I’ve Been Doing This Wayyyyyy Too Often Lately…PLEASE SEND HELP

✽ HEAD OVER HEELS ⸺ ₍ g. suguru ! ₎

⸝⸝⸝⸝ You'd grown accustomed to the sacrifices of dating a firefighter. The late-night calls, the sudden departures, the silent prayers every time he walked out the door in his uniform. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the way his dark eyes lingered on you as he pulled on his jacket, his usual reassuring smile faltering just a little. Or the way his voice softened when he kissed your forehead and whispered, "I’ll be back soon. I promise." ★ [N]SFW + firefighter!geto + fem!reader + established relationship + blowjob + unprotected sex + size kink + petnames ( baby, pretty girl, mama, angel ) + light mocking + suguru is in love.

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the unmade bed where you had been moments ago, curled up against Suguru, savoring the quiet intimacy of the night. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his body against yours, a memory cruelly interrupted by the shrill ring of his emergency pager.

A fire. Urgent. He had to go.

You'd grown accustomed to the sacrifices of dating a firefighter. The late-night calls, the sudden departures, the silent prayers every time he walked out the door in his uniform. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the way his dark eyes lingered on you as he pulled on his jacket, his usual reassuring smile faltering just a little. Or the way his voice softened when he kissed your forehead and whispered, "I’ll be back soon. I promise."

Now, the quiet of the apartment felt deafening, Suguru's absence stretching across the space like a tangible weight. The clock on the nightstand ticked mercilessly, each second a reminder that he was out there, in danger, while you were helplessly safe at home.

Sleep was impossible.

With a frustrated sigh, you threw off the covers and padded into the living room. The couch wasn’t comfortable—Suguru had grumbled about replacing it more times than you could count—but it offered a better vantage point to keep an eye on the front door. You wrapped yourself in the blanket Suguru always used, his scent faint but comforting, and curled up, staring at the shadows dancing across the walls.

You tried distracting yourself, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, but every notification made your heart leap, hoping it was him. Eventually, the phone slipped from your grasp, and you sat in silence, letting your thoughts wander.

Images flashed unbidden in your mind: flames licking at buildings, the heavy weight of his gear, the heat, the danger. You hated these thoughts, but they always came, no matter how much you tried to push them away. Suguru was brave—fearless, even—but bravery didn’t make him invincible.

The hours dragged on, the night growing colder. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t make your neck ache. Your eyes burned with exhaustion, but you didn’t dare fall asleep. Not here, not while he was still out there.

Then, finally, the sound of a key turning in the lock.

You bolted upright, heart pounding, as the door creaked open. Suguru stepped in, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway. He looked exhausted, soot streaking his face and dark hair sticking to his forehead, but he was here. He was safe.

"You're still up, mama?" he asked, his voice rough with fatigue but laced with concern.

You didn’t answer, instead rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. He stiffened for a moment, then melted into the embrace, his arms encircling you tightly.

"I was worried," you murmured against his chest, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I’m okay. I promise." He stands there with you in his arms for a few more seconds before gently pulling you away from him. "Gonna get cleaned up, okay? Wait for me in bed.”

You watched as he trudged toward the bathroom, his shoulders heavy with fatigue, his steps slower than usual. The door clicked shut behind him, and the faint sound of water running soon followed. It was tempting to join him, to help him wash away the stress and grime of the night, but something about the way he carried himself made you hold back. Suguru needed a moment to breathe, to let the night slip away in solitude.

So, instead, you busied yourself in the kitchen. You set the kettle on the stove, the gentle hum of the heating water a small comfort. Pulling out his favorite mug, the one with the chipped handle that he refused to part with, you prepared everything for tea—something soothing to help him relax before bed.

The kettle whistled just as you heard the bathroom door open. Suguru emerged, his hair damp and sticking to his temples, dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked cleaner but still tired, his dark eyes meeting yours with a soft, grateful smile as he crossed the room toward you.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, taking the mug from your hands. His fingers brushed yours, and the warmth of the moment settled between you like a quiet reassurance.

“You’re always doing so much for everyone else,” you replied, your voice tender. “Let me take care of you for a change.”

Suguru chuckled softly, his lips curling into that familiar grin. “You already do. More than you know.”

You led him back to the living room, and the two of you sank onto the couch, sitting closer than necessary. He sipped his tea in silence for a moment, his free hand finding yours and threading your fingers together. The weight of his palm against yours was grounding, the calluses on his skin a reminder of everything he gave to keep others safe.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not until you came back.”

He takes another sip of his tea before putting the mug aside and tapping his thigh, you quickly straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. His hands are warm and they cup your cheeks in a loving manner, fingers brushing your hair away from your face.

“I hate that you have to worry,” he said, his tone heavy with guilt. “But I love knowing you care that much. It keeps me grounded out there.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “I do care, Suguru. So much. I just… I wish I could do more.”

“You do plenty,” he said. “You give me a reason to come home.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning into his touch. “Just promise me you’ll keep coming home.”

“You’re not getting rid of me so early, baby.”

The kiss you share is filled with a warmth and softness Suguru learned to exercise with you, leaving little kisses on your cheeks and jaw before pressing his lips against yours, soft yet sure, with an unspoken tenderness that made your heart ache. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair, anchoring you to him. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss in a way that sent a wave of warmth cascading through your chest. The taste of him was familiar and comforting, with a hint of the tea he’d just sipped lingering faintly on his lips.

You separate from the kiss, hands sliding down to his chest covered by the black loose t-shirt.

“Wanna take care of you,” you whisper as if you’re telling him a secret, feeling his fingers deepening in the soft flesh of your hips.

You crawl out of his lap to kneel on the carpet, curious hands caressing his thighs for a moment, feeling his strong muscles under your palm, before pulling down the hem of his sweatpants just enough to free his cock, standing in its full glory in front of your eyes. You get closer to him, wrapping your small hand around his girth and that's enough to make Suguru groan, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the whole day and wasn’t able to keep his reactions to himself. You both shared an intimacy so deep that it was almost like a ritual, your lips kissing the head of his cock softly and then wrapping around it in a sucking motion.

Suguru spreads his legs further and leans back on the couch, one hand covering his mouth briefly and the other one holding the back of your neck firmly but without making you do anything other than lick his shaft from the base to the tip. His chest goes up and down with rapid breaths, knowing that if he locked eyes with you, looking up at him with the most pure adoration as you try to fit more of him into your mouth, he would lose his mind completely.

"Fuck," he breathes, your warm mouth enveloping him with more ease as you coat his dick with your saliva, your hand masturbating him everytime you have to pull away from him to take a breath. You're about to put him again in your mouth when he softly pulls on your hair. "C'mere," he commands, hands on your hips to make you stand up before him. He loses no time, fingers pulling down your panties in less than a second, leaving you only in his oversized Deftones t-shirt that you always wore to bed.

Suguru was a man of few words when you started dating him.

He spoke only when necessary, a habit that often left you second-guessing and filled with an uneasy longing for more—more reassurance, more affection, more of him. That quiet reserve had planted seeds of insecurity in your chest, leaving you yearning for the pieces of him he kept hidden.

But now, after all these years, Suguru couldn’t hold back—not when you were straddling his lap, your lips crashing into his with a passion that stole the very breath from his lungs. His hands gripped your waist firmly, grounding himself in the intensity of the moment, and his words—soft, raspy, and unrestrained—spilled between kisses, leaving no doubt of how deeply he felt for you.

"Gonna sit down on my cock, baby?" he asks against your lips, sliding his hands under your shirt to squeeze your breasts firmly. You can only whine at that, rubbing yourself down on his cock settled between your folds, the movement of your hips is enough to make you both sigh in pleasure. Geto grabs your waist to align you with his lap, his other hand holding his cock as he pushes you down on him. “Just like that, angel, nice and slow.” 

“So big,” you complain with a pout, pressing your face in the crook of his neck.

The stretch always has you on the edge, your own arousal making it easier for him to slip into your tight walls but it doesn’t make it less painful. You know it’s temporary, and your boyfriend makes sure you’re okay while peppering your neck and jaw with wet kisses.

He licks his lips, looking down at where you’re both connected, “Just a little bit more, pretty girl.” A few more seconds and he’s completely inside you, he quickly rewards you pressing his lips against yours again.

Suguru always liked being in control. Especially when you’re on top of him, with your pretty teary eyes and making such pretty sounds, he can’t hold back from taking control and making you remember why you’re his. He lifts you by your waist just enough so he can thrust his hips upwards against you, his cock slipping out of you slowly and going back in a swift motion. It feels like you’re floating, all you can do is grip his shoulders and pray he doesn’t break you. Geto’s eyes stared at the way your cunt swallowed him whole, the abused walls spasming around him with every move. 

“Oh my—Suguru!” you whine out, your body being jolted everytime he pounds into you. “Please, please, please!”

“Wanna cum, baby?” his hand reaches down to your pussy, fingers rubbing your swollen clit with quick movements. You feel the familiar heat boiling inside of your body as he pulls you closer to him, hips hammering into you slower but with the same prior strength. “Such a needy girl letting me fuck you as I want, hum? You like when I use your little pussy to get off?” You nod and bite your lip tauntingly, watching his eyes with a glint of pure desire in them as he smirks at you. “Go on, then. Cum all over your man, baby.”

