LOVE & OTHER VARIABLES — SATORU GOJO
LOVE & OTHER VARIABLES — SATORU GOJO
pairing — tutor!satoru gojo x cheerleader!reader
summary — you're the star cheerleader who can't solve an equation to save your life. he's the brilliant physics student who can't figure out how to talk to girls. but when he becomes your last hope to save your failing math grade, you discover there's more to him than theorems and thick glasses. between tutoring and cheerleading, you find yourself falling for the nerd who gets flustered at a simple hello but kisses like he's studied the subject for years. turns out love might be the most complex variable either of you has ever tried to solve.
word count — 9.2 k
genre/tags — college AU, friends to lovers, opposites attract, tutor/student, nerd/cheerleader, academic setting, slow burn, protective!satoru, implied virgin!satoru, mutual pining, sweet fluff, idiots in love
warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, mentions of unwanted advances/harassment form a side character
author's note — hey lovelies ! surprise early valentine's day gift, because what's better than falling for your adorably genius tutor? grab your headphones, play "so high school" by taylor swift, and enjoy this story of sweet pining and study room makeouts. sending love to everyone spending their evenings with textbooks and studying. may your grades be high and your tutors be hot <3
masterlist + support my writing + art credit: @/3-aem
Satoru Gojo dealt in hard numbers, precise calculations and proven theorems. He could solve complex differential equations in his sleep and had memorized pi to a hundred digits just for fun. But there was one variable he could never quite figure out,
You.
You were everything he wasn't — popular, athletic, the kind of person who lit up a room just by existing. As captain of the college cheer squad, you moved through campus like you owned it, laughter and admiring glances followed you like a natural.
Satoru, on the other hand, preferred the quiet of the physics lab, the hushed rustle of pages in the library stacks. Quantum mechanics made more sense to him than the messy equations of human interaction.
So when Professor Nanami assigned him to be your maths tutor, Satoru thought it must be a glitch in the Matrix, a logical impossibility. You needed to maintain your GPA to stay on the squad, and apparently, he was the department's best shot at making that happen.
You recognized him the moment you walked into the study room — that quiet guy from your math class who always sat in the back, the one who seemed to solve complex equations like they were simple addition. You'd seen him around, of course, but you'd never really paid attention before. He was just... there. Part of the academic backdrop of college life, like migraines and coffee stains.
But now, as he looked up from his meticulously organized notes, something shifted. Maybe it was the way the afternoon light caught his white hair, or how his round glasses couldn't quite hide the startling blue of his eyes. Had they always been that blue? And when he spoke, his voice was deeper than you expected, rich and warm like honey.
"Uh, hi," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "I'm Satoru. Nanami-sensei said you needed a tutor. Maths, right?"
He stood from his chair, nearly knocking over a stack of textbooks in his haste to shake your hand. His hand, when you took it, was surprisingly warm and soft, though his grip was a little too tight, and you couldn't help but notice how he towered over you even with his slightly hunched posture.
Up close, you found yourself noticing things you'd somehow missed during all those lectures — like the sharp line of his jaw, the faint shadow of his stubble, or the way his hand swallowed yours whole. Even the sweater vest he wore (which should have been insanely uncool) somehow worked for him in a way you couldn't quite explain.
"So… where do you want to start?"
And just like that, it began. Twice a week, tutoring sessions, afternoons that slowly evolved into something neither of you could quite solve for. Because here's what Satoru's calculations hadn't accounted for — the way you'd scrunch your nose when concentrating, the sudden brightness of your smile when you finally understood a concept, or how your perfume would make it impossible to focus on derivatives.
And your variables? They never included the endearing way he'd push his glasses up when flustered, how his eyes would light up when explaining complex theories, or the fact that beneath that nerdy shell lurked a wickedly sharp sense of humor.
But perhaps some equations weren't meant to be solved. Perhaps they're meant to be experienced, one tutoring session at a time.
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"Okay, explain to me again why I can't just try random numbers until something works?" You were sprawled across the library table, exhausted after hours of studying. Your head ached from staring at equations for so long, textbooks and papers strewn about in complete chaos.
Satoru rubbed his own tired eyes behind his glasses, but his voice remained patient as ever. Even after spending the entire afternoon explaining the same concepts, he hadn't shown a single sign of frustration. "Because that's not how calculus works. You need to understand the underlying principles—"
"But the underlying principles hate me." You dropped your head onto your textbook with a groan. "Can't we just agree that whoever invented all this shit was a sadist and call it a day?"
"Newton invented calculus," he said, then immediately regretted it when he saw your expression. "Though, uh, Leibniz developed it independently around the same time, which actually led to a controversy in the mathematical community—"
"Satoru," you cut him off, but there was fondness in your voice. "You're doing the thing again."
"What thing?" He pushed his glasses up.
"Your nerdy thing where you get all excited about math history." You sat up, propping your chin on your hand. "It's cute, but it's not helping me understand why this limit doesn't exist."
He nearly dropped his pencil. Had you just called him cute? No, you'd called his nerdy rambling cute. There was a difference. Probably. He'd have to analyze that later.
"Right, um, the limit." He cleared his throat, trying to remember how to form coherent sentences. "Think of it like a cheerleading routine."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Just... bear with me." He sketched a quick graph. "When you're doing a flip, there's a point where you're neither going up nor coming down, right? That's kind of like this limit—it's approaching a point where the function isn't quite doing either thing."
"Did you just... learn cheerleading terms to explain calculus to me?"
Heat crept up his neck. "I may have watched some videos. For educational purposes."
"That's..." you trailed off, looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite calculate. "That's actually really sweet."
"Oh... uhm, I'm just trying to be a good tutor," he said, but his heart was doing something strange, something he'd never felt before. It definitely defied all known laws of physics.
"Well, Mr. Good Tutor," you leaned closer, and he caught another whiff of your perfume, "explain it to me again. Using more cheer analogies."
And so he did, drawing parallels between derivatives and tumbling passes, using formations to explain functions, and somehow, the math started making sense. By the end of the session, you'd not only grasped the concept but had also taught him the proper terms for various stunts. A fair trade, he thought, even if the librarian had shushed you both multiple times.
As you packed up your books, you paused, twirling your pencil in a way that completely distracted him from his thoughts. "Hey, we have a big game this Friday. Against State. I'll be cheering, obviously."
"Oh." He began cleaning his glasses, a nervous habit you'd come to find oddly endearing. "That's... good luck?"
"I'm inviting you, dummy." You rolled your eyes, but your smile was warm. "You should come watch. See how the other half lives."
"The other half meaning...?"
You gave him a look. "People who don't spend their Friday nights solving equations for fun."
"I... um..." A faint blush rose on his cheeks as he fumbled with his glasses. "I've never really been to a game before."
"Then it's time you finally have the full college experience." You shouldered your bag, then leaned down to write something on his notebook. "Here's my number. So you can text me when you get there. I'll make sure to wave at you during our halftime routine."
Before he could manage a response that wasn't completely pathetic, you were gone in a swish of pleated skirt and floral perfume, leaving him staring at your phone number like it was a problem set from the deepest reaches of abstract algebra.
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Satoru spent the next three days debating whether or not to text you, writing and rewriting messages that never got sent. What was the protocol here? Was there a specific formula for how long to wait? Should he reference tutoring to keep it professional?
In the end, you'd asked someone in his physics course for his number and texted him first,
You: Hope you're still planning to come to the game tomorrow! Look for me in the front of the formation.
He stared at his phone for so long his screen went dark. Then, taking a deep breath, he typed:
Satoru: Should I bring my textbook to study during halftime?
Your response was immediate: NO omg spare me! No books allowed! Just come watch me flip through the air.
Satoru: I'll try to come. Is there a dress code?
You: Great! Promise I'll make it worth your while & No dress code. But if you ask me, I'd say wear something blue. It suits your eyes.
Suits my eyes? he thought, a strange warmth spreading through him as he starred at the text. He’d never considered his eyes particularly noteworthy. They were just…blue. Nothing like yours, which were…well, yours were something else entirely. He couldn't quite describe them, but they were captivating, drawing him in like an infinite decimal, endlessly fascinating and impossible to fully comprehend. His own eyes, by comparison, felt plain, almost…functional.
