Smau - Blog Posts

signed, sealed, unprofessional | k. takami

in which your job is to manage keigo takami's modeling career, not his flirtation habit—but unfortunately, he's extremely good at both.

More little brother Izuku please!! It was so funny

genetic obligation | i. midoriya

midoriya is a hero, a strategist, a prodigy—and a little brother who steals your leftovers and pisses you off. (part ii of 'ts pmo ong')

tell my mom we're in love | h. sero

fake dating wasn't on your holiday to-do list—until sero invited you home for tamales and chaos (3525 words)

you regretted this the moment you stepped out of the dormitory and into the sharp chill of mid-december air, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder and your dignity already teetering on the edge. trailing beside you was hanta sero, practically vibrating with the smug energy of a man who had just talked his best friend into making the worst decision of her academic career.

and technically, he had.

somewhere between his mother's increasingly invasive matchmaking attempts and his inability to say the word "no" like a normal person, he'd decided the solution was to invent a girlfriend. and of course, of course, he'd chosen you.

"come on," he said now, as a cab idled at the curb, white exhaust curling into the crisp air like smoke from a slow-burning disaster. "tell me this won't be fun. just a little bit."

"i think i'm too emotionally aware to find this fun," you muttered, hoisting your bag into the trunk as he leaned beside you with his usual careless grace.

sero grinned—that unbothered, insufferably pretty grin that always made it harder to stay annoyed with him for long. "emotionally aware, huh? sounds like you're already getting into character."

you leveled him with a look. "if i'm your girlfriend, you're going to need to stop flirting like a golden retriever with a god complex."

"babe," he said, slipping into the backseat beside you with the kind of unearned confidence that should have come with a warning label, "flirting is literally how i survive in social settings. don't take this from me."

you stared out the window, hoping the freezing glass would cool the creeping warmth crawling up your neck. "we're not actually dating, hanta."

"right," he said, and he sounded amused, not wounded. "but we could be really good at it."

you didn't answer. he didn't press.

the cab pulled away from the dorms, and for a moment the silence between you was companionable, like it always had been. you'd known sero for years now—long enough to understand that his laid-back demeanor was as real as it was performative. he was the kind of person who made a room feel lighter just by being in it, but who also knew the weight of silence better than most people ever would.

he didn't make you feel like you had to be anyone but yourself. and that, unfortunately, was the root of the problem.

somewhere along the road from "we're just friends" to "please pretend to be my girlfriend so my mom stops trying to marry me off," things had started to shift.

not all at once. not obviously.

but they shifted.

now he was dozing beside you, his head tilted toward your shoulder, and every bump in the road made him inch closer. you should have nudged him off. you should have drawn the line.

but you didn't.

instead, you studied the soft lines of his face—the relaxed set of his mouth, the faint crease between his brows like his dreams were just a little too fast for his thoughts to catch—and you wondered what the hell you'd gotten yourself into.

by the time the cab slowed, the sun had dipped low, casting golden light over a neighborhood that looked far too idyllic to be real. sero's house was two stories of warmth and welcome: string lights curled along the porch railing, a wreath hung slightly crooked on the front door, and smoke drifted lazily from a chimney that promised something warm inside.

standing at the threshold was a woman with sharp eyes, a kind smile, and the unmistakable aura of someone who could both bake you cookies and emotionally destroy you in the same breath.

sero's mother.

you froze.

he didn't.

without hesitation, sero leaned in, brushing your hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. his voice dipped just low enough for only you to hear. "smile like you love me."

then he reached for your hand.

his fingers, long and warm, laced effortlessly through yours.

you didn't pull away.

and that was the moment—standing at the edge of his childhood, your fingers locked in his, heart skipping in the kind of rhythm you weren't prepared for—that you realized you were in far more danger than you thought.

because part of you didn't want to let go.

the cab hadn't even rolled to a full stop before sero's mom was standing in front of it, arms crossed, eyes already locked onto her target like a seasoned general. you had seen pictures, sure—sero had shown you a few over lunch one day, swiping through images of his mom with an almost reverent fondness—but none of them did her justice.

she was radiant. that was the first word that came to mind. not in some soft, dreamy way, but in the sharp, unmistakable warmth of someone who had mastered the art of existing unapologetically. she had a scarf looped carelessly around her neck, dark hair pinned up with wisps escaping, and that immediate, unnerving energy unique to mothers who know everything before you say a word.

"hanta," she said brightly as you approached. "you took forever, mijo. i was about to call."

and then her eyes slid to you.

her whole face changed.

"qué linda," she said, stepping down toward you without hesitation. "you're even prettier than the pictures."

you opened your mouth to answer—say something polite, maybe even charming—but instead you were pulled into a hug so warm and familiar you forgot how to speak altogether.

she smelled like cinnamon and butter, like café and home. her arms wrapped around you without hesitation, solid and reassuring, and you blinked twice before realizing she wasn't letting go just yet.

she pulled back, hands on your shoulders, eyes scanning your face with curiosity. "how old are you, mija?"