His words are nothing more than a command to which you obey immediately, his raspy voice combined with his ruthless thrusts and long fingers harshly rubbing your clit send your mind into short circuit, a white filled haze that makes you lose your breath and your legs shake. Suguru holds you tightly against him with his beefy arms, using the small space he has between your body and his to thrust into you and rub against your cunt, cumming with a groan that’s stifled by the skin of your neck.

You listen to his breath calming down, hands playing with his hair while he holds your tightly. When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to rest his forehead against yours. Both of you were breathing a little heavier, the room filled with the quiet intimacy of the moment. His eyes searched yours, his thumb still caressing your cheek.

“I’m so in love with you” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled softly, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “I love you too, baby” you replied, your voice steady despite the lingering flutter in your chest.

And with that, he kissed you again—just once, quick and sweet, as if sealing a promise.

the sadness in his eyes is saying a lot…

4:23 pm | the adventures of dad!gojo

content: 0.9k words, fem!reader, dad gojo, megumi is your son, silly crack fic

gojo satoru is a man with very little fears.

in actuality, people are afraid of him. a mere gaze from those cerulean blue eyes of his sends people running off to the opposite direction, so the adjective “intimidating” was quite the understatement to describe him. some might even say that he’s the strongest, so he possesses no fear at all.

despite that, gojo has one thing he’s deathly afraid of: you–his wife, when you’re angry.

“suguru, help me out here!” geto can physically feel his bestfriend’s panic through the phone. gojo explained the situation in a fast ramble–geto could barely understand what he was saying, but he thinks he got the gist of it: you went out to run some errands and entrusted gojo to take care of your two year old child, megumi, while you were out. gojo conjured up the genius idea of keeping megumi entertained by handing him a paper and markers–so that they could surprise you with megumi’s amazing artistic abilities once you came back home.

it had gone “so well”, gojo said earlier, picking up the paper and studying it. “i think this is a drawing of a cat? or a dog, i don’t really know.. still, it’s made by my son, and it’s the peak of art and i think everyone should see it!”

gojo was so busy trying to decipher what megumi had drawn that he didn’t realize that his son still had the markers in his hands. when he peers over to look at megumi again, he just about screamed.

“gumi- no- GUMI!” he shrieks, snatching the markers away from his son’s hold. megumi, not having a paper to draw on anymore, decided to use the wall as his canvas instead—sketching a poorly drawn house with a bright red marker. “you’re not supposed to draw on the wall! aw fuc-ahem, freak… your mom’s gonna kill me…”

“gosh suguru, some advice would help!” satoru’s never been so afraid in all his years of living. you’re coming home pretty soon, and he has no idea what to do. he’s already imagining the look on your face–and it’s pushing satoru to the brink of passing out. gojo satoru–the renowned sorcerer who’s fought the king of curses, been sealed away in a box and has had multiple near death experiences–all of these things have happened to him yet none can compare to the fear of facing his wife when she’s angry.

“hmm? what is it, nanako?” satoru can hear his bestfriend trying not to laugh over the phone. suguru knows an easy solution to his problem, but he thinks that leaving satoru in the dark is funnier. it’s rare to see the strongest sorcerer like this, so geto revels in it with pure amusement. “you’re hungry? okay… let’s see what i can make for you, yeah?”

“you heard her, satoru~ one of the twins are hungry. i’m afraid i have to go… good luck about the markers, yeah?” suguru hangs up before satoru could say a word. he curses under his breath, but feels his heart stop when he hears the door unlock.

you’re home.

“mama!” megumi yells, clapping his hands and slowly crawling over to the front door. you happily greet your son, placing the grocery bags on the table.

you walk over to your husband, kissing him on the cheek before noticing the piece of paper that he’s holding. “oh? what’s this?”

you grab the paper from his hands and satoru regains a little bit of his composure once he hears you coo at your son’s drawing. “thought it would be nice for me and megumi to surprise you while you were gone… it’s a drawing of a cat-”

“horsey!”

“...a horse. yup, that’s what i said!” he sheepishly ignores his son’s glare, mentally preparing himself to tell you about the wall.

“i love it! oh my gosh, megumi, aren’t you just a little artist?” you say, ruffling your son’s hair with a big smile. “this is definitely going on the fridge.”

“...there’s one small problem, though…” satoru refuses to meet your gaze.

“what did you do this time, satoru?”

“hey, it technically wasn’t me!” he says, this time being the one to shoot the glare at his son. “so hypothetically…what if i told you that gumi thought it would be a nicer idea to use the wall as a canvas instead of the paper?”

“...”

satoru perceives your silence as his death sentence. “look, i’m sorry! i was trying to figure out what he drew and i forgot that he still had the markers in his hands-”

“satoru-”

“and the next thing i know, he drew on the wall before i was able to take the markers from him-”

“toru-”

“and suguru wasn’t giving me advice either, but then-”

“satoru!” your final yell finally breaks him from his ramble. he’s surprised to see that no, you don’t have a look of murder on your face. in fact, you’re actually smiling—looking more amused than anything.

“satoru, they’re washable markers.” you take a baby wipe from your purse and walk over to the wall, wiping away the bright red marker strokes easily with a few swipes. you’re trying not to laugh at his dumbfounded expression. “did you not know that?”

now he’s the one stunned into silence. “...”

“no, no… i definitely knew that…!”

“yeah, sure you did.”

being a father is so difficult.

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.

BETWEEN FORMULAS, FLOWERS AND FEELINGS - SATORU GOJO

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

pairing: nerd! gojo x student council president! reader

summary: being the student council president isn’t the easiest job in the world. It’s not like gojo — with his trademark glasses, his awkward smile hiding the most dangerous brain. because for him, he can resolve every problem, right? there is no formula that can escape his smart mind. not even you. so when he accepts to tutor you, could he really be sure feelings won’t become a new variable?

warnings: +18 MDNI, nsfw, smut, virgin! gojo, first time, oral (m! receiving), pinning, college AU, shojo vibes, quantum physics subject, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love, insecure! gojo, nerd gojo with glasses is hot, art by @/3-aem.

wc: 9,922

Ever since he was little, Satoru Gojo seemed to have been blessed with knowledge.

His very first Christmas toy — when he was finally old enough to have one — was a huge playset containing chemical transformation recipes to prepare by himself, using a handful of formulas and calculations.

When he turned ten, his parents gifted him a kit that allowed him to build his own electric train circuit, which he had to assemble using physics methods so that real electricity could power his trains — and sometimes even his cars.

By the time he reached middle school, scientific subjects like physics and chemistry became his second mother. Nothing escaped him. Formulas, molecular mechanisms, and chemical transformations held no secrets. This passion for complex methods shaped his logic.

For every problem, Satoru always found a solution. To him, the world was nothing but a set of solvable scientific probabilities, where nothing could slip through his grasp.

But growing up with barely controllable hormones… poor Satoru had experienced firsthand just how bitter that could taste, even at university.

The first time he asked a girl from his middle school to go out with him in his third year, Satoru never would have thought she’d laugh right in his face before calling him a useless nerd.

He didn’t let anything show. And yet, it was from that very day that Satoru’s glasses, his passion for science, and his own self-confidence betrayed him.

He decided to give up on feelings — classifying them as a deceitful, unscientific belief with a complete lack of logic, something better suited for grotesque purposes like the movies or romantic TV series that entertained uncultured people.

Satoru didn’t need emotions when logic always prevailed, never once disappointing him.

But upon entering university, he could never understand why — despite his silence and absolute discretion, buried in his studies — his cerulean blue eyes always seemed to find their way back to you.

You were the student council president of the school. Known for your upright mind, flawless organization, and a sense of justice so firm it sometimes bordered on harshness.

You had no time for anyone. You spent your days planning university events without wasting a single second — a notebook always pressed against your chest, and occasionally, a pair of glasses perched on your nose during intense activities like studying for exams or arranging event halls, which were regularly occupied by you and your staff.

What intrigued Satoru the most about you was your logic.

You planned everything, organized everything, all while maintaining grades nearly as excellent as his. You never wasted time hanging around with those ridiculous girls who would likely reject him if he ever dared to speak to them, and he had already admire witnessed you standing up for people like him — those trapped in their introversion and buried in their books — refusing to tolerate the injustice caused by the school’s most popular students.

A deep respect radiated from you.

Something Satoru refused to admit. Even though he knew you could short-circuit his brain in an instant.

Like that time when you had asked him for a pen at the library during your study session because he wasn’t far from your table. His face had turned crimson, and he could have sworn smoke was coming out of his ears. His mouth — so used to speaking with precision and efficiency — completely failed him in front of you.

The words got stuck in his throat, and the few sounds that miraculously managed to escape were nothing but incomprehensible stutters, earning him a confused frown from you.

In the end, he gave up on any attempt at conversation and simply handed you the best pen in his pencil case — his favorite. And he had almost silently prayed in his head that you would forget to return it so that you would keep it with you.

And he hated that.

This power you had over him — the way you made him nervous, shy, and desperate for you.

Just like in middle school.

