Mental Health Status:

「 JEALOUSLY IS A GREEN BUG 」

pairing: ranpo edogawa x gender neutral reader

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, jealousy senario, nsfw ending, they/them pronouns used, first person

warnings: the ending isn’t too explicit but it is nsfw, not proof read

request: May I request jealousy(not toxic ofc) hcs for bsd men(specifically ranpo), gn reader of course, can be both sfw and nsfw! scenario can be reader speaking to someone for too long or someone flirts with reader in front of them (original request found here.)

word count: 867

a/n: I decided to do a scenario with just ranpo, since I wouldn’t mind making this a mini series later on. It may also be be ooc bc I struggle writing dialogue for him.

Ranpo has never been one to enjoy official work style parties. The only exception is the ones the ada throw, but it’s a lot more like a family than buisness. Plus, he gets all his sweets. But dressing up nice and putting on a fake smile to guilt trip people into whatever you need? Not him. He’s also became aware that he’s just not the kind of person to have at events like that. The only exception is for you.

You and a co worker got promoted and there was an official event for it. You had asked your boyfriend to come to the event with you. And knowing it meant a lot to you, he agreed. While usually he’s very stubborn, when it comes to you he’s willing to push himself a bit and give in.

He warned you that he had a case to work on and would come by a little late, but you didn’t mind. Before you started dating you both communicated that he may get pulled away when you need him, and you reassured that it would be okay. It was his job, and he saved people after all. So you two arrived separately.

It didn’t take him long at all to finish the case, and thirty minutes after you got to the building he showed up. He made his way immediately over to where he believed you’d be, not really greeting anyone else. Those who’s worked with you for a while was. It surprised at all, and knew better than trying to talk to him.

When he finally found you, you were talking to a co worker, one he didn’t recognize. Upon closer inspection the co worker seemed to be flirting with you. You obviously didn’t seem amused, but you were trying to be polite. That was the difference between you two. He could care less about hurting others feelings. But you always did.

He stood by watching amused, albeit a bit jealous. He was curious what you’d do to stop him. And he trusted you enough to handle it yourself. But when you tried to excuse yourself, and the co worker grabbed your arm, his amusement was snuffed out immediately. A flash of discomfort washed over you, added on by the fact a strange man was touching you, he was ready to step in and tear him to shreds.

Other co workers who saw what happened and watched Ranpo walk up to you two knew trouble was about to start, but some of them were ready for the show. They were aware of how unhinged he could be. And for many, this was the first time they saw his eyes open, glued to your form.

“I’m sorry I’m late dearest, another idiot thought he could get away with murder.” He said with a sickeningly sweet smile. “You, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. It’s obvious they’re not interested, so why do you think you have the right to touch them?”

As he spoke he wrapped his arm around your waist, watching with his bright green eyes as the man turned red and immediately let you go. He started stammering out apologies, but Ranpo attention quickly left him once he let go. He was calm enough to know you didn’t like it when he made scenes at your work. Huffing, his arm moved from your waist to your hand, dragging you off to an area no one else was at.

He pinned you to the wall, whines escaping his lips as he nuzzled his face into your neck. You couldn’t help but gasp, not expecting the action, despite how clingy he can be. His voice returned to its usual playful tone as he whined out “why does everyone constantly try to take you from me?”

He nipped your neck a few times before sighing and just resting your head in your neck, his hands resting on the wall next to your torso. You brought a hand up, raking it through his hair.

“Are you… jealous?” You asked, slightly amused at his actions. He was trying not to mark you right now, you could tell.

“So what if I am? Every time I go out with you people hit on you! And then they try to take you from me. I don’t like it.” He whined out, pulling away to glare at you, as if the question was obvious, as if you were trying to tease him.

You knew because of his past jealousy was something he struggled with, despite how much he may try to hide it. He handled it well honestly, he never accused you of anything, never got mad at you for what others try to do, never tried to control you. But you could see it in his eyes.

You cooed, cupping his cheek and bringing your lips close to his. “You have nothing to be jealous over, I’m yours, only yours.”

He didn’t respond, instead pulling your head closer to kiss you, a hint of desperation in the pressure of the kiss. You could tell, you both needed to leave. Your jealous baby needed taking care of. And you were happy to comply.

main hub ✦ masterlist ✦ to do list

Childhood best friend! Yuji who met you after he tried to do a cartwheel when he was six and fell flat on his face and you laughed at him.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who somehow thought that you were the coolest person ever just because you found everything funny.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who made you watch the dumbest movies ever basically every single day.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who didn’t understand how you lived right next to him and didn’t go to the same school as him.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who thought that your family was weird.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who didn’t expect you to vanish without a trace when high school started.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who started to think he was schizophrenic when he went to your house to check on you and your parents acted like you had never existed in the first place. (He asked his dad if he knew who you were just to be sure)

Childhood best friend! Yuji who was pissed off that you never texted him back.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who ate a finger and met some weird dude and was now a jujutsu sorcerer?

Childhood best friend! Yuji who got taken to some new school and saw you there wearing the uniform??

Childhood best friend! Yuji who was actively crashing out for weeks trying to figure out the math behind it.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who after several months still didn’t know how he had never noticed that you had cursed energy. But at least you were back!

Childhood best friend! Yuji who didn’t leave you alone for exactly 182 days. Megumi and Nobara were both getting annoyed.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who decided that you were hotter than Jennifer Lawrence when you protected him from a curse on a mission.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who asked Gojo for advice on how to impress you.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who asked Nanami for advice on how to impress you after Gojo gave him absolutely nothing useful.