"seventeen," you managed. "ua student. same class as hanta."

"top twenty," sero chimed from behind you, proud and useless.

his mom smiled wider. "good. you'll need that to keep up with him. he talks too much."

"i'm right here," sero said, offended.

"and what's your quirk, sweetheart?" she asked, guiding you inside like she owned every molecule of the house—which she probably did.

"just a luck quirk," you replied. "it's not anything big or flashy."

"flashy's overrated," she said. "flashy gets you on magazine covers, but smart keeps you alive. hanta could use some of that balance."

sero made a wounded noise. "i'm right here."

you stepped into the house and tried not to gape. it was warm and lived-in, with mismatched furniture and soft lights, and framed photos in every direction. you passed at least three different versions of baby sero—one with cake on his face, one dressed as a shark, and one in a tiny suit looking like he'd lost a bet.

you were immediately ushered to the couch, where sero flopped down beside you like he'd done this a thousand times. his arm stretched along the back of the cushions behind you, easy and casual, but you felt the heat of it like a brand against your neck.

his mom sat in the armchair across from you, one leg crossed, hands folded, expression deceptively pleasant.

"so," she said. "how long have you two been together?"

"six months," you and sero answered in unison.

your eyes met. you both smiled.

it was practiced, but god—it didn't feel like a lie.

"how'd you meet?" she asked next.

sero leaned forward like he was telling a secret. "training. she beat up kaminari. i've never recovered."

you tried not to laugh. "he followed me around for a week."

"i was courting you."

"you were loitering near vending machines."

"i was being persistent," he corrected. "it worked, didn't it?"

his mom watched you both, eyes narrowed just enough to make you sweat.

"and what do you like about my son?" she asked you, suddenly.

your mouth went dry.

sero glanced sideways, surprised.

but the answer came easy.

"he's reliable. and funny. and he listens—really listens. like you're the only person in the room."

you could feel sero's eyes on you, and the room felt warmer than it had a second ago.

"he's easy to be around," you said, a little softer now. "i feel like i can breathe near him."

a long silence stretched across the room.

then sero bumped your shoulder with his own, voice low. "you're not supposed to make me blush in front of my mom."

his mom smiled, pleased. "i like you."

you smiled back, because how could you not. "thank you."

"i made tamales," she said, rising to her feet. "sit tight. i'll get you a plate."

"do you need help—?" you started, half-standing.

"no, no. you're a guest. you sit and let yourself be adored."

she vanished into the kitchen with surprising speed.

the moment she was out of earshot, you collapsed sideways onto the couch.

"i blacked out," you whispered. "what did i even say?"

"that i'm amazing and you love being around me," sero said smugly.

you shot him a look.

he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. "also, you were adorable. you didn't have to go that hard. i almost forgot it was fake."

you didn't answer.

⊹ ࣪ ˖

dinner came after a comfortable lull in the afternoon—just enough time for you to grow used to the house's warmth, the quiet hum of kitchen sounds, and the sound of sero humming to himself as he helped his mom plate tamales. there was something undeniably domestic about it—watching him lean over the counter, sleeves pushed up, swiping a bit of masa from the corner of a dish with a grin when he thought no one was watching.

you caught yourself watching.

a little too long.

and when he turned around and caught your eye, offering you a wink that made your stomach stutter—you looked away, pretending to study the wall like it had secrets.

the house filled slowly with more noise, more feet, more voices. by the time dinner was ready, the table was surrounded by people—his siblings, all younger, all chaos incarnate. there were five in total, ranging from what looked like barely ten to maybe sixteen. all of them clearly adored sero, and all of them clearly had a thousand questions about you.

"are you really his girlfriend?" one of the younger girls asked, blinking up at you from her seat at the far end of the table.

sero, already sitting beside you, reached for your hand under the table without hesitation. "of course she is," he said easily. "she puts up with me. that's gotta mean something."

you glanced sideways, surprised by the way his thumb started tracing circles into your palm. his fingers were warm, his grip relaxed, like this was a habit and not a performance. your first instinct was to pull away—but you didn't. you let him hold on.

"do you like him?" one of the boys asked bluntly, somewhere between a dare and a test.

you looked over at sero, who was already looking at you.

and the smile that spread across his face wasn't teasing. it wasn't even smug.

it was soft.

"i do," you said honestly. "he's easy to like."

one of his sisters actually swooned.

their mother returned from the kitchen, a stack of warm plates balanced in her arms. "aye, look at you two," she said fondly, setting down the food. "you look like you've been married five years already."

sero snorted. "that's because she already tells me what to do."