Something he had sworn to leave behind.

~~~~

“NO, NO, AND NO!”

The event hall falls into a deathly silence as you shout your words with such force and vehemence that your fists crush the few sheets of paper still clutched between your tense fingers.

No one dares to move anymore — a part of the staff is busy moving boxes of decorations, two others are handing you papers to sign, some are hovering around you with questions, and others are amusing themselves by climbing ladders to place Christmas decorations — as if your scream alone has just pierced through the entire university.

With your jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at your temple, your cheeks flushed with anger, and your throat slightly irritated, you struggle to breathe as all attention shifts onto you.

“I said I haven’t decided on the organization of the Spring Formal yet, that nothing is supposed to be taken out, signed, or even requested until I’ve given the order, so what the fuck are you all doing here?!” you exclaim.

You push past the students in your way and snap your fingers at the two idiots fooling around with the decorations.

“You two — you’re fired.”

Then, you turn to the rest of the group handling the boxes. “If you don’t want to be fired too, hurry up and put that away!” Next, to the members waiting for you to sign papers. “Out!”

As the room empties in silence, filled with sulky and terrified faces at the thought of dealing with you, you take a deep breath before crouching down to the floor, burying your face between your knees, your arms trembling.

There isn’t much time left.

Director Yaga has given you a deadline to organize the Spring Formal, leaving you in charge of the theme, the venue, and the entertainment.

But, for the first time in your role, you are literally overwhelmed.

For the first time as well, no inspiration comes to you. The stress of classes, exams happening at the same time as the event date, your poor grades lately, and the pressure your team keeps adding on top of all that—at some point, you were bound to explode.

With all of this piling up, how are you supposed to manage?

That’s exactly what you asked yourself during your class that very afternoon, staring at your 40/100 in quantum physics.

With your heart sinking into your stomach, you hastily shove the paper into your bag, not caring in the slightest if it gets crumpled.

No one must see that the student council president allows herself to yell at her team while having such catastrophic grades. But your overloaded schedule no longer allows you to focus on your studies alone — how can you concentrate and stay organized when all you want to do is throw yourself out the window?

~~~~

“You need to register to require a tutor.”

“But I don’t need one.”

The male student raises an eyebrow. “So what are you doing here?”

You scoff. How dare he talk to you like that?

You’re in the library, one of the most soothing and stressful places in the world. You’ve had to find a way to get your grades up while you sort out your problem with Spring Formal, but in the meantime, you need to find a student who can tutor you without anyone knowing.

So what better way to find out than from the librarian’s assistant — who is also one of the Tutoring Center’s organizers?

“I need to know who’s the top student in quantum physics here,” you insist with a firmer tone.

Forgetting you’re at the entrance to the library, you purse your lips, a little embarrassed.

“We don’t have ‘top students’, prez,” he replies with a bitter smile — ah, so he knows who you are.

“So how do you help the students?” you ask with almost indignation.

He shrugs. “If you need help—”

“I do not,” you cut him off coldly, cheeks on fire as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. You sigh in annoyance at the student’s lack of efficiency.

“Then, how can I help you?” He gives you the most impertinent smile in the world, as if he’s just waiting for you to get the hell out.

You tuck a stray lock of your hair back behind your ear before rolling your eyes. “I need to talk to a top student in quantum physics, that’s all.”

The student looks at his fingernails as if they're the most important thing in the world and mimes huffing. “We don’t have any.” He looks up at you. “If you’re looking for one, there’s a nerd who’s the best in his class.”

Curiosity pricks the back of your neck, causing you to sit up straight. “Who?”

“Gojo, I think,” he said, frowning as if to remember his name. “Sato-thing, if I remember. Anyway, a nerd. You should know him, I guess.”

You shake your head, eyes almost squinting as you seek the memory of a Gojo name. But nothing comes to mind. So you shrug.

“What does he look like?”

“Albino. Blue eyes, nerd glasses, always dressed in a sweatshirt or shirt and he always has a book under his arm.”

“All right, thanks.”

Then you hurry out of the library and its oppressive walls, leaving the assistant to sigh with relief — as much as you do.

~~~~

“So, you are… Gojo Sato-thing?”

He has a little disappointed smile. “Satoru Gojo, prez.” With a nervous gesture, he places the strap of his shoulder bag back on his shoulder and adjusts his glasses, which slide down his nose.

You stare at him motionless for a few seconds, speechless at the all-too-perfect likeness of the Tutoring Center manager’s description. He’s got a book under his arm, a Digimon t-shirt over a dark blue plaid shirt and an innocent look on his face — he really wasn’t wrong.

You blink. “Um… yeah. Whatever.”

You check that no one in the corridor of the quantum physics wing has left any students lying around who might surprise you with him, then let out an exhausted exhale.

Faced with his 6'3, you owe it to yourself to raise your eyes and chin a little higher.

“I need your help. You're the best physics student in the class, right?”

He turns the toe of his shoe as a tic on the floor and nods imperceptibly.

“Perfect. I’ve got a little problem right now and—”

“Do you need me to do an assignment for you?” he says almost as if trying to divine your thoughts — is that hope you see in his eyes?

“No.” You knit your brows. “I’m having a problem with my grades and I’m swamped with my event responsibilities and I'm starting to get grades...” You chew the inside of your cheek to hide your pride before muttering, “...pretty bad. And I don’t feel like being given help publicly.”

In his confused expression, you add, “Otherwise it would be a real shame...”

From his height, Satoru’s shyness almost flies away in a gust. He’s got you there at last. In front of him. Talking about something. Like a dream come true — a reality where he no longer knows what his name is but whatever.

He even perceives a blushing creeping up your cheeks as you drift your gaze a little lower to your own shoes and your lips crumple into an adorably embarrassed and frustrated little pout.

Then of course he’ll help you.

He would give you more if he could, and he promises to himself he’ll do it.

“So you need me as your secret tutor?” he clarifies so softly.

You look up at him, clearing your throat. “Basically… yeah.”

“Fine. I can do that.” A small smile spreads across his pink lips and he digs his hands into his jeans, which are a little baggy for him.

You flicker your eyes, confusion animating your features. “Is that all?”

“Do you need anything else?” And you’d have sworn you saw hope still shining in his ocean-blue irises.

“What? No,” you retort incredulously. “But don’t you need something in return? Like, money or something?”

“...No,” he exhales, reducing his smile — though it still lingers. “I don’t mind helping you. Just give me your free hours so we can set a date. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he hastens to add, as if afraid of upsetting you.

Your lips part slightly. “O-Okay,” you finally say. “I’d like to do this as soon as possible.”

“How about today?” Satoru suggests, with a little more enthusiasm than he had anticipated himself. “Or even now, if you want.”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” he says with a happy nod.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too earl—”

Barely ten minutes later, you find yourself sitting next to him once again in the library, which, for once, is not too crowded, pretending to have a casual conversation while, in reality, he is analyzing your failed test papers with an expert eye.

One elbow resting on the polished wooden table, one hand holding one of your sheets between his fingers, and the other with his index and thumb supporting his chin, Satoru lets his gaze travel line by line over your flawless handwriting—so much so that he forgets he’s supposed to be concentrating on helping you.

And not on the pretty way you write the letter ‘S,’ wondering how close he’d be to a cardiac arrest if he ever saw his name written by your hand.

When he finally manages to analyze the mistakes on your paper, Satoru straightens slightly in his seat, adjusting the collar of his unbuttoned shirt that suddenly seems to be strangling him with an invisible noose, despite his neck remaining completely free. His heart pounds at the speed of light — almost literally.

Calculations and formulas have always been child’s play for Satoru; his brain has always been wired for logic, rationality, and the addictive thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins when he makes a new discovery, a new analysis that falls perfectly into place — like completing a puzzle and watching it come to life, or like a house of cards standing strong until the slightest imbalance brings it all crashing down.

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

For Satoru, love is not a science. It’s just hormones that one must learn to control and not be fooled by.

And yet, even though he has devoted his body and soul to science, his heart will never cease to be yours — under your implacable and irrevocable hold.

Even with all the scientific weapons in the world, he will always be powerless before you.

With a flutter of snowy lashes, he returns to reality, setting his gaze on yours; persistent, waiting for him to say something, to give some kind of critique.

His mouth goes dry, heat rushes to his cheeks as he clears his throat, embarrassed.

“Well, uh... I guess we can start revisiting the notion of The Uncertainty Principle, if that’s okay with you.” He gives you a quick glance so unconfident that you restrain yourself from doing what you're thinking of: ripping off his adorable cheeks — adorable? Since when do you find nerds adorable?

“Okay,” you say, pulling a draft sheet closer.

As you move your chair closer to his to concentrate better thanks to the proximity, the effect is quite the opposite on poor Satoru. He nearly loses all composure when his trembling fingers close around his pencil.

“W-Well… Um, do you want me to give you a quick lesson on this again? You didn’t seem to grasp much of the concept.”

“If you can use simple words…” you mumble without much hope.

He swallows hard before explaining, “A rule in quantum physics says: you can’t know both the exact position and momentum of a particle at the same time. The more you know about one, the less you know about the other. Got it?”

You squint, uncertain, as you rest your chin in the hollow of your palm. “Mh-hmm…”

“So,” he draws two Delta symbols, each followed by an x and a p, then an equal sign, “this one represents the uncertainty in position while the other represents the uncertainty in momentum.” He leans slightly forward to clearly define the terms for you before breaking down the formula, trying not to sweat under the ghost of your breath caressing his hand because of how close you are.

“Okay. I don’t think I quite got all that.”

“It’s okay,” Satoru replies with a slight smile as he adjusts his glasses on his nose before returning to the sheet. “You confused uncertainty with actual errors in measurement, and you tried to calculate exact values for both position & momentum, which isn’t possible.” He draws an example of throwing a ball vs. tracking an electron. “You can’t pin down a quantum particle perfectly — it’s like me trying to figure out what you’re thinking all the time. Impossible, right?”

“...Right.”

“You don’t understand anything, right?” he sighs, a slight frown curling his lips.

“Honestly? Not a word,” you chuckle, a soft, honest melody that caresses his ears.

“Let’s make it more real for you, prez, then,” he snorts too, wiping away a big smile that deepens his dimples. “Imagine you’re running around campus planning this big Spring Formal thing. If I try to track exactly where you are at one moment, I have no clue where you’ll be the next second. But if I focus on how fast you’re moving between meetings, I can guess you’ll end up in the library… but I won’t know the exact second you get there. That’s basically the Uncertainty Principle — can’t have both at the same time.”

“Ohhhh, okay!” you say, a light illuminating your face. But a second later, your features drop. “But, wait… that doesn’t make sense. If we have better tools, we can just measure both, right?”

He chuckles softly. “Nope. Even if we had the best measuring tools in the universe, the universe itself won’t let us know both at the same time. It’s not a technology problem — it’s just how nature works.”

You groan, frustrated, and slump over your notes. “Physics is pain.”

He shakes his head, a lighter smile blooming on his lips. “You’ll get it, I promise. You just need time… and a good tutor.”

“You?” You snicker, but not meanly — just teasing him in this mood that feels so comfortable with him, something you never thought you’d experience. “You’re losing me more than I was before.”

You both sigh after a while, and he gives you a practice exercise, which you rush to complete so he can correct it.

For the first time in maybe weeks, or even months, you haven’t felt this light. Quantum physics has always been a difficult challenge to overcome, despite your habit of planning everything to avoid stress. But sometimes, doing everything alone has led you to not ask for help when you needed it the most.

So when someone reached out and showed you how relieving some of that weight could feel, the sensation sparked a desire in you — one that didn’t want this to end.

But you’re afraid it will make you dependent.

So it’s best not to get too attached, right?

