Day 5 - First Day Back Together

Apparently Miles is a JJK fan (in the comics)

If you put these two in a room together I think the result would be adorable 🥺

Kakashi as your Divorce Lawyer

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Modern AU Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: Divorce lawyer Kakashi is astonished by the gorgeous driven woman who enters his office one day and slowly spirals till she's divorced and he can finally take his turn in claiming her

Warnings: NSFW but pretty tame for my page

Word Count. 3.6k

Author's Note: This is an old request from @decayedbong. Some parts of this are loosely based on my actual divorce. I'll let you guess which ones.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who was in his office one day when he heard a faint knock and a little “hmm hmm.” Ignoring you, he looks to the window of his office to see if his assistant is at her desk. With dejection at her absence, he shifts his gaze to you only to find his pupils dilating with hunger. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, whose gaze rakes over your figure standing tall in sleek business attire. Your shirt, a royal blue satin tee with sleeves just above the elbow and a cowl neckline. Your bottoms, a pair of black leather dress slacks, high-waisted with the shirt tucked in, fitted around your plump backside and tapered out from your thighs to your ankles. To complete the alluring look, your hair is gathered in a loose bun high on your head, and pointed black leather kitten heels adorn your feet, keeping you petite but elegant all the same.  

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who, after a moment of staring, realizes you’re blushing and looking off to the side, unaccustomed to the attention of a man as high status as himself. Quickly, he closes his mouth, which fell agape, and clears his throat, bringing your eyes back to him. After motioning for you to sit down in front of him, you gladly sit in the cushioned chair, nervous in spite of your powerhouse clothes.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who wonders how big of an idiot your husband must be to screw up a relationship with someone like you. Once you begin to explain your situation, his mind goes from wonder to anger. The idiot in question is an unemployed man-child who treats you with disrespect and makes you pay all the bills on top of all the household responsibilities. When you begin to cry, realizing how far gone the relationship’s gotten, you feel ashamed that you put yourself in your current situation. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who reaches across the desk and takes your hand. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. I see this every day; you just bet on the wrong horse is all.” Gulping back your tears, you nod your head. The remaining droplets that line your lower lash accentuate the depth of your eyes. Kakashi finds himself getting lost in them before he blinks back to reality and proclaims. “I’ll take the case.”

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, spends the rest of the day thinking about you. You’re sweet and small, but something about you seems big. Kakashi gets the sense that you are actually some corporate hotshot who has climbed the ladder and is only a few promotions away from her goals. He fantasizes about breaking you in, but deep down, he’s certain at home you trade your blazer for an apron and he wants that more than anything. His logic knows that behind closed doors you become the perfect meek little housewife of a man’s dreams, and though he wants it, after hearing your story today, he wants to show you what it’s like to be taken care of for a change.  

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who follows up with you a few days later, asking for an evaluation of your assets and ready to draft an initial copy of your divorce agreement. You hesitate to answer, embarrassed that you don’t have time for an office visit. Eventually, you gather the courage to tell him you won’t be able to because of work, but instead, he offers to meet you wherever you are.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who, upon his arrival in your office, seems to cause quite a stir. Many women gawk at him as he trails through the building, winding around till he finds your cubicle. You stand to greet him, shaking his hand and pulling out the spare chair in your surprisingly spacious section of the bull pen. Today, you’re wearing a low-cut wrap dress with stilettos and a blazer. You sport the same loose bun at the crown of your head, and your diamond earrings lay hidden amongst the face-framing strands of hair. 

After properly assessing you, Kakashi’s eyes glance around the cubicle, noting your Bachelor's degree and two empty frames next to it. “What are those for?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s a bit silly but those are for the degrees I’m working on now. I have the empty frames as motivation.” 

Kakashi lifts his brow. “Degrees? As in plural?”

“Yes, I’m double majoring right now. I want to move up, so I’m going to school while I work.”

“You mean on top of everything you told me the other day, you’re also going to school to complete two master’s degrees.”