"someone has to," you said, nudging his leg under the table.

his knee pressed into yours and didn't move.

the meal began in full, voices rising over each other, stories flying back and forth like birds across the table. tamales were unwrapped, passed down, devoured. rice and beans steamed in bowls at the center. someone spilled horchata and got teased for it for fifteen minutes straight.

sero kept his hand under the table the entire time.

sometimes on your knee. sometimes brushing your fingers. once, briefly, resting on your thigh with a touch so casual and confident you forgot how to breathe for a second.

"so how did you know?" his mom asked halfway through the meal, raising an eyebrow. "that you liked each other, i mean."

you blinked. "um."

sero didn't miss a beat.

"she made this face at me once," he said, totally serious. "during training. right after i got my ass handed to me. and i thought—yeah. i'd let her ruin my life."

you choked on a sip of water. "that's not what happened."

"you raised your eyebrow," he insisted, "like i was both impressive and pathetic. it was very motivating."

"you were bleeding."

"romance is about timing."

the table erupted in laughter.

"you're ridiculous," you muttered, but there was no bite to it. you felt lightheaded from smiling too much.

his younger sister leaned over the table toward you. "you make him less annoying," she said seriously. "he's, like, way less weird with you here."

"he's still weird," someone else muttered.

"hey," sero said, deeply offended. "i'm the glue of this household."

"you're the glitter glue," one of the boys shot back. "unnecessary and all over everything."

the conversation swirled, but it was warm. easy. you felt like you'd slipped into a rhythm you hadn't known you were missing. sero's family didn't make you feel like an outsider. if anything, they treated you like a permanent fixture—like they already liked you, just because he did.

and sero—he kept looking at you.

in the quiet moments between bites. when you laughed at something his brother said. when you wiped your fingers on your napkin and he passed you your drink like he'd already anticipated you'd reach for it.

"you're really good at this," you whispered during a lull, leaning in.

"at what?" he asked, voice low, chin tilted toward you.

"this," you said. "pretending."

his eyes flicked down to your mouth, just for a second.

"what can i say," he said quietly. "i'm something of an actor."

you snickered.

and then his mom called your name from across the table.

"you like dessert, mija?" she asked, already bringing out the plates.

you blinked twice before answering, forcing a smile. "of course. thank you."

sero didn't look away from you for a long time.

dinner had long ended. the noise had faded. sero's house, once pulsing with overlapping voices and clattering plates, now thrummed with a different kind of energy—low, contented, quiet.

his siblings had scattered, full-bellied and sugar-sticky, off to bedrooms and couches and wherever else they disappeared to in the evening. someone had turned on a dusty old playlist in the den, and the soft hum of vintage boleros curled through the walls like warmth that refused to die.

you stood in the hallway between the dining room and the back door, hovering in the in-between of things: of conversations and thoughts, of what was real and what had only started out that way.

you weren't sure what to do with your hands.

or your heart.

sero appeared beside you like he always did—quiet-footed and comfortably close, smelling faintly of soap and masa and something sweet from dessert you hadn't caught the name of. his sleeves were still pushed up, revealing his forearms, and you hated that you were looking at them. not because they weren't worth looking at—they were—but because it meant your guard was down. again.

"come on," he said softly. "balcony?"

you didn't answer. you just nodded and followed.

the air outside was sharp and clean. the kind of cold that wakes you up without being cruel. you wrapped your arms around yourself more out of instinct than discomfort. the balcony was small, with a windchime shaped like a lizard hanging from the overhang, and a view of soft suburban rooftops and yellow windows scattered like lanterns across the horizon.

you leaned against the wooden railing. he did the same.

neither of you spoke.

you were too full of the evening. of tamales and laughter. of too much touch under the table. of words you'd said with a smile that weren't lies—but weren't supposed to be true either.

the problem wasn't pretending.

the problem was that pretending didn't feel like pretending anymore.

you didn't know when it had changed. maybe it was gradual—each time he laced his fingers through yours without asking, or rested his hand on your thigh mid-story, or offered you a grin across the table that was so familiar, so soft, you forgot why you were here in the first place.

but it hit you now, standing beside him in the chill—this unshakable, irreversible knowledge:

you were in love with him.

god, you were in love with hanta sero.

not just in a surface-level, crush-colored way. not just in the i-like-how-he-makes-me-laugh way. it was deeper than that. older. something that had snuck in when you weren't looking and taken root so quietly you hadn't noticed until it was everywhere.

you were in love with the way he held space. with the way he listened without trying to fix you. with the way he let the world land on him lightly, and still carried it in both hands when it mattered.

you were in love with someone who didn't even know you weren't faking anymore.

you exhaled.

"you're quiet," he said, not looking at you. "regretting it already?"

you shook your head. "no. it's just... weird how easy it was. with your family."

he hummed. "they like you."

"they liked that i made you less annoying."

"that is the highest compliment in my house."

you smiled, faint. "they're sweet. loud, but sweet."

"you kept up fine."

"i think i blacked out for half of it."