~~~~

The following week, even though your understanding of quantum physics has somewhat improved, your stress refuses to do anything but skyrocket toward a full-blown anxiety attack.

Principal Yaga summoned you to his office because some students — the two you expelled last week — went to complain about your nervous and excessive behavior, claiming it warranted psychological support.

Outraged, you defended yourself by pointing out the inefficiency of your team, who fail to meet your needs without considering the mental load that comes with your responsibility as the student council president. And yet, that wasn’t enough to calm Yaga, who dismissed you with a stern reminder that if you don’t finalize the Spring Formal preparations soon, he won’t hesitate to replace you with a more competent organizer.

The mere thought — no, the haunting fear—of being replaced like a cheap supermarket doll plagues your nights with nightmares.

So, the obvious anxiety growing inside you bleeds into the most crucial moments — the moments when you’re supposed to stay focused instead of silently wallowing in your situation.

“Need help, prez?”

Ripped from your daze, you lift your gaze to the voice beside you, only now realizing that he’s been sitting next to you since the start of the lecture — completely unnoticed, completely ignored.

It’s Satoru, his laptop open in front of him, a small, friendly smile turned toward you—and only you. That tiny detail sends a strange, foreign wave through your stomach — not unpleasant, though.

“Oh, you’re here,” you mumble, turning your attention back to the professor.

“Since the very start, yes,” he replies, his voice softer now, tinged with a faint hint of disappointment as he twirls his pencil between his long, nimble fingers.

A silence settles between you, neither of you seeming inclined to break it.

In the lecture hall, only the sound of keyboards clicking and the amplified voice of the professor fill the large room. You try your best to follow along, scribbling notes as diligently as you can, but at this point, it feels like trying to form words by randomly pressing keys — you understand nothing.

“Need help?”

You slowly lift your head toward the familiar voice.

“You can explain it to me later, you know?” you mutter, careful not to let anyone else overhear your conversation — it could cost you.

“And we could save time by explaining it now.” His tone is soft, rational, kind, altruistic — every synonym that embodies maturity and gentle responsibility.

He’s made of sugar. Just for you.

You sigh, finally giving in with a nod, as Satoru flips his laptop into tablet mode to explain the purpose of the chapter — the name of which you’ve only just learned, despite an hour and a half of lecture on Wave-Particle Duality.

“So,” he says, writing the formula on his tablet with a stylus. “The general concept is quite easy. Quantum objects — like electrons — can act as both particles and waves, okay?”

You nod, leaning in closer to his shoulder to observe the definitions of the formula’s terms — a faint scent brushes against your senses. Clean laundry and a subtle drop of cologne. The scent imprints itself in your lungs pleasantly enough that you have to mentally slap yourself to keep from getting distracted from Satoru’s explanations.

He glances at you with those sharp blue eyes and raises an eyebrow. “You know what wavelength means?”

“It’s just for light, right?”

He snorts quietly. “Particles.”

“Oh.”

He holds back another laugh and continues his explanations.

Several minutes later, you find your eyes glued — no, entranced — by Satoru, this nerd with glasses that hide a brain far too brilliant for you. Maybe even for the entire university.

You notice it in everything he does — setting aside his physical appearance, which you’re starting to find cuter and cuter without even realizing it — every cell of his body breathes science, logic, the thirst for discovery. His brain analyzes every possibility, his fingers manipulate rationality, and his glasses help him weigh the pros and cons. His long, straight nose gives him an infallible instinct, a sixth sense that never fails, and his smile — his pretty, thin, pink lips—illuminate hypotheses with a dangerously innocent charm.

But he himself doesn’t even realize it.

“See? It’s like… imagine if you could be both a super serious president and a total mess at physics at the same time. Oh wait — that’s already happening,” he teases, a playful, cute smile blooming on his lips as he glances at you with sparkles in his eyes.

Oh, that damn smile.

And without meaning to, you join in his laughter, covering your mouth with your palm so as not to be heard as, for the first time in weeks, a weight is lifted from your shoulders. The little analogy that might have irritated you a few days ago seems silly to you. Why do it when he’s here?

The bell rings, announcing the end of class, and the hubbub of the students urges you to put your things away as much as possible before the teacher gives you more homework than you already have just to understand the lecture.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you make your way towards the exit, at the end of the herd of students who have made you lose sight of Satoru. A little disappointment contracts your heart, but after all, why should he be waiting for you? There was no need. You’re not friends. Just two students who are nice to each other (well, mostly Satoru).

So as you walk out of the lecture hall, you almost come face to face with a 6’3. Your nose collides painfully with a hard, bumpy surface — wait, of abs?

Impossible.

A hand much larger than yours wraps around your elbow to steady you and meets your eyes down on your wincing face.

“Oops, sorry,” Satoru apologizes as his smile evaporates. “Are you okay? I just wanted to wait for you.”

Was it abs?

“No worries, I'm fine,” you assure with a smile as self-conscious as it is forced, one hand rubbing your sore nose. “That's sweet.” Then you look away to calm the blush that spreads like a puddle from your neck to your scalp and pray it's unseen.

“You sure?” he insists with a concerned frown.

“...Sure.”

Once your face has cooled, your eyes stare at the spot on his torso where your nose collided. That flat spot under the shirt that appears a little less to you now, seen up close. It's as if with every swell of his breath, you can see the beginnings of an abdominal bulge, but you shake your head to get this far-fetched idea out of your head.

Letting your hand fall back, you offer him a more confident smile and lead the way. “Shall we?”

With a slower nod, he follows you.

To bridge the silence between the two of you in the deserted corridors, you nudge him in the ribs and say, “You know, I still don’t get how you find physics fun.”

He feigns pain and smirks — does he only smile when he’s with you?

“I don’t find it fun, strictly speaking, but really very interesting. At least, enough to make me face my major.” He pauses to give you a teasing look. “And I still don’t get how you survive on four hours of sleep.”

“I am a vampire,” you grin stupidly, “I love working at night. I feel productive.”

“I see that. Your bags speak for you,” he chortles.

“For real?” you mouth, running your fingers over your dark circles as if to check his words when it makes more sense to look in the mirror rather than feel you up.

“Just joking,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze on the floor a second before looking up back at you. “But you seem very stressed lately, am I wrong?”

You don’t answer right away, reluctant to tell him about your doubts and what’s been bothering you for weeks. But you can. This is just two friends from the same quantum physics class strolling around campus at the end of a long day, isn’t it?

But maybe not close enough for him to be really interested in you? Maybe he’s just asking questions out of politeness and not out of any real concern for you. After all, you’re not really close.

“It's alright, just uni and student council stuff, as always,” you murmur with averted eyes. “We also need to plan our next tutoring session.”

“Yeah...” Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets and lets silence fill the gap between the two of you before resuming. “Maybe we could do it somewhere else this time, couldn’t we?” he offers without much hope in his voice.

You knit your brows. “What?”

“I mean... do you—uh, never mind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Huh?”

He seems to chicken out and look away but you catch it before he could hide it — the tips of his ears are red.

“Nothing. Just... you’re really into this whole Spring Formal thing, huh?” he mumbles.

“Of course. I have a lot of work to do on it. But what were you asking me?” you insist with a softer tone and your hand wrapping around his arm — remarkably built, you note internally.

He finally twists his neck toward you to face you, lips pursed into a conflicted pout.

“You’re going to refuse.”

“You didn’t even try to ask,” you almost in a mid gasp and chuckle.