Stop. He was overthinking this. It was just a game. He was just going to watch you cheer. That was all.
And that's how Satoru found himself standing in front of his mirror on Friday night, wearing the only casual clothes he owned — dark jeans and a blue button-down his sister had forced him to buy. Though he kept his favorite sweater vest over it. He'd even attempted to style his usually messy white hair, but it still fell in his eyes no matter what he did.
Walking into the packed stadium felt like stepping into another world. He had never been to a college game before — his weekends usually involved physics journals and quiet library corners, not roaring crowds and marching bands.
He found a seat near the front, as your text had instructed, and immediately spotted you warming up with the rest of the team. The energy you brought to math was nothing compared to this. Your movements were precise, athletic, stunning. Your uniform shimmered under the stadium lights and your smile could have lit up the entire campus.
When the game began, he tried to follow the action on the field, he really did. But his eyes kept gravitating towards you, leading your squad through each cheer. He found himself analyzing the physics of your movements — the perfect parabolic arc of your jumps, the calculated precision of each flip, the way you seemed to defy gravity itself when thrown into the air.
But it was during halftime that his brain truly short-circuited. Your squad took the field for their main routine, and there you were, front and center, exactly as promised. He watched in awe as you were lifted into complicated formations, your movements so graceful they made his carefully ordered world tilt on its axis. When you pulled off a series of flips that seemed to defy gravity, he actually found himself calculating the rotational velocity in his head, just to make sense of how you'd done it.
You spotted him in the crowd during one sequence, flashing him a smile that made him forget every equation he'd ever memorized from his mental hard drive. Your eyes met his just before you were launched into another stunt, and he swore his heart momentarily flatlined, a zero on the number line of his existence, until you landed safely.
Even from the bleachers, he could see how the effort brought a lovely pink blush to your cheeks, and yet you made it all look so effortless. You were radiant, breathtaking in a way that no mathematical formula could ever quantify. And in that moment, watching you shine in your element, Satoru realized he was in serious trouble.
After the routine, you broke away from your squad and made your way up to where he sat. Your face was still flushed, loose strands of hair clinging to your neck, and even slightly out of breath, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"So?" you asked, dropping onto the bench beside him. "How'd I do? Any notes on my rotational mechanics, professor?" Your attempt at a teasing smile turned into a slight wince as you rolled your shoulder.
"Are you okay?" His hands hover uncertainly near your shoulder.
"Just a bit sore. That last lift was..." You rolled your shoulder again, grimacing.
Without thinking, Satoru shrugged off his sweater vest and draped it over your shoulders. "You'll catch a cold." He noticed how the cooling sweat had left your arms covered in goosebumps. His vest was ridiculously large on you, but something about seeing you wrapped in his clothes made his heart do strange things in his chest.
"My hero." You smiled tiredly and pulled the vest tighter around you. It smelled like him, like clean laundry and whatever subtly pleasant cologne he wore. "But you didn't answer my question. What did you think?"
"I think you broke all known laws of physics out there. Your trajectory during that last flip sequence was..." He caught himself rambling on about angles and momentum and quickly changed course. "You were amazing."
You leaned your head against his shoulder, the simple gesture making his breath catch. "Thanks for coming. It's nice to see a familiar face in the crowd."
"You have plenty of people watching you," he said , hesitantly letting his arm settle around your shoulders when you shivered slightly. "The whole stadium was cheering for you."
"Yeah, but..." you paused, and he could feel your smile against his shoulder. "Somehow, seeing your face out there made me the happiest. Especially since I know this isn't really your scene."
"I'm glad I came," he said. "Though I did bring flash cards, just in case."
Your laugh was warm against his neck. "Of course you did, you giant nerd." There was unmistakable affection in your voice that made his pulse quicken.
"Someone has to keep your GPA up." He was proud that his voice remained steady, even as you snuggled closer into his side.
"Mmm, about that..." You stifled a yawn. "I might need extra help with derivatives next week."
"Of course." Satoru tried to ignore how right it felt to have you leaning against him. "Same time as always."
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The following week, something had shifted between you. Maybe it was because he'd seen you in your element, or because you were still wearing his sweater vest (which you'd "forgotten" to return), but the usual study room felt different somehow. Warmer. More intimate.
You'd chosen to sit closer to him than usual, close enough that your arm brushed his whenever you reached for your calculator all while the light, floral scent of your shampoo kept pulling his focus away from the equations.
"So, if we take the derivative here…" he began, but lost his train of thought when you leaned closer to see what he was writing, your ponytail brushing against his shoulder.
"Like this?" You picked up your pencil to attempt the problem, your free hand absently playing with the sleeve of his sweater vest you wore.
He had to clear his throat before speaking. "Almost. Here, let me show you." His hand covered yours as he guided your pencil through the correct steps, and he couldn't help but notice how soft your skin was, or how neither of you pulled away even after the equation was solved.
"You're a really good teacher, you know?" you said quietly, your hand still beneath his. "I actually understand this stuff now."
The proud smile you gave him made his heart flutter in his chest. Somehow, making you understand calculus felt more significant than any academic achievement he'd ever earned.
"You know," you said, finally pulling your hand away from his to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "you help me so much with all this. I feel like I should do something for you in return."
His glasses fogged up slightly as he rushed to respond. "Oh! No, you don't have to—I mean, this is... I enjoy—"
"Come on, there must be something." You turned in your chair to face him. "Oh! Do you need help meeting someone? Like, dating-wise?"
Satoru nearly chocked on air. "What?"
"Yeah! I mean, I could introduce you to someone! Actually, Sarah from my squad was just saying how smart guys are totally her type—"
"I'm not—" he started, then stopped, his cheeks flushing. "That is…I'm already…there's someone I…"
"Oh? Tell me! Who's the lucky girl?" You tried to keep your voice light and cheerful even as something heavy settled in your chest. You weren't sure why the thought of Satoru being interested in someone made your stomach twist so uncomfortably. After all, it made sense — he was brilliant, kind, and underneath those sweater vests and thick glasses, he was actually really handsome. Of course he'd have feelings for someone.
"It's... complicated. She's way out of my league. Popular, athletic, beautiful..." He trailed off, adjusting his glasses.
"Satoru Gojo," you said, poking his arm, ignoring the way your heart seemed to sink with each word he spoke about this mystery girl, "are you holding out on me? Come on, spill! Who is she? Maybe I can help—" Even as you offered, you realized you really, really didn't want to help him get together with anyone else.
"We should probably get back to derivatives," he cut in quickly, his face now completely red. "Don't you have a exam next week?"
"Right. Yeah. The exam." You turned back to your textbook, trying to focus on the equations that suddenly seemed blurry.
You found yourself stealing glances at him as he explained the next problem, wondering about this girl who had caught his attention. Was she in one of his advanced physics classes? Someone who could actually understand all the complex theories he got so excited about? The thought made your chest ache, like a bruise blooming beneath your ribs.
Satoru seemed equally distracted. His usually clear explanations were interrupted by nervous pauses whenever your hands accidentally brushed. He kept adjusting his glasses, and somehow managed to knock over his pencil three times in the span of five minutes.
"Sorry," he mumbled after the third time, both of you reaching for the pencil at the same time and quickly pulling back when your fingers touched. "I'm not usually this... I mean, I should be more..."
"It's okay." You smiled, even though your heart felt heavy. "We all have off days. Even brilliant tutors."
He looked at you then, really looked at you, and in his blue eyes, you saw a question hanging in the air between you. For a moment, it seemed like he might voice it, but then he quickly looked away, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Maybe we should call it a day." You needed to get out of there, needed space to process why knowing he liked someone hurt so much. "I think my brain is full of derivatives anyway."
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Was it your imagination, or did he sound disappointed? "Same time next week?"
"Yeah," you managed, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You were still wearing his sweater vest, you realized. "Oh, I should give this back—"
"Keep it," he said quickly, then immediately looked like he regretted speaking. "I mean, if you want to. For studying. It might help with... derivatives."