"you were golden," he said, softer now. "you always are."

you turned toward him slowly.

the lights from the kitchen spilled faintly through the curtains behind you, catching just enough of his face for you to see how relaxed he looked. how present. how close.

you swallowed.

"hanta?"

he looked over at you, brows raised. "yeah?"

there was a beat of silence.

"i don't know how to lie to you," you said.

he blinked once.

then again, slower.

"what?"

"i mean," you continued, hands curling around the edge of the railing. "i've been trying. all day. and i thought i could. i thought i could pull it off—play the part, pretend—but then we got here, and your mom hugged me, and you touched my hand under the table, and i just... i don't know when it stopped being a bit."

his eyes searched your face like he was looking for something he'd already lost.

"hanta," you said again. "i'm in love with you."

his face froze.

the air between you seemed to still. the windchime didn't move. the whole world narrowed into this one pinpoint moment, bright and fragile and terrifying.

he stepped back—just barely.

"you don't have to keep pretending," he said. carefully. cautiously. "no one's watching anymore. you can drop it."

you stared at him.

"i'm not pretending," you said.

another beat. a sharp exhale.

his lips parted slightly. his brows furrowed, not in confusion, but in disbelief. in the kind of fear that came from wanting something too much and being afraid to reach for it.

"you're serious."

"i've never been more serious about anything in my life."

sero let out a long, shaky laugh. it cracked halfway through.

"say it again," he whispered.

"i'm in love with you."

and this time, you reached for him.

your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, and you felt the moment he melted—slow and overwhelmed, the way something melts that's been cold for too long.

"you've got to be kidding me," he muttered, leaning into your touch. "i thought—god, i thought i was the only one losing my mind over this."

you smiled, eyes stinging.

"you weren't."

"i've been in love with you since second year," he admitted, voice breaking a little. "you kissed my cheek that one time after i carried your books back from the nurse's office, and i nearly died. like, actual cardiac arrest."

"that was a year ago."

"welcome to my long, slow descent into insanity."

you laughed, quiet and ridiculous.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn't rushed. wasn't showy. it wasn't a fireworks-and-credits-roll kiss.

it was the kind that happened in doorways, in hallways, in quiet rooms where hearts beat too loud. the kind that changed nothing and everything all at once.

he kissed you like he meant it.

you kissed him like you'd been waiting your whole life to.

when you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours.

"you're real?" you whispered, breath catching.

"i better be," he said. "otherwise you've just confessed to a figment of your imagination."

you swallowed a grin.

his thumb traced your cheek.

"i thought this would end in disaster," he said quietly. "that pretending would ruin everything."

"and?"

"and now i don't want it to end at all."

you leaned in, bumping your nose against his.

"then it doesn't have to."

he smiled, and kissed you again.

not like he was pretending.

like he was home.

i beg pls do a shoto x reader smau just like cutesie things and theyre already dating i need it for my daily serotonin intake ^^ like where he just does the most boyfriend things without noticing...

w2e, the marias, beabadoobee, laufey typa romance i beg 🙏

everything he does | s. todoroki

in which loving you comes naturally to him—even if he rarely says it out loud

office hours | s. aizawa

⇨ in which a tired college professor starts texting his equally tired colleague

in your dreams | h. shinsou

⇨ he finally falls asleep, and there you are—again. in his hoodie. in his head. his dream girl, literally.

hii!! i love ur smaus i read the shinso and dabi fatherhood ones and they were amazing 🩷🩷

I wanted to request a fatherhood smau with either monoma or iida and ofc no pressure 🫶🏻

parenting.exe | t. iida

tenya iida is doing his best. you're doing... something. your child is doing whatever they want

reason #3 | n. monoma

⇨ it was just a list. a dumb, petty, handwritten list of all the reasons class 1-a is the worst. but your name stood out, and now he can't stop talking to you... or thinking about you

december, again | d. kaminari

you wrote "december, again" about heartbreak. you didn't expect to meet someone who'd sing every word back like he'd lived it too.

the green room was quiet—dim and humming with low light, the scent of hot tea and stage dust clinging to the corners. you sat cross-legged on the worn velvet couch, cradling a chipped mug between your palms, listening to the soft static of the soundcheck being patched through the in-ear monitors coiled beside you.

your guitar sat in its stand nearby, already tuned, the strap worn from years of shows and nerves. you had done this so many times before—but tonight felt different.

tokyo was the biggest venue on the tour so far. a full room. a sold-out show. an unfamiliar city and a familiar ache in your chest. you'd played coffee shops, tiny festival tents, even the occasional college auditorium—but this was your first international stage, and the butterflies were relentless.

you glanced at your phone, already on do not disturb, but still lit up with a few unread messages. one was from your tour manager. one from your sister. and one, tucked between them, was a twitter notification.

