly charming, impossibly handsome Satoru. There was no way he could—no, it couldn't be. But the evidence piled up. It was the way his eyes lingered on yours, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way his presence filled every corner of your attention. It was a ridiculous notion, a phantom feeling that had no place in reality. He was a neighbour, a friend, someone who was simply helpful. 

That's all. 

The setting sun painted everything in shades of gold, catching in the wet paint and making your house shimmer like a scene from a fairytale. Satoru was still putting away brushes, his movements slower now, betraying his weariness even as he tried to play it off.

"You didn't have to do this," you said. "Any of it, really. The pipes, the porch, and now this."

He glanced at you, then back at the house. “I wanted to.”

"But why?" The question that had been burning in your throat all summer, since spring, since the first leaky pipe, finally escaped. "You have your own perfect house. Your own life. Why spend every free moment helping me with mine?"

“Would you believe me if I said I just like restoring things?”

"Not really," you said, trying to ignore the way your heart picked up speed when he moved closer. 

He reached out to brush something from your cheek. "You have a little…paint.” His thumb lingered against your skin, sun-warm and gentle. "Right here."

Time seemed to slow, the moment stretching like honey in the golden light. You could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the fine lines at the corners, the way his hair curled at his temples from sweat, and the small smudge of sage green along his jaw. He was so close. Too close.

"Satoru," you breathed, not sure if it was a question or a warning.

"Besides, watching you love this house back to life, even without knowing anything about renovations—" He paused, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone. "It's unexpectedly cute."

You could feel his breath against your lips, could see the question in his eyes as he leaned slightly closer. His other hand came up to cradle your face, and you found yourself swaying towards him, drawn in by the gravity of this moment you'd both been circling since spring.

But then a car door slammed somewhere down the street and broke the spell. You both stepped back. 

Had that…had that almost just happened? You blinked, trying to clear the lingering warmth from your face. It must have been the heat. Or the paint smell. There was no way—

"I should—" He gestured vaguely at the remaining equipment.

"Right. Yeah. Sure" You were babbling, your heart racing like you'd been running. You desperately tried to convince yourself that you’d imagined the whole thing, that the almost kiss was just a figment of your overheated imagination. 

He turned to gather his things, nearly dropping his water bottle twice. You watched him, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't sound desperate or awkward, but your mind was stuck on the phantom feeling of his thumb against your cheek.

At the garden gate, he paused, turning back with that smile that never failed to make your stomach flip. "Try not to break anything else before tomorrow?"

You smiled. "No promises."

He lingered for a moment longer, as if wanting to say something else, but then just nodded and stepped out onto the street. Just before he reached his door, you found yourself moving, yanking open your garden gate without thinking. "Satoru!"

He turned.

"Thank you!" you called out, hoping he could hear everything else you couldn't say in those two words. Thank you for helping. For caring. For almost kissing me.

His smile softened into something genuine, something that made your heart stumble in your chest. "Anytime!”

You stood there long after he'd disappeared into his house, your fingers absently touching the spot on your cheek where his hand had been, wondering how you were supposed to go back to normal after almost kissing your irritatingly perfect neighbour.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You'd never felt more ridiculous than when you found yourself standing on Satoru Gojo's immaculate porch, holding a slightly lopsided stawberry cake in your hand. After three attempts to ring the doorbell without letting the cake fall to the ground, you were seriously considering just leaving it on his doorstep with a note and running back across the street. But before you could execute your escape plan, the door swung open, and suddenly all coherent thought left your brain.

Satoru stood there in low-slung sweatpants and a fitted dark blue shirt that clung slightly to his still damp skin. A towel was draped around his neck, and his white hair was darker with moisture, falling into his eyes in a way that should be illegal. Droplets of water traced down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. 

Not that you were staring, of course.

His eyes widened and a stupid, handsome smile lit up his face. "Don’t tell me your kitchen is underwater again?”

"No, no…no emergencies today.” You thrust the cake forward like it’s something hot. "I made this. To say thank you. For all the help." The words tumbled out in a rush. "It's stawberry. Though now I'm realizing you might not even like stawberries, which would be really inconvenient, and—"

"I love them," he interrupted your rambling and took the cake out of your hands. "Did you make this just for me?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late." He stepped back, gesturing inside. "Come in. It’s too hot to stand out here."

You hesitated at the threshold. In all these months of him appearing at your house, you'd never actually been inside his. It felt like crossing some invisible line you hadn't even realized existed.

"Unless you're scared," he added with that familiar teasing note in his voice.

You groaned and stepped inside. Where your house was still a work in progress, his was... perfect. Somehow both modern and classic, with original hardwood floors that gleamed and a fireplace in the centre of the living room. The furniture was clearly expensive but comfortable, and large windows filled the space with natural light.

"This is—"

"Not what you expected?" He walked past you towards what you assumed was the kitchen, and you caught another whiff of his shower fresh scent.

"I was expecting more mirrors, actually. You know, so you could admire yourself from every angle."

He laughed. "Those are all in the bedroom."

You felt heat creep up your spine at his words and tried very hard not to think about Satoru and bedrooms in the same sentence. You followed him into his kitchen that was equally perfect like the rest of his house. Without thinking, you hopped up onto the wooden island and watched him move around the room.

"Coffee?" he asked, already reaching for mugs.

“Please.” Your legs swung idly as you watched him slice the cake. "Though I should warn you, I don’t bake often.”

“Should I be afraid?" 

"I take it back. No cake for you."

"Too late." He slid a plate across the counter. He leaned against the island opposite you, close enough that your knees almost brushed his. "So, I was thinking about your kitchen.”

"What about it?"

"You need new countertops. And fresh paint." He took a bite of cake, his eyebrows rising. "This is actually good."

"Don't sound so shocked." 

You tried not to focus on how silly domestic this all felt—you on his kitchen island, sharing cake and talking about future projects like you were some kind of … couple.

"I was thinking," he continued, "we could start on that next week? I know a good carpenter who makes really cool wooded countertops that would match the original—"

Your gaze wandered as he spoke, taking in the space. That's when you saw it—a framed photo on the windowsill above the sink. Satoru, looking unfairly handsome in what appeared to be a suit, and a stunning woman with pale hair pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

They looked intimate. 

Happy. 

Like an actual couple.

Your stomach dropped.

"—and the marble could be saved if we—" He paused, noticing your distraction. "What's wrong?"

"Actually." You set down your cake, sliding off the counter, "I just remembered I have this... thing. I need to go."

"Now? But we haven't even finished—"

"It's important." You were already heading for the door, trying to ignore how low his sweatpants hung, revealing a bit of his perfect abs, how at home he looked in this perfect kitchen with its perfect photos of him and his perfect girlfriend. "Thanks for the coffee. And, um, good luck with... everything."

"Wait, what about your kitchen?" He followed you into the hallway. "Shouldn’t we talk about it first, before—"

"I'll figure it out," you said quickly, nearly stumbling in your haste to reach the door. "You probably have other plans anyway. With... people. Important people. I'll just YouTube it or something."

"Other plans? What are you—"

"Bye!" 

You practically fled down his porch steps, not daring to look back at his bewildered expression. You made it across the street with lightning speed, slamming your front door behind you and sliding down against it.

"Stupid," you muttered to yourself, pressing your palms against your burning cheeks. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Of course he had a girlfriend. Someone that hansome, that charming, that annoyingly perfect—how could he not? And here you were, bringing him cake like some lovesick teenager, reading too much into things.

He was just being polite, probably feeling sorry for the disaster of a neighbour who couldn't even fix a leaky pipe without flooding her kitchen and you were making a complete fool of yourself. You wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.

You could never face him again. How were you supposed to look him in the eye knowing you'd been almost kissing him in your backyard while his gorgeous girlfriend smiled at him from picture frames in his perfect kitchen? How could you ever stand on your porch again without remembering how you'd practically fled from his house like a guilty teenager?

Your kitchen tabletops would just have to stay ugly forever. You'd learn to love them. You pressed your forehead against your knees and groaned. 

And now you'd just have to avoid him for... oh, the rest of your life. 

Easy.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Summer melted into autumn with surprising speed, the maple trees lining your street turning from green to orange and crimson. As the days grew shorter, your grandmother's herb garden was dotted with fallen leaves that crunched underfoot. Even the air felt different—crisper, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and the promise of colder days to come.

And you threw yourself into the next project—the kitchen, armed with nothing but YouTube tutorials, sheer stubbornness and the grudging advice of the grumpy guy at the hardware store (who, you were convinced, hid whenever he saw you approaching).

Things weren't exactly going smoothly. You'd managed to miscalculate the measurements for the new cupboards (twice), and you were pretty sure you'd cracked the new sink while trying to install the tap. But it was your mess, your project, and you were determined to see it through, even if it meant several trips to the hardware store and more withering stares from grumpy guy. 

"Back again?" he'd grumble. "What'd you break this time?"

"Nothing's broken," you'd insist, even as you clutched a piece of pipe that was definitely not supposed to bend that way. "I just need... clarification."

Your kitchen was slowly, painfully coming together. Sure, the subway tiles weren't perfectly aligned, and maybe one cupboard door hung a little lower than its neighbours, but it was yours. Every imperfect angle and slightly wobbly shelf represented hours of YouTube research and grumpy guy's reluctant advice.

If sometimes, late at night, you found yourself staring at your uneven grout lines and remembering how easily Satoru had fixed your sink that first day—well, that was between you and your slightly tipsy reflection in the new (only somewhat streaky) backsplash.

You'd gotten good at avoiding him. Early morning hardware store runs, late evening painting sessions with your curtains drawn. You'd even mapped out his routine—when he left for work, when he usually arrived home, which days he typically did yard work. All so you could time your own activities to minimize any chance of running into his blue eyes.

This was all totally normal, of course. Perfectly reasonable behavior for an normal adult obviously.

Some days were harder than others. Like when you could hear him on his porch in the evenings, chatting with Miss Tanaka about the weather and whether he wanted to go out with her granddaughter. She's so pretty and can cook such good beef stew, she'd say. As if Satoru didn't already have a girlfriend. A perfect girlfriend who could for sure cook a fantastic, wonderful, amazing beef stew. While you ate burned toast.

But you were managing. Mostly. The kitchen was... well, "finished" might be a strong word, but it was functional. Sort of. If you didn't mind that one burner that heated unevenly, or the fact that the new faucet made a strange gurgling sound when you ran hot water.

Even grumpy guy had stopped wincing visibly when you showed him your progress photos, which you counted as a win. "Could be worse," he'd said last week, which was basically a compliment coming from him.

You told yourself it was better this way. Better to have a slightly crooked kitchen than to face the mortification of asking for help from your impossibly perfect neighbour with his impossibly perfect girlfriend. Besides, character was important in old houses. That's what all the renovation shows said. And your kitchen certainly had... character.

It happened on one of those perfect late autumn evenings, when the sky turned deep purple and the air smelled like pine and fallen leaves. You were trying to hang a lamp in your dining room—the sort of task that would definitely require two people, but stubbornness had convinced you otherwise.

The ladder seemed stable enough. The wiring looked mostly right. You stretched, straining to connect the final wire, when you heard it. A soft groan from above, followed by the distinct sound of old plaster giving way. Everything happened at once. The ceiling cracked, raining down decades of dust and debris. The lamp slipped from your fingers, and your balance followed.

You hit the hardwood floor hard, the light crashing beside you in a shower of glass and plaster. For a moment, you just lay there, staring up at the hole in your ceiling and questioning every life decision that had led to this moment.

The sound of your front door bursting open echoed through the house, followed by rapid footsteps.

"Hey! Are you—" Satoru’s voice trailed off as he appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene—you sprawled on the floor, surrounded by debris, the ladder tipped against the wall, and the sad remains of what was supposed to be your new dining room light.

"Don't say it.”

"Say what?" He crossed the room in quick strides and knelt beside you. "That trying to hang a lamp by yourself is stupid? Or that you're lucky you didn't break your neck?"

"Both. Neither." You winced as you tried to sit up. "How did you even get in here?"

"Your door was unlocked. I was on my porch, heard you scream." His hands hovered near your shoulders, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to help. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine.” 

You tried to push yourself up, but your ankle protested.

"Don’t be stupid." He moved closer, dust from your ceiling clinging to his dark sweater. "Let me see."

"It's nothing—"

"Let me take care of you.” His usual teasing smile was gone, replaced with genuine concern that made your chest tight. "Please?"

The 'please' did you in. You nodded weakly, and before you could process what was happening, Satoru slid one arm behind your shoulders and the other under your knees. He lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all.

"What are you—" you started, your hands automatically gripping his sweater.

"Kitchen has better light.”  He carried you through the doorway, nudging it open with his shoulder. He set you down gently on the counter, careful of your ankle. His hands were warm where they rested at your waist, steadying you.

For a moment, he stayed close, closer than he had any right to be, and you found yourself level with those sky blue eyes that always made you weak.

"Stay," he whispered, finally stepping back. "Let me take care of this."

You wanted to protest, to maintain even a little bit of distance. But your ankle really hurt and you were really tired. So you sat there, perched on your counter (which was definitely not as level as you'd claimed to grumpy guy) and watched Satoru move around your kitchen.

He found a clean dish towel in the second drawer he tried and wrapped some ice in it. His movements were precise, practiced, like he'd done this a hundred times before. Probably for his girlfriend, you thought.

"Your cabinet organization is creative,” he said.

"It's a new system I'm trying out."

"Is that what we're calling chaos these days?" He returned, ice pack in hand. The counter put you at perfect height for him to—no. My god. Stop that train of thought immediately. 

He carefully lifted your ankle, his touch impossibly gentle as he pressed the ice against it. The cold made you flinch, and his other hand came to rest just above your knee.

"Too cold?"

“No, it’s…” You swallowed, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand through your jeans. “It’s fine.”

He hummed, his attention focused on your ankle. He slowly rotated it, checking for damage. You studied his face—the slight furrow of concentration between his brows, the way his hair fell across his forehead, begging to be brushed back.

“Doesn’t seem broken,” he finally said, looking up at you. “But you should stay off it for a few days.”

“I have renovations to finish.”

“The renovations can wait.”

“Says the man with the perfect house.”

He frowned. "You know, for someone so smart, you can be surprisingly dense about—"

A phone buzzed loudly, making you both jump. His phone, you realized, as he pulled it from his back pocket with his free hand, the other still holding the ice pack against your ankle. Probably his girlfriend wondering where he was. 

You pulled your leg back, ignoring the pain. "I should let you go," you said, trying to figure out how to get down the counter without falling on your face. "I'm sure you have... plans."

“No wait.” He kept you were you sat with his hand on your leg. He spoke briefly to the caller, then said, “Just work,” and silenced the phone. His hand returned to your ankle, adjusting the ice pack.

"Oh." You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, heart hammering. "I thought... maybe it was your girlfriend." The words came out small, hesitant. "I wouldn't want to keep you. From her, I mean. She probably wouldn't want you touching other women's ankles and all that..." You were rambling now, a nervous habit you'd never quite kicked. "Not that you're really touching my ankle, I mean you are, but medically, like a doctor, not that you're a doctor—"

"What girlfriend?"

“The one in the picture? In your kitchen? Pretty. Blonde. Kissing you?”

To your surprise, Satoru started to laugh.  "That's my sister. From her wedding. Is that why you've been avoiding me the last few weeks? Because you thought I had a girlfriend?"

"Your... sister?"

"She'd kill me if she heard you thought we were dating."

"But you're so..." Your mind scrambled for words that weren't 'anyoingly attractive' or 'unfairly perfect.' Like, for real, how can he still be single?

"I'm so...?" He was definitely teasing now, thumb stroking your skin just above your ankle in a way that made it very hard to think straight.

"Annoying," you finally managed, which only made his smile widen.

"Annoying enough that you made me cake, then ran away?" He moved closer, until he was standing between your legs, still holding the ice pack but now definitely invading your personal space. "Annoying enough that you've been avoiding me for weeks because you thought I was taken?"