Your polite nod wins over Kakashi’s heart. The humility in your admission, coupled with how normal you make it seem, are precious to him. He wants to defend you now more than before. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who shows you how to evaluate your assets and walks you through the alimony process. Though you have been supporting your spouse for five years, since being unemployed was his choice and not something your marriage necessitated, he did not have grounds to claim any continuing financial support. This is further solidified by the fact that the reason you lived in your current city was to move for a career opportunity for him, which he then quit after two days. A fact that dropped Kakashi's jaw.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who showed you how unwise your husbands attempts at your finances are and promises the defense will be easy.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who is interrupted every few minutes by staff members looking for your help. He’s quick to realize you’ve turned yourself into a valuable asset for your company, watching in awe as you show your peers and even upper-level managers how to find loopholes that aid customers and advocate for the firm’s clientele. From what he can see, you’re not just good at what you do, you’re great. Astonishing and beautiful, you’re husband truly has no clue what he messed up. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who has a hard time thinking about anything other than you. Determined to see you more, he makes up lame excuses to further consult with you in person, claiming he needs to see the house to get it valuated, asking to meet for coffee so you can sign various addendums that don’t even apply to your case, and doing ‘wellness checks’ to document emotional distress caused by the negligent behavior of your soon-to-be ex. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who is so sweet to you. He texts you each night to make sure you’re okay now that your ex has finally moved out. He makes himself busy, installing security cameras at your doors, dropping off take-out when he knows you have school projects, and over all being there for you. You tell him you don’t know how you’ll pay him back for all these billable hours, but he assures you not to worry about it. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who grows protective of you leading up to the day of your court hearing. He comes to the courthouse with a coffee and a smile, reassuring you that today will go smoothly. You welcome both, feeling nervous. “Why did you dress down?” He inquires, noticing your simple khaki slacks with pointed flats and a cream body suit to match.

“I didn’t want him to think I dressed to impress him. I’m just here to get this over with. That’s all.”

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, looks at you with adoration. You are too precious to let down. He swears he’s going to give you what you deserve, in the courtroom and in the bedroom. You just don’t know it yet.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi,  who catches your worried face. As you enter the courtroom, you notice your husband hasn’t arrived yet. Your pupils dilate, wondering if he is going to show, and if not, does this mean he’s going to drag out the divorce process? Your mind reels but he’s probably just running late like he always is. 

Then, from the hall of the usually silent building, you hear loud yelling and recognize the shouts of your mother-in-law. You wince in embarrassment, knowing this isn’t the time and place for their constant crescendo. Based on the faces of the officers of the court, they find the acoustic entry to be distasteful, too. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who chuckles and leans in to whisper, “Did he really bring his mommy?” into your ear, forcing you to hide a giggle. As Kakashi straightens up, his mismatched eyes catch those of your husband’s. He assesses the man, searching for any redeeming quality that would justify your marriage to him. Scrutinizing over every detail, he gloats. He’s going to enjoy dismantling your ex’s arguments and afterwards, he’s going to enjoy claiming you as his own.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who argues on your behalf and wipes the floor with your now ex-husband. Everything that you earned stays with you and not a penny will fall into your ex’s hands. When the final agreement is signed, you hug your silver-haired superhero while he smirks in your ex’s direction. Your now ex-mother-in-law glares at the pair of you while you leave the room with Kakashi’s hand casually on your hip, protecting you from the dangerous look in her eyes. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who calls your name, giving you pause as you turn your head to gaze up at him, “Yes?”

“I’d like to take you out for dinner this evening.”

“Oh I can’t accept that, you’ve done so much for me already.”

“I insist.”

Realization strikes you, your lips parting as you ask the question, “Kakashi, are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes.”

You stammer, amazed that someone like him would be interested in someone like you. “Are you sure you’re asking the right girl?”

Kakashi laughs and pulls you close, one arm encircling your waist, right outside the courtroom and in front of your now ex husband who’s watching the pair of you in horror. 

“Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.” he jests, bringing his face dangerously close to yours. 

“I most definitely am not.” you quip back.

“Well I don’t care. You’re perfect and I want to wine and dine you till you’re mine.”

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, whose eyes you gaze up into with pupils blown wide. You can fully feel the heat of your ex’s stare as you gather your wits to agree to be courted like a proper lady by the most gorgeous and successful man you’ve ever met. The ‘yes’ barely makes it past your lips before he’s kissing you with every drop of passion he’s been holding at bay these past two months. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who you gently pull away from, not wanting to provoke a scene in public. “Please Kakashi, let’s save the celebration for later.”

“I knew she was a whore.” your former mother in law yells. You already know how she told your neighbors all sorts of insane things, making them uncomfortable and causing them to ‘warn you’ about her, but you never really cared what she thought. You always had a poor relationship with your ex’s family anyway. What’s one more word of hate?