"Derivatives. Right." You hugged the vest closer. "Well, thanks for today." You hesitated at the door, fingers playing nervously with the soft fabric of the vest. "Oh, um... we have another game next Friday. Against Eastern. If you're not too busy, maybe you could come? You don't have to, obviously, but it was nice having you there last time."
"I'll be there." And those simple words made you feel lighter than air.
"Great," you said. "And good luck with... you know. Your crush and everything."
You hurried out before he could respond, missing the way he watched you leave with a longing expression, or how he whispered "You have no idea" to the empty study room.
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The next Friday came quickly, and true to his word, Satoru was there in the same spot as last time, his blue eyes following your every movement. The game was going well, the energy in the stadium electric, and your squad was nailing every routine.
Then came the halftime show.
Everything started perfectly — the music, the formations, the stunts all flowing together just as practiced. You caught Satoru's eye just before your final sequence, his presence somehow both calming and exciting at the same time. But then something went wrong.
Your base thrower put too much power into the toss. You felt it the moment you left his hands. Too much height, too much force. Your trained body tried to adjust in the air, but the angle was off. Instead of landing cleanly in the waiting arms of your teammates, you came down awkwardly, taking most of the impact on your left side.
The crowd gasped. You bounced up immediately, muscle memory and pride making you finish the routine with a smile, even as pain shot through your shoulder and hip. Your squad mates shot you concerned looks, but you waved them off.
But as soon as the music ended and the crowd's attention returned to the game, you felt the full effect of the fall. Your vision swam slightly, and your left arm didn't want to move quite right. Still, you maintained your smile, not wanting to worry anyone.
After the game, you tried to slip away unnoticed, your shoulder still hurting from the bad landing, when Jake — your base thrower — cornered you near the locker rooms.
"Hey, wait up!" Jake had been trying to get your attention for weeks, his throws getting more aggressive as if he wanted to prove something. "You okay? That last stunt was pretty intense."
"I'm fine," you said curtly, taking a step back. "Though maybe next time try not to throw me into orbit?"
He moved closer, using his height to crowd your space. "Come on, don't be like that. I was just trying to make you look good out there. You know I'd never hurt you on purpose." His voice dropped lower as he leaned in. "Maybe I could make it up to you? There's a party at my place tonight..."
"I said I'm fine." You tried to step around him, but he blocked your path with his arm against the wall. "Jake, back off."
"Why are you being so cold? Everyone knows you're the best flyer on the squad, I was just trying to show that off. Besides," his eyes narrowed slightly, "I've seen how you've been spending time with that nerdy tutor. What's his deal anyway?"
"That's none of your—"
"Is there a problem here?"
Satoru's voice cut through the scene, surprisingly firm for someone who usually stumbled over casual greetings. He stepped between you and Jake, and for the first time, you realized just how physically imposing Satoru actually was. His usual oversized sweaters and shy demeanor had always made him seem smaller somehow, but standing next to Jake, you could see that Satoru was actually taller, his shoulders just as broad. Something about the way he positioned himself — protective, solid, unmovable — made your heart race.
"This is none of your business," Jake snapped, but you noticed how he took a small step back, clearly reassessing the situation now that he was face-to-face with someone who matched him physically.
"When you throw my friend at dangerous velocities and then proceed to intimidate her?" Satoru's voice was cold in a way you'd never heard before. "That makes it my business."
"Your friend?" Jake scoffed. "Since when does a nerd like you—"
"Back. Off." Each word was precise, and though Satoru's voice remained quiet, there was steel beneath the softness. He shifted slightly, making sure you were completely shielded behind him.
Something in his tone must have registered because Jake finally stepped back, holding up his hands. "Whatever, man. Didn't realize she had a bodyguard." He shot you one last look before walking away. "See you at practice."
The moment Jake was gone, Satoru turned to you, his stern expression melting into concern. "Are you okay? That landing looked bad, and now this... Do you need to report him? I can go with you to—"
"I'm okay," you said. "Just sore. And annoyed. Jake's been... difficult lately."
"He shouldn't have thrown you like that. The angle was completely wrong and the force way too much. I calculated the trajectory and it was at least thirty percent more power than necessary for—" He caught himself rambling and adjusted his glasses. "Sorry. I just... I was worried."
You couldn't help but smile at how quickly he'd switched from intimidating protector back to your adorably nervous tutor. It was also…endearing. And it did something strange to your insides, a fluttery sensation, like a thousand tiny butterflies had suddenly taken flight in your stomach. It was a feeling you couldn't quite name, but it made you want to lean closer to him, to thank him, to…something. You weren't sure what.
"Don't apologize. It's cute when you get all mathematical about things. And... thank you. For stepping in like that."
He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered by your praise. "Um, are you... hungry?"
You smiled. "Starving, actually."
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You and Satoru headed to the diner around the corner from the stadium, a cozy, retro place you loved — all chrome and neon, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox humming in the corner. You slid into a booth while Satoru ordered milkshakes and burgers for both of you, and somehow you weren't surprised that he remembered your favorite flavor from that one time you'd mentioned it during a study session weeks ago.
You talked about everything. Silly stories, your cheerleading, his lab accidents and he even revealed that he rock climbed in his spare time, which, you realized, explained a lot. You found yourself laughing more than you had in ages, and every time you made him laugh in return, that warm feeling in your chest grew stronger.
Before you knew it, two hours had passed, your milkshakes long empty and the burgers nothing but crumbs. The diner had mostly emptied out, the neon lights outside casting colorful shadows across your table.
"Is that what you want to do?" you said as your eyes fell on the physics textbook peeking out of Satoru's bag while you stole one of his remaining fries, "After college, I mean? Something with physics?"
"Yeah, I'm hoping to get into the quantum physics program. They only accept a few students each year, but their research on quantum entanglement is insane. They're working on this project with superconductors that could change how we think about wave function collapse. And their particle accelerator facility is one of the best in the country, so I really hope to..." he trailed off, suddenly looking shy. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you."
"No, not at all!" You found yourself genuinely interested in the way his whole face brightened when talking about physics. "It's nice seeing someone who knows exactly what they want."
"What about you?" he asked softly, pushing another fry your way. "Any plans?"
You sighed, slumping back in the booth. "Honestly? I have no idea. Something that doesn't involve math, that's for sure." You tried to laugh it off. "Maybe communications? Or business? I just... sometimes it feels like everyone else has it all figured out."
"You're actually better at math than you think. You just approach problems differently. More creatively. Like how you connected those derivatives to your cheer routines last week? That was smart."
You felt your face warm at his words and fidgeted with your straw wrapper. "You're just saying that because you're my tutor."
"I'm saying it because it's true." The firmness in his voice made you look up. His blue eyes met yours with an intensity that made you feel truly seen. "And whatever you choose to do, you'll be amazing at it. You're brilliant in ways that can't be measured by math."
Something in your chest squeezed at his words, at how completely sincere he sounded. No one had ever looked at you quite like that before, like they could see past the cheerleader uniform to something more. You opened your mouth to respond, but found yourself at a loss for words. Seeming to sense your nervousness, Satoru cleared his throat and changed the subject. "So, um... about earlier. Does that happen often? With Jake, I mean?"
You let out a heavy sigh. "Jake's been... persistent. We went on one date last semester. Probably the worst decision I've ever made. He spent the whole time talking about himself and got angry when I wouldn't kiss him goodnight." You stirred your melting milkshake absently. "Ever since then, he's been acting like he has some kind of claim on me. Using our stunts to show off, getting too close during practice."
"Has he hurt you before? During practice?"
"Not exactly, but..." you hesitated. "Sometimes the way he throws me feels more like he's trying to prove something than actually do the routine right. Like today."
"You should report him. What he's doing isn't safe. If he's letting his personal feelings affect—" Satoru's hands tightened around his milkshake glass. "Sorry, I just... I don't like the idea of him putting you at risk."
You paused at the sudden intensity of his words, and somehow they made your heart melt like ice cream on a summer day. "You're so sweet," you said quietly.
"I'm just worried," he replied, then quickly added, "As your tutor, I mean. Can't have my student getting injured."