He runs a hand through his tousled snowy hair, then slips it around the back of his neck, rubbing it like a nervous tic. “I see that you’re stressed — even if you deny it. So would you accept to... maybe do work on our tutoring lessons in a better place?” He panics slightly under your unfathomable gaze, just waiting for the next part of his words. “I mean... I know a place where it could be less stressful and more relaxing because you deserve it... But of course,” he adds hastily, “it doesn’t commit you to anything and you don’t have to accept and we can totally carry on doing it at the library because really it’s just a stupid idea and I should just keep my mouth shut—”

“Satoru.”

His heart stops beating and he thinks his brain has short-circuited as he realizes it’s the first time you've said his first name in that tone.

Softly, reassuringly, and with obvious joy.

“Of course I’d like to work with you somewhere else. It means a lot to me that you thought of me like that,” you say softly as you stop in front of some stairs so you can look him straight in the eye. “I can give you my phone number and you’ll just have to send me the address, how’s that?”

Okay. His brain really has just short-circuited.

He doesn’t even remember how he managed to hand you his phone and record your number, wish you a good evening and return to his dormitory after being subjected to your beaming smile — of a particular radiance he’s never seen before on your face in all the time, however long, he’s spent gazing at you wherever you are — radiant even.

Lying on his bed, he stares at the ceiling. The silent night allows his thoughts to grow louder, as if several were trying to express themselves at once.

However, one image takes root in his eyelids when he closes them before sleeping.

You.

~~~~

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Do you really need to make this even more embarrassing?”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair.”

His features sag, and he lets out a tiny sigh. “Just please, accept it. I made it for you.”

At your feet lies a picnic blanket with red and white checkered patterns. On top of it are homemade sandwiches, cans of fruit juice, berries, cakes, and even a tub of ice cream resting inside a mini cooler. Satoru has even arranged the space to avoid a chaotic mess while working and has brought ultra-comfortable cushions to make the tutoring session as pleasant as possible.

He can’t do this.

Not with you, who arrived at the quiet, sparsely crowded city park, right under the most magnificent Japanese cherry blossom tree.

The cool breeze blows gently around you both, sweeping away a few strands of your hair that you’re forced to tuck behind your ears.

“Sit your ass down,” Satoru mumbles, looking away to hide an obvious embarrassment, though his hand pats the empty space he left just for you.

So, reluctantly, you sit cross-legged, grabbing a random sandwich — just so he won’t sulk — and try not to cry because it’s so ridiculously delicious. The berries couldn’t be fresher or juicier than any you’ve ever tasted, and not to mention the cakes he brought. The majority of the food is sweet — his sweet tooth showing up a little too obviously.

“Hope it tastes good,” he adds, his lips forming a slight pout.

“Never ate something that good,” you respond, mouth full of food. “You’re an angel.”

The word makes him freeze for a solid thirty seconds before he shakes his head and lets his gaze drift away — always avoiding — toward the nearby lake.

The ground is sprinkled with pale pink petals, blending into the vibrant green grass of this March afternoon. A few birds chirp in the distance, hardly anyone comes near your secluded spot, and the peaceful silence reigning over the park creates the perfect environment for getting work done.

Swallowing his own mochi, Satoru watches you take out your notes on the latest physics chapter, and instead of sitting across from you, he allows himself to settle beside you this time — without you pulling away.

He was hesitant from the start and may never be able to stop feeling nervous around you. No matter how often he’s around you or how much more familiar he grows with your presence, he can’t control those sudden spikes of nervousness that hit when he’s already comfortable — only for one small action or movement to give his poor little heart a crisis.

You hand him the exercises you worked on last night, and while he reviews them, you take out your planner and notepad — the ones you carry everywhere (even to bed and the bathroom)—to go over the organization of the upcoming Spring Formal.

An event that’s happening soon. An event with absolutely nothing planned yet.

You quietly jot down notes on possible themes, but after another glance at the endless, sprawling branches of the massive cherry tree, you sigh and toss your notepad aside onto the picnic blanket. No ideas in sight. You have no choice but to admit your incompetence. Your failure is inevitable.

“Here.” Satoru hands you back your corrected exercises, and you quickly scan through them.

Since the beginning of your sessions with him, you have to admit — you’ve improved.

This time, there are fewer scribbles and corrections from Satoru. Your formulas and applications are more precise, clearer, and better developed. All thanks to your hard work and Satoru’s expert guidance — the science genius himself.

There are still some non-negligible mistakes to fix, but at least the encouraging smile from your tutor warms your chest, silently telling you that you’re on the right track.

“This is really not bad,” he murmurs softly near your shoulder. “You’re seriously improving.”

“Thanks to my good tutor,” you reply, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

“What flattery. I don’t deserve this much.” Yet his so-called humility is betrayed by the deep red blush dusting his ears.

“Quite the opposite. I wish I could pay you back somehow.”

“You don’t need to. I told you it was my pleasure to help you.”

“And I feel bad about it,” you confess in a whisper.

“Don’t,” he insists — and dares to wrap his slightly trembling, warm hand over yours on the blanket.

Your heart flutters, like a butterfly trying to take flight, only to be tossed around by the wind.

“Thank you,” you whisper, with more honesty than you’ve ever given anyone.

“For being a good friend? Don’t worry, I’m glad to have you as well, honestly,” he murmurs back, punctuating his words with a light squeeze of your hand.

“And I—” he clears his throat, “...really appreciate you.”

Friends. Appreciate you.

“I appreciate you too. Really. I’m sorry if I mess up every move you try with me to help me,” you add with an apologetic smile. “Stress always ruins my life.”

“I told you that you couldn't deny it.” He raises his eyebrows and lift up an uncertain arm — seeing you not reacting has reassured him enough to pluck up the courage to pass it around you to console you. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You let yourself go against him, burying half your face against him. “I’m in deep shit about organizing the Spring Formal. I haven’t prepared anything, I have no idea, and yet I’ve got plenty to do. Mr. Yaga warned me that he might replace me if I went on like this, and I feel like everything’s going to shit,” you say in a breath, a tiny barrier of vulnerability cracking.

His arm tightens in an attempt at comfort. He nods slowly, inhaling long breaths of fresh air before making a clicking sound with his tongue.

“Where’s your notepad?”

You hand it to him without protest, and he immediately grabs it and flips through it. Then, when he finds a blank page, he grabs a pen lying near the two of you and jots down a few sentences, the words of which you can only read when he hands you the notebook.

“An alignment of the planets?” You raise a curious, surprised eyebrow.

He nods with his chin and sketches a smile.

“It only happens in spring, practically. And there will be one before long.” He squeezes his arm around you again and chuckles. “A theme about planets might be nice, don’t you think?”

Lips parted, you gaze into the azure sky. Himself a little disarmed by your lack of reaction, he frowns without giving up his smile and softly pronounces your first name.

With zero control over your movements, there’s nothing to stop your lips from pressing tenderly against Satoru’s smooth, soft cheek — a firm but gentle kiss leaving an invisible, indelible trace on his radiant skin as you pull away to look into his eyes again.

“You're an angel,” you repeat a second time.

Well, the second time too, when Satoru’s heart, no longer knowing how to beat, simply stops beating.

~~~~

“Move them a little more to the right— Yes, that’s perfect.”

Your trusty notepad clutched against your chest, you admire the preparations unfolding in the venue for the upcoming Spring Formal, where the theme of planetary alignment is set to make this year’s university event truly unforgettable.

Finally, you’re no longer spending your time yelling at your team and barking orders fueled by the vibrant sparks of your stress. Instead, you’re giving clear instructions, each one accompanied by an encouraging smile for everyone.

“Maybe we could add midnight blue velvet curtains,” Satoru suggests, leaning over your shoulder, his chest brushing pleasantly against your back as he glances at the list of missing decoration orders. “We could stick fake stars on them, and it’ll draw more attention to the planets. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” you giggle, despite the way your insides somersault when his warm breath grazes your ear, sending waves of goosebumps down your skin. You jot down a few notes as Satoru leans in even closer, gently resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not surprising, coming from the quantum physics genius of the entire university.”

Even though there’s nothing official between you — not if you ignore the feelings and trust that make Satoru more confident and relaxed in your presence — nor any concrete relationship, the warm intimacy settling between you two is anything but uncomfortable.

It’s like a mutual friendship, fully acknowledged by both of you, yet intertwined with threads of love left unspoken — often betrayed by moments of closeness like this one.

“You’re gonna make me blush again,” he admits with a light laugh, soft and delicate as a cherry blossom petal.

“Oh yeah?” You turn your head toward his — just enough for your faces to be so close that the tips of your noses brush. “Why?”

He sighs, fluttering his eyes closed for a brief moment before opening them again. “You know why…”

“I’m clueless when it comes to guessing thoughts, my hot nerd tutor,” you coo, a little grin spreading across your lips — those same lips he wanted to kiss until he couldn’t breathe anymore for the rest of his life.

“Maybe I could show you, then.” And gently, he places his hands around your waist, an easy, soothing smile on his face. “Is that okay if I do that?” After your nod, his smile grows even wider. “Also, could we do our next session at my place? I can’t stay at the library today because my mom is waiting for a package while she’s at work, so she asked me to take care of it.”

“Of course.” You take note of his suggestion while the rest of your team rushes to decorate the room and move boxes — some opened, some not. Then, you turn back to him, feeling the slight tremor of his hands against your body, the way the blood rushes alarmingly fast to his face, and how his eyes avoid yours.