But this…this thing with Kakashi feels different. It feels meaningful and real. You don’t know where it’s going but you want to find out. If that makes you a whore, so be it. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who whisks you away and walks you to your car, instructing you on the dress code of the restaurant for the evening. He loves seeing you all dolled up so he intentionally is taking you to a place designed for people in a whole other tax bracket. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who impresses you with your dining arrangements. He provides you with meaningful conversation, lets you choose your own meal, and is polite to the wait staff. He checks all the boxes and then checks some more when his goofy side begins to shine. Subtle jokes and sarcasm lay hidden as he speaks. He talks about the kids he helps at the Boys and Girls Club and you feel your heart is set ablaze. You want him. Not just for a night but for a future. You were robbed of a marriage, a family, and a future by your ex-husband's childish behavior, but with Kakashi, he’s a man. A man who can provide you with a real marriage, a family, and a future.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who watches you poke your food as your mind reels. He reaches out to cover your hand with his, stopping your thoughts and bringing your attention to his soft features. “What is it?”

“I-” you look down and swallow, “I just got out of a serious relationship. Before I enter another one, I need to know, are you looking for a future with me or is this just for fun?”

“Can it be both? I hear serious relationships are very boring. I’d rather enjoy being around my future wife.”

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who you look at with stunned eyes. “You really feel that way?”

“Since the day I met you. I can’t believe how hard your ex fumbled you. If you will be mine, I’ll treat you like gold the rest of our lives." he proclaims. "Every day I see men mess up relationships. I watch as their tired and broken wives explain their life stories to me. I know what women want is someone who cares about the chores, the children, the mental load, and treats them with general kindness. Those are the things I want to do for you.” 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, has you speechless. You stare at him, expression adorably blank and reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights.

“So will you let me try to be those things for you?”

Slowly, you nod, accepting his offer. “Yes, I’ll let you try.”

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who orders food for delivery and pays for the bill immediately. 

“What are you doing?”

“Not wasting a second. We can eat after.”

“After?! After what?”

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who drops $200 on the table, instructing the waiter to keep the change before he grabs you by the waist and escorts you out of the restaurant hurriedly. He guides you to a high-end car and moves to open the door but first pushes you up against it, kissing you like you are a popsicle that could melt away from him at any second. His teeth nip at your lips, biting them and pulling them, turning them red. Then he lunges back in, sweeping his tongue past your teeth and into your cavern, allowing it to dance with yours. 

His hands covetously grab each side of your face and pull you into him, pinning you in place between the car and his body. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who grinds into you in the parking lot of the most expensive restaurant in town. He’s barely able to contain himself, debating hiking up your skirt and claiming you right here in public or giving you the dignity of taking you home first. He decides on the gentlemanly thing even though the dog in him is screaming in protest.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who whispers between kisses, asking permission to take you back to his place. “Of course.” you breathe, wondering why the question needed to be asked but happy that he cared. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who grips your hand as he speeds home, occasionally guiding it over to his bulge, using your hand to palm himself. Your body tenses up every time you feel the hardness that lies beneath, still in awe that this is truly happening.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who pulls into his garage and jogs around to your side of the car, opening the door and pulling you up into his arms. He kisses you tenderly, meaning to guide you into his home, but your little moans drive him haywire with lust. “Can’t- control myself- around- you.” he grunts out between kisses while his hands wander around your silhouette. 

Your delicate voice rings out in agreement, letting your hands slip down to his pants to tug open the buttons. His hands slide to your behind, circling and massaging the tissue.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who goes feral at the sounds of your arousal. He bucks up into you as you tug down his slacks and let his hands glide to the bottom of your skirt, tugging up the hem to run his fingers along the seam of your drenched center.

“I knew you’d be wet f’me” his lust-drunk voice chimes, slipping your thong to the side and sinking a finger into your warmth. 

You immediately gasp, clenching around the singular digit while he works to wet your entire entrance, lubing you up for the aching appendage waiting to dive into your drooling hole. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, whose fingers jut in and out, making you squirm as your hand tugs along his length, anxious to have him the way he intends to have you. 

He kicks off his pants, leaving them behind when he grabs the backs of your thighs and wraps them around his waist, pinning his rod between your heat and his abdomen. Folds thirsting to have it penetrating rather than resting, you clench, pulsing against what you want most. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who groans into your mouth as he carries you inside the home, intending to take you upstairs, but the temptation is too strong, and instead, he lays you on the kitchen island. 

