⟶ Suguru X Ex!reader (college Au) Part:: 1/?

reblog to add +10 haunting power to your ghost when you die

Fontaine soon

⟶ kento food court meet cute

⟶ well hey.. who missed me ;p my first time writing for sir kento nanami NGH i want him bad. ANYWAY sorry for going mia it's been a big week for me u guys i relapsed, i applied for jobs, i got in a car accident, and MOST IMPORTANTLY name change. i go by mio on other socials so from here on out all my shit will be tagged under mio i hope that's not too confusing ;p ALSO im slightly changing the layout of my posts from here on out as in im removing one of the banners ok anyway please enjoy and im very sorry for my absence 💓

cw :: fem!reader, shat this out in abt half an hour, reader wears glasses, possibly ooc!kento look ive never written for him before ALLOW IT, fluff/crack

Kento Nanami detests food courts.

So many loud, bustling people, restaurants selling overpriced, greasy food. He'd much rather pack his lunch in advance and eat it on the go.

However, even with his tight scheduling and near-perfect memory, he can slip and forget. He only realises he’s forgotten when he reaches for his packed lunch and finds nothing but stale air inside his satchel.

He sighs.

His lip curls as he taps against the sticky screen of the menu. He detests fast food, but when it's between Mcdonald's and KFC, he's choosing the latter. Boneless wings combo meal with medium fries and water.

He picks up his meal from the counter with a nod to the woman handing it to him, before turning to find an empty seat.

He furrows his brows. 1PM on a Saturday. Of course it's busy.

Circling around the food court once, twice, he can't find a single empty table. He settles for sharing a larger table with two other individuals eating alone. Sat in silence, and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, he begins eating.

He is about 30% through his meal when someone sits opposite him, and oh, God.

He glances upwards, and suddenly his French fry went down the wrong way and he's coughing, eyes tearing up.

God, how pathetic is he? One glance at a pretty woman and he's choking on his food, taking gulps of his water to wash it down. Even worse, you're staring at him with worry, frozen still as if you're not sure whether to call for help or perform the Heimlich or just offer him some more water.

“... Are you okay?” you say. People are beginning to stare, and he's taking gulps of his water.

“Yes, thank you,” he says hoarsely. “Just went down the wrong way.”

You smile placidly, before turning your attention to your meal. A McDonald’s happy meal. Interesting choice.

He returns to his own food, too. He tries not to stare, but he can't help but steal glasses. The way your hair falls around your face, and the glint of your eyes through your frames, and your manicured nails, and the way you take tiny little bites of your food, and he can't help but know that if he left without speaking to you, or getting your number, he'd be kicking himself for the rest of his life.

Tell her you like her keychains, Kento. Start simple.

“You’re very beautiful.”

Shit. That was not what he meant to say.

You glance up, furrow your brows when you realise he’s looking at you, then you're smiling slightly bashfully. “Thank you!”

His face doesn't betray how horrified he is feeling at his now evident lack of game, rather, he manages to return your sweet little smile. “Do you often eat at food courts?”

“No, not really,” you say. “It's too loud. But I forgot to pack my lunch today.”

Kento can't help but bark out a laugh, clearing his throat when you look up at him in confusion. “Pardon me. It's just that I’m here for the same reason. I can’t stand this place.”

You giggle. “Matching.”

The two of you lapse into silence as you finish eating. You finish your meal before him, but he notices that even after packing up your trash, you're lingering in your seat. This is his chance, and he knows you're thinking the same thing.

He forces his eyes to stay on yours, refusing to let his lack of game drag his gaze away from the beautiful girl before him.

“Would you like to give me your number? Then… maybe we can go to a food court together sometime,” he says.

Fucking hell Kento. ‘Would you like to give me your number?’ Like you're doing her a favour? God, you're seriously going to die al—

You slide a napkin over the table, where you've already scrawled your digits. “Maybe we can go someplace nicer than a food court, huh?”

He blinks owlishly, looking between you and the napkin. He clears his throat. “Of course. I'll… I'll call you.”

You smile once more, sling your bag over your shoulder, and leave without another word.

Kento Nanami loves food courts.

⟶ satoru x baking hobbyist!reader (college au) part:: 1/?

⟶ surprise!! it's a smau ;P this is part of a larger series inspired by the amazing brilliant insanely talented @reignpage n u can find my masterlist here !

cw:: i've never made a smau before, ignore typos im lazy

The TikTok-fication of Tumblr and why it needs to stop before your fave writers are gone for good:

1. “Part 2??”