"Right. As my tutor," you echoed, trying to ignore the strange ache at his words. "Of course."
The walk back to your dorm was quiet but comfortable, the night air cool against your skin. Satoru walked close enough that your arms occasionally brushed, sending little sparks through you each time. You found yourself walking slower than necessary, trying to stretch out these last few moments with him. When you reached your building, you turned to face him, suddenly nervous.
"Thanks for everything tonight. The rescue, the dinner, just... everything."
"Anytime," he said softly, the streetlight catching his blue eyes, making them seem impossibly bright beneath his white lashes.
Before you could overthink it, you rose on your tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm under your lips, and you could feel him freeze at the contact. When you pulled back, his face was completely red, one hand touching the spot where you'd kissed him like he couldn't quite believe it had happened. His glasses were slightly fogged up, and something about how adorably flustered he looked made you brave.
"Can I ask you something?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them. "Have you... I mean, do you have much experience? With girls?" You immediately wanted to die of embarrassment. "Sorry, that's so personal, you don't have to—"
"No!" he blurted, then winced at how loud that came out. "I mean, not really. I've been... focused on academics mostly. And girls don't usually..." he trailed off, adjusting his glasses in that nervous way of his. "Why do you ask?"
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. "Can I..." You swallowed hard, gathering every bit of strength you had. "Would it be okay if I kissed you?"
His eyes widened behind his glasses, lips parting in surprise. For a moment, he seemed to be running calculations in his head, processing your words like data input. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
Rising on your tiptoes again, you gently pressed your lips to his. He was completely still at first, seemingly frozen in shock, and for a terrifying moment you thought you'd made a horrible mistake. But then his hand came up to cup your face, surprisingly steady for someone who'd been so nervous moments before, and suddenly he was kissing you back.
And oh — for someone with "not really" any experience, he kissed like he'd been thinking about this for ages. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss with a confidence that made your knees weak. Your hands fisted in his sweater vest as his thumb stroked your cheek, and you couldn't help the small sound that escaped when he gently caught your lower lip between his.
When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathing hard. His glasses were completely fogged up now, but you could still see the intensity in his eyes behind them. He hadn't moved away completely, his hand still cupping your face, your bodies close enough that you could feel the slight trembling in his breathing as you tried to process how your adorably awkward tutor had just given you the best kiss of your life.
"See you at our next tutoring session?" His thumb brushed your cheek one last time before he slowly pulled back.
You could only manage a nod, your mind still fuzzy from the kiss. As you watched him walk away, occasionally glancing back at you with that sweet, slightly dazed smile, you realized math had suddenly become your favorite subject.
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You'd been staring at the same equation for ten minutes now, but none of the numbers made sense. How could they, when all you could think about was that kiss from the other night? The way Satoru's hand had felt on your face, how confidently he'd pulled you closer, the soft brush of his thumb against your cheek—
"Are you okay? You seem distracted."
His voice snapped you back to reality. You were in your usual study room, but everything felt different now. The space seemed smaller somehow, more crowded. The fact that it was unusually warm for spring didn't help. Satoru had rolled up the sleeves of his button-down to his elbows, his sweater vest abandoned over the back of his chair. You'd never realized how distracting forearms could be until now.
"I'm fine!" you said too quickly, forcing your eyes back to your textbook. "Just... struggling with this problem."
"Here, let me show you." He leaned closer and reached for your pencil, his hand brushing yours in the process. You both froze at the contact, the air between you growing thick with unspoken thoughts.
"Sorry," he murmured, but didn't move away. This close, you could see the faint freckles dusting his cheeks and nose, how his blue eyes darted briefly to your lips before returning to the textbook.
You weren't sure who was actually more distracted. You, who couldn't stop thinking about that kiss, or him, who kept adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat whenever your hands accidentally touched. The usual comfortable silence of your study sessions had turned electric, charged with everything neither of you were saying.
"Maybe we should take a break," you suggested, your voice coming out slightly breathless when he reached across you to grab an eraser, his arm brushing your shoulder.
"Right. Yeah. Good idea." He leaned back in his chair, both of you falling quiet. You could practically see him thinking, the way he always did before solving a complex problem, while your own thoughts kept drifting back to that kiss, to how surprisingly confident he'd been—
"About the other night—" you both started at the same time, then laughed nervously.
"You go first," he said, adjusting his glasses.
You took a deep breath. "I liked it." Your face felt hot, but you forced yourself to continue. "I mean the kiss. It was good. Like, really good. Which kind of surprised me because you said you didn't have much experience, and I was wondering..."
"If I lied?" He gave a small, self-ironic laugh. "No, I meant what I said. I haven't... I mean, there haven't been many girls. Actually," he cleared his throat, looking everywhere but at you, "there haven't been any. Girls, I mean. Before."
Your eyes widened. "Wait, was that your first kiss?"
"No! I mean… I've kissed a few girls before, but nothing serious. I was always too focused on academics to really... pursue anything."
Pursue anything? What did that even mean? Your mind was already racing with thoughts of how much you wanted to pursue everything with him. The study room suddenly felt too small, too warm. You stood up abruptly, needing to move, to do something with this nervous energy coursing through you.
After pacing a few steps, you turned back to him. "Would you... want to kiss me again?" The words came out in a rush, and you immediately wanted to take them back when you saw his stunned expression. "Sorry, that was probably too forward. If you don't want to, that's totally okay, I just thought—"
Your rambling stopped as Satoru stood and walked to the door behind you. He turned the lock with a soft click that made your breath catch. When he turned back to you, there was that confidence again, the kind that made you weak in the knees.
And then you were against the bookshelf, his hands cupping your face as his mouth found yours. This kiss was different from your first — more urgent, less hesitant. One of his hands slid into your hair, the other dropped to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.
You gasped against his lips, your hands gripping his shirt as he kissed you like he'd been thinking about this all day — which, based on how distracted you'd both been during studying, he probably had.
He pressed your back further against the bookshelf, the force of his kiss sending several books tumbling to the floor. Neither of you paid any attention. You were too focused on his hand tightening in your hair, the surprising strength of his grip on your waist.
Then, without warning, his hands slid down to your thighs, and he lifted you effortlessly. You gasped in surprise. All those times you’d wondered about the strength of his broad shoulders hidden beneath his sweater vests… turns out you hadn't been imagining things. He carried you to the study table, setting you gently on the edge.
You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively as he stepped between them, one of his hands bracing on the table beside you while the other cupped your face. His kiss deepened, his tongue tracing your lips before slipping inside. "Is this okay?" he murmured against your mouth, always thoughtful even in moments like this.
You nodded, pulling him closer by his shirt. "More than okay."
"Would you want me to—I mean… can I... try something?"
Try? What does he want to try? Your pulse quickened and you simply nodded, not trusting your voice, already breathless from how he said 'try' like you were his favorite research subject.
His lips found yours again as he gently pressed you back against the table, your math notes scattering forgotten to the floor. His mouth moved to your neck, drawing a soft gasp from you while one hand traced down your side with surprising confidence, his body fitting perfectly between your legs. And you began to wonder, for someone who claimed to be inexperienced, Satoru seemed to know exactly what he was doing — and if this was him being inexperienced, heaven help you when he gained some confidence.
His mouth then traveled lower and lower, lifting one of your legs up over his shoulder so that he could kiss down your inner thighs and your last coherent thought, before his lips were on you, was that some lessons were definitely best learned outside textbooks.
Everything that followed were barely contained curses and moans as Satoru pushed two fingers inside, pressing deep and slow while his tongue worked on you. It wasn't long before you came, you back arched, pressing closer to him as you reached your climax, your thighs involuntarily closing around his head. But he was quick to react, grabbing your thighs and spreading them apart, his tongue still on you, drawing out every last shudder of your orgasm until you thought you couldn't take it anymore, your fingers tightening in his hair, not sure if you wanted him closer or to pull him off you.
It took you a few moments to come back to reality. Your breathing heavy, body still trembling as you tried to process what just happened. Your brilliant, sweet, cute, nerdy math tutor had just made you cum on that table in the study room of your college in a matter of minutes — and it was better than any long sex you'd ever had with anyone else.