@lightningmcme

im the guy in the front row screaming every word. respectfully

you smiled without meaning to. your thumb hovered over the screen for a second longer than necessary, rereading the tweet. it was stupidly charming—just like all his other tweets.

you remembered him. the blonde with the ridiculous username. he'd been tweeting about your music for years. always saying something half-sincere and half-stupid, like your lyrics had personally destroyed him in the grocery store or that he'd cry if you ever released a deluxe version.

and he always meant it. every word.

you weren't supposed to follow fans back—not often, anyway. but his account had popped up more times than you could count. sweet. supportive. never creepy. just... soft.

so when you followed him and sent a quick thank you, you hadn't expected the all-caps panic or the flustered spiral of gratitude. you definitely hadn't expected to still be messaging him days later. he was funny. kind. endearingly honest. it was easy.

and now he was here. somewhere in that crowd. front row, he'd said. you hadn't looked yet. didn't dare. not until the lights hit you.

you pressed your hand to your chest, just for a second, trying to calm the stupid flutter that rose there.

"two minutes," someone called from the hallway.

you stood slowly, adjusting your mic pack, and reached for your guitar. as you walked toward the wings, the sounds of the crowd drifted in—laughter, chatter, low excitement building into something tangible. the air buzzed.

the lights backstage flickered as the crew called final cues. you did one last breath check, settled your fingers on the strings, and exhaled.

showtime.

the stage lights washed over you in a warm gold as you stepped out, your guitar slung across your shoulder. a hush fell over the audience, the kind that always made your heart beat a little harder.

"hi," you said into the mic, breath catching on the tail end of a smile. "i'm... really honored to be here tonight. i've been writing songs in my bedroom since i was sixteen, and somehow you all made it feel like something real."

soft cheers rippled through the audience. somewhere near the front, someone whooped.

you scanned the barricade briefly, and there he was—blond hair tousled, jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, absolutely beaming. he looked like he hadn't blinked since you walked onstage. mouth already forming the lyrics before you even began.

denki.

you felt a grin pull at your lips.

"this first song..." you said, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. "it's called 'december, again'. it's about holding onto something long after it's let go of you.

the opening chord rang clear. you let yourself fall into it.

i bought your favorite drink out of habit left it in the fridge 'til it went bad wore your sweater out in public just to see if anyone would ask

you sang like you were remembering every ache in real time. the lights were low and soft, like candlelight, and you could hear the audience singing with you.

your name still fits wrong in my mouth but it's the only thing i don't spit out

the lights dimmed slightly, drawing the audience closer. you caught sight of denki mouthing the words, his hands clasped against the barricade like he didn't trust himself not to float away.

it's december, again and i swore i'd be fine but the lights look like your headlights and the cold feels like that night when you left without saying goodbye and i still stand by the door like i'm waiting for you to come back in it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened

the audience went silent as you strummed your guitar. it was a silence that proved they were listening. really listening.

friends ask how i'm doing i lie like it's my second language there's still boxes in my closet of the pieces i can't manage

a girl in the third row wiped her eyes. you caught her movement out of the corner of your eye and softened your voice.

i sleep better with the TV on but you still show up when the volume's gone

it's december again and i swore i'd be fine but the lights look like your headlights and the cold feels like that night when you left without saying goodbye and i still stand by the door like i'm waiting for you to come back in it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened do you think of me at all? when it starts to snow when someone plays our song too slow i burned all the letters but not the words i still remember what i never heard

you opened your eyes again and let them rest on him. denki. he hadn't moved. his expression was soft, reverent, like he'd never seen anything more important than you at that moment.

it's december, again and the silence is loud you're still gone but i'm not proud of the way i keep breaking like it's some kind of vow and i still stand by the door like i don't know how this ends it's december, again and i'm missing you like it just happened

the last chord faded into a hush.

a beat of silence.

then the applause began—gentle, reverent. a swell of warmth.

you scanned the crowd.

denki was still at the barricade.

still glowing.

not in a flashy, spotlight kind of way—but in the way someone looks when they've found something they didn't know they needed.

you played the rest of your set like you were singing just for him.

⋆˙⟡

when you stepped offstage, your hands were still buzzing. you passed your guitar to one of the techs, accepted a bottle of water with shaking fingers, and headed straight for the security staff near the wing.

"hey," you said. "can i ask a favor?"

one of them looked up. "depends. how weird is it?" you smiled. "sweet blond boy. front row. looks like he sings along to everything even when he's about to cry. think you can bring him back here?"

the guy laughed. "yeah, i know exactly who you mean."

⋆˙⟡

denki didn't know how to move.

people were leaving. voices echoing. but he just stood there, staring at the empty stage like it still had something to give him.

he was pretty sure he hadn't blinked since you looked at him. actually looked at him. he had replayed it ten times in his head already. the exact second your gaze found his and you smiled.

his knees were weak.

and then a security guard was walking toward him.