"I wasn't avoiding you," you said. "I was very busy. With renovations."

"Mhm." His free hand came up to brush some plaster dust from your cheek. "Is that why you tried to hang a lamp by yourself?" His fingers traced your jaw and you swayed towards him despite yourself, your heart pounding.

"You're insufferable."

"Some of us," he murmured, now close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips, "believe good things are worth waiting for. Worth doing slowly, properly." His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. "Letter by letter, moment by moment. Remember?"

Before you could respond, he stepped back. "Your ankle should be fine in a few days. Try to stay off it. And maybe..." He paused at your kitchen door. "Maybe next time you need help with something, ask your annoying neighbour instead of risking you life?"

You managed a nod, your mind still reeling.

"Oh, and by the way?" He looked back at you, his smile softening. "I really like stawberry cakes. In case you feel like baking again."

With that, he was gone, leaving you perched on your counter with a rapidly melting ice pack and the strange feeling that renovating this house wasn't the only project that was going to take time to get right.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Autumn fully arrived, bringing crimson leaves, cloudy skies, and more of Satoru's overbearing everything. Your renovation plans resumed, though now with significantly less chance of bodily harm as Satoru was helping you again. He'd show up at your door with brownies and supplies, his teasing somehow both more and less bearable now that you both knew why you'd been avoiding him.

The universe, however, had a sense of humour. It was on a warm Saturday afternoon, while you were both covered in paint from freshening up your living room panelling, that his sister showed up unannounced. She burst into your house, barely containing her glee at finally meeting the neighbour who had mistaken her for her brother's girlfriend.

You wanted to sink into the floor as she told you cheerfully how hard she'd laughed when Satoru called to tell her about the misunderstanding. Her amusement only grew as she took in the sight of the two of you, splattered with paint and clearly at ease in each other's company. She left you with her phone number and the promise of embarrassing childhood photos of her brother, while Satoru tried and failed to get her out before she could do any more damage.

The rest of autumn rushed swiftly into the frozen stillness of winter as the lines between your lives began to blur more and more—his tools mixed with yours in the garage, his coffee mug claimed permanent residence in your cabinet, and his presence became as much a part of your home as the creaky floorboards and old doorknobs. 

It felt…natural in a way.

Natural that he'd show up at your house in the morning with fresh pastries and you'd make coffee for the two of you, and natural that you'd work on your house and do something fun at the weekends. Even the way your heart stuttered whenever he was near felt strangely normal, a natural rhythm in this new, unexpected something—something you never named. And yet, amidst the rush, there were moments when time seemed to slow, stretching out like taffy, each shy glance, each lingering touch, each shared laugh becoming a precious memory.

One of those moments was at the pumpkin patch. You'd been wandering through the rows of pumpkins, Satoru trailing behind you, searching for the perfect ones to decorate your house for Halloween. It was a tradition you loved since childhood, bringing back memories of visiting the local patch with your grandfather. You could almost feel the scratchy wool of his sweater against your cheek as he hoisted you onto his shoulders, hear his happy laughter, and feel the warmth of his hand in yours.

"Wait!" you called out, stopping so suddenly that Satoru almost bumped into you. "Look at that one!"

Off to the side sat perhaps the largest pumpkin you'd ever seen. It was definitely lopsided, one side bulging more than the other, and its stem curved at an odd angle.

"That's...quite a pumpkin." Satoru tilted his head. "Though maybe something a bit more manageable would—"

"It's perfect." You already tried to figure out how to lift it. The thing had to weigh at least twenty kilos.

"Perfect might be a stretch." His lips quirked up at the corners as he watched you circle the massive thing. "It's practically your size. And that's definitely not its best side."

You shot him a look. "Not everything needs to be perfect to be beautiful." Your hands settled on your hips as you studied your chosen pumpkin. "Sometimes the imperfect things are the best things."

"Like your crooked kitchen cabinets?”

You ignored his comment and attempted to lift the pumpkin, managing to get it about two centimeters off the ground before setting it back down. "It’s called character."

“Character?” He watched your continued attempts with clear amusement. "It's a safety hazard."

“Are you going to help me or just stand there looking pretty?”

“Oh, so you think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up and help me with this pumpkin.”

“As my lady commands.” 

He stepped forward, effortlessly lifting the massive pumpkin like it weighed nothing. Show-off, you thought. Was there anything he wasn’t good at? Renovations, apparently, and now this.

Back home, he carried the pumpkin to your porch, the orange leaves rustling in the gentle wind. You carved the pumpkins on your newly renovated porch as neighbours raked leaves, the crisp autumn air carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Later, his pumpkin looked like some stupid sculpture out of a museum. Of course. Because apparently, Satoru Gojo was good at literally everything. Yours? Well, yours was…cute. You’d call it ugly. Satoru insisted it was cute, and you almost, almost, believed him.

“Why are you so good at everything?” you sighed, more to yourself than him, leaning back and gazing upwards. "Any other hidden talents I should know about?"

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually.” Your cheeks flushed as you quickly sat up, a nervous stumble sending you straight into his face, as he leaned in too. “Oh, I didn’t mean—” 

Something flickered in his expression, a subtle twitch of his brow as his gaze flickered down to your lips. For a heartbeat, you thought he might—but then a single leaf drifted down and the moment shattered. He cleared his throat and turned back to his pumpkin.

"So, where do you want to place them?" he asked.

You let him return to safer topics, frustration washing over you, trying to ignore the way your skin still tingled where his leg had brushed against yours. This had become your new normal—these almost-moments, these near-misses that were driving you absolutely mad. Were you imagining things? Reading too much into every look, every touch? Or was he intentionally playing some game, dangling the possibility of something more, only to snatch it away at the last moment? It was agonizing, a slow torture that was getting harder and harder to endure.

You placed the pumpkins on your porch. Satoru excused himself, saying he had some work to do. Apparently, he was working on something international, fielding calls from overseas offices at ridiculous hours. 

"I've got that conference call at two," he said, already backing towards his house. "Dinner later? I'm trying out a new recipe."

It wasn't the first time he'd invited you over—these casual dinners had become a natural part of your... whatever this was. But was it just natural? Or was it something more? You'd thought, with every invitation, every lingering look, every almost-kiss—and at this point, with almost-kiss number 3000, you were starting to lose count—that this time would be different. But maybe, just maybe, it was all in your head. Maybe you were reading too much into everything, again.

"What time?" you asked.

"Seven? Bring wine. And maybe that stawberry cake recipe you've been perfecting?"

"You just want me for my baking."

"Among other things." Before you could respond, he was already heading back to his house, calling over his shoulder, "Don't be late!"

You watched him go, your heart stuttering, wondering if he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Dinner at Satoru's had become a natural part of your week, but something felt different that evening. Perhaps it was the early autumn darkness pressing against the windows, or the intimate warmth of the kitchen under the amber pendant lamps. Or maybe it was just how he moved around you in his kitchen, always somehow managing to brush past even though there was plenty of space.

 He'd outdone himself with dinner, though you'd never tell him that—his ego was big enough already. But he was, you had to admit, a surprisingly excellent cook. Watching him plate the food with the same careful attention he gave to everything, you had to admit he had a talent for this too. Of course he did. It was starting to seem like there wasn't anything Satoru Gojo couldn't do perfectly.

The wine you'd brought paired perfectly with his cooking, because of course it did. He'd probably somehow predicted exactly what you'd choose and planned the meal around it. You wouldn't put it past him, not with how he seemed to anticipate your every move these days. Conversations flowed easily between you. He shared work stories, you gave updates on your projects, and somehow, your feet ended up on his lap beneath the table. He massaged them absently, after you complained about standing all day.

When he suggested a movie afterward, it felt natural to say yes. You watched him make popcorn on the stove and then moved to the couch. The movie was something neither of you really paid attention to, both too aware of how close you sat on his ridiculously comfortable couch. Every time you reached for the popcorn bowl between you, your hands would brush, sending little sparks up your arm. You caught him watching you more than the screen, but whenever you turned to catch him at it, his eyes were innocently focused forward.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the wine and his presence made your eyelids heavy. You tried to stay awake, but when he gently draped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer, resistance melted away. You drifted off against his shoulder, the last thing you remember is the soft brush of his lips against your hair as sleep pulled you under.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

November deepened into December, and the air grew cold with the promise of winter. One morning, the first snow fell, lightly covering your porch and making everything look like a Christmas card. The holiday market downtown was in full swing by mid-December, stalls lined with evergreen boughs and twinkling lights that reflected off fresh snow. You'd been surprised when Satoru suggested you both go, casually mentioning it while helping you install new crown molding in your dining room.

"They've set up an ice rink this year," he'd said, measuring tape in hand, not looking at you directly. "Thought it might be fun."

Which is how you found yourself wandering between market stalls on a Saturday afternoon, your breath clouding in the cold air as Satoru walked beside you, unfairly handsome in a charcoal peacoat and blue scarf that matched his eyes.

"Have you tried the hot chocolate?" Satoru asked, nodding towards a stall where steam rose from copper pots. "I've heard they make it with real Belgian chocolate."

"Are you trying to fatten me up for winter?" But you were already moving.

He followed, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Just trying to keep you warm. Can't have you catching a cold before we finish that bathroom tilework."

The hot chocolate was rich and velvety with a hint of cinnamon, the warmth spreading through your chest as you continued to wander the market. Your fingers grew numb despite your gloves, and Satoru must have noticed because he suddenly handed you his cup.

"Hold this a second." Before you could question him, he removed his own gloves—expensive-looking leather ones—and handed them to you. "These are better insulated. Trade me."

"I can't take your gloves."

"You can and you will." His tone left no room for argument. "Besides, my hands run hot."

You reluctantly made the exchange, noticing how his gloves swallowed your hands but feeling instantly warmer. Something about wearing his gloves made your heart do a strange flutter. As it always seemed when you were near him. 

As afternoon stretched into early evening, the market lights came on, making everything look magical. That's when you spotted it—the ice rink, lit up with fairy lights, skaters gliding in circles across the surface.

"Ready to try?" Satoru asked, following your gaze.

"I haven't skated since I was a kid."

"Perfect time to remember then. I'll make sure you don't fall."

Ten minutes later, you stood at the edge of the rink, wobbling precariously on thin blades while Satoru waited patiently beside you. He'd stepped onto the ice with infuriating grace, as if skating were as natural to him as breathing.

"How are you already good at this?" you said, clutching the railing.

"Can’t help it," he replied, like that would explain it. "Come on. I've got you."

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand in his. His fingers closed around yours, warm and steady, as he pulled you onto the ice. Your legs immediately threatened to slide in opposite directions, but Satoru kept you upright.

"Small steps." His other hand came to rest at your elbow for support. "Don't think about it too much. Let your body remember."

You focused on not falling, even though all you could focus on was his hand in yours, his presence beside you as you slowly made your way around the edge of the rink. Other skaters whizzed past, some holding hands, others chatting to their friends. 

After one cautious lap, you began to find your balance. Your death grip on Satoru's hand loosened slightly, though you weren't about to let go completely.

"See? You're a natural," he said, his voice warm.

"I wouldn't go that far. You're doing most of the work."

He smiled, adjusting his pace to match yours. "We make a good team."

The way he said it—so casually, so confidently—sent your thoughts spiraling. Did you make a good team? The evidence was certainly there—the beautifully restored porch, the new plumbing that never leaked, the kitchen with its even countertops that you'd finally finished together. But was that all this was? A renovation partnership?

Because holding his hand like this, skating side by side under twinkling lights with Christmas music playing softly in the background—it felt like more. It felt like a date. 

Like something couples did.

Your mind raced as you made another lap around the rink. When had Satoru Gojo become more than just your annoying neighbour? When had his smug smile started making your heart race instead of your blood pressure? And why, despite all the lingering touches and loaded glances over the past months, had he never once tried to kiss you?

"You're thinking too hard again," Satoru said, interrupting your thoughts. "I can practically hear the gears turning."

"Just trying not to fall."

"Relax. I've got you." He squeezed your hand reassuringly, and you couldn't help but wonder if he meant it beyond the ice rink.

Was it possible you were imagining the whole thing? Maybe he was just being nice. Maybe this outing was purely neighborly. Maybe he wasn't interested in you that way at all. Or worse—what if he was gay? No, that couldn't be it. You'd met his ex-girlfriend when she stopped by to drop off some mail that had been mistakenly delivered to her place. Besides, no straight man looked at a woman the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.

So what was it then? Was something wrong with you? Were you not his type?

"Ready to try without the railing?" Satoru asked, pulling you from your spiral.

"Um, I don't think—"

"Trust me," he said softly, and despite your better judgment, you did.

He guided you towards the center of the rink, one hand still firmly clasping yours, the other now resting lightly at your waist. The contact, even through layers of winter clothing, sent a jolt through you.

"You're doing great," he said as you wobbled slightly. "Just find your balance."

"Easy for you to say. You're apparently good at everything."

He laughed. "Not everything." 

You didn’t believe him for a second.

Your right skate hit a rough patch of ice, and suddenly you were pitching forward, arms flailing. Time seemed to slow as you prepared for the inevitable crash onto hard ice. But instead of cold pain, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist, catching you. Satoru pulled you against his chest, steadying you both.

You found yourself pressed against him, your hands clutching his coat, faces inches apart. His blue eyes were wide, a few strands of white hair falling across his forehead. You could feel his heart racing—or was that yours?

"Are you okay?" he asked, breath warm against your cheek.

You nodded, unable to speak, certain that this was it—the moment he would finally close the distance between you. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there as one of his hands moved up to brush a strand of hair from your face. Your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, heart hammering against your ribs.

"You know," Satoru said, amusement colouring his tone, "for someone who managed to restore an entire Victorian house, you're surprisingly bad at staying upright on a little ice."

Your eyes snapped open to find him grinning down at you and the moment shattered. He set you back on your feet, though he kept one arm loosely around your waist for support.

"I think I need a break," you said, trying to hide your frustration. "My ankles are killing me."

"Of course." He led you to the exit, his hand returning to yours like it belonged there. "Hot cider? My treat."

As you made your way off the ice, you couldn't help but think that for someone so skilled at fixing things, Satoru Gojo seemed determined to leave whatever was between you two beautifully, frustratingly unresolved.

Despite your disappointment at the almost kiss, the rest of the evening at the market had been pleasant enough. You'd shared warm cider at a wooden table, watching children chase each other through the snow while Satoru told stories about his own childhood winters. He'd insisted on buying you a knitted scarf when he'd caught you admiring it, and wrapped it around your neck himself with aching tenderness. And it made you want to die that he didn't kiss you while he wrapped the scarf around you.

By the time you'd explored every stall, your earlier frustration had mellowed into a dull ache of confusion. Satoru seemed completely at ease, carrying your purchases and guiding you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your lower back—another gesture that felt so intimate, yet so casually offered.

The drive home was quiet, snowflakes dancing in the headlights as Satoru navigated the slippery roads. You stared out the window, watching the familiar streets of your neighbourhood change under the touch of winter, your mind replaying that moment on the ice over and over again. Why hadn't he kissed you?

He must have felt it—that perfect alignment of circumstances, that electric current running between you. For months now, you'd been dancing around this thing, this unspoken whatever it was.

"You're quiet," Satoru said, his voice breaking through your thoughts as the car came to a stop in front of your house. The snow was falling harder now, collecting on the windshield.

"Just tired." You forced a smile. "Thank you for today. It was fun."

"Are you sure that's all it is?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Before he could answer, you gathered your bags and pushed open the car door. "Goodnight, Satoru."

You hurried up the now perfectly restored steps of your front porch, fumbling with your keys as snowflakes clung to your hair and eyelashes, desperate to bury all those confusing feelings deep down, underneath a lot of chocolate and trashy romance Christmas movies. But then the sound of a car door closing behind you made you stop.

"Hey," Satoru called, his footsteps crunching through fresh snow. "Wait a second."