“Sorry baby, I can’t wait any longer.” He whispers into your hair before rubbing his shaft against your center and slipping in. 

You’re drenched, something you haven’t experienced in five years. But with Kakashi, he pulls out every drop of desire that’s been waiting to come alive since you made the decision to divorce.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who begins to thrust into you, shifting your body back and forth on the cool granite countertop. Every nerve ending is extra sensitive, fully aware of the pleasure rocking you both. Your breathing turns to pants quickly, your climax hitting you far too soon, but it’s been so long since you’ve done this, let alone enjoyed this, that the smallest amount of intimacy has you reeling.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who fucks you through your first of many orgasms that night, bending you in several new positions, and experimenting with you in the kitchen, on the couch, on the stairs and eventually in the bed. You find yourself a sweaty mess by the time he’s almost finished with you, but you keep going anyway, determined for this experience to never end.

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who sees your strength is waning, so he decides to play a little harder. He bends you back over onto your knees and aggressively pumps into you. Crying out in pleasure, he grabs your elbows, pulling back till your spine bows into a sinful arch, deepening his reach. You feel overwhelmed and exhausted, too tired to take any control. With another spasm around his solid member, he pushes your head down into the mattress and continues his bruising pace. Your insides twist in agonizing pleasure, and your hoarse voice husks out one last scream before his balls tighten with the front of his thighs clench. He flips you onto your back to empty his seed on your belly, grunting as he does. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who grabs a towel and wipes off your skin before heating up the shower so both of you can rinse off with masculine, sudsy body wash. He looks so brilliant with wet, rippling muscles, coated in bubbles. You fall into his chest, still trying to realize this is reality. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who quickly rinses off hearing a ring at the door and returns to the bathroom with a takeout bag filled with the food you should’ve eaten at the restaurant. You rinse yourself too and twist your hair into a clip, covering your body in one of his baggy shirts. Both of you pad to the kitchen, grabbing plates and forks to dine on some of the most delicious food you’ve ever tasted. 

Your divorce lawyer, Kakashi, who pledges to treat you this way every day as long as you’ll have him, waiting anxiously for you to finally grace him with his favorite three letter word…”yes”

Masterlist

I love my boy. I know for sure that he is everyone's favourite<33

midoriya-sensei!

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

Fushiguro, your enemy, had one palm slapped against your mouth to mute your moans, his other arm wrapped around your waist to thrust himself into your slick heat. Those stormy eyes of his focus on your features, eyes heavy-lidded and blissed out, lost in the feeling of your pussy. “Be. Fucking. Quiet,” he harshly ruts his hips into yours, teeth gritted into a permanent snarl. “If someone comes in and hears you-we’re both dead.”

Wrapping your arms tighter around his neck, he lets out a trembled breath as your moans grow higher and higher in pitch. “Fuck-“ he curses beneath his breath, drinking in the sight of your tits bouncing up and down with each rock from him. He leans and sucks one into his mouth, eyes rolling back at the plushy flesh he grew to become obsessed with. You were disheveled, ponytail falling to the side, cheeks and nose red as crimson.

“Meg-“ you keen, nails scratching down his blazer clad chest. “Please, deeper. Need it deeper.” You plead, earning a growl from him before he angles himself quickens his pace, beginning to hit that one spongey spot that makes you crumble apart. You let out a scream, resulting in him to swallow your moans, as your orgasm grows nearer and nearer.

His hand clasps around your throat, “What did I say about being fucking quiet?” He snaps as he pierced his eyes into your hooded ones-his mouth hanging open while he split you open on top of him. God, you loved this sight. His dominating his eyes, raspy groans falling from his lips, which were leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. “C’mon baby-cum all over my cock. Hurry up before they notice we’re gone.”

And suddenly you’re contracting sporadically around him, shouting and crying against his hand, as Megumi fucked you through your release. “So tight-fuck-“ he grunts and pushes you down onto his cock, holding you so that you didn’t fall during your high. “Just like that-yeah.”

Once you come down, he pulls out, head falling between your breast as his hot cum spurts all over your stomach. “Next time,” he mutters, face still buried in your bare breasts. “Don’t wear that shirt if you don’t want to get fucked.”