Unlike TikTok, writing 5,000 words for a fic does not happen in 6 seconds or more. Weekly updates are from a writer who spoils you and is passionate about their story. Don’t kill the passion by demanding for more and not appreciate what’s already given.

2. The DC Conundrum

Many writers on this platform hail back from the ff.net days where dark content is a norm, not like TikTok where even death has to be censored or you could get flagged.

Despite that, writers are doing you a service by sharing fic warnings despite how it may take away from a plot twist or a big reveal. However, there’s a fine line between sharing warnings and downright spoiling our own work. Heed the warnings, don’t be a dick. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. Learn how to filter your own content, too, while you're at it.

3. The Wild Algorithm

Unlike TikTok, Tumblr’s FYP is not in your face and you have a choice to not view it. Content often gets buried a few days after it’s posted without reblogs or comments to keep it alive.

4. Passive Content Consumption

Ties back with point #1. If you’re only sitting back and reading works without supporting the writers, they can’t spend 6 seconds to conjure up a fic. Writing takes time, editing, proofreading. Tumblr is a book club, not a delivery service.

5. De(constructive) Criticism

If an opinion isn’t asked for, don’t give it. Many writers choose this craft for their own enjoyment and to share a thought or story about a beloved character to those who love them, too. If an opinion is asked? Be kind when you share it across to them. No one likes their hard work to be shat on by someone who doesn’t understand the time and effort it took to create this piece.

6. Are You My Content Machine?

Again, back to point #1. Writers have busy lives. There are days when we want to scream into the void about our favourite characters. We want to share our thoughts about them or sometimes, we just want to talk about what happened during lunch break. Demanding and expecting that a writer post content without giving a shit about the soul behind the screen? Dehumanizing.

Don’t ruin the experience for those of us who are still here. Do your part to make fandom better for everyone.

⟶ satoru is into cougars

⟶ erm hi again. OKOK i know it's been a month but im a working woman so forgive me. ill probably update my smaus at some point .. maybe .....

cw :: fluff/crack, astoundingly short, not proofread, wife!reader

“I’m into cougars."

It's so tempting to ignore Satoru. He's draped over your tummy, looking up at you with that little grin that tells you he's about to say something stupid, arms working around your waist causing your back to arch slightly uncomfortably against the couch.

It’s so tempting to ignore him, but when his big blue eyes are staring up at you like that, you can't help but want to respond with something equally stupid.

“Go marry one then,” you murmur, returning your focus to the TV.

Satoru hums, resting his head against your abdomen, lithe fingers now tapping against your sides. “I already did.” He is hardly able to stop his face from twitching into a shit-eating grin.

And you already know where this is going. You sigh, and don't deign him with a response.

He huffs. “I said, I already did.”

“I heard you.”

He nearly whines. A grown man nearly whines, looking up at you with frustration. “I said, I already did!”

You don't want to respond. But you feel the way his fingers trace against your ticklish sides in warning.

“... Satoru, I'm one week older than you.”

He laughs, scooping you up and pressing wet kisses to your face. “That's six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds! My old lady!”

Faced with his onslaught, you’re groaning and trying to pry him off of you. Alas, his arms are wrapped around you like a vice, and with the way he's giggling and grinning you'd feel the slightest bit bad ruining his fun.

Maybe you're losing your touch.

“Musta married some other bitch before me,” you say, rolling your eyes. This is one of Satoru’s favourite bits, much to your chagrin.

He lays back down on the couch, laying you over him this time, your head against his chest and his hands pressed against your back.

“You know you're the only one for me, babe,” he grins. “My hot, older woman.”

⟶ satoru's scented lip balm.

⟶ moot me up. pls

cw:: tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, gn!reader, babygirl!satoru

“Hey. C’mere,” Satoru whispers conspiratorially.

You look up at him. He's on the other side of your office, leaning against the wall. His blindfold conceals his eyes, but he struggles to hide the way the corners of his lips are twitching into a cheeky grin.

You tap your pen against the paperwork you're filling out, which was actually his paperwork that he pleaded with you to do, and roll your eyes. “No. You come here.”

He doesn't even argue, too caught up in what he really wants to share with you. He bounds over to your desk, pushes your chair back, and sits sideways over your lap. You let out a slight oof as he settles in, but your hands still wind around his waist.

“Notice anything different about me?” he purrs.

Your hands trace up and down his waist as you furrow your brows in thought. It doesn't seem like he's gotten his hair cut, and it looks like the same blindfold you'd just washed last night, and he hasn't painted his nails or gotten laser hair removal or gotten his already blinding teeth whitened further.

“No,” you shrug. “What is it?”

He huffs. “I’ll give you a hint.”