Satoru slowly eased his fingers out of you and kissed your thighs again, as if he couldn't get enough of you. You didn't say anything for a long time, so he must have been getting nervous, because then he asked, "Was that... okay?"
You pushed yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He adjusted his glasses, which were clearly covered with something liquid you were sure came from you, in that adorably nervous way of his.
"Okay?" You let out a breathless laugh. "How are you so... I mean, where did you learn to...?"
"I'm good at… studying."
You were silent.
"Hah?"
✮ ⋆ ˚｡♡ ⋆｡°✩
The days following your tutoring session in the study room felt like walking through a dream. Neither of you had explicitly talked about what happened — what it meant, what you were to each other now. Your study sessions continued like always, like he hadn’t made you cum on this precise table with his mouth just a few days before. So much for being inexperienced.
Satoru remained surprisingly composed, if a bit more touchy than before. His hand lingered on your lower back when he leaned in to check your work, his fingers brushing strands of hair behind your ear when you concentrated. You caught him watching you with that intense blue gaze more often, though he'd quickly look away and adjust his glasses when you met his eyes.
You figured he was waiting until after your upcoming exam, not wanting to distract you more than he already did. Though honestly, how were you supposed to focus on math when all you could think about was his hands, his mouth, the way he'd— okay, let's not go there.
At least cheerleading practice had gotten better. Jake had done a complete 180° shift in behavior. No more aggressive throws, no more hovering around after practice, not even the usual suggestive comments. It was almost unsettling how quickly he'd backed off, though you weren't about to question the peace.
It was during one of your regular study sessions, while you were working through practice problems for your upcoming exam, that Satoru finally brought it up.
"How has Jake been lately?"
"Oh, uhm… actually, really good. Well, not good exactly, more like... absent?" You tapped your own pencil against your textbook thoughtfully. "He barely speaks to me anymore, which is weird considering how persistent he was before. It's like someone scared him off or..." You paused, the pieces suddenly clicking together. "Satoru, did you say something to him?"
He pushed his glasses up, a tell you'd learned meant he was either nervous or hiding something. "We may have had a conversation."
"A conversation," you repeated flatly.
"About physics." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Specifically about force, momentum, and the potential consequences of their misuse."
"Satoru!"
"What?" He finally looked up at you, and there was that flash of confidence again, the kind that made your heart flutter. "I simply explained some basic principles. Like how someone with my understanding of applied physics could theoretically calculate exactly how much force it would take to—"
"You threatened him with physics?" You weren't sure whether to be horrified or impressed.
"It was more like an educational discussion." His blue eyes met yours, surprisingly serious. "I don't like seeing people I care about being put in dangerous situations."
Your heart stuttered at his words. People he cared about. That was... something. Maybe not a definition of what you were to each other, but definitely something.
"So," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite your racing pulse, "you care about me?"
His hand stilled on the page. For a moment, he just looked at you, and the intensity in his gaze made you forget how to breathe. "Didn't what happened in this room last week make that fairly obvious?"
Heat rushed to your face at the memory. "We haven't really talked about that."
"No," he agreed softly. "We haven't."
The air between you grew thick with longing. Your practice problems lay forgotten as you both gravitated closer, drawn together like opposing charges in one of his physics equations.
"I wanted to wait," he admitted. "Until after your exam. I didn't want to..." He swallowed hard as you shifted closer. "To distract you."
"You're always distracting," you whispered, close enough now to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. "With your stupid glasses and your physics metaphors and the way you explain math like it's poetry."
His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek in that way that made you melt. "We should probably talk about this properly."
"Probably," you agreed, already leaning in.
"After your exam," he murmured against your lips.
"After my exam," you echoed, and then his mouth was on yours, and for a while, neither of you did much talking at all.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡♡ ⋆｡°✩
You almost floated through the library's quiet halls, clutching your exam results to your chest. The paper was slightly crumpled from how many times you'd unfolded and refolded it, just to make sure the grade was real. Third highest in the course. You. In maths. It felt surreal.
The library was nearly empty, everyone else either at the game or starting their weekend celebrations. You should have been there too, in your uniform leading cheers, but your shoulder still hurt slightly from that bad landing last week. As much as you hated missing a game, the forced rest had given you extra time to study, which clearly paid off.
Besides, you knew exactly where to find him — the same spot where he always studied on Friday nights, tucked away in the far corner between the physics and mathematics sections.
Sure enough, there he was, surrounded by his usual fortress of textbooks. His white hair caught the warm light from the desk lamp, falling into his eyes as he bent over what looked like quantum mechanics homework. He hadn't noticed you yet, and for a moment you just watched him, feeling your heart swell with affection for this brilliant, ridiculous man who had somehow made you understand derivatives.
"Guess who got an A?" you announced, dropping into the chair across from him.
Satoru's head snapped up, his blue eyes widening behind his glasses. "You got your results?"
You slid the paper across to him, unable to contain your smile. "Third highest in the course. Can you believe it?"
He scanned the paper, and the pride that bloomed across his face made your chest tight. "I can absolutely believe it." His smile was soft, genuine. "You worked so hard for this."
"I had a pretty amazing tutor," you said. "Thank you. For believing I could do this even when I didn't."
"You did all the work. I just helped you see what was already there." But as he spoke, you noticed something in his expression — a tightness around his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders. Now that your excitement was settling, you could see his exhaustion.
"Are you okay? You look... stressed."
He let out a long breath, running his hand through his already messy white hair. "That obvious, huh?" He gestured to the complex equations covering his notebook. "I've been working on this quantum mechanics assignment. There's this one problem that's just..." He trailed off, frustration evident in his voice.
"Wait, something the great Satoru Gojo can't solve?" you teased gently, but your smile faded when you saw the genuine worry in his eyes. "How long have you been working on this?"
"Since..." He glanced at his watch and winced. "Before sunrise?"
You looked at the dark windows, realizing the sun had long since set. "You've been here all day?"
"Had to get it right." He stifled a yawn. "It's an important assignment and I just can't seem to get it right."
"You need a break."
"But I'm so close, I can feel it. If I just—" His words cut off as you disappeared under the table. He looked down, eyes widening behind his glasses as you crawl under the table to his side and settled between his legs.
"What are you..." His voice caught as your hands slid up his thighs. "Someone could—"
"The library's empty." Your fingers were already working on his belt. "And you need to relax."
"This is a terrible idea," he said, but his breathing had already grown uneven.
"Then tell me to stop." You looked up at him through your lashes, enjoying how his pupils dilated. Instead of answering, his hand slid into your hair, and you took that as permission to help him forget about quantum mechanics for a while.
His breath hitched as you undid the button of his pants, the zipper sliding down with a soft hiss. His cock was bigger than you'd thought, and your eyes widened slightly as you took in the sight, your fingers tracing the length, feeling his veins beneath your touch. Why is it always the quiet guys with the biggest cocks?
You moved slowly at first, wanting to give him the full experience if this was to be his first blowjob ever, your breath ghosting over him before you finally took him into your mouth. You started with just the tip, your tongue swirling around it, tasting his precum, before licking along the sensitive underside of his shaft, and then sealing your lips around him.
"Oh god, that's... that's—fuck it’s so good." His head tilted back, eyes closing, his voice strained with the effort of keeping quiet.
His hand tightened in your hair, not pushing but holding, gently guiding your movements. With his other hand, he gripped his math notes on the table, the pages crinkling under his tight grasp as if they were his last hold on sanity.
You took him deep and Satoru swore he could see stars. His moans became more urgent, less restrained. "Yes, just like that, oh fuck, feels so good." His words broken by throaty moans that he tried to muffle with his free hand pressed against his mouth. "You're going to make me—oh god, so close."
His thighs tensed under your hands, his breathing becoming ragged. You could feel every shudder, every twitch of his body. "I'm gonna— I'm—" His words cut off as his orgasm hit, his body tensing, his hand holding your head firmly but gently as he spilled into your mouth, his cum hot against your tongue. "Oh fuck, oh fuck," he gasped, a series of curses tumbling from his lips and amidst the swearing, you swear you caught a fragment of a mathematical theorem, though you might have misheard.