“Blushing?” you giggle.

“You’re not embarrassed? I mean— It’s my place, not my dorm or the library, you know,” he mumbles.

You graze a kiss on his soft cheek and grin. “You’re freaking cute.”

“I’m not joking,” he whines lowly, a small, worried furrow forming between his brows.

“As am I.” You give his arm a little squeeze. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I don’t mind having you all alone in your house, though.”

And you burst into laughter when he chokes on his own saliva at your words — having never seen someone turn so red before.

~~~~

“I knew you liked physics, but not that much.”

Before coming to set foot in Satoru’s room for the first time, you expected to be dealing with a simple, uncluttered, organized room, and above all far more filled with bookcases overflowing with books rather than...

...the opposite.

Stepping into Satoru’s room feels like entering a nerdy galaxy of controlled chaos. His desk is cluttered with thick physics textbooks, some stacked neatly, others left open mid-read, pages filled with complex equations you can’t even begin to understand. Among them, a few manga volumes peek out, half-hidden like a guilty pleasure. Above, a whiteboard covered in messy formulas and doodles dominates the wall, the marker strokes chaotic but somehow full of purpose. His ceiling is scattered with glow-in-the-dark stars, forming actual constellations if you look closely, and a floating moon lamp sat on his nightstand, casting a soft glow over his unmade bed.

Everywhere you turn, there is something to mess with — a plasma ball that lit up at your touch, a Newton’s Cradle clicking rhythmically on his desk, even a weird futuristic clock displaying time in some incomprehensible format. His monitors hum with life, one running a sci-fi screensaver while another had what looks like a physics simulation he’d probably forgotten about. 

And yet, despite the overwhelming nerd energy, it was… comfortable. Lived-in. A place where ideas sparked and theories came to life — exactly what you could imagine his space would be if you’d thought things through a bit more.

“Wow,” you murmur, entranced. “It’s… just beautiful. Like a museum.”

“Heh? You’re flattering me really too much,” he chuckles nervously, scratching his neck where his undercut is. “But I’m glad if you like it. I want you to feel home,” he adds softly.

“Home?” You turn to him with a slightly embarrassed and moved smile. “You’re my home, actually.”

Nothing you say makes sense. Your racing heart lets your mouth babble nonsense and scare Satoru away. You’re far too embarrassing—

“I feel the same for you.”

Like a needle piercing a balloon, your vital organ explodes in your chest.

The next second, your brain regains control and orders your legs to move towards him, until your torsos brush against each other and your breaths mingle, giving birth to a gentle flame that burns only to be consumed.

Satoru whispers your name. “Can I try something?” he mouths.

You nod imperceptibly, your gaze lost in his ocean eyes.

Tenderly and with the most delicate gentleness, he cups your cheeks, tilting your head so that your face faces directly forehead to his. So close, you have a detailed view of the number of his light eyelashes, the different shades of blue mingling in his irises, the pleasant warmth of his tepid breath against you.

Then, his lips brush yours first, as if testing your reaction. But when your fingers latch onto his light-brown V-neck sweater, he feels the pressure rise in his blood and slowly, but suddenly, crushes his lips against yours.

It’s not rushed — just a soft press of lips, tentative, almost careful. As if he's afraid of breaking something fragile. So to encourage him, you sigh softly in contentment, then tilt your head the slightest bit to fit better, closer... Your hands remain gently clasped to his sweater.

He seems to get your message, because the next thing you know, he’s relaxing, moving more slowly and comfortably against yours. The world outside that moment doesn’t exist. Just him, just this — his lips, softer than you expected, the careful way he kisses you, as if he is memorizing every second of it. Time stretches thin, and even when you finally pull apart, neither of you move far.

Slowly, you open your eyes, only to find him already looking at you. His gaze is different now — quieter, warmer, like he is seeing you in a way he never had before.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is soft, not awkward, filled with a kind of understanding that doesn’t need words. And then, just barely above a whisper, Satoru exhales a quiet, shaky laugh.

“Oh.”

Just that — like he hasn’t expected this, like he’s still processing the fact that it happened at all. And maybe it’s the way he looks at you, stunned and a little breathless, or maybe it’s just the warmth still lingering between you, but you find yourself smiling, a tiny, barely-there curve of your lips.

“Yeah,” you murmur back, voice quieter and warmer than you intended.

Neither of you moved away. Not yet.

You lower your head, a hot flush creeping up your cheeks and neck, and that's when you also understand where his “oh” is coming from.

Oh.

While he turns away to hide his face in his hands and prays to be buried in a grave on the spot, you burst out laughing — a frank, non-judgmental laugh. Simply savoring this pleasant moment with him (albeit with one small problem).

“Just with a kiss? Satoru, I swear you’re the cutest!” you continue to laugh, half-folding with your arms hugging your belly.

“It’s not f-funny!” And the poor guy doesn’t even dare turn around as he adjusts his pants, which is where his “problem” lies.

Smiling, you move closer to him, your lips still prickling from the perfect kiss. One of your hands slips to his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he mumbles, hiding his face again from your sight.

“It is,” you insist, wrapping your hand around his wrist to look at him. “I’m not judging you, I swear. It’s not like you can control that, is it?”

“I know, but— It’s so embarrassing. I feel like a poor virgin nerd that — well, It’s not like I am not but—”

You freeze, slowly losing your smile. “Wait… you’re a virgin?”

He nods, a little shameful pout creasing his lips.

“I—” you trail off. Taking a short breath, you lower yourself a little more to look at him as he covers his crotch with one hand. “I can help you with that, you know.”

His eyes widen, heart hammering in his rib cage. “W-What?”

An umpteenth laugh shakes your chest. “I mean, yeah. I don’t mind and I like you.” Then an idea pops into your head, like a lamp regaining its light. “Like, it would make up for the effort you put into helping me get good grades. What do you think?”

He straightens abruptly and gently but firmly pushes your hand away by the wrist. A serious look despite his embrace adds.

“No way. I already told you I don’t want anything in return.”

“But it’s just to please you,” you insist, flickering your eyes. “Don’t you want to know how it feels?” You take a few steps forward until you can wrap your arms around his perfect torso — the ideal balance of slim and muscular.

Your chin rests on his breastbone, a little imploring pout on your lips.

“C’mon, just an oral, I promise. I want to return the favor.”

He swallows hard, lips parted as if the words are stuck somewhere between embarrassment and want. His gaze flickers between your face and the floor, a mix of reluctance and curiosity in his eyes.

“But I—” His voice cracks slightly, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I don’t know what I’m doing…”

You smile, a quiet, knowing smile, and slide your fingers slowly down his arm, your touch lingering on his skin. “It’s okay,” you say, your breath barely above a whisper. “I’ll guide you.”

You can see him shiver at the words, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You take your time, moving in closer, making sure to leave no space between you. Your lips brush against his jaw, a delicate kiss that makes his entire body stiffen for a split second. He doesn’t pull away, though, and that’s enough to encourage you to go further.

“Just relax,” you tease, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “I promise I’m not going to bite.”

“I know, I just need to sit a bit,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty in his eyes.

You pull away from him, feeling the palpable tension between the two of you. “Of course.” You take his hand in yours and guide him onto his bed. When he sits down on the mattress, you find yourself kneeling between his legs.

As your hands busily unzip his straight gray twill pants, you maintain eye contact. “Tell me if it’s too much or if you wanna stop, okay love?”

Love.

He nods gently, his elbows pressed into the softness of the mattress to get a view of your movements without him lying down completely. Lips trembling, Satoru feels obliged to bite them to calm himself as the heat almost suffocates him while all he has left is his boxer shorts hiding his growing erection under the thin fabric.

You can feel the air thickening between you, charged with the kind of quiet intensity that makes your pulse race. Your fingertips wrap around the waistband of his boxers and tug them down gently, letting the fabric rub against his length while he’s hissing.

“Sweetheart—”

“Relax, I’m just getting started,” you chuckle fondly.

When the underwear is pulled down, his erection springs free, slamming on his half-covered abdomen. The poor little thing, left alone, twitches painfully — dragging sounds like cute and innocent whimpers from Satoru — like it’s begging for your touch for a decade.

You curl your lips together, genuinely stunned by his size. 7 inches isn’t nothing.

“So you’re packing this from the start?”

“I— No…” He sighs, clenching his jaw as his eyes flutter closed. “Please, it’s already embarrassing.”

“But why? You’re beautiful, Satoru. And I’m not talking about your dick,” you snort. Your gentle, affectionate tone makes Satoru forget how to breathe and open his eyes again. “You’re beautiful on the inside too.”

“You’re only flattering—”

“I am not,” you state firmly, getting up from your knees to straddle his hips and cup his cheeks until they puff like mochi’s and he’s pouting.

Fucking adorable.

“Have you ever been into a relationship?” you whisper after pecking a kiss on the corner of his lips.

He shakes his head, stuttering a no.

“So  can I call you mine? Because I’d be yours if I could,” you mutter next to his jaw where you peck another kiss that makes him shiver and grip your hips with his hands.

He opens his mouth to say something and hesitates. “A-Are you sure?” he asks, eyes filled with doubt. ‘I’m a nerd and—”

“And my type is nerd guys,” you cut him off before pulling him into a passionate kiss. He gasps, tightening his grip on your as his lips gently taste your and steal his breath away. “I love you, Satoru.”

“Love you more. Since the first time I laid my eyes on you,” he murmurs back between kisses, eyelids shut.

You slightly pull away, a smile springing to your lips. “Pinning on me for so long? Aw, sorry to have been blind for this long too, then.”

He resists the urge to take you in his arms and lets you back down onto your knees, this time with his oversensitive cock throbbing in your hands as you begin to stroke it up and down, base to tip with all the slowness you can manage so as not to make him cum too quickly.

Satoru’s hips jerk up instantly, his chest rising and lowering because of his stuttering breath.

“Your hands feel so good and soft,” he whispers, sliding his big hands up to your shoulders, which he gently massages to relax you too. What a gentleman. “So much better than mine…”

“Yeah? You like it?” Eager to please him for his first time, you place a kiss on his angry red tip, licking a little strop with the tip of your own tongue.

“Hgn— easy,” he pants, hands shaking slightly as they interrupt their massages on your shoulders when yours lead them on your head, tangled with your locks. “What are you—”

“You can use my hair, if you want.” And you punctuate your words by taking his length back between your hands and kiss the fat head. It twitches in response, stealing little giggles from your sweet lips. Beads of precum leak along his length, helping you to wet him enough to stroke him faster as you part your lips and slide them down the length of him.

Satoru’s breath hitches when you take him, sucking in slow, deep strokes as your hand grips the base of him. You pull back slightly, your lips sliding back up, and you hear him groan, a sound that makes you ache. You repeat the motion, taking him deeper, sucking harder as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your mouth before you pull back again.

“Feel good?” you ask sweetly.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes out — even whimpering in neediness, “thank you so much…” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you even closer, but it’s not enough.

You don’t stop. Instead, you take him deeper, your lips tightening around him as you move faster, the sound of your mouth on his cock filling the room, drowning out everything else. Satoru’s breath grows shallow, irregular, his body starting to tense, his legs flexing as he tries to hold back.

But you can feel it. The way he is so close, the way his body is winding tighter with every flick of your tongue. His fingers pulled at your hair, unsure to guide you just how he wants because what you were doing is already something he’ll owe you all his entire life — he is desperate, needing his release.

“F-Fuck,” he stutters, fingers digging in your scalp deliciously for you pleasure. “I love you, but please, g’nna—”

“—cum? Yeah, do it, love,” you purr affectionately as you teasingly suck his sensitive tip until he’s whining and fighting for his hips to not thrust up and hurt you.

He is there — at the edge — his cock twitching in your mouth, and you know he can’t hold on much longer. With one last deep, slow pull, he cums, his hips jerking as he releases into your mouth with a long, desperate groan. You swallow every drop, sucking him clean, your hands gently massaging his thighs as he slowly comes down from the high.

Satoru’s breath is ragged, his body shuddering as he slowly opens his eyes. He looks at you like you’re some sort of angel from heaven, and you smile, wiping the corner of your mouth before standing up.

“Feel better?” you ask teasingly, your voice light despite the heat still pooling in your stomach.

He sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes before carefully sitting up and hugs you in a tight embrace. He blows kisses all over your face, murmuring thank yous and how much he loves you and you find yourself in awe.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least that I can do for you, after all.” You press a big, firm, and sincere kiss on his cheek, and cannot stop smiling.