Childhood best friend! Yuji who should have expected a workaholic to not know what to do about a fifteen year old girl??

Childhood best friend! Yuji who kissed you and ran away randomly one day. Nobara made fun of him. (She ended up being the only person to give him good advice)

Childhood best friend! Yuji who somehow got the girl despite his repeated fumbling.

@graciescott27

❝𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝❞

Royalty AU || Crown Prince Megumi x Reader

"Either way, you weren’t supposed to catch the eye of the Crown Prince. But you did — not because you tried to impress him, but because you didn’t."

wc: 2.1k warnings: none :)

part 2

The capital was alive tonight.

Festival banners flapped from balcony rails and rooftop chimneys, catching on the breeze like ribbons loosed from a dancer’s hair. Lanterns painted the cobblestone roads in soft orange, fluttering shadows of people moving together, laughter spilling into the humid air. Merchants sang out their prices with theatrical flair, children darted through alleys with sweet-stained mouths, and musicians strummed wild, joyful notes like the world might end tomorrow.

You were halfway through a skewer of grilled eel when the drums began to roll.

“Must be the opening ceremony,” someone murmured beside you, eyes turned toward the main pavilion at the center of the square. You followed their gaze only briefly, already familiar with the routine — the arrival of the royal family, the crown prince's cold, obligatory speech, the nobles parading their newest silks.

You wiped your hand on your sleeve and turned away before the first horn blew.

It wasn’t that you disliked the royal family. You just didn’t care for the spectacle — for the desperation in the way people craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the gilded puppets who ruled the realm from their marble towers.

You weren’t here for the crown.

You were here for the chaos. The color. The sense that, for one night a year, everything felt real.

Which was why you didn’t notice him at first.

You were leaning against a stone wall, drink in hand, watching a group of fire dancers carve patterns into the night sky. The scent of charred cinnamon and plum wine hung in the air, dizzying. Around you, the crowd stirred and shifted. Whispers rippled out from the direction of the royal carriage — excitement, reverence, awe.

And then the hush.

The kind that falls when something sacred enters a room.

You didn’t bow. You didn’t crane your neck like the rest. You simply turned your head and looked.

And that’s when it happened.

Your eyes met his.

Crown Prince Megumi Fushiguro stood a few meters away, half-shadowed by the guards at his side and the height of the ceremonial platform. He was dressed in deep navy and obsidian black, a sharp contrast to the lanternlight glow that softened everyone else. His hair was pulled back, silver threading the edge of his collar, and a ceremonial sword rested at his hip.

He looked like something carved from dusk.

He was already scanning the crowd — out of duty, you guessed. The kind of passive observation someone in power did automatically. But when his gaze passed over you, it stopped.

Not paused.

Stopped.

And held.

You blinked, surprised. Not by the fact that he was looking — but by the way it felt.

Not hungry. Not judgmental. Just… curious. As if he were trying to figure out what exactly it was about you that didn’t match the room.

Your heart knocked once, uncertain.

You didn’t bow. You didn’t look away. You simply raised one brow in return — a small, almost amused expression. Not mocking. Just present. Undaunted.

You weren’t supposed to catch the eye of the Crown Prince. You weren’t a noble. You weren’t dressed in silk or painted in powdered makeup. You weren’t fawning or smiling or trying to be noticed.

But you had his attention.

And you knew better than to show it affected you.

So you turned away first.

You didn’t expect anything to come of it.

The festival carried on. The dancers performed. You wandered through back alleys and vendor stalls, slipping through the thick of the crowd without ceremony or fanfare.

But hours later — long after the sky turned navy and the music dulled — you returned home and found something odd.

Tucked just inside your windowsill was a piece of folded parchment, weighted down by a small violet.

You stared at it for a long moment.

You hadn’t left the window open. No one had access to your home. You lived in the upper floor of a bookshop, above the creaking floors and scent of aged paper, and the only one who knew your habits was the shopkeeper’s cat.

You unfolded the paper slowly.

Neat handwriting. Sharp strokes. Precise lettering.

"You didn’t say much, you didn’t need to. That’s what I liked about you."

No name. No title. Just that.

And the flower.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t want to believe it — but deep down, you already knew. You remembered that stare. The weight of it. The way his eyes had followed you not like a predator, but like a question.

You turned the note over.

Blank.

You reread it once. Twice.

Then you tucked it away in a drawer and told yourself it meant nothing.

But of course, the world wasn’t kind enough to let it go.

Because three days later, you saw him again.

You were crossing the narrow bridge near the west gardens, a shortcut to the shop. The early morning mist still clung to the stone, curling around your boots like smoke.

You didn’t expect to see anyone there.

So when the figure appeared from the other side, you froze.

He wasn’t dressed like a prince this time.

No crown. No royal colors. Just simple dark fabric, travel-worn boots, and gloves tucked into his belt. But you knew. The way he walked — steady, upright. The way he carried himself like someone who bore weight on his shoulders no one else could see.

Megumi Fushiguro.

You stopped at the center of the bridge.

So did he.

A silence stretched between you.

Then.

“You didn’t bow,” he said.

It wasn’t a reprimand. Just an observation.

You lifted a brow, mirroring the expression he’d given you days earlier. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

His mouth twitched. The smallest shadow of amusement.

“I wasn’t expecting you to remember me,” you added, tone light.

“I wasn’t expecting to notice you,” he replied evenly. “But I did.”

The air between you stilled.

You swallowed. “Is that why I found a flower on my windowsill?”

“I don’t leave flowers for just anyone.”

There was something quiet in his voice. Not flirtation — no, he didn’t seem the type for that. It was something else. Something real. Unadorned.