"hey," the guy said. "you're the blond one, right? artist wants to see you backstage."

denki had exactly three brain cells functioning, and all of them screamed.

he followed the guard without speaking. his legs felt fake. his mouth was dry. this had to be a dream. it had to be.

backstage smelled like lights and sweat and something warm—something safe.

he tried not to trip over a cable as the door opened.

⋆˙⟡

you were curled up in a hoodie over your stage outfit, sat in a chair, when the door opened.

there he was.

golden and breathless and so clearly overwhelmed you almost stood up just to steady him.

"hi," you said, heart hammering. "denki, right?"

he nodded fast. too fast. "hi—yeah. yes. oh my god."

you laughed. "it's okay. you made it."

he blinked. "did i black out?"

"maybe a little."

you motioned for him to sit. he did. slowly. like it might be a trap.

"i just wanted to thank you," you said. "like i said, i've seen your tweets. your support. it's... it's meant more than you know."

denki looked like he might combust.

"i'm the one who's grateful," he said. "you wrote the soundtrack to my favorite breakdowns."

you grinned. "best compliment i've ever received."

there was a pause. something soft.

he glanced around, cheeks flushed. "this is... insane. you're, like, the reason i made it through last winter. that song? 'december, again'? i think i listened to it every day for two months. not even because i was heartbroken, i just—i don't know. it made me feel like i wasn't broken for feeling too much."

you blinked. slowly. carefully.

then denki tilted his head and said, "can i ask you something kind of personal?"

"sure," you said. "shoot."

"what got you into music?"

you smiled, soft and a little faraway. "i guess... i always felt a little too much. too loud in my head. writing was the only way i could let it out without exploding. and then one day, i put it to chords, and it stuck. it felt right. like i was finally telling the truth."

denki was quiet for a moment, like he didn't want to break the silence. then he said, "well, i'm really glad you did."

you looked at him, his wide eyes and messy hair and nervous energy. and then, without really thinking about it, you asked, "are you doing anything right now?"

he blinked. "me?"

you laughed. "yeah, you."

denki shook his head. "no, i... i mean, i was probably just gonna cry in a ramen shop alone about this whole night, so—"

"perfect," you cut in. "come cry in a ramen shop with me instead."

he stared. "wait. you're serious?"

"dead serious," you said. "you comin'?"

he nodded vigorously. "yes, of course."

you stood, grabbing your jacket. "cool. i know a good noodle spot. let's go, sweet blond boy from barricade."

and denki followed you out into the cold tokyo night, warm from something that had nothing to do with the stage lights.

and everything to do with you.

player two | t. shigaraki

⇨ you beat him in a match. he found your number. unfortunately for you, he’s chatty.

not a date, btw | e. kirishima

in which you and kirishima spend weeks fake-denying your way through very real feelings.

HIII I love ur smaus and the way you write the characters are just ,,,,,jdjdjdjjs anwyas,, could u mayhaps pls do a Bakugou x romantically oblivious reader?? I just think the dynamic would be hilarious LOLL !! ty and hope u have a great day/night!! :)) <33

wait, are you flirting? | k. bakugo

bakugo is very obviously into you. you think he's just a strangely intense friend.

hai!!! i love ur writing sm

can u write a hitoshi shinso x reader fic and they have a child or smth cuz i’m in LOVEEE with your dabi smau fic😣💞

it’s okay if not, ur writing is so good 💗💗💗

fatherhood looks good | h. shinso

shinso didn't plan on having a kid, but now there's a tiny version of him running around the house and yelling about the moon.

(fic/drabble under the cut!)

there's a crash from the living room, followed by the unmistakable sound of bare feet slapping frantically against hardwood. you don't even look up from your phone.

"he's running," you call.

shinso sighs from the kitchen. "is it a happy run or a 'he's about to break something' run?"

you pause, listening. a door slams. a tiny voice wails, "why did they turn off the moon?!"

"...meltdown," you say casually. "moon's out. emotionally spiraling."

shinso leans against the doorframe with a tired sort of grace, stirring a mug of hot chocolate like this is completely normal. which, unfortunately, it is.

"i told you not to say the moon was a night light," he says.

you shrug. "he was scared of the dark. i panicked. i gave it personality."

"well," shinso mutters, setting the mug down with a small clink, "now it's personal."

you both wander toward the noise—your son has collapsed dramatically on the floor by the window, clutching his stuffed cat, face pressed to the glass.

"they turned it off," he sniffles without turning around. "the moon's gone. my night light's broken forever."

shinso sits down beside him cross-legged, like he's done this a thousand times. because he has. you watch as your husband gently tilts his head to try and meet his son's eyes.

"it's just cloudy, kid," shinso says quietly. "the moon's still there. can't always see it, but it doesn't go away."

your son frowns. "are you sure?"

"yeah," shinso says, voice lower now. "same way i can't always see you when i'm at work, but i still know you're being a tiny menace at home."