Afterwards, his body trembled, his breathing heavy and uneven, his grip on your hair loosening as he slumped back in his chair, completely spent. "God, that was... fuck, that was amazing."
"Still thinking about that assignment?" you asked innocently, emerging from under the desk to find him looking like a mess, with his face flushed, glasses askew, and his white hair a bit damp around his forehead as he tried to regain his breathing.
"I... I can't even remember my own name right now." He pulled you into his lap for a kiss. His thumb traced your cheek as he kissed you gently, making your heart flutter in your chest.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡♡ ⋆｡°✩
A few weeks later, your head rested comfortably in Satoru's lap as you watched him read through his graded quantum mechanics assignment. Warm sunshine filtered through cherry blossoms above, casting dappled shadows across your shared blanket beneath the old tree on a lazy spring afternoon on campus. A gentle breeze carried the scent of fresh grass and early flowers, ruffling his white hair as he studied the papers held above you.
His glasses caught the sunlight, making his blue eyes look like summer sky caught in glass. Your own textbook lay forgotten beside you on the blanket. You were more interested in watching Satoru and the slight smile that played on his lips.
"So?" you finally asked, reaching up to poke his cheek. "How did you do?"
He looked down at you. "Perfect score." He tilted the paper so you could see the bold A marked in red at the top.
"I knew you could do it!" you exclaimed, reaching up to cup his cheek. "My brilliant quantum genius." You sat up, turning to face him properly, your knees brushing his thighs on the blanket. "I am so proud of you. But I didn't expect less from my tutor."
He leaned into your touch, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "Speaking of tutoring, have you checked your final grade for the semester?"
You had, actually — multiple times, still not quite believing it. "A solid A. Turns out I'm not so bad at maths."
"You were always good at it," he said softly, brushing a fallen petal from your shoulder. "You just needed someone to help you see it differently." He paused, adjusting his glasses in that endearingly nervous way of his, the lenses catching the golden afternoon light. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little sad our tutoring sessions are over."
"Who says they have to be?" You leaned into him. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. "I'm taking Advanced Calculus next semester."
His eyebrows shot up. "Voluntarily?"
"Well," you played with the collar of his sweater vest, "I heard the TA for that class is really cute. Bit of a nerd, but in a hot way. Plus, I have it on good authority that he's dating this amazing cheerleader…"
"Is he now?" His hands tightened on your waist. "Sounds like a lucky guy."
"Oh, he is." You leaned in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Though not as lucky as she is."
He caught your chin and tilted your face up to his. "I love you," he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn't just made your heart stop with those three words.
"I love you too," you whispered back, and when he kissed you, it was sweet and warm like the spring sunshine itself, perfect and precious as the moment suspended around you, there beneath the trees where your love had grown from equations into something far more beautiful.
You intertwined your fingers with his, loving how perfectly they fit together, and couldn't help but smile at how perfectly everything had worked out. Who would have thought that one failing grade in maths would lead to this? To finding love in derivatives and fun in mathematics, to discovering that the quiet genius in the back of class would become your everything?
But then again, maybe it was all just simple math: one struggling student plus one brilliant tutor, multiplied by countless study sessions, divided by shy laughter and hesitant kisses, equals a love story that even mathematics couldn't complicate.
And that was an equation you were more than happy to solve.
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author's note — thank you so much for reading !! to be honest, i've been feeling pretty stuck lately with my longer series, doubting my writing and wondering if i'd lost my spark or so. but i think this story is quite cute and i had so much fun writing it. there's just something so sweet about those library crushes, and falling in love between the pages of textbooks. hope you enjoyed it too !
for more stories check out my masterlist. your support means the world to me. until next time, lots of love & happy early valentine's day <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !
tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna
@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @sugurbo @janbannan
@bloopsstuff @ihearttoru @momoewn @yokosandesu @90s-belladonna
@fairygardenprincesss @juneslove21 @glenkiller338 @gojossugarcandy
© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.
More Posts from Katsukijo and Others
megumi x reader who loves doing her makeup ෆ
you were sitting on your vanity stool, trying a new makeup look you saw on pinterest. megumi was laying on your bed reading a book. you both really dont need to talk to enjoy each others presence, and as an introvert it was one of the things he loved about your relationship (tho he also enjoyed hearing you yap a lot)
after being satisfied with your look, you went to megumi "megu, what do you think of my makeup?" and batted your eyelashes prettily at him. megumi looked up from his book and stared at you for a full 10 seconds.. you were almost getting nervous but then he said "you look..nice," while blushing. "you look good without makeup too but this also suits you, a lot" and he meant it genuinely. you thanked him and kissed his nose and in response he said youd get your lipstick on his nose. so you attacked his cheeks instead and this time he just let you not bc he enjoyed it or anything (he did)
from then on, whenever you applied makeup he will sit right next to you and stare at you, wondering how you could be so pretty. when you open your lips while applying eyeliner he gets cuteness aggression. something about you loving yourself and being confident in yourself makes him feel so proud and happy for you. he also helps you sometimes like moving your hair out of your face when you do your makeup, passing you your mascara, tagging you on makeup inspo tiktoks. spoils you by buying you lippies and you test them by kissing him (loves this part the most lol)
takes cute pics of you after youre done with your makeup. sets them as his wallpaper and posts them on his IG story (his friends are shocked to see an IG story from him bc he rarely posts😭) and now he has highlights dedicated to you. also cutest captions like "my love" or "look at this cutie".
in short he cant get enough of you and your cute hobby of doing makeup. he really has the prettiest gf in the world!
How to breakup with your boyfriend ⸻ not a guide.
tw: mentions of food, just NSFW stuff, mention of periods, oral (m. receiving, f. receiving), p in v sex, no clear pronouns used for the reader, but written as a fem oriented person, insecurities, trauma responses.
If someone asked you what's your boyfriend like? — you'd say, "GREAT!"
And no it is not to compensate for the fact how badly you want to break up with him. It is infact that he is just great! No complaints really. Gojo Satoru was perfect.
He was kind, caring, attentive, and sweet. He knew when to just sit there and agree with you when you're telling him about this horrible fight you had with your parents, and not give you unwanted and unsolicited advice. He also knows exactly at what time to feed your cats, water your plants, how you like your coffee, which days you do your laundry — how you like them done. Which specific clothes are supposed to be sent for dry cleaning, and he drops them off on his way to work and pick them back up when they are done.
Satoru knows what foods you are allergic to, and which ones you're 'allergic' to (read: do not like to eat)—so he will be the first one at a table full of people you've known for decades, to say something like, "oh this dish has corn? Ah. Y/n can't have corn, allergies you know."
He also knows which detergent to pick up, which fabric softer you use. He knows your period dates and the brand of tampons and pads you use. He remembers your birthday, your cat's birthday, your parents' birthday, your bestfriend's birthday! He gets you your favourite cake to celebrate your promotion. He will watch every bad movie, every gore or horror movie and whatever you want, it doesn't matter if he doesn't like them.
He is one of those people who will cover the head of the car's entrence after opening the door for you so you don't hit your head there, he'll cover the corner and the sides of the table as you move around to find something you dropped and urge you to sit back up, so he can pick it up for you.
When you guys kissed for the first time, he let you take the lead, to make you feel comfortable knowing that you're quite inexperienced. He'd rather eat you out for days on, tongue inside you, on your clit, fingers and all than have you give him a head. Unless you want to! And sometimes you do want to. And when you do, despite his urge to push your head down on his cock, he resists. His hands are always in your hair, pushing it back in a comfortable ponytail. Always complimenting you and telling you how well you're doing. He won't leave marks on you if you don't want him to cause of an important work event, he'll even resist his impending urge to bite you. Even sex is just very sweet, he's the most gentle when pushing himself inside you. He simply worships your body and-
Ugh! You get it! He is absolutely picture perfect.
So back to the matter at hand. Why would you ever want to break up with a person like that? Maybe because he is just TOO perfect. There is a thing called overbearing, sometimes it feels like— he's too overwhelming, and all too consumed with you.