You stepped closer, just slightly, until only a few feet separated you. The mist curled higher.

“Why?” you asked.

“Why the flower?”

“No. Why me?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dipped, just once, to your hands — ink-stained from morning deliveries, fingers curled loosely against the chill.

Then he looked up again.

“You didn’t try,” he said.

You frowned.

“You weren’t trying to be seen,” he clarified. “You didn’t perform. You didn’t pretend. You just... were. In a world full of people shouting to be noticed, you were quiet. And you meant it.”

Your heart stuttered.

No one had ever spoken to you like that before.

And certainly not him.

The Crown Prince.

You don’t know what possessed you to do it — boldness, madness, maybe the intoxication of being seen — but you smiled. Just faintly. The way a person smiles when they finally stop holding their breath.

“You shouldn't be out here alone,” you said softly.

“And you shouldn’t talk to me like we’re equals.”

“Are we not?”

That earned you the smallest crack in his composure — a breath of a laugh, hushed and tired and real.

“Careful,” he murmured. “People lose their heads for less.”

“I’ve already lost mine,” you said. “Might as well use what’s left of it to say something honest.”

His eyes lingered on you.

Like he was memorizing something he shouldn’t want to keep.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he took one step back.

“This bridge doesn’t exist tomorrow,” he said, voice lower now. “Not officially.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “But if it did, I might be passing it again. Just before dawn.”

You didn’t speak.

But when he walked past you, his sleeve brushed yours.

And it was the softest thing you’d ever felt.

master list link

⋆ soft, drunk sex with megumi ♰

⋆ megumi who’s secretly a pussy hound ♰

⋆ masked stalker! megumi ♰

⋆ knight! megumi headcannons ♰

⋆ goodnight to my wife, fuck the rest of you. ♰

⋆ familiar! megumi x witch! reader

thinking about Pro hero Bakugo who wears a locket on him at all times. The picture in it? A beautiful picture of you smiling on your wedding day.

It's not on a necklace where it can snag or get pulled but somewhere else, safer. Also not as visible. But then the press gets a photo of him and someone sees it.

The pretty design on the back of the golden locket stands out. The press and his fans go crazy over it. Everyone already knows Bakugo is down bad for his wife but now there's a locket with unknown photos in it.

Bakugo chooses to ignore it till he's in an interview and gets asked "so everyone's dying to know. What's in this secret locket of yours?" A confused look comes to his face.

"That's a stupid question, my wife of course."

"𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄"

𝘮𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘮𝘪 𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘰

In which, Megumi is certain he could never match your boldness. From the very moment you crossed paths, you had the sheer audacity to ask him out, as if fate had already decided for the both of you. By some twist of luck—or misfortune, as he first thought—he eventually relented after finding himself stranded in a mall with you and his classmates. Now, as he's stuck with his decision lingering in the air, he isn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Surely, he hasn't gone and fallen for some random, starry-eyed girl... Has he?

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

"What?"

"Can you take me out?"

"..."

"..."

"Like... take you out... with a gun?" Megumi squinted at the girl, deliberately playing dumb for the sake of his own sanity.

In the thirty seconds he’d known you, he still couldn’t decide if this was some kind of elaborate prank or an unforeseen psychological endurance test.

You were just some random girl, balancing a volleyball in one hand and a drink in the other, looking as if you had all the time in the world. He had bumped into you, apologized, and somehow, in the span of a heartbeat, you had turned this into a flirtation.

And the way you stood there—completely unshaken, your expression unwavering—only deepened his confusion. Did you even realize how reckless your words sounded? Were you joking, or was this an actual death wish?

Logic told him to walk away. Instead, he indulged you.

"You’re funny, but the answer’s no." you chuckled, an effortless, unbothered smile spreading across your face. "I meant, take me out on a date."

It was a nice smile, Megumi noted absently, but it threw him off. He had seen confessions before—people fumbling over words, faces flushed with embarrassment—yet here you were, standing before him, calm and composed as if asking for a date was as routine as ordering food off of a menu.

"...You... I don’t even know your name." His voice was slower this time, laced with uncertainty.

"Y/N L/N. That’s my name."

A faint twitch formed beneath his eye, frustration—or something like it—surfacing. You were too casual, too self-assured, and it was messing with his composure.

He had no idea how to react. Who even were you? And why was this happening in the middle of a dimly lit subway station?

The air was thick with the scent of iron and concrete, the distant hum of an approaching train filling the silence between you and he can't help but feel trapped.

"...So... would you take me on a date? Or would you rather I take you on one? Both seem like pretty good options." You tilted your head slightly when he averted his gaze.

"...I—I don’t get it. What... Why would you even want to date me? We just met." Megumi stuttered.

The headache was inevitable now. Normally, turning people down wasn’t an issue for him—he was blunt by nature. But you? For some reason, he hesitated. It frustrated him how easily you disarmed him with nothing but sheer confidence.

And yet, there was something oddly considerate in the way you carried yourself, like you already understood that this wasn’t the appropriate time or place for such a question but didn’t mind either way.

"...Well... huh, how do I explain this..." You mused aloud, tossing your volleyball into the air before catching it again. "Hypothetically speaking, would me saying that I find you attractive not be a good enough response?"

Megumi tensed.

"...Well... it’s certainly a response." He grumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, gaze darting away as heat crept up his neck.

What kind of courage did you have to say something like that with a straight face? Were you even real?

"...Not a good one, I assume?"

"Not really."

A brief silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the distant screech of an incoming train.

"...So would you take me out on a date?"