~~~~

The main room is bathed in a deep blue, soft, ambient light, the atmosphere almost otherworldly. Stars shimmer faintly on the walls, and delicate, hanging lanterns cast a stunning cold glow, like constellations scattered across the ceiling. The whole room seems alive, breathing with energy, as guests drift through the space, their laughter and chatter blending into a gentle hum.

At the center of the hall are huge telescopes, available for anyone curious enough to observe tonight’s planet alignment. The most important event of the Spring Formal.

Around the perimeter, tables are set with shimmering candles, their flames flickering softly, casting shadows on the faces of the students who’ve come to admire the setup. The smell of roses and lavender lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of freshly baked treats at the snack table. It feels like a dream — a celebration of the night sky brought to life.

Satoru stands beside you, his hand lightly brushing against yours as you both take in the beauty of the room. His smile is small but warm, his gaze drifting from the decorations to the crowd. There’s an unspoken pride in the way he looks at you, knowing you had a hand in making all of this happen, bringing the theme of the planets to life with such care.

“This is... perfect,” he says, voice soft but full of admiration. His words are simple, but they carry weight. You feel a soft warmth settle in your chest at the sincerity in his tone.

A small smile blooms on your lips. “Yeah…” you agree, turning to face him fully, now a grin spreading across your face. “It really turned out great. Thanks to you.”

His cheeks tint pink at the praise, and he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but the pride in his eyes is unmistakable.

“You really made this all come together,” he says, voice full of admiration. “It’s amazing.”

For a moment, you simply smile at each other, a comfortable silence settling between you. The warmth of his gaze makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“Want to dance?” you ask, already knowing his answer, but wanting to ask all the same.

He hesitates for a moment, that same shy, unsure side of him creeping back, but the smile on his lips says everything.

“Yeah,” he says, his hand finding yours once again, this time with more confidence. “I’d love to.”

As you both step onto the dance floor, the lights change again, and for a moment, the two of you are surrounded by the glow of the stars and lanterns, your bodies moving to the soft music that fills the room. It’s not a fast, frantic dance — just slow and gentle, like you’re in your own little world. You feel the gentle sway of the music, and the weight of everything around you fades, leaving just the two of you in perfect harmony.

Maybe it’s the magic of the planets aligning, or maybe it’s just him — but either way, you think, you wouldn’t mind orbiting around Gojo Satoru a little longer.

a/n: there we go! I AM DRAINED BC OF SCHOOL AND COURSES GUIDANCE BC LAW IS SO HARDDDD!! hum hum, beside that, i hope you guys had a nice week and that you are all taking care of your little faces (if not i'm gonna do it for you). writing this felt like... refreshing? i mean, nerdjo is the little mochi i'm eating when i go to the supermarket lol. and gosh, he's so cute that i'm going crazy haha.

reblogs, comments, and likes are very appreciated as always <3

also, this is how i pictured this cutie pie:

tags: @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wisheclairr @sanemistar @monokaix

.....fr though

undertale reference

Mental health status:

.𖥔 COGNITIVE DISSONANCE ⭑.ᐟ⸻ Nerdjo

⸻୨ৎ"𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭"୨ৎ⸻

pairing⸻𖥔 boyfriend Nerdjo x reader

cw ────୨ৎ──── university/college au, Nerd Gojo Satoru, MDNI, NSFW, established relationship, fem reader, mentions of food, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, minor spit stuff, bunch of making out, lowkey exhibitionism, p in v sex, backshots, dirty talk, begging, overstimulation, freaky Gojo, obsessed Gojo, Gojo with specs, bunch of yapping about the theory and other biological phenomena, nothing too complicated I believe, i am open to discuss them in the comments lol.

a/n: art credits @/nekozuu_ on instagram. this was one of my fav theories back in high school.

Gojo Satoru lives by his beliefs, which are firm and rigid—in the sense, they are unshakable until proven wrong.

And one of those beliefs happens to be his positive regard for knowledge and education. Satoru finds his own comfort and joy in knowing he may be smarter than an average pedestrian crossing the road with him. If odds and variables are in his favor, then he's just about the smartest person you'll cross a road with. And he likes that. He likes the feeling of superiority and fulfillment in those achievements. Especially when they are recognized by others.

So it is only natural that as your boyfriend, your great and supportive boyfriend, he supports all your hobbies, and indulges in your favorite activities; despite their overall redundant effective outcome in his perspective. He still accompanies you to those silly movies you watch just for fun and forget about them the next day because they are of no substance, he'll go to a party with you where it's so crowded it defeats the purpose of socializing. 

He will buy you books that do not really add to anything but give you entertainment, and he will watch every trashy reality show you want to watch with him on a Friday night. He’ll even go and buy you the most unhealthy, and unethical brand of cookies if it means you are happy. Even when it is probably that he knows better shops that make better stuff, but if you do not want it, then he will respect that. Because ultimately it is not that it interferes with his convictions, these are compromises he is willing to make for love.

So when all he asks of you is to focus on your grades a little bit more than what you are currently, how can you say no to him?

And of course he is there to help you through all of it! Helping you with notes, going to the library with you and even sweet talking the librarian into helping you return those books you were long overdue to return, just because she loves him. He makes you coffee, and lunch boxes, and even asks your professor for some additional pointers on your behalf.

Then why is it that when you actually get so engrossed into studying he is there in a corner, ignored, and dejected, plotting to burn down the university? The same place where he tops every single academic chart, and competitions. Either beloved by the professors or hated by them for his very capable brain.

Gojo Satoru has strict beliefs, and behavior that corresponds according to those schemas. Then why is it that he is not able to come to a certain conclusion? Does he want your affection at the cost of your grades? Of course not! That would not be something Satoru would even dream about!

After all this is the same guy who helps Suguru with his assignments the day before their submission, one too many times. He helps Shoko with her pre-med preparations, and even helps out his juniors by providing them his notes and pointers for free.

So why is it that he is performing these contradictory behaviors that cannot justify his beliefs?