You took a deep breath and turned to face him. He was standing at the bottom of your porch steps, snowflakes catching in his white hair, his forehead furrowed. "Something's wrong. I can tell."

"It's nothing. Really, I'm just tired."

"After all these months, I'd hope you'd know you can't lie to me." He climbed the steps slowly until he was standing in front of you. "Did I do something? Say something?"

You shook your head. "It's not about what you did."

"Then what?" He took another step closer, and you could see the genuine confusion in his eyes. “What is going on?”

"It's about what you don't do, Satoru." The words escaped before you could stop them, tumbling out in a rush of frustration and longing. "What you never do."

He blinked. "What I don't do?"

You gestured helplessly between the two of you. "This. Whatever this is. You fix my pipes and paint my house and take me ice skating. You look at me sometimes like—" You paused. "But then nothing. You never... you never try to..."

"You think I don't want to kiss you," he said.

"Well, what am I supposed to think? You spend every waking moment at my house, you bring me coffee every stupid day, you watch movies with me and like, you buy me cute little scarves and, I mean—who does that?” 

You were pacing now, your frustration building as months of confusion spilled out. Snowflakes swirled around you as you moved, melting against your flushed cheeks.

"Do you have any idea how confusing that is? One minute you're touching my face like you can't help yourself, the next you're acting like we're just neighbours working on a house together. Am I imagining things? Are you just being nice? Is there something wrong with me—"

Your rant was suddenly cut short as Satoru closed the distance between you in two quick steps. His hands came up to frame your face and before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours. His mouth was warm despite the cold, his lips soft but insistent against yours, effectively shutting down every coherent thought.

You stood frozen for a split second before your body caught up with reality. Then you kissed him back, your hands fisting in his coat, pulling him closer as his thumbs gently stroked your cheeks. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours as one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathing hard, little clouds forming in the cold air between you, his hands still cupping your face.

"For the record," he said, his voice deeper and rougher than you'd ever heard it, "I've wanted to do that since the moment I steadied your ladder that first day. Every time I've been in a room with you. Every time you've chewed your lip while concentrating on something. Every damn time you've worn my chequered shirt".

You blinked up at him, still dazed from the kiss. "Then why didn't you?"

"Because I was trying to be a gentleman." His thumb traced your lower lip, still sensitive from his kiss. "Because I didn't want to complicate things when you were already dealing with so much. Because I wanted to be sure you felt the same way." A small, self-ironic smile touched his lips. "And because every time I worked up the courage, I'd get lost in those eyes of yours and forget how words work."

"So instead you taught me about crown molding?"

"I'm better with my hands than with words," he admitted, then immediately looked chagrined at the unintended innuendo. "That's not what I—"

This time, you cut him off, rising on your tiptoes to press your lips to his. He responded immediately, his arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you slightly so you fit perfectly against him as snowflakes continued to fall around you.

"For future reference," you said as you broke the kiss, "I'd much rather you kiss me than explain proper grouting techniques."

"Noted." 

Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, one hand supporting your back, the other beneath your knees, and carried you towards your front door with the same effortless strength he'd shown lifting drywall and moving furniture.

"The door," you reminded him, fumbling with your keys.

"I've got it." He somehow managed to balance you perfectly while taking the keys and unlocking the door. "I'm very good with my hands, remember?"

Satoru carried you over the threshold and kicked the door shut behind him. Snowflakes melted in his white hair as he set you down in the dim entryway, but he didn't step back, holding you between his body and the wall.

"You have no idea how many times I've imagined this." His hands slid up your sides as his mouth claimed yours once more. "How many nights I've lain awake across the street, thinking about you in this house."

And you nearly fainted as you imagined him in his house across the stress, thinking about you, his hand down his pants and—

"Every room in this house," he said, his voice rough as he pushed your coat from your shoulders. "I've thought about having you in every single one."

"We did renovate them all." Your voice faltered as his lips found your neck, trailing kisses down to the sensitive spot where it met your shoulder. "Seems only fair we should... test our work."

"I think I’d like that." His hands slid beneath your sweater, warm against your chilled skin as they traced up your sides. Your own fingers tangled in his snow dampened hair, pulling him back to your mouth for a kiss that quickly burned away any remaining cold.

"Bedroom?"

"Too far," you breathed, already tugging at his sweater. "Besides, we just redid the living room couch."

He smiled. In one fluid motion, he lifted you again, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you towards the living room. The last snowflakes in his hair melted as he lowered you onto the couch you'd spent three weekends reupholstering together. His body covered yours perfectly, like he belonged there, had always belonged there.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, covering your Victorian home in a pristine blanket of white, Satoru Gojo finally showed you exactly what his hands were capable of—proving once and for all that some things were worth the wait.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Spring arrived with a gentle persistence, coaxing crocuses from the soil and washing away the last traces of winter. Your Victorian house looked lovely in the morning light, its sage green paint gleaming, and its porch ready for the warmer days ahead.

The sound of knocking preceded Satoru's arrival, followed by a short pause and his usual sigh when he'd remembered he had keys, before his familiar footsteps echoed across the parquet floors you'd refinished together. You were in the kitchen, still in your pyjamas, going over the plans for the sunroom you'd decided to add to the back of the house.

"Morning," Satoru called, appearing in the doorway with his usual—two coffee cups balanced in one hand, a small paper bag of pastries in the other. His white hair was slightly dishevelled, as if he'd rushed out without taking the time to comb it properly.

"You know you don't have to knock anymore," you said as he handed you the coffee. "You have a key."

"Force of habit." He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before sliding into the chair next to you. "Besides, what if you were up to something scandalous?"

"At seven in the morning?"

"I distinctly remember yesterday morning getting pretty scandalous. And the day before that—”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as memories flooded back of the way he'd pinned your wrists above your head with one hand while the other explored your body with agonizing slowness. The way he'd whispered in your ear exactly what he was planning to do to you, his voice dropping to that low register that always made you shiver. The way he'd taken his time, so thorough in his attention that you'd been reduced to breathless pleas before he finally gave you what you needed and—okay, stop. Not now.

Three months into your relationship, and he still made you blush like a stupid teenager—among other things.

"Those were special circumstances," you said, trying not to smile.

"Oh yeah? What kind of special circumstances?"

"You brought croissants." You peeked into today's bag, ignoring his teasing. "Are these the chocolate ones from that bakery downtown?"

"Maybe." He smiled, watching you with that soft expression that still made your heart skip. "I had an early video call with our research partners about the new pharmaceutical trial. Thought I'd pick up breakfast on the way back."

You paused, coffee halfway to your lips. "Wait, you already had your meeting? I thought that wasn't until nine."

"Started at five." He shrugged, stealing a piece of your pastry. "The Munich lab had some promising results they wanted to discuss right away. Worked out, though—wanted to catch you before you got too deep into those sunroom plans."

Warmth blossomed in your chest. In the months since that snowy night on your porch, Satoru had slowly woven himself into every aspect of your life. He still brought you coffee every morning, still helped with renovations, still looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

The only difference was that he now often spent the night, his clothes gradually migrating into your wardrobe, and his shower gel suddenly appeared one day in your bathroom. Even his microbiology textbooks and research papers had found their way onto your coffee table, his lab notes sometimes mixed in with your renovation plans.

"Speaking of the sunroom," he continued, "I think the windows we recently found in the attic would look great in there. The original glass has that slight waviness that would catch the light beautifully."

"I was thinking the same thing." You slid the blueprints towards him. "I've been playing with the dimensions to make sure they'd fit."

He leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. "This looks perfect. Though we might need to adjust the framing here to account for the original hardware."

You smiled at his use of “we”—so natural now, so right. Every project had become a shared undertaking, every decision made together.

"By the way," he began, "I've been thinking—"

"A dangerous pastime for you."

"I'm serious." He took a breath, suddenly looking uncharacteristically nervous. "The house is looking amazing. We've fixed almost everything that needed fixing."

"Except that creaky step on the back stairs," you reminded him.

"And the slight warp in the pantry door," he added.

"And the—"

"Okay, so there's still a list." He laughed. "But my point is, we've done so much work here. Together."

"We have," you agreed, wondering where he was going with this.

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Meanwhile, my house is just sitting there. I'm barely even there anymore except to grab clothes or check if anyone's stolen my mail."

Your heart began to beat faster as you caught his meaning. "Satoru Gojo, are you trying to say something specific?"

“What if we just... you know, focused on one house instead of two?" His eyes met yours, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. "Maybe focusing on just one house instead of maintaining two?"

"Are you asking to move in together?" You couldn't help the smile spreading across your face.

"Well, technically I'm asking which house we want to live in. Though I'm kind of partial to this one. We've put so much of ourselves into it."

You twisted in your chair to face him fully. "You'd leave your perfect house with its perfect kitchen and perfect view?"

"My perfect house feels empty without you in it." The simple honesty in his voice made your throat tight with emotion. "Besides, this house has better bones."

"Yes," you said, sliding your arms around his neck. "Yes to consolidating our renovation efforts. Yes to deciding which house. Yes to all of it."

"You sure? I know you like your space and I don't want to, like, suffocate you or—"

You cut him off with a kiss, soft and sweet and tasting of chocolate pastries. "Satoru, you've been in my space since the day you showed up to fix my stupid leaky pipe. At this point, it doesn't feel like my space without you in it."

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed for a moment. When he looked at you again, there was that softness, that tenderness that still made your heart flip.

"I love you," he said simply. "In case that wasn't clear."

"I figured that out somewhere between you painting my entire house during that insane heatwave."

He laughed, the sound echoing in the kitchen you'd rebuilt together. "And here I thought it was my extensive knowledge of old pipes that won you over."

"That helped," you admitted, fingers playing with his hair. "Though it was really your hands that sealed the deal."

"My hands, huh?"

"Mmhmm." You pressed closer, coffee and blueprints momentarily forgotten. "Very skilled hands."

"Well" he murmured, those hands already finding their way under your pajama top, "some things deserve special attention to detail.”

"Are we seriously still doing renovation metaphors?"

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your neck. "Some traditions are worth keeping."

Later, as sunlight streamed through your kitchen windows—windows he'd helped you restore months ago when you were still pretending to be just neighbours—you lay tangled together on the kitchen floor.

"You know," you said, tracing patterns on his chest, "your house does have that amazing bathtub."

"True." He pressed a kiss to your hair. "But this house has you."

You smiled against his skin. “We could always redo the bathroom here. Get an even better tub."

"I like how you think." His arms tightened around you. "Though we'd need to check the floor supports first, maybe upgrade the plumbing—"

You propped yourself up on one elbow to look at him, at this impossible man who'd somehow become your everything.

"I love you," you said simply. "Even when you're being a total renovation nerd."

His smile was soft, genuine, the smile he saved just for you. "Especially then?"

"Especially then."

Outside, spring painted the neighborhood with fresh green. But inside, in this house you'd brought back to life together, you'd found something even better—a future you were building together, room by room, day by day, one cup of morning coffee at a time.

masterlist + support my writing

author's note — omggg, we made it through all four seasons and a complete house renovation ! kept thinking while writing that the most unrealistic thing about this story is not satoru gojo being a perfect neighbour and fixing leaky pipes for us, but owning a house in this economy lol.

anyway, thank you so much for reading this silly little story and i hope it brought you as much joy as it did me while writing it. until next time ! <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here.

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @sugurbo @janbannan

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@fairygardenprincesss @juneslove21 @glenkiller338 @gojossugarcandy @wiserion

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© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 7 - The Art of Faking it Too Well

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: rizzler lmao. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 6} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23 @naughteehee @not-aya @bochichi @emlient @gojoprincesss @havingnonamesucks @n1vi @linny-bloggs @sastreclau

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

You didn’t expect him to actually be on time.

Satoru’s car pulled into your driveway right at 7, headlights off, like he was trying to make a quiet escape from the awkward suburban hell you called home. You opened the door, heart already racing, not from nerves—but from the knowledge that your family was going to witness all of this. Every second of it.

The second you stepped outside, you heard your sister’s voice float out from the living room.

“Oh? Is that Gojo?” Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she all but slithered toward the door. “You sure you didn’t pay him to show up?”

Satoru stood leaning against the car, all long legs and confidence, dressed in black slacks and a soft blue button-up that brought out his eyes way too well for your comfort. He looked up at your sister’s voice, smile tight.

“Hi,” she purred, stepping beside you like she was the one he was here for. “You look—wow.”

Satoru didn’t even blink. “Thanks. So does your sister.”

You blinked, startled, as he offered you his arm and leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Ready to go, babe?”

You didn’t say anything—just nodded, letting him lead you down the steps, his hand resting lightly on your back.

Your mom and stepdad stood near the window, watching with forced smiles that barely masked their suspicion. You saw your stepfather open his mouth, but before he could say anything, Satoru glanced up and gave them a polite, “Evening. We won’t be late.”

His tone was calm but cool—formal enough to be respectful, but just detached enough to make it clear he wasn’t here to kiss up to anyone.

As soon as you slid into the passenger seat and shut the door, you sighed. “You didn’t have to say all that.”

“I did,” he said, shifting into reverse. “You looked like you were five seconds away from swinging on your sister.”

“She said I paid you to date me.”

“I know.” He smirked as he turned onto the main road. “But then I remembered I’m expensive. She’s not wrong.”

You groaned and elbowed him lightly. “You’re actually the worst.”

“Maybe. But I look really good next to you.”

You tried not to smile. Failed.

The car ride was warm with music low in the background. He talked too much, teased you too often, and made a point to tell you that the highlighter on your cheeks looked “criminally good.”

When you arrived at the restaurant, you realized it wasn’t the flashy kind of upscale—it was intimate. Dim lighting, candlelit tables, soft jazz playing over the speakers. You felt… out of place. But he looked completely at ease, holding the door open for you with a wink.

“You really committed to the fake boyfriend role, huh?”

“I don’t half-ass,” he said simply. “Plus, I like watching you blush.”

You were seated near the window. He pulled out your chair before sitting down himself.

“So,” he said, glancing over the menu. “What do loners usually eat on fake dates with campus heartthrobs?”

You gave him a look. “Anything that shuts you up for at least ten minutes.”

He grinned. “Spicy. I like that.”

You both ordered, and the conversation veered off into something lighter—music, classes, how he once almost electrocuted himself in a lab and had to bribe a TA to cover it up.

But eventually, the laughter softened, and the pauses between words started to stretch a little longer.

You looked down at the table. “It’s weird. I didn’t think I’d enjoy tonight.”

He tilted his head. “Is that your way of saying you’re having fun with me?”

“No,” you said quickly, and then—after a beat—“…Maybe.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You really don’t think very highly of yourself, do you?”

The question caught you off guard. You shrugged. “It’s just… easier when you don’t expect much. From people. From family.”

Satoru went quiet. Not uncomfortable, just… thoughtful.

“My parents are always gone,” he said after a moment. “They throw money at me like it’s supposed to feel like love. It doesn’t. So, I pretend it’s all good. I play the part.”

Your eyes met his. For a second, he looked tired. Like the role of Satoru Gojo—Golden Boy, Campus Royalty—was just that. A role.

“We’re more alike than I thought,” you said quietly.

He smiled, a little softer this time. “Told you I’m not just a pretty face.”

Later, after dinner, he suggested a walk.

“Trust me,” he said, grabbing your hand. “You’ll like this.”

You ended up near the beach—quiet, the kind of spot not many students knew about. The moon was full, the water calm, and he stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, looking at you like you were something he couldn’t figure out.

You looked up at the stars, hair dancing in the breeze.

He watched you. “You look pretty when you’re not yelling at me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips.

You didn’t talk much on the way back. The car was filled with a silence that felt… full.

And then—he parked outside your house. Leaned across the seat. You thought he was going to kiss your cheek, maybe say goodnight.

Instead, his voice dropped low as he whispered in your ear, “Don’t freak out… but we’re being watched.”

Your heart jumped. “What?”

“Someone’s in that car down the street. Been holding their phone up since we got here. Probably sending pics to that gossip page.”