Was this girl serious?

"I mean... I just met you... so no."

"...Alright."

Megumi studied your expression. You looked... slightly embarrassed now, like the reality of your own words had finally sunk in. With a quiet sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before muttering:

"Maybe... if we meet again."

What was he even saying?

You blinked, then grinned. "Well... that sounds like a plan."

Finally, a bit of color dusted your cheeks as you took a sip of your drink. Megumi almost regretted wanting to see you flustered. He had only been curious—to confirm you were, in fact, human—but now that he had, it was making him blush too.

How annoying... Did he just become a sucker for a total stranger?

"You don’t really seem disappointed." Megumi noted, voice measured as he sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

"Well, I know it’s a weird question to ask someone you just met, and I can’t force you to take me out on a date." You laughed, barely acknowledging the train doors sliding open behind him.

"Why did you want to talk to me anyway?"

"I just thought you were a really romantic-looking kind of person and that I should talk to you. I figured you’d say no anyway."

Megumi huffed at that, the warmth in his face only deepening. Romantic-looking? What did that even mean?

"Sure."

He wasn’t convinced you weren’t messing with him.

The station was busier now—commuters moving around him, boarding the train, their chatter filling the space. He should’ve left already. Instead, he lingered, looking at you for just a moment longer than necessary.

"Well, is it okay if you tell me your name?" You asked, tilting your head.

He hesitated. Why was he hesitating?

"It’s Fushiguro." The words left him reluctantly as he finally took a step forward.

"No full name?" You teased, even though you weren’t sure you’d ever see him again. All you knew was that you liked this guy—a lot—and you wanted to keep talking to him.

Megumi exhaled, almost groaning. You were persistent. It was something he could respect, at least.

"...Megumi. Megumi Fushiguro."

Your expression softened. "That’s a pretty name. Alright, I won’t hold you up any longer. Bye, handsome."

Megumi turned away entirely, stepping into the train without so much as a backward glance. You had thoroughly embarrassed him.

You sighed, watching as the train doors slid shut. Then, with a small, amused shake of your head, you made your way up the station stairs, heading toward where your friend was waiting.

Megumi Fushiguro probably thought you were insane.

But if you ever saw him again, you’d definitely take another shot.

Something about him was just too cool to let go.

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Fushiguro, right?"

"Yeah, that's my name." He sighed, weariness laced in his tone.

"Can I call you Megumi?"

Megumi looked at you, another invisible tick mark forming on his forehead. Normally, he’d say no without hesitation, but something about the way you asked—your voice soft, your smile unguarded—made him hesitate. This was humiliating.

"Uh... sure, I guess."

"Well... this is kind of like a date, no?" You almost laughed, trying not to agitate the increasingly exasperated boy beside you.

It had been about two weeks—give or take—since your first encounter at the subway station. Now, fate (or misfortune, in Megumi’s case) had led to another meeting, this time involving an almost-spilled coffee. He had turned to apologize, only to recognize you, and in his moment of shock, actually dropped the drink.

You had offered to replace it, and despite every fiber of his being telling him not to indulge you, he had agreed... only because he still wanted coffee. And so, here you were, strolling alongside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He held his coffee, you clutched a small box of cake for later, and the city hummed around you in the late afternoon light.

"Uh... this isn’t a date." Megumi corrected, desperate to shut down whatever delusions you might have.

"Are you sure? This seems like it would make for a pretty romantic walk."

Megumi’s grip on his cup tightened. Why would you use the word romantic? Now he was actively avoiding looking at you.

"Yeah, I’m sure." He sighed, eyes locked on the pavement.

"Well, how about we call it just hanging out then?" You grinned, stepping a little closer.

He took another slow sip of his coffee, waging an internal war. He didn’t like you—definitely not. He didn’t even want to be here. He was antisocial, and he sure as hell shouldn’t be entertaining you.

Love at first sight wasn’t real. He knew that. And yet... there was something about you that made him doubt his own reasoning. Maybe it was the way you so fearlessly inserted yourself into his life, as if fate had long decided you belonged there.

He could indulge you just a little longer... right?

"Sure. This can just be a hangout."

The moment he said it, he was rewarded with one of the most radiant smiles he’d ever seen.

"That’s good. Then maybe I can get you to date me after."

"That’s not going to happen."

"Why not? We know each other a little better now, don’t you think?"

"Yeah? I still barely know you." He tried not to let his smirk show, keeping his guard up even as he found you... oddly fun to be around.

"Well, you drink black coffee, and I like cake—"

"Most people like cake."

"And barely anyone likes black coffee. That makes you unique."

"But liking cake isn’t."

"Jeez, you’re missing the point." You huffed, crossing your arms, only for him to let out a small, unexpected chuckle.

"That’s fine. I’m making my own point," Megumi replied, entirely unfazed by your frustration. "We’re still technically strangers. At best, we’re acquaintances."

"Then tell me something about yourself. If that’s the problem, we can fix it."

"Absolutely not." He took another deliberate sip of his coffee.

"Can I talk about myself then?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Cool! So, I just switched schools, and I play volleyball there. At my old school, I used to be one of those people in the mascot suits—you know, the big fluffy animals? Yep, that was me. And recently, I got a job at a skating rink—"

You rambled on, jumping between topics as if your thoughts were spilling out faster than you could catch them. At first, Megumi thought it would be exhausting. But somehow, despite himself, he found that he was listening.

Maybe it was the way you spoke—so animated, so full of life—or the way your words painted pictures of your experiences in broad, reckless strokes. Even if it drained his social battery, he couldn’t help but keep up.