He leans forward, connecting his lips to yours. He kisses you slow and languidly, and although it's tempting to force your tongue through his shiny pink lips, you do resist.

He pulls away with a final peck. “Get it now?”

You still don't. “New toothpaste?”

“We share toothpaste, silly!” He huffs, knocking his forehead against your cheek. “Okay, one more hint.”

He places a kiss on your nose. Then another, and another, until your eyes are finally widening in realisation.

“New lip balm,” you say. He grins.

“Yes! You're so smart, baby.”

That explains the rosy tint to his lips, then. You bring a finger up, tracing along the slight sheen. “Pretty.”

“Okay, okay. Now guess the flavour.”

You hum, tilting your face towards his, your nose brushing against his lips very slightly. He doesn't resist the urge to give you another kiss, leaving the slightest pink shimmer on your skin.

You narrow your eyes, your stare wandering around the room as you think. “It's sweet.”

“Yep!” Satoru grins, his blindingly white teeth glinting from the corner of your eyes. “Guess!”

You sniff again, then once more. “Cherry.”

He squeals, wrapping his arms around your head and squeezing you to him. “You're so smart! My smart baby. You've earned another kiss.”

“Duh,” you smile, tilting your head up to meet his lips as they push against yours. It's a slow, affectionate kiss, and you can feel your fiancé's smile against your lips, drinking in all the things you feel for him but are too prideful to say.

You're so cute.

He pulls away, leaning his head atop yours, his cheek pressed to the crown of your head. “I need to keep my lips soft for you,” he sighs, answering your question before you can even say it.

You hum. “Thoughtful.”

⟶ let you break my heart again

cw:: i have never written angst like this before. gn!reader, reader is MEAN in this one, reader implied to be an english speaker, reader gets drunk? satoru + reader met at jujutsu high

Satoru Gojo is not a coffee drinker.

It’s bitter, it's either scalding hot or biting cold, and in your words, “it tastes like dirt.”

He remembers the way he laughed in agreement last year when you muttered that under your breath, consequence of sneaking a sip of Nanami’s coffee. He remembers looking at you, his cheeks flushed and his words all airy. And he can't scrub from his mind the way you didn't spare him a glance.

Satoru Gojo hates coffee. But after a long night of entertaining a drunken you, he needs something to propel him through the day. And cocaine is illegal.

His eyes follow you around the staff room. Rubbing your temples and groaning, snapping at anyone who dares to speak.

“Someone’s hungover,” he smirks.

“Shut up,” you hiss. “Your voice is so grating.”

He shuts up, and pretends you didn't say that. He shuts up and pretends you don't always say that. He shuts up and pretends he doesn't spend night after night picking you up from a bar, completely wasted, or dropping you off to a date, or picking you up from some fling’s apartment at 7am.

On days when the staff room is silent, he allows himself a fleeting moment to close his eyes and picture you. He dreams of the thirteen-year long softness with which he can't help but afford you, and he lets himself fantasise that once, just once, you'll turn around and return his lovesick smile.

But on days like this, he presses his lips together in a fine line and ignores the sympathetic glance Shoko spares him.

He wonders what it is about him that is so unappealing. Nursing a whiskey at some dive bar, he slurs out his troubles to a sympathetic barkeep.

“Girls like me. I get asked out all the time. But she doesn't want me, and I don’t know why!” He wants to scream, or cry, or laugh, but he's not sure which and he slumps over the bar and barely catches his glass before it goes tumbling over. “I don't want the other fish in the fucking sea. I want her. She’s the prettiest fish.”

No one comes to pick him up.

Some days you're sweet on him. You throw him a bone. You send him songs in English that he doesn't understand, but he listens to the melody and the gibberish lyrics and he finds pieces of you in the songs.

[satoru gojo]: good song

[satoru gojo]: i like your taste in music ;)

Read, 11:06PM.

On other days you pick him up as the unforgiving sun is setting. You drive, asking him about his day, letting him ramble about his students, or vent about the higher ups, or tell you about this super funny thing Nanami did as though you weren't there.

He turns his head away from you as he finishes speaking, and he's glad he wears a blindfold as it catches his tears.

He downs the rest of his coffee, shuffling over on the couch to give you room to sit next to him.

“Thanks for picking me up last night,” you mumble, picking at your nails. You refuse to make eye contact, which is just as well because he'd hate for you to see the wide-eyed stare he's subjecting you to.

“... No problem.”

hello my lovelies! tumblr just forced me to unfollow someone?? so if we were formerly moots and it seems like i've randomly unfollowed, pls lmk 🥹

my super duper awesomepilled college au

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