You do not really mind the last part—but maybe you don't want a man who's straight out of fiction! You weren't familiar with such treatment all your life really, this all can be too new. You do see him treating others more roughly when needed. But he's just so delicate with you. Not that it is a bad thing, but sometimes you'd rather he stayed rough around the edges. Being treated like a fragile doll to the maximum does sound great in theory, but in practice it can make you feel pathetic.
You have tried to breakup with satoru on multiple occasions. First you started dropping hints here and there, seeming to be uncertain about your future together —all he'd say is, "don't worry your pretty head about the future sweets, I'm planning accordingly."
You've started picking unreasonable fights with him more often, whether you'd get genuinely pissed off or not, you'd fight him over the most silliest things. "Why did you turn over the pillow on this side?? You should know I don't like this side! How could you not know!? It's like you don't even know me Satoru!"
All he'd respond with, "I'm so sorry sweetheart. I am genuinely so disappointed in myself. I hope you can forgive me please. I'll make sure to know which side you prefer better from now on. Please sit down and let me finish painting rest of your nails."
Yeah so that also didn't work out huh.
So you opted for for this weird strategy. You told him you wanted to get a nose job — to make it bigger! (No shaming anyone for wanting that just saying this is a very silly strategy you've decided upon). Satoru just smiled and kissed your nose, told you that whatever you'd like to do, he'd love you anyway (Insufferably loving man).
Then you stopped reciprocating his kisses, doging them even. You went as far as to try to not have sex with him. But this bastard is too good, and unfortunately for you despite wanting to break up with him you just still really love him. Too much. And he loves you. Too much.
You'd move your head away and he'd cradle your head in his hands and make you look at him, then let this staring contest go on until you just give in and pull him into a kiss. He'd be very sly about his choice of clothing, his touches, and get you all riled up that you can't just help it! "What happened to the sex ban sweets?" Satoru would whisper smugly in your ears while thrusting in you. Bastard! Even trying to control your expressions mid sex to make yourself seem disinterested was not on the table! He's just that good.
And infact satoru is better than what you think of him. And he's much more perceptive than what you give him the credit for. Because he picked up on this little mission of yours the exact day you probably thought to yourself —i need to leave him. You stayed up the whole night one day and silently went to the living room to go on the internet and search up articles about 'how to break up with my boyfriend'.
I wouldn't say he was not hurt. But he also understood you. He understood you more than yourself at times. He understands that you haven't had the best childhood and the best parents around, resulting into this hyper independent mindset you've curated. You'd rather bleed to death than ask for help. And he gets that you can sometimes get in your own head about things. But he was ready to tackle those things head on the day he signed up to fall inadvertently in love with you. And if you want to make excuses to your friends about him being too soft for the reason behind wanting to break up with him—
He can show you rough. As long as he gets to keep you all to himself, love you and cherish you. However you want.
PART TWO>>
A/n: dividers by— @/omi-resources. To check out more of my stuff click this.
Yandere!Ranpo x Reader
The clock ticked monotonously in the dim-lit room of the Armed Detective Agency. Edogawa Ranpo sat in his chair, legs crossed, a lollipop hanging lazily from his lips. Outside, the city buzzed with life, but inside, the air was heavy with tension.
You had joined the agency only a few months ago. An average detective at best, you lacked Ranpo’s sharp intuition and quick deductions, but you made up for it with relentless effort and an earnest attitude. Ranpo, however, always seemed to have his eyes on you. At first, you thought it was harmless curiosity. He was, after all, known for his eccentricities. But lately, his gaze lingered a little too long, and his presence loomed a little too close.
It wasn’t until the murder case of a prominent politician landed on your desk that you began to realize just how deep his obsession ran.
The body lay sprawled on the marble floor of a grand estate, a knife protruding from the chest. The politician’s wife sobbed in the corner, surrounded by police officers. You and Ranpo arrived as the agency’s representatives.
While you scrambled to examine the scene, Ranpo remained unbothered, plopping himself down on a nearby chaise lounge.
“Ranpo, aren’t you going to help?” you asked, frustration tinging your voice.
He twirled his lollipop. “Already solved it.”
Your jaw dropped. “You haven’t even looked at the body!”
“I don’t need to,” he said with a grin. “The killer’s obvious. It’s the wife.”
The room fell silent as everyone turned to him. The wife’s sobbing grew louder, her protests more frantic.
“You can’t just accuse someone like that!” you snapped.
Ranpo shrugged, tapping his temple. “Deduction, my dear. Her tears are too perfect. The blood on her sleeve doesn’t match the angle of the wound. It’s staged. She killed him, then called for help to play the grieving widow.”
Despite his confidence, you doubted him. Yet, after a deeper investigation, the evidence confirmed his claims. The wife confessed.
“See?” Ranpo whispered to you as you left the scene. “I’m always right.”
There was something unsettling about the way he said it, as though he reveled in the fact that he was untouchable.
Weeks passed, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Little things started to go missing: your pen, a photo from your desk, even your favorite scarf. You brushed it off as carelessness, but the growing pile of misplaced items gnawed at your nerves.
One evening, you stayed late at the agency, pouring over case files. When you finally stood to leave, you noticed an envelope on your desk.
Curious, you opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper with the words:
“I know you better than you know yourself.”
Your heart raced. Was this a prank? A threat? You glanced around, but the office was empty.
The next day, Ranpo approached you with a smile. “You look tired” he said. “Stayed up late?”
“How did you-” you stopped mid-sentence.
He chuckled. “I know everything about you, silly. Like how you pace when you’re anxious, or how you prefer your coffee black, even though you pretend to like cream and sugar. It’s adorable, really.”
His words sent a chill down your spine. How could he know so much?
It wasn’t until you stumbled upon an abandoned room in the agency’s basement that the pieces began to fall into place. Dust-covered furniture filled the space, but what caught your attention was a bulletin board on the wall.
Your blood ran cold.
Photos of you, some taken at work, others in your own home, were pinned haphazardly. Notes in Ranpo’s distinct handwriting detailed your habits, your favorite places, even your daily routine.
“Looking for something?”
You spun around to see Ranpo standing in the doorway, his usual playful smile replaced with something darker.
“Ranpo… what is this?” you demanded, voice trembling.
He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. “You weren’t supposed to find this yet. But now that you have, I guess there’s no point in hiding it.”
“You’ve been stalking me,” you accused.
“Such an ugly word,” he said, frowning. “I prefer observing. Watching over you, making sure you’re safe.”
“This is insane!” you shouted.
Ranpo tilted his head, his glasses glinting ominously. “Is it? You need me, Y/N. Don’t you see? Without me, you’d still be chasing shadows. I solve your cases, I protect you, I... love you.”
You stepped back, heart pounding. “This isn’t love, Ranpo. This is obsession.”
He sighed, as if disappointed. “Call it what you want, but you’ll realize soon enough. No one else understands you like I do.”
That night, you packed your things and left the city. You couldn’t stay, not with Ranpo’s eyes constantly on you. But no matter how far you ran, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still watching.
And then, one day, a familiar envelope arrived at your new apartment.
Inside was a single piece of paper.
“You can’t hide from me, Y/N. I’ll always find you.”
In the distance, a figure with glasses and a lollipop stood beneath a streetlamp, smiling.
happy pride to all the gay people who believe in lifetime committment
PORT MAFIA
Akutagawa
Shopping headcanons
Enter our three ring show of freaks
I have an excellent father, his strength is making me stronger
Touch me baby put your lips on mine
Recurring visions of such sweet days
And you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖
Chuuya
∘ ʚThe night our lives changed♡..ɞ∘
Horror movies w bsd boys PT. 1/2
Shopping headcanons
⧼ Your beautiful eyes.. ⧽
This is not a puppy love?
Bsd men sending lewd videos to you during work
Tell me everday i get to wake up to that smile
What you know about reachin' peak and inches of death?