Then came the voice that made his head throb instantly.

"Megumi!"

He tensed. You turned, tilting your head at the tall man with white hair and a black blindfold. Why was he wearing a blindfold?

"Oh? Who’s that?"

"...That’s my teacher." Megumi groaned, already regretting this entire day.

"Hey! Who’s your friend?" Gojo grinned at you, his energy almost overwhelming.

"This is L/N—"

"Don’t call me that. Just Y/N, since I’m calling you Megumi." You interrupted, flashing a playful smile. Gojo raised an eyebrow, while Megumi flushed and glanced away, suddenly interested in the cracks in the pavement.

"Okay." Gojo smirked before turning back to you. "Nice to meet you, little lady. Name’s Gojo."

"Nice to meet you too, sir."

"Right... what were we talking about again?" You turned to Megumi, who simply sipped his coffee as if he hadn’t just been embarrassed.

"Someone named Yoko."

"Oh, right! Then there’s Yoko—he kind of hates me, so I don’t mess with him much even though I have to see him for advanced math almost every day. And then there’s my teacher, Mr. Touya—"

Gojo observed quietly, his grin deepening. You just kept talking, completely at ease, filling the space with an effortless energy most people lacked. But what amused him most was the way Megumi listened—really listened.

With a knowing smirk, he elbowed his student, earning an immediate, half-hearted swat in return.

Then, out of nowhere, you gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, do you want to know something?!"

Megumi nearly jumped, almost spilling his coffee again. "What!? What happened to your mother!?"

"Huh?"

"...Huh!?" Megumi stared, utterly baffled. You had been talking about your mom just a second ago—so why did you suddenly jump topics?

"What happened to your mother?" He repeated, exasperated but lowering his voice so it didn’t seem like he was yelling at you. Meanwhile, Gojo was practically shaking with silent laughter.

"Oh! Nothing happened to my mother," you said cheerfully, "but I just remembered my dad’s taking me to Paris in three weeks since he’s working overseas!"

Megumi’s brain short-circuited. How did you function like this? The sheer unpredictability of your conversations should have been annoying. Instead, it made him want to know more.

"Yep... so that’s my life. What’s yours?"

"You think just because you dumped your life story on me, you’ll get to know mine?"

"Why not?"

"It’s because he’s antisocial. But don’t worry, I’m sure he liked it—"

"Shut up." Megumi shot a glare at Gojo, only to hear you laugh.

"Well, I’ll see you later then, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess—"

"Oh, wait! Can I ask you again?"

Megumi hesitated. "Ask me what?"

"If you’ll take me out."

"Oh! That’d be sweet, but now that I think about it, he’s getting some of his teeth removed in a few days, so maybe not!" Gojo interrupted, earning an attempted slap on the back.

"No, I’m not taking you out... at least not yet." Megumi muttered, avoiding eye contact.

You grinned. "Alright then. See you soon, Megumi."

And with that, you walked away, waving as you left.

Silence stretched for about twenty seconds before Gojo grinned. "So... who was that lovely girl?"

"She's L/N. I met her like two weeks ago… and don’t start making stuff up about me, especially in front of her."

"Oh my gosh! Are you two dating? Is she your girlfriend? Wait—don’t tell me—have you two already—!? Megumi, you're too young for that!"

"What the hell!? No! We're just acquaintances, dammit! Now drop it!"

────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

Megumi didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want to be here. If given the choice, he’d much rather be cooking with Maki than wandering aimlessly through a crowded mall.

Nobara and Yuji had insisted on a shopping trip, dragging Megumi along for the ride—not that he had a say in the matter. Gojo made sure of that. But somehow, against all odds, he found himself bumping into you again. And again. At this point, it felt less like coincidence and more like the universe playing some kind of twisted joke on him.

Unfortunately, this time, he wasn’t alone. His ever-annoying teacher and equally troublesome classmates were with him, making the situation infinitely worse. He already knew what was coming.

Gojo, in all his meddling glory, had ratted him out to Nobara and Yuji, claiming—loudly—that you were his girlfriend. No amount of frantic yelling on Megumi’s part could convince them otherwise. If they saw you now, he’d never hear the end of it.

"Hey, Megumi! How are—"

"Don’t be so loud," he muttered, grabbing your forearm and steering you toward another section of the store as fast as humanly possible.

"I wasn’t being loud. What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. I just don’t want to be here."

Truthfully, he just didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. You were bold, he was reserved, and the contrast was enough to set his classmates off. He could already hear the teasing.

"You’re being kind of pushy, you know that? Are you taking me on that date now?" You grinned, following him without hesitation.

"Don’t ask me that anymore. You’re the most persistent person I’ve ever met."

"Aw, c’mon. It’s not like I’d be a bad date. I’d be fun—"

"You know what? Fine," Megumi hissed. "I’ll take you out. Just shush!"

Finally, he let you go, exhaling sharply—only to freeze as soon as he turned around.

Yuji.

Not him.

Megumi knew exactly what was coming next. Yuji had a habit of reporting every little interaction Megumi had with a girl.

So, without hesitation, Megumi dropped to all fours and crawled under a clothing rack, opting for the most ridiculous but effective method of escape. He didn’t even bother pulling you along—he just peeked out from under the rack, looking up at you like some desperate fugitive.

"Where are you going?" you whispered, baffled.

"Don’t mention me. At all. They don’t need to know—"

"Who?"

"Nobody. Just… annoying people who dragged me here."

"Well, I guess I should thank them, since I get to see your handsome face again. And now you’re taking me on a date." You smiled, unbothered, while Megumi’s face heated up yet again.