You giggle as he smirks, looking up at you. “I’ll make sure to wear it every chance I get then.”

me when a bad bitch tells me to do something

ViolinProdigy!Megumi has my heart. w/c - 600 (Reposted from my old blog which I don't have access to anymore (thanks Tumblr), if you liked it reblogs or likes would be appreciated to get me back on track since I've lost all my followers and half my work :(

-

“You’re biting your nails again, Fushiguro.”

“What?” He takes a split second to register your words before letting the hand near his mouth dig back into his pocket, “Uh, sorry.”

“I like seeing you nervous,” you admit, barely audible beneath the wave of applause coming from the auditorium.

He sighs at the noise, placing a long finger near his ear, waiting for you to repeat yourself.

“I said ‘Good luck with your performance’!” You smile bashfully, nudging at the door where the stage manager waves frantically at Megumi.

He nods at the man, kneeling down to run gentle fingers on the clasps of the violin case to undo them, taking out the instrument before following the stage manager out of the waiting area.

Even though you have a seat reserved in one of the spaces prearranged for friends and family, you watch him through the crack of the stage door, listening to the other soloists groan as soon as Megumi swings his bow onto the strings.

"It's precise," a light-haired boy says, resting his arms on his own violin case, "but emotionless."

You feel your face grow red; the perfect sounds tickling your ears are nothing but pure feeling.

"Quiet, Naoya." An older man beside him chides, tugging at his thick English-style mustache. "If you listen, you might understand why your ass fits so well in the second place."

-

Megumi's quiet all the way to the train station. He finds a seat on a bench in a secluded corner, scooting to the side to make room for you.

"First place again, huh, Fushiguro?" You elbow him, trying to interrupt his pensive state.

He only utters a small Mh-hmm, watching another full train depart from the platform, clutching at the violin case resting on his leg.

"You should be happy, Megumi."

"It wasn't perfect," he mutters.

"It was perfect, you should have heard Nayoa's whines as soon as you started playing!" you beam, hoping it would improve his mood, but he just stares off into the space between the bench and the platform.

The train ride felt long, and his legs grew weary of standing pressed against a crowd of people - but despite living a far way from where your station was, Megumi stepped out together with you, like he always did, just to walk you home.

"Why did you say you liked seeing me nervous?" He finally utters when you cross the bridge exiting the station.

"I thought you didn't hear that," you mumble, trying to swallow to relieve the dryness forming in your throat, "I guess it just makes you look more, uh - human?"

"You're saying I don't look human?" He furrows his brows, coming to a halt behind you.

"I don't mean it like that," you turn to face him, watching his features under the yellow light of the street lamp, "You just look so rigid all the time that I -," you lift your arm to press two fingers to the bridge of his nose, smoothing out the wrinkles formed there by his expression, "I like to be reminded that you have feelings, too."

"I have feelings, y'know." He says, a blush creeping on his cheeks.

"I know, I just said you do!"

You walk the rest of the way home in silence, secretly scolding yourself for saying something so brazen. You smile at him when you reach your doorstep, delivering a quick 'See you tomorrow' before stepping inside.

Megumi takes the long route to his house, repeating the same phrase over and over; "I have feelings for you (Name)," he utters silently into the air, "Just tell her dumbass, it isn't that hard."

SATORU AS LEON AND SUGURU AS ADAAA??????

💳💥💳💥💳💥💥💥 take my money

art credit to: @ruu_sugu —-> twitter

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that… a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering. Curiosity. Science.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Ten years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young. And hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring DJ and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just… optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just… considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes—determined, dangerous, hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she wouldn’t let you walk out of her apartment looking like a clown. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked… beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing the edge of your coat. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel… bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did… maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says—far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too—I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him—when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be… you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead—realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a “you really fumbled the bag” look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is… just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just... tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment—God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him—this man, this brilliant, ridiculous, loyal boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home. Like every unanswered question finally getting its answer.

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

gojo reminds me of 2010 justin bieber

they’re literally the same person HELP

nerd bakugou p!links (NSFW do not open in public!!)

📖𓂃 ࣪˖♡

him wearing his glasses while eating u outt!

he loves ur thighs !! > <

^ loves ur ass too!!!

making out with you >> studying (lowk bimbo coded)

u just cant sit still, can you?

giving ur man a handy :3

they were "staring right at him"!

the need to drown in your tits