Enter our three ring show of freaks
I was made for you baby, being with you makes the flame burn good
I told my friends I hate you but I love you just the same
I have an excellent father, his strength is making me stronger
Embarrassing things that happened in bed
Touch me baby put your lips on mine
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖
Gin
Shopping headcanons
NERD GOJO WHO'S YOUR TA!
synopsis. TA nerd gojo who has a crush on you and gets assigned as your tutor.
content. 18+ explicit content. foul language. public sex. dom/sub undertones. inappropriate relationship. unprotected sex. virginity loss. feminine description used.
note. umm first time posting... enjoy!!
nerdjo, who works as the TA in your chemistry class, and due to your lackluster performance so far in the semester, he gets assigned as your tutor. He's a total nerd whose interests fall outside the typical college student's. Despite that, you still find him to be so cute. He's a little shy and on the quieter side, and his confidence mostly comes through when he's teaching."
nerdjo, who always comes to class early and helps set up labs before the students flock in, is dressed in a sharp white lab coat that pairs well with his shaggy white hair. He always wears his framed glasses, which he constantly has to push up because his head is shoved in some book that you wouldn't even know where to begin to understand.
nerdjo, who didn't even realize that you were no longer listening to his explanation on today's lecture and instead was fantasizing about fucking him in the middle of the dimly lit library that you were studying in. Chemistry was long gone from your mind, and all you could think about was how you desperately craved to see how he’d look as he struggled not cum inside of you.
nerdjo, who only realizes your mind is elsewhere when he glances into your eyes and can tell you didn’t retain a single word he said for the past 20 minutes...at least. He instead notices you're looking at him in a way he can't recall any girl has looked at him before, you were practically staring into his soul with your lust-filled eyes.
nerdjo, who knows it's wrong because he’s your TA but can't help but shamelessly take a glance down at your very low-cut top that pushes the soft skin of your chest together and makes it appear as if you're spilling out of it. He nearly wants to drool at how soft they look under the confines of the fabric and how they would probably fill his hands as he takes your nipples into his—
You caught his wandering eyes shamelessly traveling down your body before quickly lowering his gaze to the book in front of him. You could see his blood rush to his cheeks and create a rosy blush that exposed his embarrassment. His shyness only turned you on even more. Just thinking of being able to ruin your nerdy TA’s innocence made the space between your thighs grow even more wet.
nerdjo, who was now feeling the consequences of his perverted actions and could feel himself growing hard under the table. To try and distract himself, he started rambling on about the lecture again, this time stumbling on his words a concerning amount of times over topics you know he would be able to teach in sleep.
nerdjo, who knew the feelings flooding his body were so wrong. He shouldn't be getting so aroused around one of his students, He shouldn't be noticing how pretty she is, and he really shouldn't be wondering if the color of the bra strap peeking out the side of her top matches her panties! But as much as he tried he just couldn't force the thoughts out of his mind. The once-cold library felt so much warmer, and the space between your chairs didn't feel like enough.
“are you feeling okay? You seem kind of hot,” you asked, playing concerned. You took the opportunity to put your hand on his thigh, causing his leg to almost twitch immediately.
“oh-no m-me? I’m fine!" he stumbles on his words, and your hand continues to brush back and forward his pants, each time subtly getting a little too close to where you shouldn't.
nerdjo, who nearly jumps at the feeling of your getting close to his inner thigh and tries his best to play it off as if you’re not almost massaging his soon-to-be raging bulge in the middle of this empty library right now.
He nervously pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he feels your hand get closer and closer to a place no girl had touched before. He was at a loss for words, barely able to bring himself to protest your actions as his brain was slowly turning to mush the more he felt your touch.
“but you don’t look fine,” you say, feigning worry. You take his cheek in your palm and turn his flustered-horny face to make eye contact with your lust-filled ones.
“I think I know just how to help you though,” you say as you finally move your other hand right on his crotch and begin to massage his painfully hard dick through his pants. He audibly gasps in surprise at your forwardness and can't stop the immediate sigh of pleasure that escapes his lips.
"f-fuck this is so wrong- i-i'm your TA we can't-." He tries to remind you while clearly fighting to hold back his moan and making no actual move to stop your hand.
"But it feels good, doesn't it? you like the way I touch you? You ask while dipping your hand below the waistband of his pants, making the only barrier between you his boxers as you apply even more pressure to his aching cock. You could feel the pre-cum surrounding his tip, already wetting your hand through the fabric. Your voice was so sweet to his ears, paired with the feeling of your hand; it was all too much for him, and he could no longer continue his pathetic fight against you. All he could do was shamelessly nod through his moans.
"You've been such a good boy helping me... It's time you let me help you."
━━━━━━━━━━━━
The once quiet library was now filled with the obscene sounds of gojo's plunging his cock in and out of your poor sopping-wet pussy without holding back in the slightest.
You were the least bit prepared for your nerdy TA's to have so much length and thickness hidden beneath his pants. He was giving you the biggest stretch of your life as he fucked you on the library table with no mercy. It's like his hips had a mind of their own as soon as he sunk into the warmness of your core. And it didn't help that your tight walls were sucking him back in with every stroke, accompanied by squelching sounds of your pussy, driving him even more crazy.
""f-fuckk omggg, this feels so good," he whined as he tilted his head back with his eyes practically glued shut. He couldn't bear to look at you as he felt like he would explode any minute if he made eye contact with you while you were in such an unholy position.
"cmon baby, look at me, look at all the mess you made," you beg him as a loud moan escapes your lips. His dick was hitting places you didn't even know could be reached, and even though there was a slight pain that came with his thickness you found it to be pleasurable.
It made you crave to feel every inch of him inside you, so you lifted your leg onto the table, making his hips press closer into you and giving him a new angle that had him nearly about to shed a tear. He slows down his pace, barely being able to handle the feeling of his fat tip kissing your cervix over and over again. (you couldn't really blame him, it was his first time getting his dick wet.)
"I'm so sorry baby omg m'sorry- if I look I won't last!" he whined apologetically. This position had him stars and the only way to stop himself from filling you up was to try to slow down. He gave you slow but deep strokes that had you feeling every vein of his cock throbbing inside you. He was trying his best not to come quick so he could enjoy the feeling of your pussy longer, he was already so attached. He reached in front of you and took a handful of your chest, squeezing the soft skin of your breast before gently toying with your nipples.
As good as it felt you weren't having any of it. "mm-but don't you want to come inside me?" your question forces his eyes wide open. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, a girl as pretty as you were going to let him cum inside??
"ahh- god, I must dreaming right now." he babbled as his brows scrunched together. 'Such a nerd,' you thought to yourself. Gojo was trying his best not to focus too hard on the feeling of you sucking him in so he could avoid embarrassing himself by cumming on the spot. His movements became more sloppy, which let you know he couldn't hold on for much longer.
"Its not a dream baby- please I need you to fill me up!" you moan out feeling his dick contnously brush against your spot. "I need it all inside me please." you begged while looking into his glossy eyes.
That was his last straw. Without even thinking if you could physically handle it, he quickened his pace, and you nearly choked in surprise at how fast he was fucking you. The library was filled with your sultry sounds harmonizing together. His feverish eyes gazed into yours with desperation. you knew he was close and so were you.
"oh my godd m'cummingg" you cried out to him. your cunt pulsated around his cock, liquid streams gushing out, splashing onto his lower abs and thighs. Your body trembles as your orgasm continues, and he continues to fuck you through it and chase his own. The sight of your orgasm only pushes Gojo completely over the edge.
"baby I'm gonna cumm- baby please, please." he didn't even know what he was begging for at this point. His mind was so far gone that all he could think about was coming inside of you. "It's okay baby let go-"
You could feel his strokes get more and more sloppy and his thighs tremble, his pretty blue eyes rolled back as he finally emptied his aching cum-filled balls into your pussy. You couldn't help but moan as you felt the warmth fill you up. There was so much cum spilling out that it overflowed from within you and traveled down between your legs.
Your bodies succumb to the exhaustion and collapse together on the table. "This must be what heaven feels like," he says breathlessly with only feelings of euphoria running through his brain.
'such a nerd' you smile to yourself.
nerdjo has my heart
the sadness in his eyes is saying a lot…
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!
nerdjo
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