He groaned when he spotted Yuji approaching from behind you.

Yuji, for his part, had not expected to find Megumi crouched under a clothing rack, talking to a cute girl about dating.

"Uh… hey. What’s your name?"

You turned to face the boy with pink hair, dressed in the same uniform as Megumi.

"Y/N L/N. What’s yours?"

"Oh! I’m Yuji Itadori. I’ve heard a lot about you!"

"Really? That’s nice."

"Hey, Kugisaki! Gojo-sensei! Guess who Fushiguro found?!" Yuji shouted, drawing the attention of everyone in the store.

Megumi sighed in defeat. There was no running from this.

"Who?" Nobara strolled over, yawning, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"The girl Megumi’s into!"

Megumi cringed as Yuji’s words rang out, immediately smacking him upside the head while you were distracted.

"Oh really?!" Nobara perked up, smirking as she placed a hand on her hip. "I’m Nobara Kugisaki. Best girl here—besides you, of course."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N!" You smiled, taking note of what Yuji had said. If you really were the girl Megumi was interested in, than that would mean he'd want to date you.

"Well, little lady, we were about to grab some food. Want to join us?" Gojo offered with a grin.

"I'd like that, if it's okay with you, Megumi." You nodded, and Megumi sighed before muttering a small, reluctant "Sure." Yuji and Nobara almost squealed at the way you so casually used his first name.

With that settled, everyone finished their purchases. Nobara immediately decided you needed some cute dresses and dragged you along, while Yuji chatted with you nonstop.

You seemed interesting enough, and you must have been pretty impressive to catch Megumi’s attention.

"Yeah, that's how we found out that not only is Megumi dyslexic, but he also has like twenty different types of gel for his hair. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the romance novels he has—"

"I do not have romance novels in my dorm room," Megumi growled, shooting a sharp glare at Nobara, who just laughed and kept talking. He had to correct her every ten seconds as she spun wild tales, much to your amusement.

He shouldn’t have cared. It shouldn’t have mattered whether they teased him or tried to pair him up with you. After all, it’s not like he actually liked you… He couldn’t like you… Right? He had only met you three weeks ago.

"Yeah, Kugisaki, don’t make stuff up when they’d be so cute together. Just like Gojo would say, ‘Get off of him, you damn homewreckers!’" Yuji teased, grinning. "Though the gel thing is totally true."

"I’m going to kill all of you," Megumi grumbled under his breath. You just laughed, nearly doubling over at how flustered he was.

"You shouldn’t kill us," Gojo chimed in, smirking. "Especially when we’re going to be the ones at your wedding—"

"Stop it!" Megumi snapped, his face burning as laughter erupted around him.

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"So, where would you take me?"

"I don't know... Probably a cafe or something." Megumi replied, almost forgetting that, by some miracle, he had actually agreed to this.

Though, he was starting to realize he had been lying to himself. It wasn’t that he outwardly liked you the way you did him…

But he was lying about not falling for you. Because at the very least, he wanted to be around you. And for someone like him—someone who rarely wanted to be around anyone—that meant something.

"Well, it's a good thing you gave me your number, so now I can text you about it later." You smiled, looking up at the sky, streaked in soft hues of sunset.

"I guess."

Meanwhile, Yuji, Nobara, and Gojo were doing an absolutely horrible job at being inconspicuous as they spied from the food court. The two of you had stepped outside to talk, and, like a group of nosy children, they couldn’t help themselves.

"What that boy Itadori said—was it true?" you asked suddenly.

"What did he say?"

"That you're into me?"

Megumi had to physically restrain himself from scowling. He was definitely going to smack the hell out of Yuji when they got back to campus.

Then again… he might as well tell the truth. Was he into you? Hypothetically, he shouldn’t be—not when the two of you barely knew each other. But in reality… yes. Yes, he was into you.

And he blamed you for it. It was your fault he felt this way.

"Yeah." He finally admitted.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. You had only brought it up to tease him—you hadn't actually expected him to admit it.

"... Really? I'm into you too."

"I know that. You made that pretty clear when we first met." Megumi chuckled, looking at you with an ease that was rare for him.

For once, he wasn’t annoyed or stressed. He didn’t look like he wanted to strangle someone. He just looked… calm. And that made you even more excited.

"Right."

"..."

"..."

"I can't actually believe you're going to take me on a date!" you beamed, barely able to contain your excitement.

"Yeah, well, I can't believe it either. I can’t even really believe I like you, so imagine how I feel."

Nobara sighed dramatically from her hiding spot. "This is getting boring. How long do we have to wait for something interesting to happen?"

"Shh!" Yuji whisper-yelled, elbowing her—only to get elbowed back.

"Ow! Quit it!"

"Shut up! I don't—"

"They're gonna notice us," Gojo warned, lifting his blindfold slightly. It was enough to immediately silence them.

Back outside, you checked the time and sighed. "Welp, I gotta go. But it was nice seeing you again—and meeting your friends." You smiled, completely unaware of the spying trio.

"I'll see you later."

"Alright. Bye—oh, wait!"

You quickly turned back and, before Megumi could react, leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. Then, just as easily, you waved him goodbye and strolled off like you hadn’t just sent his entire system into shock.

Megumi felt it—his face heating up, his chest doing that stupid thing where it beats too fast. At this rate, you were going to give him heart failure.

"Woah!" a voice exclaimed.

Megumi turned sharply, only to find the three idiots huddled behind a bush. They weren’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

"Did you see that?! That was so cute!" Gojo gushed, peeking at the picture Yuji had taken.