Before you could even process it, he leaned in and pressed you back against the car door. One hand cupped your jaw. The other slid around your waist.

And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t teasing.

It was full, slow, and hungry.

Your fingers curled into his shirt. You barely had time to react before the kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours like he’d been waiting to do it all night.

When he finally pulled back, breathless, he didn’t move far.

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek. “Had to sell it.”

But his eyes said something else entirely.

He walked you to your door, fingers laced with yours until the last second. Your parents were watching again. So was your sister.

So Satoru kissed your forehead and said, “Sleep well, baby.”

Then, with a little smirk just for you, he walked away.

You closed the door slowly behind you, heart pounding. And in your chest—buried under confusion and nerves—was something warm. Something dangerous.

Something that felt a lot like the beginning of something real.

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 16 - Under The Influence

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

cw: mentions of excessive drinking

an: don’t get your hopes up y’all. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

}chapter 15} ; {next}

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࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 21 - Say Something

18+ ONLY

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: i’m really sorry for the long wait my loves. i got my heart broken and i just wasn’t able to continue writing. but i’m better now! hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. keep in mind that this is my first time writing smut so it’s probably horrible lmao. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 20} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay @reneinii @magalimachete @mysteriaqueen @linny-bloggs @loveyislost @amybarnes21

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Toji didn’t chase people.

He never had, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

But three weeks had passed, and you were still avoiding him like the plague—ignoring his texts, pretending he didn’t exist at school, slipping away the second he got too close. It wasn’t just pissing him off. It was driving him insane.

He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but after weeks of silence, of replaying that night over and over again, he was starting to lose his patience.

So, when he found himself standing on your doorstep, fists shoved into his hoodie pockets, he barely hesitated before ringing the doorbell.

Your mom answered within seconds, raising an eyebrow when she saw him.

“Toji?”

“Hey.” He leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head slightly. “She home?”

“She’s out with her friends.”

Toji exhaled sharply, jaw tensing. He should’ve known. You were a damn escape artist at this point.

Your mom hummed, studying him. Then, with a knowing look, she stepped aside. “You can wait in her room if you want.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Walking up the stairs, he found your door slightly ajar and pushed it open, stepping inside for the first time.

It was exactly what he expected.

Your scent clung to the air—something warm and familiar, like vanilla and something softer, something that reminded him of you. Blankets were thrown haphazardly over your bed, little trinkets and books scattered across your desk. A framed picture of you and your friends sat by your nightstand, along with a small polaroid of you at your birthday party last year.

Toji ran his fingers over the polaroid before shoving it into his pocket, then sat on the edge of your bed, shoulders tense.

Now, he just had to wait.

You don’t expect to find anyone in your room when you get home, let alone Toji.

He’s sitting on your bed, one leg lazily propped up, scrolling through his phone like he has every right to be there. But when you step inside, his gaze snaps to yours, sharp and unreadable.

Your stomach twists.

You haven’t spoken to him in three weeks—not a single text, not even a glance at school. And now he’s here. Waiting.

“Toji—”

“Oh, look who finally decided to show up,” he cuts in, his tone dangerously casual. He tosses his phone onto your nightstand and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Was startin’ to think you died or somethin’.”

You force a shaky breath. “What are you doing here?”

His jaw ticks. “What am I doing here?” he repeats, voice low, like he can’t believe you just asked that. “Nah, what the hell have you been doing? Three weeks, and you couldn’t be bothered to text me back?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He scoffs. “Right. ‘Cause that’s all you do now, huh? Run away when shit gets real?”

“That’s not—”

“Bullshit,” he snaps, standing up abruptly. The sheer size of him, the intensity in his eyes, makes your pulse jump. “You didn’t even have the decency to say anything. Just dipped, like I meant nothing to you.”

His words hit harder than you expect. “That’s not true.”

“No?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Then what? You wake up and suddenly decide I ain’t worth your time?”

“I was scared,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Toji doesn’t react at first. He just stares, expression unreadable, before tilting his head. “Scared of what?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t remember anything after we left the party.”

His entire body goes rigid.

“I woke up, and I—” You wrap your arms around yourself. “I didn’t know what happened. I didn’t know if I did something I’d regret, if we did something that—”

Toji’s expression darkens. “You think I’d let something happen to you that you didn’t want?”

“No! That’s not what I—” You run a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply. “I just panicked, okay? I didn’t know how to face you after that. I thought maybe I’d ruined things between us, so I just—”

“Ghosted me?” he finishes flatly.

You wince. “I know it was shitty.”

“Shitty?” His eyes narrow. “Nah. Shitty is forgetting to text back once or twice. This?” He gestures between you two. “This was a fuckin’ choice.”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Yeah? Well, congrats, blondie,” he says coldly. “You did.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating.

Toji shakes his head, pulling something from his pocket. When he grabs your wrist and presses it into your palm, you look down, recognizing your missing earrings.

Your heart clenches.

“There,” he mutters. “Now you got all your shit back. No reason to ever see me again.”

Panic flares inside you. “Toji, wait—”

“Nah.” He steps around you, heading for the door. “I’m done. You don’t want me around? Message received.”

He’s almost gone.

He’s actually leaving.

You don’t think. You just grab his wrist, yanking him back with every ounce of desperation in your body. “Please,” you whisper. “Don’t go.”

His body tenses under your grip, but he doesn’t turn.

Tears prick your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you breathe. “I am so, so sorry. I handled this horribly. I was selfish and scared, but I never wanted to hurt you.”

Toji’s silent, his shoulders stiff.

You clutch him tighter. “I missed you,” you say, voice breaking. “Every single day, I missed you. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”

His jaw clenches. “You don’t get to do that,” he mutters. “You don’t get to disappear and then act like I’m supposed to forgive you just ‘cause you feel bad now.”

You step closer, heart pounding. “Then tell me how to fix it.”

He finally turns, and the look in his eyes nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Frustration. Hurt. Longing.

You reach for his hand. He doesn’t pull away.

“I swear,” you whisper, “I won’t run again.”

Toji watches you, expression unreadable. Then, with a rough sigh, he tugs you against him, wrapping his arms around you like he’s been waiting weeks to do it.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, y’know that?” he mutters into your hair.

You let out a wet laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

His grip tightens. “Don’t pull that shit again.”

“I won’t.”

He exhales, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze flickers to your lips.

“You gonna run if I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Your breath hitches. “No.”

That’s all he needs. His lips crash against yours, and it’s not soft—it’s desperate, frustrated, full of everything left unsaid. You clutch at his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

His hands grip your waist, guiding you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He pushes you down with ease, his weight pressing against you, and heat floods your body.

Your fingers tangle in his dark hair as he kisses you harder, dragging his lips along your jaw, down to your throat. His breath is hot, his touch even hotter, and every inch of you feels like it’s burning.

“Toji—”

He silences you with another kiss, smirking against your lips.

“Bet you won’t forget this time,” he murmurs.

And then his hands start to wander.

You squeal against his lips as he roughly cups your plump ass cheeks and pulls you even closer.

He pulls away, heavily breathing and staring into your eyes for what feels like an eternity.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, his voice rough as he gently cradles your face and kisses you hard.

Your lips move against his, the world outside this moment fading into irrelevance. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, bodies pressed together as if the space between you was unbearable. The heat of his breath, the way his fingers grip your waist—it’s dizzying.

Somewhere between the push and pull of your embrace, your steps falter. A gasp slips past your lips as you lose your balance, your fingers clutching at his shirt for stability. But he’s just as lost in you, and together, you tumble onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight.

A breathless laugh bubbles from your throat, but it’s quickly swallowed by another kiss, his lips capturing yours again before you can say anything. The sheets crumple beneath you as he shifts, one hand braced beside your head, the other trailing down your arm. Everything about him is overwhelming—the way he tastes, the way he feels, the way he looks at you like he isn’t quite sure how to stop.

Your heart pounds, anticipation thick in the air. The moment stretched between you, heavy with the unspoken, waiting for whatever came next.

Toji starts pressing wet kisses on your jaw, slowly making his way down your neck, leaving you gasping and whimpering.

A cocky smirk finds his lips as he lets his hands wander under your shirt, gently caressing your soft skin.

A shiver runs down your spine as you gently push him away, your hands trembling slightly as you sit up. Your fingers curl around the hem of his shirt, and for a moment, you hesitate. The weight of his gaze burns into you, intense and unreadable, making your pulse race.

Swallowing hard, you finally tug his shirt up, your knuckles brushing against the firm planes of his stomach as you lift the fabric over his head. He helps you, yanking it off the rest of the way and tossing it carelessly to the floor. The sight of him—his toned chest rising and falling with each measured breath—leaves you momentarily breathless.

Toji watches you with dark amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Damn, you gonna stare all night, or…?”

Heat rushes to your face, but you refuse to back down. Instead, you roll your eyes and place your hands on his bare shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. “Shut up,” you mumble, trying to sound annoyed, but the way your voice wavers betrays you.

His smirk deepens as he leans in, his nose brushing against yours. “Make me.”

Before you can respond, his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, his hands skimming down your sides. His fingers ghost over the hem of your top, a silent question. You nod—just barely—and he takes that as permission, peeling it off you with agonizing slowness.

The air feels cooler against your exposed skin, but Toji is warm—burning, almost. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer until you’re practically straddling him. Your fingers explore the contours of his shoulders, his biceps, the hard lines of his chest.

His lips trail down the side of your neck, lingering just below your ear before he murmurs, “You good?”

You exhale shakily, nodding. “Yeah.”

His hands travel lower, tracing the waistband of your jeans before he effortlessly undoes the button. A nervous thrill shoots through you, anticipation tightening in your stomach as he tugs them down, his touch both careful and firm.

Your own hands fumble with the drawstring of his sweatpants, your heart hammering as you push them down his hips. He helps you, kicking them off until they join the mess of discarded clothes on the floor.

Now, only a thin layer of fabric separates you both, and the realization makes your breath hitch. The air between you shifts—charged, expectant.

Toji cups your face, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. “You ready?” His voice is softer now, the teasing edge gone.

You nod again, more certain this time. “Yeah,” you whisper.

His lips curve into something almost gentle before he pulls you back in, pressing you into the mattress as his hands begin to roam once more.

With an unusual gentleness he spreads your legs and slowly pulls your lacy panties off. His breath hitches in his throat and for the first time in his life Toji feels speechless.

It’s not like he’s a virgin and has never seen a naked woman before but you’re on another level. He finds himself staring at all of your naked glory only to be interrupted by you closing your legs.

“The fuck you doin’?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“You’re staring!” You whine in embarrassment causing him to grin in amusement.

“So? I’m enjoying the view. Now spread your legs f’me, blondie.“

You do as he says and smack his biceps when you notice him smirk again. Your mouth opens to form a response but all you can do is let out a soft gasp as you feel Toji’s warm tongue part your lips and slip inside your warm pussy.

He holds onto your trembling legs while he eats you out as if it were his last meal. You try to close them to get away from the foreign overstimulation but he merely fixes you with a sharp glare before continuing.

Breathless moans leave your flushed lips as Toji lets his wet tongue drag an agonizingly slow lick directly to your swollen clit. You arch your back, burying your fingers in his unruly hair as you come undone.

You think this is it and are about to sit up but Toji only grumbles in displeasure and laps up your juices with his tongue, making sure to revel in your taste. A soft whimper leaves your plump lips as he starts sucking on your aching clit and you can’t help but to pull on his hair. “Toji… s’too much,” You mumble bleary eyed.

“I’ll get’cha next time,” He replies with a smirk, which only widens when you tug on the hem of his boxers shyly. “Use your words, princess.”

You mumble something inaudible causing him to frown at you. He tilts your chin up, caressing your lower lip with his thumb before grabbing your hand and pressing it against his huge bulge.

“Use your words.”

“Please,” your voice sounds breathless but he just clicks his tongue sharply and shakes his head.

“Please what? You’re a big girl. Spit it out,” he quips, slowly guiding your hand into his boxers.

“Please fuck me,” you choke out, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the feeling of his hard cock in your hand.

“Finally.”

With that Toji quickly rips his boxers off, revealing himself in all his glory.

All of the embarrassment suddenly seems to disappear as you’re met with the entirety of his length.

“What. The. Fuck.”

“The fuck you mean?”

“It’s too big. I’m not even trying to stroke your ego but that… thing, is going to split me in half.”

“No it’s not,” he snorts and guides your hand back towards his length, encouraging you to wrap your hands around him again.

You do so with some hesitation but relax slightly as you slowly start moving your hands up and down. A low groan leaves Toji’s lips and you can’t help hut smirk at the sight of his features contorted with pure bliss.

„Fuck princess… You gotta chill or i‘m gonna cum,“ He groans as he pries your hands off of his hard cock.

You feel your face heat up and look up at him as he gently pushes you back onto your bed and gets settled between your legs.

“You ready?” he growls — not really asking. Then he slams in, slow but deep, dragging it out just to feel you take every inch. The stretch burns, your walls clenching around him, helpless to the way he fills you. You let out a broken moan, back arching, fingers digging into the sheets like they could ground you through it.

Instead of moving like you expect him to Toji just stays there, buried deep inside you, letting your pussy pulse around him.

“Fuck,” He mutters, hips flexing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply and starts moving.

He drags out of you slow, just enough to make you whimper, before slamming back in hard. Deeper. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out—just a breathless gasp.

“That the spot?” he murmurs against your neck, his voice thick with heat.

His hips roll again, slow and exact, hitting it perfectly. You nod, dazed, gripping whatever you can reach as your body arches up into him.

You nod, unable to speak and bite your lip to stifle your embarrassingly loud moans.

Toji looks at you in displeasure and leans in closer, softly panting into your ear.

“Cmon princess. Wanna hear those pretty sounds again,” He whispers as he picks up his pace.

You wrap your arms around his strong neck and bury your face into the crook of his neck, moaning as you feel him hit that spot.

“Fuck yeah,” He growls, his head moving downwards to press heated kiss all over your neck.

“Keep on making those pretty sounds for me baby,” He groans against your flushed and slightly sweaty skin.

You were losing your mind. You were getting closer to the edge with each thrust, each rub, and each low growl in your ear.

“Toji… Fuck! M’close..”

“Yeah? Me too- Fuck. Cmon princess… fuck..! Cum f’me.”

You break. Your body shakes beneath him as you clench around him so tightly that he lets out a broken moan. Your scream comes out of your throat, loud, broken, and genuine.

“Ohhh fuck,” he gasps and pulls out just in time to stroke himself twice, thick ropes of cum painting your stomach.

You find yourself lying together, breathless and tangled in the aftermath of everything. Your mind was still a whirlwind, but it was no longer filled with panic or fear. Instead, you were left with a strange sense of clarity.

You and Toji had crossed a line, and now you would have to deal with the consequences. But for now, all that mattered was that you had each other.

You quickly got dressed, the awkwardness now settling between the two of you. You tried to ignore the weight of the situation, but when you both walked down the stairs, you were hit with the reality of what had just happened.

Your mom sat at the kitchen table, her eyes wide and a knowing smile on her face.

“Good evening, you two,” she said with a raised eyebrow, clearly enjoying the discomfort on both of your faces. “I hope you’re both feeling alright.”

You stare at your mom in shock, your mouth wide open as you try to process the embarrassment of the situation. Your mother heard you have sex. Great.

“Toji, you’re welcome to spend the night. I just want you guys to be careful and use protection. Maybe try to keep it down. Your father and I would like to sleep once he gets home,” she says and winks at the both of you.

“Thanks, Mrs. [Y/L/N],” Toji says smoothly, his tone casual. “We’ll keep it down.”

Your mom just smirked, obviously finding this entire situation far too amusing. “Alright then. Just be mindful of the noise,” she added, her voice filled with an almost teasing lilt. “Wouldn’t want to hear anything I’m not supposed to, now, would we?”