"i'm not a menace," he protests immediately.

shinso raises an eyebrow. "you bit your mom over cookies."

your son pauses.

"...she deserved it."

"absolutely not," you say from the hallway, and both of them flinch in sync.

there's a beat of silence before your son lets out a very long, dramatic sigh. "okay," he whispers, still watching the sky. "but tell the moon to stop hiding. i don't like when it goes away."

shinso leans back on his hands, glancing toward you. his expression softens a little—less tired, more tired and in love.

"i get it," he murmurs. "i don't like when things go away, either."

you tilt your head. he doesn't look at you, but he doesn't need to. that's just how he is—quiet affection, full volume in everything except words.

later, when your son's asleep, curled between the two of you with his limbs spread out like he fought ghosts in his dreams, shinso kisses your shoulder and says:

"you made him weird."

you smile. "you made him soft."

shinso brushes a hand through your son's hair, voice barely audible.

"yeah," he says. "we did good."

parental guidance | s. aizawa

being aizawa's teenage daughter means sharing the house with a sleep-deprived cryptid and 3 cats.

Literally eating up every smau you pump out 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 could I rq an Iida one? One where he has a hung crush on his bestie of YEARSSS but they're dating a guy he literally cannot stand?

not mine, still yours | t. iida

tenya knew being your best friend meant loving you from the sidelines, even while you gave your heart to the wrong person.

do you think you could do some Dabi smau where he has a kid with reader and all the fluffy things?

I’m in pain after the last one </3

if you’re not comfortable do not feel pressured to do it! <33333

-🐦‍⬛

domesticated | t. todoroki

parenthood was not in the plan, but now there's a glitter drawing of you and touya on the fridge.

Hihi!!! I hope you’re having a good day ! I was wondering if you could please do friends to lovers texts with Bakugou and a weird, energetic reader? i really hope im doing this the right way lol and if im not im really sorry!! TvT

bite first | k. bakugo

you're the weirdest part of his routine, and lately, his favorite.

user error | k. takami

⇨ as the ceo of a tech company for pro heroes, you’re used to dealing with malfunctions—just not one with wings and a flirting problem

burnt edges, unread messages | t. todoroki

⇨ not dating. not nothing. something in between. something you never got to name before it was gone.

little drummer boy | k. bakugo

⇨ being bakugo’s upstairs neighbor would be fine if he didn’t treat his drum set like it was a weapon of mass destruction.

DRESS PRESENTATION! masterlist

a keigo takami x reader model au smau

when {reader}, a fashion designer at her friend's agency, becomes the fashion designer for a new campaign featuring none other than keigo takami, a top model, what will they do?

͙͘͡★ slate (trailer)

͙͘͡★ portfolio 1 (season 1)

͙͘͡★ design 1: THREE WEEKS?!?!!?1

͙͘͡★ design 2: tbd

͙͘͡★ design 3: tbd

͙͘͡★ design 4: tbd

͙͘͡★ design 5: tbd

͙͘͡★ design 6: tbd

͙͘͡★ design 7 (finale): tbd

very poorly made smau with no real skill in it. hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

tag list (req to be added/open): @chaoslibra @samm1e13 @seijuroww @personally4runa @2dmenfr @wkurzony-krasnal @attemptingtowritehalfwaydecently @ponyosupremacy @badslittlemuffin

DRESS PRESENTATION!

keigo takami x reader smau model au

an: very short. next one will (hopefully) be longer (it will also take longer. get ready for another two week wait chat)

͙͘͡★ prev (slate/trailer)

͙͘͡★ next

tag list (open): @chaoslibra @samm1e13 @seijuroww @personally4runa @2dmenfr

dividers from: @saradika-graphics

sorry this took so long for how short it is (it's literally just a slightly longer trailer holy) but i'm gonna try to do better next time! :)

DRESS PRESENTATION!

keigo takami (hawks) x reader smau, model au

an: more of a teaser than a trailer.. sorry. formatting sucks but we deal w it.

tag list (open): @chaoslibra @samm1e13 @seijuroww @personally4runa

dividers from: @saradika-graphics

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}

taglist: @giasssslife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog @hana-patata @sosole @mysteriaqueen @watasinekoru @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 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

Nanami SMAU - A Verdict of Us

Chapter 15 - Misdirection

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: Been feeling in a silly angsty mood lol. SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 14} ; {next}

taglist: @giasssslife @getovibesonly @inthedarkshadows000 @burpzz @sleepykittyenergy @fuzzycollectiondeersblog @hana-patata @sosole @mysteriaqueen @watasinekoru @linny-bloggs

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

For four weeks, Nanami had managed to avoid you. Not out of malice, not even intentionally at first, but because it was easier than dealing with the chaos you had stirred in him.

But no matter how much he tried to focus on his studies, his part-time job, and the ever-growing expectations from his parents, there was one thing he couldn’t control—seeing you.