"Hell yeah, it was! The picture turned out great!"

"It did?! Let me see! Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet! And now they’re going on their first date?" Nobara smirked.

"This is amazing! They have so much chemistry! I’ll bet you ten thousand yen they’ll end up in the same bed in two months—"

"I’m giving you all five seconds." Megumi’s voice was eerily calm as he loomed over the bush.

That was all the warning they needed before they bolted back into the mall, leaving Megumi standing there, still red-faced, cursing the fact that he had ever left his dorm today.

☝️🤓 i guess my contribution to this trend, well its not my best I tried

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

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

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

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

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

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

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

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

“You’re so dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t say anything.

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

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

Another type. That’s not you.

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

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He goes still.

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

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

His jaw tightens.

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

He finally turns to look at you.

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

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

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

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

You laugh. It sounds forced.

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

He’s silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d been doomed since day one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

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

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

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

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

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

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

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

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

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru!”

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

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

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

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

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

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

“…What did you do?”

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

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

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

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

“Good.”

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

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

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

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

Gojo freezes.

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

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

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

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

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

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

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

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

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

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

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

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

You blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

But the moment passed.

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

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t even notice.

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

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

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

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

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

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

Exactly. That was the point.

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

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

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

Satoru.

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

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

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

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

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

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

“…Kazuya.”

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

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

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

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

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

Almost good, even.

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

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

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

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

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

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

Your stomach sinks.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s that he chose her.

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

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

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

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

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

You go silent.

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

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

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

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

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

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

Well—no. That’s a lie.

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

But he tells himself you’re busy.

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

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

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

You’d be making fun of me right now.

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

Ayane is lovely.

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

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

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

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

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

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

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

You are silent.

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

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

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

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

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

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

And Satoru is suffering.

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

But you were always one step ahead.

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

Gojo Satoru is… just tired.

Miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

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

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

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

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

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

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

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

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

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

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

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

He looks like he’s been hit.

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

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

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

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

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

You gape.

“Wait—”

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

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

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

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

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

And then, finally, he kisses you.

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

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

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

gojo x wife! y/n where megumi slips up and calls y/n mom since she helped raise him and gojo starts thinking about how they would be as parents?

Got ya! Love this request, hope you enjoy <3

Megumi accidentally calling Satoru's wife "mum"

Pairing: Gojo x wife!reader

Word Count: 1,4k

Synopsis: basically the request above lol

Warnings: this is pure fluff so enjoy, wrote this on my way to Disneyland so look over any spelling mistakes lol

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul

Megumi always admired your tenderness. Since the day he met you when he was just a kid, you have grown on him like no one else. It seemed like you genuinely cared about him and his sister throughout this entire time, standing up for him when needed while leaving him for rest when he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Despite being the longtime girlfriend and now wife of a chaotic person like Gojo Satoru, you never lost your spark, your cool temper, your striking beauty. You are simply always the (y/n) he knows and secretly admires from head to toe. He never truly admitted it, but to him, you are like a mother, one of the most important people in his life, the pivotal point of his decisions.

It shouldn’t have been such a big surprise then when he accidentally called you mom in front of basically everyone.

A brief moment of thoughtlessness in the middle of pure chaos. He didn’t put much thought into his words until they eventually slipped off his tongue with no turning back.

“Can we talk about this later mom?”

Gojo stand right by your side, hand casually placed around your hip like usual when his eyes dart towards Megumi immediately. Did he hear that correctly? Did Megumi-chan just call you “mom”?

“What did you just say, Megumi-chan?”

Fuck fuck fuck. A wave of embarrassment rolls over Megumi immediately, gaze fixed to the ground. He just called you mom. Fuck, he just called you mom! Not only in front of Gojo, but Yuji, Nanami and Nobara. This is bad. Very very bad.

“Megumi…”, you breathe out, tears stinging in your eyes immediately.

While you were always keen to give Megumi the best life possible in this cruel world, you never imagined that he’d see you as someone this important in his life. You it’s not always easy, living with Satoru and you. After all, he is the most chaotic person you know while you are the complete opposite of him. It never seemed as if Megumi enjoyed your company this much. While staying with you more than with Satoru, nothing like that ever slipped off his tongue.

But right now, he called you mom. He really called you mom.

“Sorry”, he mumbles, turning away from your widen eyes.

Fuck, how embarrassing. You must think he’s a total freak for saying something like that. Especially given the fact that you and Satoru don’t have any kids yet. Was has gotten into him?

Nanami’s eyes are darted towards him in silence, Nobara and Yuji giggling to themselves while all Megumi is able to do is hiding his blushing face in his uniform. He needs to get away from here. Fast.

Faster than any of you are able to react, he storms out of the room, leaving especially Satoru and you in pure shock.

“I think he really called you mom, darling”, Satoru breathes out.

You wipe your eyes, tears threatening to fall down your eyes.

“I never thought he’d see me like this. It might seem a little stupid, but…Megumi is like a son to me. To know that he feels the same about me is just…so overwhelming…”

Satoru can’t help but admire you. That little blush that creeps up your face, how you smile into yourself like a little child. All these nights you spent by Megumi’s side, caring for him and his sister when sick, having serious conversations with him when he caused trouble.

It dawns to him. You’d be such a good mom. In fact, this is what you already are to Megumi. All this time, Satoru never thought about having his own kids. Still being young, putting you and potential kids in the risk of this cruel world. But seeing you like this, all flustered by Megumi’s innocent words, totally amazed by the word “mum”. Maybe, just maybe…The thought of a baby in your arms crosses his mind, how you hold its tiny hands while humming it to sleep.