Toji’s eyes flickered toward you, and you could see a faint smirk tug at the corners of his lips, but you didn’t want to look. You couldn’t look. You were mortified.

“Well,” your mom said, her tone light. “I’ll let you two get on with it. Good night.”

You and Toji stood there, frozen for a second. Then, with a shared awkward glance, you both slowly made your way to the fridge.

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 6 - Terms and Conditions (Mostly Ignored)

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: I’m doing horrible mentally so here’s another chapter for you guys! I’m probably gonna post Toji today as well hehe. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 5} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23 @naughteehee @not-aya @bochichi @emlient @gojoprincesss @havingnonamesucks @n1vi @linny-bloggs

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 20 - Radio Silence

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullyingtaglist:

an: he just like me fr #crashout SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 19} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay @reneinii @magalimachete @mysteriaqueen @linny-bloggs @loveyislost @amybarnes21

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 5 - Tricks, Treats and Terrible Ideas

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: hehe… SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 4} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23 @naughteehee @mysteriaqueen @not-aya @bochichi @emlient

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The eyeliner refused to cooperate.

You leaned in closer to the mirror, biting your lip as you dragged the pen across your lid, only for it to smudge—again. Frustration curled in your chest as you reached for a makeup wipe, erasing the mess for what felt like the hundredth time.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, resisting the urge to chuck the whole eyeliner across the room.

You had spent the last hour trying to recreate a Halloween makeup tutorial, and for some reason, it just wasn’t working. Maybe it was your shaky hands, maybe it was the universe conspiring against you—but at this point, you were ready to give up.

And after the day you’d had? This was the last thing you needed to go wrong.

It had started with spilled coffee on your clothes before class, followed by nearly failing a pop quiz. Then, after spending hours at the library, you walked outside to find it pouring rain—without an umbrella. The final insult? Coming home to Brielle gloating about her latest tennis win while your parents showered her with praise.

Now, as you sat in front of your mirror, determined to at least look good for this stupid party, your patience was razor-thin.

You exhaled deeply, steadied your hand, and tried again. This time, miraculously, it turned out perfect. Maybe even great.

Just as you exhaled in relief, your door swung open without warning.

“Wow,” came Brielle’s smug voice. “Didn’t know cops were supposed to look desperate.”

You clenched your jaw and turned in your seat. She was already dressed for the party in—what else—a tennis outfit.

“Can you knock?” you asked flatly.

“Can you not embarrass yourself?” she shot back, arms crossed as she leaned against your doorframe. “Honestly, you’re really going through all this effort? For what? You do know no one’s going to believe that Gojo’s actually into you, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Leave, Brielle.”

“But I’m curious,” she continued, tilting her head with a fake-sweet smile. “How exactly did you get him to date you? Did you beg him? Threaten to expose some deep, dark secret? Oh! Maybe you paid him.”

You turned back to the mirror, adjusting your police cap. “Shut up.”

Brielle smirked. “You didn’t deny it.”

Before you could fire back, the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped.

Brielle noticed, her smirk widening. “Oh my god, is that him?”

Ignoring her, you pushed past and hurried down the stairs, heart pounding a little too fast. When you swung the door open, you were immediately met with Satoru, looking unfairly attractive.

His inmate jumpsuit was slightly unzipped, revealing a white tank top underneath. Silver handcuffs dangled from one wrist, and his white hair was effortlessly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed looking perfect.

He grinned. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite officer. Are you here to arrest me? Because I’d gladly surrender.”

Behind you, Brielle and your parents watched the exchange with varying levels of curiosity. Brielle, in particular, was staring like she’d just seen a unicorn.

“Oh my god,” she practically purred, stepping forward. “You look so good. You know, if you wanted a matching costume, you could’ve told me. I would’ve made such a good cop.”

He didn’t even glance her way. Instead, he ignored everyone and stepped forward, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a tight hug.

“You look amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Then, before you could process anything, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

Your brain completely short-circuited.

Brielle looked like she might combust.

Before you could even recover, he pulled back and flashed you a grin. “Ready to go?”

You barely managed a nod before he tugged you toward the door, not sparing your family a second glance.

“You ready for our big debut?” he grinned once you were inside his car.

You exhaled sharply, still recovering. “I hate you.”

He laughed, throwing an arm over your shoulders as he pulled out of the driveway.

The house was packed, the music was loud, and Satoru was making sure everyone saw you two together.

It had started with subtle things—his arm lingering around your waist, leaning in closer than necessary whenever someone looked your way, the occasional forehead kiss that left your skin burning.

Then he turned it up a notch.

He pulled you into conversations with people you didn’t know, introduced you as his girlfriend, and sent pointed smirks at the gossip-prone girls who clearly didn’t believe it.

You barely had time to process any of it before he was dragging you toward another group of people, where an enthusiastic voice called out, “Seven Minutes in Heaven, let’s go!”

Satoru’s eyes lit up. “Oh, we have to play.”

You groaned. “Do we?”

“Obviously. What kind of couple doesn’t?” he teased, giving you a look like he was daring you to say no.

You sighed, letting yourself be pulled into the circle forming in the living room. A few people had already gone, disappearing into the closet or a nearby bedroom to the loud whistles and teasing of the crowd.

And then it was Satoru’s turn.

He grabbed the bottle and spun it with an exaggerated flourish, watching it twirl with that signature shit-eating grin.

It slowed, making a few more rotations before finally landing on—

You.

The room erupted into cheers.

Satoru immediately turned to you, his smirk widening. “Looks like we’re up, babe.”

Your eye twitched at the pet name, but before you could react, he was already tugging you to your feet.

As he led you toward the hall, you caught sight of Toji and his girlfriend standing nearby.

Toji regarded Satoru with a displeased stare, as if his mere existence was an offense to him. But it was his girlfriend who caught your attention—she wasn’t smiling, wasn’t laughing, just watching with an unreadable expression.

For some reason, it made your stomach twist.

Without thinking, you hugged Satoru’s arm a little tighter.

He noticed.

And instead of questioning it, he just smirked and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Then, as you passed, he made sure to dramatically pull you into his room, slamming the door shut behind you.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, Satoru spun around, hands in his pockets, smirking like he had already won something.

“So,” he drawled, tilting his head, “what’s the plan, babe?”

You crossed your arms. “Don’t call me that.”

“Babe. Sweetheart. My beloved.” His grin widened at the way your nose scrunched in irritation.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.” He flopped onto the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “We need to make it look real.”

You groaned, running a hand down your face. “We could just sit here and talk. Let time run out.”

“Lame.”

“Realistic.”

Satoru scoffed. “You think my friends wanna open this door and find us having a casual conversation about our majors?” He gave you a look like he was daring you to be smarter than that.

You bit your lip. He wasn’t wrong.

“Okay… then what do you suggest?”

A slow smirk crept onto his lips.

“I have a couple ideas.”

“Absolutely not.”

Your bickering went on for a few more minutes, the occasional knock interrupting your conversation. As Time went on the voices behind the door grew louder and more animated.

Another knock on the door made you both freeze.

“Times almost up, lovebirds!”

Panic flickered in Satoru’s eyes, but then his face shifted into something more determined.

You barely had a second to react before he grabbed you, threw you onto the bed, and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Your breath caught. “Satoru—”

“Shh, relax. Just making it convincing.”

Then you felt it—his lips on your skin.

Your whole body stiffened. The first press of his mouth was warm, but then—a sharp pull. Teeth. A slow, deliberate drag of his lips.

Your fingers dug into the sheets, eyes going wide.

“Satoru—”

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine.

“Mm, you’re reacting a lot for someone who hates me,” he mused, voice low, teasing.

You wanted to throw him off of you, but you couldn’t move. His lips were still there, sucking, biting, soothing over the mark with his tongue. It was too much, too good, too embarrassing.

A sound slipped out of you before you could stop it—soft, breathy, needy.

Satoru stilled.

Then he grinned against your skin.

“Oh?” His voice dripped with amusement. He pulled back just slightly, lips brushing over your ear. “Did you just moan?”

Your entire face burned.

“I—shut up!”

His laughter was low and smug. “Nah, don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart.” He pressed another slow, taunting kiss over the mark. “Was that your first time getting a hickey?”

You shoved at his chest, hard.

“Get off, asshole!”

Before he could tease you more, the door swung open.

Satoru didn’t even flinch. He just shifted slightly so that he was still half on top of you, turning just right so that the mark on your neck would be visible.

“Yo, Gojo, time’s up—”

Satoru sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“Guys. Seriously?” He let out an exaggerated groan. “I wanna spend some time with my girlfriend if you get what I mean.”

A chorus of whoops and knowing laughter followed.

“Alright, alright, we see you.”

“We’ll leave you two alone.”

Satoru smirked.

They shut the door.

Silence.

You shoved him off of you immediately.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.” He stretched out on the bed like he hadn’t just completely ruined your life. “No need to be shy, princess. You were totally into it.”

Your face felt like it was on fire.

“I was NOT!”

He just grinned. “Sure you weren’t.”

You turned away, flustered, only for your eyes to catch your reflection in his mirror.

The deep, dark mark on your neck stood out way too much.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god.” You grabbed at your neck like it would somehow disappear. “You gave me an actual hickey, you psycho!”

Satoru propped his chin up with one hand, looking very pleased with himself.

“Oops.”

“Oops?!”

He chuckled. “Hey, it’s good. Now people will really believe it.”

You stared at him in horror. “I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

He grinned. “Joke’s on you, I’m a very light sleeper.”

“I hate you.”

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it again!”

Satoru just smiled, looking entirely too entertained. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You hurled a pillow at his head.

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 19 - Heat of the Moment

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: Do you guys want full on smut or should I just keep it like this??? SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 18} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay @reneinii

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived with your friends, the bass from the music vibrating through the floor as costumed students filled every corner of Gojo’s massive penthouse. Halloween decorations covered the place, from fake cobwebs to eerie glowing lights, and the air smelled of alcohol, perfume, and the faintest hint of weed. You adjusted the ears on your head, smoothing down the tight and form fitting top of your Lola Bunny costume as you scanned the crowd.

It didn’t take long to spot him.

Toji stood near the drinks table, pouring himself a whiskey into a red Solo cup, the black and white Ghostface mask lazily pushed up onto his head. His bare chest was fully on display—his excuse for a “costume” being nothing more than black sweatpants and the mask. The defined muscles of his torso flexed as he moved, tattoos standing out against his tan skin, and you could already see girls eyeing him from across the room.

A smirk pulled at your lips as an idea formed in your head.

You weaved through the crowd and crept up behind him, waiting for the perfect moment before leaning in close. “Boo.”

Toji tensed, his hand twitching around his cup as he turned sharply, his usual scowl in place—until his eyes landed on you.

His expression froze, mouth slightly parted as he took in your costume. His green eyes darkened, gaze trailing over your body, from the fluffy ears on your head to the dangerously short shorts that barely covered anything. His tongue swiped over his lips as he blatantly checked you out, and for a second, you swore he forgot how to speak.

Then, just as quickly, his expression twisted into something irritated. “The fuck are you wearin’?”

You blinked, taken aback. “A costume?”

He scoffed, his eyes flickering to the guys around you, lingering on the ones that had been stealing glances your way. His jaw tensed, and before you knew it, he was yanking his hoodie from where it was tied around his waist and tossing it at you. “Put that shit on.”

You caught it, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps flexing. “Walkin’ around damn near naked—everyone’s starin’.”

“Oh, so what, you’re allowed to be shirtless, but I have to cover up?” You put a hand on your hip. “That’s rich.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

He scowled. “It just is.”

You grinned. “You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” He let out a dry laugh. “Of what?”

“Of all the guys looking at me right now,” you teased, stepping closer. “Bet you wanna fight every single one of them, huh?”

Toji’s eye twitched. “I swear to god, Y/N—”

“Relax, big guy.” You threw his hoodie back at him with a wink.

Toji opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a familiar figure brushed past the two of you.

Gojo.

You both immediately turned your attention to him, watching as he strolled by, one arm lazily slung over the shoulders of a girl. She was dressed in a police officer costume, tight-fitting but understated, a stark contrast to Gojo’s usual flashy preferences. His criminal costume complemented hers, a lazy attempt at “matching,” but what caught your attention was the way she clung to him—not in an attention-seeking way, but in a way that made it clear she was anxious and had her guard up.

Toji let out a low whistle. “So he really got a girl, huh?”

You crossed your arms. “Guess so.”

“She don’t look like his type.”

“She’s not.”

Toji glanced at you. “You met her?”

“Yeah, yesterday.” You sighed, shifting on your feet. “I might’ve been kinda mean to her.”

At that, Toji’s expression shifted. His brows furrowed slightly, lips pulling into a pout that he’d never admit was a pout. “Why?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. I guess…I was just surprised. I thought he’d go for someone different.”

“You mean someone like you?”

Your eyes flickered to his, and you could see the irritation swimming beneath them. He didn’t like the idea that you might still care.

You smirked. “Maybe.”

Toji scoffed. “You’re full of shit.”

You only laughed before turning on your heel and disappearing back into the crowd.

As the night went on, you could feel Toji’s gaze on you, your eyes meeting across the room every so often, a silent tension building between you. The occasional glances, the way his lips quirked up whenever he saw you laughing, the way you’d purposely sway your hips just a little more when you knew he was watching—it was a game, a dangerous one, but neither of you wanted to stop playing.

By the time 2 AM rolled around, you were tipsy, the alcohol buzzing through your system as you stepped out onto the balcony to get some air. You leaned against the railing, enjoying the crisp night breeze, when a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

“Coulda sworn I told you to cover up.” His voice was rough, low, edged with something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned, crossing your arms as you met his gaze. “You’re still on that?”

He smirked, stepping closer, his presence impossibly heavy. “Nah. Just figured I should remind you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm.”

You stared at each other, the air between you charged, thick with something unspoken. The tension had been simmering all night, bubbling under the surface of every lingering glance, every brush of your fingers when you passed each other.

And now, it was spilling over.

Your heart pounded as you tilted your head, voice softer now. “What are we doing, Toji?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drop, slowly trailing down the curve of your neck, past your collarbone, over the fitted top hugging your chest. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips before he met your eyes again, darker this time, the green nearly swallowed by black.

“You tell me,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

Something shifted.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the space between you, your hands hesitating for only a second before grasping the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging him just a little closer. His chest brushed against yours, and the heat radiating from his skin was almost overwhelming.

His fingers brushed along your waist, barely there, a teasing touch that made you tremble.

You tilted your chin up, while he lowered his head to lean in closer, lips just inches from his. “I think you wanna kiss me.”

Toji huffed a quiet laugh, but it was strained. His fingers flexed against your waist, gripping you tighter, as if to steady himself.

“Yeah?” His voice was husky, a challenge laced beneath it.

You nodded, your nose brushing against his.

“You gonna do something about it?”

Toji’s patience snapped.

His mouth crashed onto yours, rough and hungry, like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. His hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him, and the heat of his bare chest burned through the thin fabric of your top. His lips were soft but demanding, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before he soothed the bite with his tongue, tasting the faint trace of alcohol on you.

You whimpered against his mouth, fisting the fabric of his sweatpants as his hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your thighs, your waist, anywhere he could touch. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed to memorize the shape of your lips, the way your breath hitched when he tilted your head back to deepen the kiss.

His hands moved up, fingers slipping into your hair as he tilted your face, pressing deeper, devouring you. You felt the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin, the sharp contrast between his firm grip and the lazy drag of his lips against yours. He was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.

You tugged at his waistband, making him groan against your mouth, his hands squeezing your hips in response. He pulled away just enough to mutter, “Keep doin’ shit like that, and I ain’t stoppin’.”

Your lips were swollen, breath shaky as you stared at him, both of you panting, drunk on each other.

You licked your lips. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

Toji grinned against your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw before he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His hands slid under your hoodie—his hoodie now draped over your shoulders—fingertips tracing the bare skin beneath it.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like it.”

“Damn right, I do.”