It happened too often to be coincidence.

The first time, it was in the library. He had been reviewing case law when a soft laugh pulled his attention. There you were, sitting with him. Ren Tanaka. The man whose name had become an irritant in his mind.

You looked comfortable, leaning in slightly as you listened to whatever Tanaka was saying. And when you laughed, something bitter settled in Nanami’s throat.

The second time, it was at the café near campus. Tanaka was paying for your drink, and you playfully nudged his shoulder in thanks. Nanami told himself it wasn’t his business. That it didn’t matter.

The third time, Tanaka had his hand on the small of your back. It was a brief touch, barely lasting a second as he guided you through a crowded hallway. But Nanami clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

He didn’t act on these emotions. That wasn’t who he was. He didn’t let irrational feelings dictate his behavior. But it didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Jealousy was an emotion he had no right to feel.

And yet, it followed him.

Unfortunately, while you spent your time with Tanaka, Nanami was stuck with her.

Ayaka Takahashi.

The woman his parents had practically handpicked for him. She was polished, elegant, and everything a proper socialite should be. She had wealth, status, and the kind of family name that turned heads in high society.

And Nanami couldn’t stand her.

She wasn’t awful, exactly. But she was everything he despised—shallow, judgmental, and utterly consumed by appearances.

That Friday night, he found himself sitting across from her at yet another dinner his parents had arranged.

“I don’t know why you insist on taking me to these places, Kento.” Ayaka sighed, looking around the dimly lit restaurant with barely veiled disdain. “The service is passable, but there’s nothing exclusive about it.”

Nanami barely spared her a glance. “I didn’t choose it.”

She pouted slightly. “Of course. Your parents did. They’re always looking out for you.”

Nanami resisted the urge to check his watch. He already knew how long this dinner had been dragging on—too long.

Ayaka continued talking about something he had no interest in, but he barely listened, nodding at the right moments, offering short responses when necessary.

It was a routine at this point.

But then—

“Oh,” she said suddenly, her tone shifting into something sharper. “I completely forgot to tell you. My mother was at some charity event recently. You’ll never guess whose family was parading themselves around.”

Nanami didn’t have to guess.

Ayaka smirked. “The [Your Last Name]s.”

Nanami set his fork down, his movements controlled. “And?”

“And,” she drawled, tilting her head, “they were shameless as always. Acting like they’re so generous, as if they actually care about the causes they support. It’s laughable, really.”

Nanami’s jaw tensed.

“I mean, come on,” Ayaka continued, swirling her wine glass lazily. “We both know the only reason their daughter is involved in charity work is because she’s desperate for attention. It’s embarrassing, really.”

His grip on his napkin tightened.

“She’s always acting so sweet and innocent, but let’s be real—she’s just like the rest of them. Always looking for the next rich guy to wrap around her finger.” Ayaka laughed lightly. “It’s honestly pathetic how many men fall for that act.”

Nanami’s stomach turned.

“She probably thinks she’s being so charitable, but all she’s doing is flaunting her privilege. What does she actually do? Hand out food for a few hours and call herself a saint? It’s disgusting.”

His patience snapped.

“That’s enough.”

Ayaka blinked at him, her smirk faltering. “What?”

Nanami’s voice was cold, measured. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please, Kento. Don’t tell me you actually believe she’s—”

“I don’t believe, Ayaka.” His eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unforgiving. “I know.”

Her lips parted slightly in shock.

“Unlike you, she actually does something with her time. She puts in the effort, helps people who need it, and doesn’t spend her nights gossiping about people she doesn’t understand.” His voice was laced with quiet disdain. “But I wouldn’t expect you to comprehend that.”

Ayaka’s expression darkened. “Excuse me?”

Nanami pushed his chair back, standing smoothly. “I’ve lost my appetite.” He pulled out his wallet and tossed several bills onto the table. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving her fuming in his wake.

The night air was cool against his heated skin, but it did little to ease his frustration. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, but he couldn’t stand hearing her name dragged through the mud by someone so utterly empty.

He walked aimlessly through the city, trying to clear his mind.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A restaurant. A familiar figure inside.

You.

Sitting at a table with him.

Ren Tanaka.

Nanami’s breath caught in his throat.

You were smiling, tilting your head as you listened to whatever Ren was saying. Your hands moved slightly as you spoke, your eyes bright and animated.

You looked… happy.

Nanami couldn’t move.

Then, as if sensing him, you turned.

Your eyes met his through the window.

Your expression shifted—surprise, hesitation, something else he couldn’t quite place.

For a moment, neither of you looked away.

And then, Nanami did what he always did when something unsettled him.

He turned and walked away.

His chest felt heavy, his thoughts a mess.

But one thing was clear.

Avoiding you hadn’t made a difference.

Because no matter how hard he tried to bury it, the truth was painfully obvious.

He was still caught up in you.

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.