“I will look after him”, you announce, fumbling with your hands nervously while everyone around you just stands there bamboozled.

“Hey”, you greet him gently, sitting down beside him on the bench that overlooks the whole area.

His head rests in his hands, gaze fixed on the ground.

“I didn’t mean to say that”, he begins rapidly.

You bring your legs up, hugging them tightly while smiling down at him.

“I don’t have a problem with that at all. It’s just that…I never thought you’d see me as something other than Satoru Gojo’s wife. But I don’t want to interpret too much into it. After all, it was just a slip of your tongue, right? Just wanted to make sure you don’t feel bad or something. Don’t worry about it.”

With one gentle rub of his back you get back up, ready to leave when he suddenly grabs your hand.

“This wasn’t an accident. I never got to know my biological mum. And since the day I’ve met Satoru and you, you were always something like a mother to me. I really admire and appreciate you, (y/n).”

Oh. Your eyes begin to water all over again, you can’t help but swallow him with your arms.

“I feel the same, ‘Gumi”, you matter against the crook of his neck, careful not to touch his hair.

“Now now, what’s going on here? Are you stealing my girlfriend, Megumi-chan?” Satoru’s voice suddenly questions from behind, making Megumi jump out of your grasp in an instant.

“You know you have a real talent for ruining someone’s moment, right?”, you comment dryly.

“See you, Megumi.”

With Satoru’s hand holding onto yours tightly, you wander down the way to Jujutsu High. What a precious boy he is. You couldn’t be prouder of Megumi. And knowing that you had such an effect on him…You feel like crying all over again.

“I hope you told them not to make fun of Megumi for saying that”, you break the silence, earning a little chuckle from Satoru.

“Nanami did that for me, don’t worry. What did you talk about earlier?”

“Just wanted to make sure he isn’t embarrassed and that I know it was just a slip of the tongue. Nothing to put too much thought in. But it seems like he really sees me as something like a…mother figure, I guess.”

“Doesn’t surprise me the slightest.”

Huh? Your eyes dart towards him, feet stopping right in their tracks.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, when he had to draw something, it was always the dogs, you and him. You holding his hand, you cooking, you kicking someone’s ass. Don’t you remember how everyone always thought you are his mother? All those years he looked up to you. It doesn’t surprise me that he sees you as his mum. But I should have seen it sooner, what a great mother you’d be.”

His explanation makes your heart skip a beat. Over the last years, you never lost a word over something like kids or being parents. After all, your situation was clear: you live in a world full of danger and death. No child should have to deal with this right from the start. But the way he looks at you with a warm smile, hand holding onto yours tightly. Does he mean…?

“I don’t know, Megumi’s words made me think about having our own kids.”

“Our own kids?”

You can’t believe your ears. Even though you never admitted it towards Satoru, the thought of having children definitely fills your heart with nothing but joy. And especially his kids…

“You already have been and would be such a great mother. What do you say, (y/n)? Mind if we try it?”

You aren’t able to answer. Instead, you let yourself fall into his already opened arms, giggling like an idiot. A child with Satoru Gojo, the love of your life. Yeah, this doesn’t sound bad at all. In fact, this sounds like heaven itself.

“I take this as a yes.”

“I’d love that”, you breathe out, pressing your lips against his longingly.

“You’d be such a great dad. I just know it”, you huff against his mouth, heart jumping up and down in joy.

“Even though I told Nobara and Yuji to make at least a little fun of Megumi-chan?”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Fractured Desires Masterlist

ꕥ Chapter 1 ꕥ Chapter 2 ꕥ Chapter 3 ꕥ Chapter 4 ꕥ Chapter 5 ꕥ Chapter 6 ꕥ Chapter 7 ꕥ Chapter 8 ꕥ Chapter 9 - Final ꕥ

ꕥ Pairings: Yandere Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader (past Suguru/Reader, past Choso x reader/ suguru x shoko and even some shoko x reader lol - It's a mess tbh)

ꕥ Warnings-MDNI-Toru is TOXIC, Sugu is AWFUL, this story is toxic lol, explicit sexual content, and yandere Gojo behavior. There is some physical description of the readers height/body, don't read if too unimmersive. Threesomes, MMF and FFM, foursomes, blow jobs, cunnilingus, hate sex, toxic behavior, low key infidelity, failed ass plyamory, bdsm, pain play, stalking, obsessive shit... Toru is a yandere psycho (hot tho!?) and Sugu an evil gaslighter hoe (Sorry lol)

ꕥ Word Count 95K FINISHED

ꕥ Summary- You meet Suguru Geto at your work, he is charming, gorgeous, and wants an open relationship. You jump in, and you all share women and have way too much fun. But then it's starting to get serious between you, official even. He can't wait to have you meet his best friend. But... Satoru Gojo hates you. The minute you meet. He gives you no reason, but he's nasty to you, no matter what you try. Suguru finally has enough of Satoru being so mean and brings up the idea - 'let's have you two fuck this frustration out'

Satoru hates you because deep down wants to make you his. He doesn't understand how Suguru could ever want anyone but you. Though it's a bad idea, he agrees to share you with Suguru for a chance at you and... The moment he touches you... Rules are bent and broken, Suguru develops feelings for another girl, and Satoru gets further obsessed with you. Nothing is as it seemed. Will everyone get hurt?

Geto is a gaslighter HOE in this story, Satoru is a TOXIC psycho who sure can fuck. (Reader just here for the dick and emotional damage)

Moodboard for our reader (girlie girl)

Buy me a Coffee ☕️ - Masterlist -Ao3 link