And then, with a heated pull, he had you back against him, pressing his lips to yours with a force that left you breathless.

It was the last thing you remembered clearly.

The next morning, you woke up in unfamiliar sheets.

Your heart pounded as you blinked against the morning light, the events of last night hazy in your mind. Your head was killing you, and your limbs felt heavy as you slowly turned your head—only to see a very shirtless Toji sleeping beside you.

Your stomach dropped.

Oh, shit.

Panicked, you sat up, heart racing as you looked down at yourself—no clothes. No fucking clothes.

Your hands trembled as you quickly got out of bed, scrambling for your outfit. Your thoughts were jumbled, memories a blur, and you couldn’t even piece together how you’d ended up here. The only thing you knew was that you had to get out.

Toji stirred slightly, his brows furrowing in his sleep, but he didn’t wake up.

Holding your breath, you grabbed your heels and tiptoed to the door, slipping out as quietly as you could.

You didn’t stop moving until you were outside, the morning air biting against your bare skin.

And then, finally, you let out a shaky breath.

What the hell did I do?

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 4 - False Advertising

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: Inspo Pic for their costume on the last slide! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 3} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23 @naughteehee

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 18 - Dressed to Kill (Literally)

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: lmaooo publishing a halloween chapter even though we‘re in february is crazy. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 17} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay @reneinii

 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚  𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚  𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚  𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚  𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚  𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚  𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚  𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 3 - Fake It Till You Make It

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: JEEZ LOUISEEEE! SMOOCHEEEES 💋💋💋

{chapter 2} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

You already knew today was going to be bad, but you hadn’t expected it to be this bad.

It started when you woke up late. Your phone was dead—your stepsister had “accidentally” unplugged your charger overnight, and your alarm never went off. You had exactly ten minutes to get ready, which meant skipping breakfast and throwing on whatever clothes you could grab. In your rush, you stubbed your toe against the corner of your desk so hard that you nearly collapsed.

You tried to shake it off, but things only got worse from there.

By the time you got to campus, the café was out of everything except black coffee, which tasted like burnt disappointment. You tried to force it down anyway, only to spill half of it on your sweater before your first lecture.

Then, your professor—who never acknowledged your existence before—suddenly decided today was the perfect day to call on you. It had to be on the one topic you hadn’t reviewed properly, and when you failed to answer, he sighed and moved on. That one sigh was enough to make the students around you turn and look, some of them exchanging glances, some holding back laughter.

You spent the rest of the class staring at your notebook, trying to disappear.

By the time you reached the library, you were exhausted, but just as you sat down and opened your book, a chair scraped loudly across from you.

Before you even looked up, you already knew who it was.

“Why do you look like someone just ran over your dog?”

Satoru Gojo.

You sighed. “Go away, Satoru.”

“No can do,” he said cheerfully, leaning back in his chair. “Saw you sitting here all alone and thought, ‘Wow, that’s kind of depressing.’ So, here I am. Your knight in shining armor.”

You shot him a flat look. “More like my court jester.”

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “Ouch. Right in my fragile heart.”

Ignoring him, you turned back to your book.

He didn’t do silence.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table in an annoying rhythm.

“What question?” you muttered, already regretting engaging.

“Why you look like someone just ran over your dog.”

You debated whether answering would make him leave faster. “…Because I had a long day.”

Satoru hummed, tilting his head. “Long day or bad day?”

“Both.”

To your surprise, he didn’t joke. He just nodded, like he actually understood.

For a second, you almost thought you’d get some peace. But then, his smirk returned.

“And here I was thinking you were deep in thought about me.”

Your face deadpanned. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “But you still haven’t denied it.”

You shut your book. “Gojo.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I will kill you.”

His grin widened. “That would require effort. And let’s be honest, you don’t strike me as the type.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

Gojo sat there for another ten minutes, occasionally tapping his fingers on the table just to annoy you, before finally stretching and standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your brooding,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses. “But don’t miss me too much.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response.

A Lie That Shouldn’t Have Happened

When you finally got home, all you wanted was a shower and sleep.

But the second you stepped inside, your mother’s voice cut through the air.

“Come to the living room.”

Your stomach sank.

Your stepsister was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, a smug, knowing smile on her lips. Your stepfather sat beside her, looking like he’d just won the lottery.

“We have something to celebrate,” he announced.

You didn’t react.

Your stepsister, on the other hand, was practically glowing. “I got invited to the National Collegiate Tennis Championship,” she said, tilting her head like she wanted to see your reaction.

Your mother sighed, so proud. “She’s worked so hard. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

You forced yourself to nod. You weren’t bitter about your stepsister’s success. It wasn’t her fault she was their favorite. But the way your parents used her as a golden standard—while treating you like you weren’t even worth noticing—never failed to sting.

Your stepfather leaned back in his chair, his expression turning more mocking. “And you,” he said, looking at you expectantly, “what exactly have you been doing?”

“College,” you said, keeping your voice neutral. “Like everyone else.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “But you don’t do anything else, do you? No sports, no clubs. You don’t go out, you don’t socialize.” He smirked. “Do you even have a boyfriend, or are you just wasting your time being forgettable?”

Your stepsister covered her mouth, laughing under her breath. “Dad, that’s mean,” she said sweetly. “She’s just… not really the type to have a boyfriend.”

Your mother sighed like this was the greatest disappointment of all. “She’s always been a bit… invisible.”

That was it. That was the moment.

The exhaustion, the stress, the endless belittling—it all crashed over you at once. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “I do have a boyfriend, actually.”

The room went silent.

Then, they laughed.

Not a chuckle. Not a scoff. A full-blown, gut-wrenching laugh.

“You?” Your stepfather shook his head, smiling. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Your stepsister raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re serious?” Her smile widened. “Who is he?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Shit.

“Someone from school,” you muttered.

“Well, obviously,” she said, laughing. “But what’s his name?”

Your heart pounded. “You don’t know him.”

Your stepfather shook his head, amused. “Sure, kid. Whatever you say.”

Your mother didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you said it all—like she didn’t believe you for a second.

Your face burned.

Before they could ask anything else, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs.

By the time you slammed your bedroom door, reality had settled in.

You had lied.

You had actually lied.

And worse? You had no way of getting out of it without making yourself look even more pathetic.

For the next week, you racked your brain for solutions. You considered telling them you broke up with this mystery boyfriend before they could meet him, but you knew that’d just open the door for more insults, more mockery. You thought about faking a long-distance relationship, but that seemed way too complicated.

Meanwhile, Satoru Gojo was everywhere.

You didn’t know why you kept seeing him—maybe the universe was punishing you—but he popped up in the library, at the campus café, even outside one of your lectures. And every single time, he made sure to annoy you.

“You always look so serious,” he teased one day, leaning against the table you were studying at. “Are you plotting world domination or just thinking about me?”

“Neither,” you muttered, turning the page in your book.

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

He was relentless.

And today, after another long, exhausting day, you just wanted to be alone.

Your safe place was a hidden bench near the lake, tucked away behind the trees where no one ever bothered you. It was quiet, peaceful—exactly what you needed.

But as you sat there, staring at the water, a loud rustling noise came from the bushes.

You tensed.

Then, Satoru Gojo stumbled out.

“Are you serious?” you groaned.

“Oh, hey,” he grinned, “didn’t know you’d be here.”

“This is my spot.”

“I don’t see your name on it.”

You shot him a glare. He sat down anyway.

You considered getting up and leaving, but you were too tired to fight.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the rustling leaves and the soft ripples of the lake.

Then, Gojo broke the silence.

“Alright, spill. What’s wrong?”

You scoffed. “None of your business.”

“Oh, so it’s extra bad.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

You tried to ignore him. But he kept poking, prodding, teasing until finally, you snapped, “Fine! I lied to my family about having a boyfriend, okay?”

He blinked. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Oh, this is fantastic.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your boyfriend.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you insane?”

“Probably,” he admitted cheerfully. “But listen—this works out perfectly. You need a fake boyfriend, and I need a serious girlfriend for my family thing. Boom. Problem solved.”

You gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, grinning like a lunatic.

Your brain struggled to keep up. Gojo? Pretending to be your boyfriend? This had to be a joke.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Ridiculously genius,” he corrected.

He must have seen the doubt on your face because his expression softened slightly. “Hey. It’s just a deal. No strings attached, no weird expectations. Just two people faking a relationship to make their lives easier.”

You hesitated.

You wanted to say no. But… he wasn’t wrong.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if you make this weird, I swear—”

“No promises,” he sang.

With an annoyed sigh, you pulled out your phone. “We need proof.”

The first selfie was awkward. You sat stiffly on the bench, trying to keep as much space between you and Satoru as possible. He, of course, leaned in way too close, grinning like an idiot as he snapped the first photo.

Click.

You glanced at it. It was bad. You looked uncomfortable, your lips pressed into a tight line, while Satoru, on the other hand, looked effortlessly photogenic—like he wasn’t taking a fake couple’s picture but rather doing a promotional shoot for some high-end brand.

“This is terrible,” you muttered.

Satoru let out a dramatic sigh. “That’s because you look like I’m holding you hostage.”

“You are holding me hostage.”

“Emotionally,” he agreed, scrolling through the photos. “Alright, let’s try again. This time, look at me like you actually like me. Pretend I just said something funny.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Blatant lies.” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I’m hilarious. Try to keep up.”

Click.

The second was worse. You tried forcing a small smile, but it came out looking like you were in pain.

Satoru examined it and snorted. “You look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

“I hate this.”

“No, you just suck at it,” he corrected. “Here, let’s make it natural.”

Before you could react, he suddenly threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in.

“Hey—!”

Click.

“Much better,” he said, showing you the photo.

It was… convincing. His arm around you, the effortless smirk, the way your faces were close enough to suggest something more. You still looked hesitant, but at least you weren’t grimacing anymore.

“This could work,” he said, sounding pleased.

You shifted uncomfortably. “You’re way too comfortable with this.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Natural talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. We got the pictures. We’re done here.”

“Not quite,” he corrected. “We need a convincing story. How long have we been dating? How did we meet? What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Nothing,” you deadpanned.

“Ouch. Okay, my favorite thing about you is—” he tapped his chin thoughtfully before grinning— “how easy you are to mess with.”

You groaned. “This was a mistake.”

“Too late now, babe,” he teased, stretching out the last word obnoxiously. “We’re in this together.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Fine. How did we meet?”

“Obviously, you fell madly in love with me the first time you saw me.”

“Try again.”

“We met in class,” he said, thinking. “I was struggling with my engineering assignments, and you offered to help. We bonded over late-night study sessions, and boom, love blossomed.”

You squinted. “You don’t struggle with engineering.”

“They don’t know that,” he pointed out. “Besides, it makes me sound relatable.”

You sighed. “Whatever. And how long have we been together?”

He grinned. “Long enough to make it believable, short enough that you don’t have to explain why I wasn’t around before. Let’s say… a month?”

You shrugged. “Fine.”

“And my favorite thing about you?” he pressed.

“That you shut up when I tell you to.”

He laughed. “We both know that’s not true.”

You shook your head, stuffing your phone into your pocket. “I’m leaving.”

“Not before you post those pictures,” he reminded you.

You hesitated.

Posting them meant committing to this ridiculous lie. It meant opening yourself up to questions, speculation, and attention—all things you had avoided for so long.

Satoru watched you, head tilted. “Cold feet?”

You exhaled slowly. “No.”

With one last look at the photos, you posted them to your Instagram. Satoru did the same, tagging you with a caption that read:

“Finally got her to admit she’s obsessed with me. Took long enough. ❤️”

Your phone immediately started vibrating.

By the time you got home, the notifications were nonstop.

Messages. Comments. Likes.

And by morning, one thing was clear:

You and Satoru Gojo were now the hottest gossip on campus.

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 16 - Ex’s And Oh’s

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: What should her name be? Does she even need a name? Tell me your thoughts and ideas please! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 15} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 1 - Invisible in the Spotlight

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: Welcome to chapter one guys! Feedback is appreciated as always hehe. Also, the taglists for all of my stories are still OPEN, so make sure to get tagged so you don’t miss out on any new chapters! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{introduction} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Campus is chaos, as always. The sidewalks are packed with students rushing to their next class or chatting in tight little groups like they’ve known each other forever. It’s the first month of the semester, but it feels like everyone’s already found their place—everyone but you. You walk with your head down, weaving through the crowd as quietly and invisibly as possible. That’s been your strategy for years now. It works. Mostly.

You didn’t think living at home while attending college would feel so… stifling. At first, it seemed like the logical choice: save money, stay close to the familiar, and avoid the pressure of navigating both a new school and a new city. But now you’re not so sure. Sharing a roof with your parents and your step-sister, Mia, is starting to feel like you’re suffocating.

The comparisons never stop. Mia, the perfect daughter with her flawless tennis career and her endless achievements. She’s a campus celebrity in her own right—everyone knows her name, her face, her victories. And then there’s you. The one people glance at for a second before looking past you. The one who never quite measures up.

You pull your hoodie tighter around you as you pass a group of students standing by the fountain. One of them mentions Mia’s name, and you feel your stomach twist. Something about her latest tournament win, how she’s heading to the finals soon. It’s not surprising, but it still stings. She’s everywhere. Even here.

You shake the thoughts away and head toward the coffee shop near the engineering building. It’s your usual escape—a place to grab a moment of quiet before your next class. The line is long when you step in, but the familiar smell of coffee and the soft hum of indie music make it worth the wait. You tug your phone out of your pocket, scrolling mindlessly through messages you’re too tired to respond to.

That’s when it happens.

The force of someone slamming into you from behind nearly sends you tumbling forward. Your bag slips off your shoulder, and your coffee almost flies out of your hands.

“Whoa, careful there,” a smooth voice says, almost lazily, as though you were the one at fault.

You turn around, already annoyed, and find yourself face-to-face with him.

Satoru Gojo.

Of course, it’s him. Because who else would nearly knock you over and then smile at you like you owe him an apology? His snowy white hair practically glows under the fluorescent lights, and his blue eyes—hidden behind those ridiculous round sunglasses—glint with amusement. He’s tall, too tall, and he carries himself with the kind of confidence that only someone who’s never been told “no” can manage.

You’ve seen him around. Everyone has. Satoru Gojo is one of those people you can’t ignore even if you try. He’s an engineering major with top grades, an influential family name, and a reputation that precedes him. Girls throw themselves at him. Guys want to be him. He’s the king of campus—loud, obnoxious, and completely full of himself.

And now, unfortunately, he’s staring right at you.

“I think you dropped something,” he says, gesturing to your bag on the floor.

“No, really? Thanks for pointing that out,” you deadpan, bending down to pick it up.

When you straighten, his grin is still plastered on his face. It’s infuriatingly smug, like he’s thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

“You’re new,” he states, as if it’s a fact.

You glance around the room, hoping the line will move faster. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I know everyone here, and I definitely don’t know you,” he says, leaning casually against the counter like this is the most fascinating conversation he’s had all day.

“Congratulations. You’ve solved the mystery. I’m new.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel his eyes studying you, probably trying to figure out why you’re not falling all over yourself like the others do. “You don’t seem very impressed by me,” he finally says, and there’s a mock pout in his tone.

You can’t help but snort. “Why would I be?”

His grin widens, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? You don’t care enough to figure it out.

You step forward as the line moves, eager to order and leave before he decides to keep talking. But, of course, he follows.

“New girl, huh? So, what’s your name?”

“None of your business,” you reply, still not looking at him.

“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cold and mysterious. I like it.”

You roll your eyes and finally make it to the counter, ordering the cheapest coffee on the menu. As you fumble with your wallet, you hear him behind you, ordering something unnecessarily complicated and way too expensive.

When you turn to leave, you catch his gaze one last time. His grin hasn’t wavered. “See you around, mystery girl,” he calls after you.

You don’t bother responding, walking out the door as quickly as you can.

But as you step back into the crowd, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s right.

Because as much as you want to stay invisible, something tells you Satoru Gojo isn’t about to let that happen.

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Introduction

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

tropes: Fake Dating, Opposites Attract, Hurt Comfort, Reluctant Allies, Found Family, Slow Burn Romance

an: I hereby welcome you to my third SMAU in this Universe! (Yay?). I hinted at this one in Chapter 14 of Toji’s SMAU if any of you noticed hehe. I really hope you enjoy this story because I’ve had so much fun writing it so far LMAOOOO. Let me know what you think! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{next}

taglist: OPEN!

Main Cast:

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 9 - Under a Starlit Veil

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: I’m so sorry y’all… SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 8} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Nanami adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket as he stood near the grand entrance of the event hall. The soft hum of conversations and the distant clink of glasses drifted out through the open doors, but he stayed just outside, avoiding the chaos of introductions and small talk. His eyes scanned the arriving guests, his expression calm but distant, until movement at the bottom of the staircase caught his attention.

You stepped out of the car in a gown that seemed to catch the light in all the right places, the fabric shimmering as you moved. There was an ease to your steps, confidence in the way you carried yourself that drew attention without you even trying. Nanami’s usual stoic demeanor faltered as his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended.

When you finally spotted him, a smile spread across your face, and you made your way up the steps toward him. “Wow,” you said as you stopped in front of him, your tone light and teasing. “Waiting for me already? I didn’t know you’d miss me that much.”

His brow raised slightly, but there was a faint flicker of amusement in his gaze. “You’re late.”

“And you look amazing,” you countered, ignoring his comment. “Though I guess that’s nothing new.”

For a second, he hesitated, then said, “You look stunning.” His voice was calm and measured, but the sincerity was unmistakable.

You grinned. “Careful, Nanami. If you keep complimenting me, I might get used to it.”

“Don’t count on it,” he replied dryly, but there was a faint trace of softness in his tone.

Looping your arm through his, you gave him a quick glance. “Come on, partner. Let’s go show these people how it’s done.”

Together, you walked into the grand hall, the golden light of chandeliers illuminating the elegantly decorated space. The room was filled with influential guests, all dressed to the nines, their conversations blending into a hum of polished sophistication.

The two of you navigated the crowd with practiced ease, moving from group to group. You were the conversationalist, effortlessly charming everyone you spoke to, while Nanami maintained his reserved composure.

At one point, you found yourself speaking with a prominent philanthropist and his wife. The man looked between you and Nanami, his smile warm. “You two make quite the pair,” he said.

You laughed lightly, nudging Nanami with your elbow. “Don’t we? He’s the serious one; I’m the fun one. Perfect balance.”

Nanami shot you a brief look but said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line that might have been suppressing a smirk.

“And what do you think of the event so far?” the man asked, directing his question toward Nanami.

“It’s well-organized,” Nanami replied simply, his tone polite but distant.

You jumped in to soften the answer. “That’s his way of saying it’s great. He’s not big on small talk, but he appreciates quality when he sees it.”

The couple chuckled, and the conversation flowed easily, though Nanami contributed only when absolutely necessary. As the night went on, you continued to draw him into conversations, subtly coaxing him to engage with the guests.

Eventually, after what felt like hours of mingling, you caught sight of a set of French doors leading out to a garden. You turned to Nanami and whispered, “Escape plan?”

He glanced at the doors and nodded, following your lead as you slipped outside.

The garden was quiet, the hum of the event fading into the background. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers, and the stars above stretched endlessly across the night sky. You walked over to a small balcony overlooking the grounds, leaning against the railing and sighing in relief.

“Much better,” you said, glancing at Nanami, who stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets. “Admit it, you’re glad we came out here.”

“It’s quieter,” he admitted.

You laughed softly. “Exactly. I don’t know how you survived in there without losing your mind.”

“I had you to distract me,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

The comment caught you off guard, and you turned to him with a grin. “Was that a compliment?”

“An observation,” he replied, though there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze.

“Well, either way, I’ll take it,” you said, looking up at the stars. “It’s kind of perfect out here, isn’t it? Like a scene from a movie.”

Nanami’s gaze followed yours to the sky. “It’s… peaceful.”

You studied him for a moment, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not as impossible as you like to pretend, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Maybe,” you teased, leaning slightly closer. “Or maybe I’m just trying to figure you out. There’s more to you than the whole stoic-law-student thing. I can tell.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. “And what exactly do you think you see?” he asked quietly.

“Someone who cares more than they let on,” you said, your voice soft. “Someone who probably feels too much but keeps it all bottled up.”

Nanami didn’t respond right away, his expression unreadable. The air between you seemed charged, and the world around you faded into the background.

You tilted your head, your gaze dropping to his lips. Slowly, you leaned in, your heartbeat loud in your ears.

For a brief moment, you thought he might meet you halfway—but then he stepped back abruptly.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

You blinked, stunned. “Nanami, I—”

“I need to go,” he interrupted, his tone steadier now. Without waiting for your response, he turned and walked back toward the hall, leaving you alone under the starlit sky.

The cool night air seemed sharper as you stood there, trying to process what had just happened. Above you, the stars continued to shine, their light indifferent to the moment that had just unraveled beneath them.

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 14 - Mufasa and Mixed Signals

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: If it‘s not too much to ask: PLEASE LEAVE MORE COMMENTS I‘M DYING TO KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS THINK AHHHHHHH!!!! If you have any other questions please don’t hesitate to send me messages. I love and appreciate you all. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 13} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 8 - Fashionably Late, Unforgettably Charming

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: I don’t know if you guys should look forward to the next chapter… SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 7} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 13 - What comes after

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: sigh… i love him idc. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 12} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The drive to the location Toji sent you feels longer than it should. Maybe it’s because your mind is racing, or maybe it’s the late hour amplifying the stillness of the world outside. You pull into the dimly lit park, heart pounding, and spot him immediately—slouched on a bench, an empty whiskey bottle dangling precariously from his fingers. He looks utterly defeated, the sharp edges of his usual confidence dulled by whatever demons have led him here.

You step out of the car and approach cautiously. His head tilts slightly at the sound of your footsteps, but he doesn’t fully acknowledge you. Instead, he mumbles something incoherent, his words slurred.

“Toji.” Your voice is firm, sharper than you intended. “Get up. You’re coming with me. Your parents can‘t see you like this.“

He looks up at you with bleary eyes, his face flushed from alcohol. “Y-you came,” he slurs, his words tumbling over each other. “Missed you… swear I missed you. I’m sorry, okay? For everything. Just… I’m sorry.”

You don’t reply, don’t give him the satisfaction of even a hint of forgiveness right now. Instead, you focus on getting him upright, looping one of his heavy arms over your shoulders and guiding him to the car. His steps are unsteady, his weight pressing into you as he leans more than he should.

The entire drive back, he’s rambling. “You… you don’t get it,” he slurs, his head lolling back against the seat. “You think I’m just some… some asshole, huh? You hate me. I can’t… I hate me too, okay?” His words are fragmented but raw, the emotions behind them impossible to ignore.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, keeping your focus on the road. He keeps going, his voice breaking every now and then. “I never wanted to hurt you… never wanted to… God, you probably think I’m a piece of shit.”

You don’t respond. You just drive, his drunken words filling the silence.

When you finally reach your apartment, you manage to drag him inside. He’s heavier than he looks, and he isn’t exactly helping. As soon as you guide him into your room, he collapses onto your bed, sprawling across it like he owns the place.

“Toji, get up,” you say, exasperated.

“Nah,” he mutters, burying his face into your pillow. “This is… I’m good here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real malice behind it. Instead, you sigh and kneel down, tugging his shoes off one by one. When you straighten up, his eyes are on you, glassy but sincere.

“You’re… too good,” he murmurs. “Too good for me. Always have been. Don’t deserve you… don’t deserve this.”

“Toji, just sleep,” you say, voice softer than before, despite your frustration.

He doesn’t listen. “I’m sorry,” he continues, his voice breaking. “For everything I said. For… all of it. You… you didn’t deserve that. Not you.”

Your chest tightens at his words, but you don’t respond. Instead, you awkwardly climb into bed beside him, keeping as much distance as possible.

“I mean it,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper now. “You’re… you’re the only good thing. Always have been. I just… I ruin everything.”

Tears sting at your eyes, but you blink them away. “We’ll talk in the morning, Toji,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He nods faintly, and before long, his breathing evens out. You lie awake for a while, your mind racing with everything he’s said.

When you wake, the sunlight streaming through the window, you’re wrapped in his arms. His grip is loose but firm enough to hold you in place. You tilt your head slightly, studying his face in the soft morning light. There’s a scar on his lip, jagged and slightly faded. It hits you, a memory he once let slip years ago—that his older brother, Jinichi, gave him that scar during a fight. What had struck you most then was how casually he’d mentioned it, as if it were normal.

The thought churns uneasily in your stomach. His parents never punished Jinichi for it, just like they never seemed to care about all the other ways they neglected him. No wonder he resented his family, always carrying that bitterness like a second skin.

You carefully extract yourself from his hold, slipping out of bed without waking him. After a quick trip to the kitchen, you return with a glass of water, some painkillers, and a simple breakfast.

To your surprise, he’s already awake when you walk in. He sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and you wordlessly hand him the plate.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

The two of you eat in silence, the tension in the room palpable.

When you finally break the quiet, your voice is steady but firm. “Do you want to talk about last night?”

He glances at you, then looks away, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Yeah,” he says, barely audible.

You wait, giving him the space to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice low. “For… everything. I ain’t good with this… this kinda shit, but… I know I fucked up. A lot.”

“You did,” you say, your voice soft but unyielding. “And I can’t just… pretend like everything’s okay now. You’ve hurt me, Toji. A lot more than you probably realize.”

He nods, still not meeting your eyes. “I know. And I ain’t expectin’ you to just… forgive me like that. But… I’m gonna make it right. However long it takes.”

You study him for a moment before nodding. “We can try… being friends. Maybe.”

His lips twitch into something that almost resembles a smile. “Yeah. Friends.”

Neither of you mentions the way you woke up tangled in each other’s arms.

As you clear the dishes, Toji sits back, lost in thought. In his mind, he recalls waking up in the middle of the night, your face illuminated by the moonlight. He remembers thinking how beautiful you looked, how peaceful.

Your full lips had been slightly parted as you slept, and his hand had rested lightly on your hip, almost as if it belonged there. He’d never noticed the softness of your skin before, but last night it had been impossible to ignore.

It hit him then, like a punch to the gut. You were… everything. Too good, too kind, too beautiful.

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 7 - Beyond First Impressions

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: i love them. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 6} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog @meganbaby

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Nanami adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves as he glanced at the clock on his desk. It was 9:15 AM, just enough time to leave and make it to the community center by 9:45. Punctuality wasn’t just a habit for him; it was an expectation. He hated being late. Still, a part of him wondered why he had agreed to this at all. Volunteer work was not something he typically did, but when you had asked—so insistent, so sure he’d secretly enjoy it—he found himself unable to say no.

He made his way to the hallway, pulling on his shoes with practiced efficiency. The soft hum of conversation from the kitchen grew louder as his parents noticed him preparing to leave.

“Nanami,” his father’s voice came first, sharp and questioning. “Where are you going?”

“To a food drive,” he replied evenly, not looking up as he tied his laces.

“A food drive?” His mother appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed as she surveyed him. “Why? You’re a law student, not a volunteer coordinator. What purpose does this serve?”

Nanami rose to his full height, meeting her gaze with calm detachment. “Not everything has to serve a purpose.”

His father let out a disapproving scoff. “Time is a resource, Nanami. You’ve always been disciplined about how you use it. Why waste it on something like this?”

“Time spent helping others isn’t wasted,” he replied curtly. His parents were intelligent people, but their view of the world often felt limited, measured in tangible gains rather than intangible impacts.

His mother’s expression softened slightly, though the tension in her tone remained. “It’s just… unexpected. You’ve always been focused on your goals. This seems unnecessary.”

Nanami met her words with silence. There was no point in arguing further. Grabbing his bag, he moved toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He left before either of them could respond, his steps steady and purposeful as he made his way to the community center.

The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. It was a flurry of motion—tables lined with donations, volunteers chatting as they sorted and packed food into neat bags. The noise was different from the usual silence of his library job or the precise discourse of a lecture hall.

And then he saw you. You stood near one of the tables, your face lit with excitement as you waved to him. The smile you wore was bright enough to compete with the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“You made it!” you said as you walked over, your voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “And on time, too. I’m impressed.”

“I said I’d come,” he replied, his tone steady, though he couldn’t quite ignore the slight warmth in your expression.

“Fair enough,” you said, hands on your hips as you gestured toward the tables. “Come on, we’ve got work to do. Ready to roll up your sleeves?”

He followed you without comment, and soon the two of you were stationed at a table sorting canned goods. It was simple, methodical work—exactly the kind of thing Nanami excelled at. His movements were efficient, his rows of cans stacked neatly.

“You’re pretty fast at this,” you said after a while, glancing at his organized piles compared to your slightly messier one.

“It’s straightforward work,” he replied, his tone dry as he eyed your less-than-perfect stacks. “Unlike yours.”

You gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over your heart. “Are you criticizing my organizational skills?”

“I’m observing,” he said, his smirk barely visible but unmistakably there.

“Careful, Nanami,” you teased, narrowing your eyes playfully. “That almost sounded like a joke.”

“Almost,” he admitted, his voice calm but lighter than usual.

As the minutes turned into hours, Nanami found himself surprisingly at ease. The work, though repetitive, was oddly satisfying. And then there was you—chatty and energetic, your humor keeping the atmosphere light. It wasn’t something he was used to, but he didn’t mind it.

A child approached then, holding a box of cereal. The boy looked up at Nanami with wide, curious eyes, then glanced between the two of you.

“Are you two dating?” the boy asked innocently, his voice cutting through the hum of activity around you.

Nanami froze, his composure momentarily slipping as the question hung in the air.

You, on the other hand, burst out laughing, quickly covering your mouth as you tried to stifle the sound. “No, no, we’re not. But that’s a very sweet question,” you said, your tone warm as you crouched down to meet the boy’s gaze.

The boy shrugged, apparently satisfied, and wandered off, leaving Nanami still standing stiffly.

You straightened up, turning to him with a grin. “Relax,” you said, nudging his arm lightly. “He’s just a kid. You look like you’ve been accused of a crime.”

He exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “He caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Noted,” you replied, your grin softening into something gentler.

By the time the food drive ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the street outside. You wiped your hands on a towel and turned to him with a satisfied smile.

“It’s getting late,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. “I’ll walk you home.”

You blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Really? Thanks, Nanami.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the quiet of the evening settling around you. As you passed a small ice cream stand, you stopped abruptly.

“Wait. We need ice cream.”

“Do we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” you said, already stepping toward the stand. You didn’t wait for his answer, quickly ordering two cones. Handing one to him, you grinned. “My treat. Consider it a thank-you for volunteering.”

He took the cone with a small nod. “It’s good,” he said after a bite.

“Of course it is,” you said confidently, as though there was never any doubt.

As you walked, you began to talk about your volunteer work in other countries—building schools in rural villages, helping at medical camps, organizing clean water initiatives. Your voice grew animated as you described the people you’d met, the lessons you’d learned, and the challenges you’d faced.

Nanami listened intently, his ice cream forgotten as he took in your words. He’d always assumed you were a privileged socialite, someone who flitted from one frivolous event to another. But now, he saw a depth to you he hadn’t expected.

“You’ve done a lot,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful.

You shrugged, glancing at him. “It’s important to me. I’m lucky to have the resources, so why not use them to help others?”

He nodded slowly, his respect for you growing in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

When you finally reached your building, you hesitated for a moment before turning to him. “There’s a charity event next week. My parents are hosting, but it’s for a good cause. You should come.”

“Another one?” he asked, his tone wry but not dismissive.

“Yes. Consider it practice for networking,” you said with a teasing smile.

He thought for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I’ll be there.”

Your smile widened, radiant in the soft light of the evening. “Great. See you then, Nanami.”

He watched as you disappeared inside, then turned and began the walk home, the faint taste of ice cream still lingering on his tongue and your laughter echoing faintly in his mind.

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 12 - Ghosted and Guilty

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: pretend like it‘s different times. got lazy teehee. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 11} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 6 - Breaking the Routine

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: maybe this’ll take away some of the sadness y’all got from the latest toji chapter LMAOOOO! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 5} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog @meganbaby

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 5 - Glimmers of Connection

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: I’m so sorry for the delay!! I’ve been super busy these past few days and I didn’t really have the time to upload! I hope you all had pleasant holidays! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 4} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog @meganbaby

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The grand ballroom glittered like a jewel, its soaring ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers that spilled golden light over the polished marble floor. Guests swirled about in a sea of finery, the hum of conversation mingling with the soft strains of the string quartet. You paused at the entrance, smoothing your gown, the silky fabric catching the light with each movement. Taking a deep breath, you stepped in, your smile ready and practiced.

It didn’t take long for you to settle into the rhythm of the evening. You exchanged warm greetings with old acquaintances, laughed at polite jokes, and made small talk with guests who had perfected the art of socializing. But as you moved through the crowd, something nagged at the back of your mind.

You scanned the room once, then twice. And then you saw him.

Nanami stood in a far corner, his broad frame partially shadowed by the heavy velvet drapes. His tailored black suit fit him perfectly, understated yet commanding. While everyone else thrived in the art of mingling, he stood alone, holding a glass of water like it was the only thing tethering him to the room. His expression was unreadable, his sharp eyes observing the crowd like a distant observer, not a participant.

A small smile tugged at your lips. Of course, he’d find the most isolated spot in the entire venue.

Not one to waste an opportunity, you made your way over, weaving through the crowd with purpose. As you approached, his gaze shifted to you, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“I was wondering if you’d actually show up,” you said, stopping a few feet away, your tone light and teasing.

“My presence was requested,” he replied, his voice calm and measured.

“And here I thought you came for the champagne and hors d’oeuvres.”

“I don’t drink at events like these,” he said, lifting his glass slightly.

“Of course you don’t,” you replied, letting out a soft laugh.

He didn’t respond, his eyes briefly flicking back to the room, watching the swirl of activity as though it didn’t concern him.

“So,” you said, stepping closer, “what do you think of all this?” You gestured vaguely to the opulence around you.

“It’s excessive,” he said plainly.

You let out a low chuckle. “Don’t hold back or anything.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said, his gaze steady on yours.

Touché.

“Well,” you said, leaning against the wall beside him, “you’re not wrong. My parents go all out for these things. But hey, it’s for charity.”

“Charity is important,” he said, his tone neutral. “But the method matters.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Events like these often prioritize appearances over impact,” he said, his eyes briefly scanning the lavish décor.

“Maybe,” you conceded. “But appearances can lead to impact, too. Sometimes it takes a little sparkle to get people to open their wallets.”

“Pragmatic,” he said after a beat, and it almost sounded like approval.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You know, you’re not as much of a cynic as you let on.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m practical, not cynical.”

“Practical and endlessly serious,” you teased.

“Someone has to be.”

You laughed softly, enjoying the quiet rhythm of his company. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled by the distant murmur of the crowd.

“You know,” you said after a pause, “I think a good lawyer needs to be approachable, relatable. Someone people feel comfortable opening up to.”

“A lawyer should be professional above all else,” he countered, his tone firm but not unkind. “Anything less risks undermining their credibility.”

“Professionalism doesn’t mean being cold,” you argued, your voice warm. “People want to feel understood, not judged.”

“Understanding comes from action, not unnecessary sentiment,” he replied evenly, his gaze steady.

You crossed your arms, a playful smile curling your lips. “You say that, but deep down, I think you’d make an amazing people person if you gave it a shot.”

“That’s an unnecessary hypothetical,” he said, though there was a faint flicker of amusement in his tone.

You laughed again, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to pull the corner of his mouth into the faintest of smiles.

“Okay, Mr. No-Nonsense, what would you change about lawyers?” you asked, shifting the conversation back to him.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the glass in his hand as though considering his words. “They should prioritize efficiency and results. Theatrics and personal connection aren’t necessary to achieve success.”

“That’s where we disagree,” you said, leaning slightly closer, your voice softer now. “Law isn’t just about winning—it’s about the people you’re helping. It’s personal whether you want it to be or not.”

For a moment, his eyes lingered on yours, something unreadable passing across his face.

“Perhaps,” he said finally.

That single word felt like a small victory.

The conversation flowed from there, shifting to lighter topics, though each carried an unexpected depth. He spoke about his dedication to his work, his belief in structure and purpose, while you countered with your love for spontaneity and connection. Despite your differences, the dialogue was easy, almost natural, the sharp edges of your personalities softening as the evening stretched on.

You noticed small things about him—the way he listened intently, his rare but genuine hints of amusement, and the faintest trace of warmth beneath his carefully controlled demeanor.

Hours passed like minutes, and the crowd around you began to thin. The music softened to a gentle lull, and you realized with a start that most of the guests had already left.

“You know,” you said, tilting your head at him, “this might just be the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“And you’ve managed to keep it mostly one-sided,” he said, though the subtle twitch of his lips betrayed his teasing.

“Admit it,” you said, grinning. “You’ve had a good time.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity.

“It wasn’t entirely unpleasant,” he said at last.

Your heart fluttered, and you hid it behind a playful laugh. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

Nanami glanced around the emptying ballroom, then back at you. “It’s getting late.”

“It is,” you agreed, though you didn’t make a move to leave.

For a brief moment, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, the world around you fading into the background.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice lower, softer.

“For what?”

“For… the conversation,” he said, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. “It was unexpected.”

You smiled, a warmth spreading through you at his rare vulnerability. “Anytime.”

As you watched him leave, his steady, measured strides carrying him through the quiet ballroom, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between you—not drastically, but just enough. Enough to leave you hoping for more.

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 4 - Breaking the Ice (Slowly)

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: I wanted to thank you all again for the support you‘ve been showing me these past few days. Your numerous comments especially have made my day and motivated me to keep on writing! I’d like to start a new little format in which you guys can ask me any questions or tell me about theories you may have about the stories! So please feel free to send me some questions whether you choose to stay anonymous or not! I’d appreciate it anyway!! Enjoy this chapter! Smooches 💋💋💋

{chapter 3} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 9 - Behind closed doors

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: I hope you guys can understand him a little better now… (please stop telling me to just kill him off LMAOOO 😭). I also wanted to mention that none of the relationships I write about will be perfect because that’s just not realistic. Dark times are upon us my babies but things will get better…. one day…. hopefully…. Smooches 💋💋💋

{chapter 8} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

You knock on Toji’s apartment door, your pulse racing in a mix of nerves and anger. You don’t even know why you’re here. After everything he said—everything he did—why should you care about his busted knuckles or his bruised ego? But still, here you are, a bag of first-aid supplies in hand, waiting for him to open the door.

When it swings open, Toji stands there, leaning casually against the frame. His dark eyes sweep over you, and his mouth pulls into a smirk. “The hell you want?”

You push past him without answering, stepping into the small, sparsely furnished space. The smell of antiseptic and cigarette smoke hangs faintly in the air. You drop the bag onto his coffee table and turn to face him.

“You’re hurt,” you say simply.

“So what?” He shuts the door with a deliberate click and crosses his arms, leaning against it. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

“Someone has to take care of you,” you reply, already pulling supplies out of the bag. “Since you clearly won’t.”

He scoffs, sauntering over to the couch but making no move to sit. “You always gotta play the nurse, huh? Like you’re so damn perfect.”

“I’m not doing this to feel perfect,” you snap, glaring at him. “I’m doing it because you’re too stupid to take care of yourself.”

Toji snorts but finally sits down, sprawling out with a casual arrogance that sets your teeth on edge. “Whatever. Make it quick.”

You kneel in front of him, taking his hand and inspecting the bruised and bloodied knuckles. The silence between you is heavy, broken only by the faint hiss of antiseptic as you clean the wound. His hand is stiff in yours, tense but not pulling away.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” you ask quietly, not looking up.

“What’s it to you?” he says, his voice laced with irritation.

“It’s not like you to get detention. Not anymore, at least.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Maybe I felt like knockin’ Gojo’s pretty face in.”

You pause, glancing up at him. “Why?”

“Why not?” His gaze meets yours, hard and unyielding. “You seem real concerned about him, though. You two fuckin’ or somethin’?”

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your cheeks. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m just askin’,” he says, leaning back with a smug grin. “Since he’s always all over you. Thought maybe you finally gave it up to him.”

“Shut up, Toji,” you snap, your voice trembling with anger.

“Why?” he taunts, his smirk growing. “You embarrassed? Or maybe you don’t like that I called it out.”

You stand abruptly, tossing the first-aid kit onto the couch beside him. “You’re such a dick, you know that? I come here to help you, and this is how you treat me?”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You just showed up like you always do, thinkin’ you can fix everything. Like you can fix me.”

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. “I’m not trying to fix you,” you say quietly.

“Bullshit,” he spits, standing to face you. “You’ve been tryin’ to fix me since we were kids. Always actin’ like you’re some kinda saint, like you’re better than me. Like you’re better than everybody.”

“That’s not true,” you argue, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is,” he growls, stepping closer. “You think I didn’t notice? You think I didn’t see the way you treated me? Like some charity case you could pat yourself on the back for. Poor little Toji, right? Poor, angry, stupid Toji.”

You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “That’s not how it was. I just wanted to be your friend.”

“Friend?” he laughs bitterly. “You forced me to be your friend. I didn’t want you around, but you didn’t care. You kept comin’ back, smilin’ like an idiot, actin’ like everything was fine. And then one day, you just stopped. Guess you got tired of playin’ with your little project, huh?”

Your throat tightens, and you can barely get the words out. “I stopped because you made my life hell, Toji. You bullied me. You tormented me every chance you got.”

“Maybe you deserved it,” he snaps, his voice cold and cutting.

The words hit you like a slap, and you take a step back, your hands trembling. “You’re a selfish asshole,” you say, your voice breaking. “You’ve always been one.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I got my reasons,” he shoots back, his voice rising.

“Then tell me!” you yell, tears streaming down your face now. “Tell me why you’ve been such a goddamn nightmare!”

He freezes for a moment, his chest heaving as he stares at you, his jaw tight. And then, suddenly, he explodes.

“You wanna know why?” he shouts, his voice raw and shaking. “Because you don’t know when to leave shit alone! You don’t know when to leave me alone! I didn’t want your kindness, or your pity, or whatever the hell you were sellin’. But you kept pushin’. Kept actin’ like you were so much better than me, like you could fix me. And it pissed me off, okay? It pissed me off because I knew it wasn’t real. I knew you’d get tired of me eventually, just like everybody else.”

You stand there, stunned, as his words wash over you.

“And you know what the worst part is?” he continues, his voice breaking. “You did get tired of me. You left, just like I knew you would. So don’t stand there and act like you’re some innocent little angel, ‘cause you’re not.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture.

“Get the fuck out,” he snaps, his voice cold and final.

“Toji—”

“I said get out!” he yells, his voice echoing through the small apartment.

Your chest tightens as you grab your bag and head for the door, tears blurring your vision. You don’t look back as you step outside, the sound of the door slamming behind you ringing in your ears.

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 3 - Case Study: Nanami

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans. You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

an: Are you guys excited for the charity ball? I know I am… hehe.. not saying anything but chapter 5 is going to be interesting! As always: please let me know about your thoughts and opinions. Your comments are what keep me going! Smooches 💋💋💋

{chapter 2} ; {next}

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The café was quiet, with only a handful of patrons scattered across its small, dimly lit space. Soft music hummed in the background, mixing with the faint clink of cups and saucers. You were already seated at a corner table when Nanami arrived, right on time.

“Hey! You made it,” you greeted, your smile bright as you gestured to the seat across from you.

He gave a polite nod and sat down, setting his watch on the table where he could see it. “Thirty minutes,” he reminded you, his tone even but firm.

You waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, Mr. Efficient. Thirty minutes. Let’s just enjoy the tea.”

A server appeared, and you quickly ordered a chai latte, while Nanami requested plain green tea.

“So,” you began once the server left, leaning forward slightly. “What do you think of the place? Cozy, right?”

“It’s quiet,” he said, his eyes scanning the room briefly before landing back on you.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you said with a grin. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d even come. You don’t really seem like the tea-and-chat type.”

“I’m not,” he replied plainly, lifting his cup to his lips.

You laughed softly, not surprised. “Then what made you say yes? Just felt bad for me pestering you?”

“No. I thought this would settle your persistence,” he said, glancing briefly at his watch.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Oh, so you think one cup of tea is going to stop me? Bold assumption.”

He didn’t respond, taking another deliberate sip of his tea.

“Well,” you said, undeterred, “I hope I’m not making you regret it. This is a lot better than sitting in a library staring at spreadsheets, don’t you think?”

“The spreadsheets would be more productive,” he replied without missing a beat.

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “Ouch. I’m hurt.”

He arched an eyebrow but didn’t bite, his face neutral.

“Alright, new topic,” you pressed, refusing to let the conversation die. “What’s your favorite thing to learn about? Like, if you could study anything without worrying about time or money, what would it be?”

He paused, setting his cup down. “Something practical. Likely economics.”

“Of course,” you said with a soft laugh. “All logic, no fun. But I’ll give you credit—at least you answered.”

He gave a slight nod, his way of acknowledging your point.

“Okay, follow-up question,” you said, leaning forward. “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to learn just for you? Like, something completely unrelated to work?”

“I don’t have hobbies,” he replied bluntly.

“Nothing at all?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“No,” he said, his tone as clipped as ever.

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, completely unfazed.

You huffed lightly but smiled to yourself. He was frustratingly closed off, but at least he showed up. That counted for something.

The server returned to clear your empty cups, and you realized with a pang that he was already glancing at his watch.

“Alright,” you said, leaning forward. “Before you escape, just one last question. Promise it’s harmless.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop you.

“If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Somewhere quiet.”

“Of course,” you said, laughing softly. “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Consistency is important,” he replied, standing and adjusting his watch.

You watched him push in his chair, already preparing to leave. “You know, you’re allowed to say this wasn’t so bad,” you teased, folding your arms.

“It served its purpose,” he said, nodding politely. “Thank you for the tea.”

You blinked at him, surprised by how abruptly he ended the conversation. “Oh, sure. Anytime!”

With a polite nod, he turned and walked out of the café, leaving you sitting alone at the table. Despite his walls and his detachment, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. He’d shown up, and for now, that was enough progress to keep you smiling.

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Masterlist!

Summary: Kento Nanami was perfect—disciplined, untouchable, and entirely focused on his future. Emotions didn’t fit into his plans.

You were everything he avoided—bold, warm, and impossible to ignore. You told yourself he didn’t matter, but you couldn’t stop watching him.

He never looked your way. Not until the day his perfectly controlled world unraveled, and you were at the center of it.

Taglist: OPEN!

taglist: @giasssslife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog @hana-patata @sosole @watasinekoru @linny-bloggs

Introduction

Chapter 1 - Assigned Fate

Chapter 2 - Thirty Minutes

Chapter 3 - Case Study: Nanami

Chapter 4 - Breaking the Ice (Slowly)

Chapter 5 - Glimmers of Connection

Chapter 6 - Breaking the Routine

Chapter 7 - Beyond First Impressions

Chapter 8 - Fashionably Late, Unforgettably Charming

Chapter 9 - Under a Starlit Veil

Chapter 10 - Law, Legacy and a Dinner Deal

Chapter 11 - The Things We Can’t Say

Chapter 12 - Dismissed

Chapter 13 - Objection Overruled

Chapter 14 - Closing Arguments

Chapter 15 - Misdirection

Chapter 16 - Under The Influence