He is snuggling you up in the bed when you are surrounded by loose notes and papers, even lying on top of them and crushing them in the process. Throwing a fit when you scold him, and pushing them off on the ground out of spite; like a big overgrown, bratty, spoiled house cat. So he gets kicked out of the bed after being heavily scolded by you. 

He is sliding his feet up your legs and between your thighs, at the library, not stopping even when someone comes and takes a seat beside you. Taking pleasure in watching your face twist and turn, even though it is hidden a bit behind your laptop screen, he still gets a peek. He wouldn't stop, he cannot stop, it's as if his mind goes into this ‘must always touch the love of my life’ mode, even when it's disputing his usual functions. So he gets kicked in the knees by you, and also gets abandoned there.

He cannot help but pull you into random empty classrooms to make out with you, even when you are late for your classes. 

“It-*kiss*-will be-*kiss*- alright”

“No, N-*kiss*-you have to-” Shoving at his shoulders is useless. Just resisting his kisses is simply near impossible. 

Good luck trying to get out of his clutches. Telling him to stop is not happening when he has those pretty pink lips trying to silence you with kisses. Trying to push him off is also ineffective. Once, you are in his arms, on his lap, in the back of an empty lecture hall, Satoru is taking full exploitative advantage of the situation.

He will be only letting you go when he hears someone enter the class. He will pick you up with him in one go, and walk out of the entrance at the back as fast as he can. He has been banned from kissing privileges for a whole day, during exam season for doing this. 

And honestly he'd risk it again. Only because he knows how to plead his way back onto your lips, and in between your legs.

"Pleaseeeeee sweets i am so sorry, look how sorry i am." Curse Gojo Satoru and his big blue puppy eyes, and your unfathomable amount of love for him.

And if begging does not work, which hardly ever happens—he would just start with kissing around your neck, and snuggling into your side, while you try to not give him any attention; and then quickly it would turn into dirty talking into your ears, in his own eccentric way, until you give in.

“You know sweets, condoms are not biodegradable.” You are not sure what made a shiver run down your spine. Was it what he said or the bite on your earlobe, or his wandering hands creeping up your stomach under your top? 

“W-what?”

“Just saying that, we should do it raw, right now, for the environment. You know?”

Maybe it is just the fact that you look so hot when your eyebrows are all scrunched up when you focus. Something is very sexy about you trying, actually trying, for his sake. And it just simply turns him on. How hard you try to ignore his advances, and how it shows so clearly that you get so easily affected by his little touches and silly words. It looks exactly the same when you cum for him, just the difference is that your eyes remain open in this case. 

He is not one to have types, if you asked him whether this reckless behavior is because he's into nerdy girls more—then he'd simply say an adamant no. Because he doesn't care. The only reason he is being like this is because it's you. Everytime you whine and push him away, when he tries to distract you, despite it, you just melt so pliable and soft in his arms, that even your actions seem despite your words. Just like him. The thought burns his skin, makes his heart palpitate, leaves him panting, and his vision gets all blurry—that maybe you love him as disruptively, as he loves you.

Dichotomy? Contradictions? He can live with those. But dissonance? That he cannot do. His entire existence is about the perfect synchronisation of his cognition and behavior, achievement of homeostasis, so he can be the most functional version of himself.

He cannot have that when his mind is shouting at him to stop himself from distracting his girlfriend, while his hands are doing nothing to stop themselves from sneaking into your skirt.

So his love for knowledge and education can crash and burn when it tries to rival his need to be practically attached to his girlfriend, and always have all of her affections and undivided attention, like the selfish bastard he is.

Especially when he has your ass up in the air, giving you some of the meanest backshots of your life, while you are trying to solve an equation.

How is that fair?

"B-baby, can you-can you focus?" And no, he does not mean to imply that you should focus on your studying, he means focus on him.

"I am trying to focus here, Toru. Just another page and I'm done with this set, one second."

He continues to thrust harder and harder. Your almost entire body moves forward with each one, and just the fat of your ass jiggling from the impact, while his hands definitely leave an imprint around your waist—how are you even using that calculator right now?

“You sure, that-oh god-this is what you'd rather do?” He says before shutting his eyes and pushing on your body a bit, making your top half lie flat down on the bed, while your ass remains in the air, high and perfectly in his grasp.

“Yes Toru.” With a sigh you added more, “But please, continue.”

So he does. How can he disobey you? I mean if you look at it from a different angle, you can look at this like Gojo Satoru keeping his girlfriend motivated! Sure. 

How exactly? Well if you think about it, he is sort of helping you out with exhausting you, and making you get some sleep, and his kisses alone are very motivational, very inspiring. Or so he would like to think, definitely not distracting or attention seeking.

At least that is what he'd like to tell himself, like when after being ignored by you for one and a half hours, he finally decides he's had enough. And he abandons his own work, and crawls off your bed, to your desk, where you are sitting, trying to focus—keeping a healthy distance between you two, since the exams are practically the day after tomorrow.

And from the corner of your eyes you can see Satoru crawling towards you. Maybe he thinks if he crawled like a cat, he would go unnoticed, which is a very dumb assumption for such a smart guy. But he gets to your chair, and slightly turns it so you are no longer facing your desk, but him instead.

“You're hurting me sweets.” He laid his face on your thighs, and looked up at you with pleading eyes. Sitting on the floor, he looked so dejected and kicked, while moving your feet on his lap, and caressing a hand up and down on them.

“Do not start with me, Satoru.” Despite sighing at his big blue desperate eyes, hiding behind his metal frame spectacles. That now sat crooked on his face, as he further pressed his cheeks in your thighs, you still slipped one of your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp like a big clingy cat purring in your lap.

“‘M just askin’ for ‘m sweets to pay attention to me.” Both of his hands wrapped themselves around your shin, and he further shoved his face in your lap, mumbling and grumbling like a kid.

And when you don't reply to him, because you get busy with your worksheet again, he has no choice but to let the impulses run him. 

Is it so bad to distract your girlfriend the day before her exam? 

If you asked him this before he met you, he'd say yes. But now—the answer would be very different. A kind of, very cheeky ‘Nooooooo’. Since he is currently working to take off your shorts, and to get a taste of you, anything but a ‘no’ would be the incorrect answer. And why did you not try to pry him off as he lifted you up from your seat, with his sheer strength alone and dragged your shorts off? 

Let's say you're too used to his antics to be bothered by it. There have been days where he has gone to sleep with his mouth on your tits, and even taken naps with his face down, and pressed into your clothed pussy. You kind of got a scare that day that maybe he suffocated himself, when he would not get off of you.

But you never shy away from indulging his delirious or conscious insanity. You'd always pamper him after all the nighters he pulls to cover his syllabus in a day, months before exams; or if he stays up all night to finish a level of Zelda. It could be that he is just too happy to get full marks on his test, or that he's upset over his grades being not good enough—you’d kiss him, and let him do whatever he wants, to make himself feel better. You'd never stop him from trying to get his fill.

So when he puts both of your thighs up on his shoulder, and pulls your panties to the side to give your cunt a long lick; sure you whimper and your grip on your pen gets tighter—but you don't stop him.

“S-Sato-” The stutter of words got stuck in your throat, when his face plunged into your pussy with more vigor.

“AH. OH-FUCK-MY GO-GOODNESS. SATORU!”

His left hand remains tightly wrapped around your right thigh, while his left hand crept its way up to your hole, circling around it, and teasing to go in by a centimetre or so, to then only pull back and trace around your entrance.

“Hmm?” He hummed around your clit, as his tongue worked around it in a steady and perfected rhythm.

Well, Satoru has a system when it comes to eating you out. One thing he knows he'll never get conflicted over, is that he can die with his mouth on your pussy and he will die happy. He might even come back as an apparition instead of going to heaven, because his heaven is between your legs.

The way he eats your cunt is strategic, and yet very sloppy. And when it comes to your clit, sucking on it can do the job, as he has observed—but what truly gets you worked up is when he is tracing the pi symbol on your clit. That makes you shower his face with your juices. 

And honestly this was entirely an accidental finding. It just so happened that one day he needed a break from this equation that was making his head hurt, so as usual, he found refuge with his face between your legs. Unintentionally he started thinking about the equation again while eating you out, and when his tongue off mindedly started to trace the pi symbol on your clit, it made you squirt, which you had never done before.

Just to solidify his hypothesis and to draw an inference, for the next seven days, he spent most of his waking free hours between your legs. And everytime he pulled out the pi, you came more than ever.

This little side quest experiment cleared his head so well, he solved that equation within minutes after he came to his conclusions.

“P-please Toru- trying. Fuck. Try-trying to get .Fuck fuck fuck. this page is done.” You did not know these little details. You don't need to, because as long as he can make you cum like no one else has, all you need to remember is, his tongue.

“Be a good girl and finish it then, sweets.” The two fingers that he delved inside your hole, to push against those spots in your wall, that made you scream uncontrollably and want to grip his hair—he took them out, and used that hand to slap your clit with sharp and accurate movements of his wrist. Neither his taunting words, nor his little moans, could rival yours. But it sure did go straight to your pussy, quite literally.

“To-Toruuuu” You twitched with every little slap that came down on your clit. And your worksheet looked like a toddler started solving it by the end. The vibrations of the sounds he started to make in his own pleasure only made it worse for you.

“Yes, sweets?” He finally pulled off from your cunt, with his lips and nose glistening with your juices, and his glasses fogged up and smudged, so he had to look up at you from the gap above his glasses. 

And he truly could not look more fucked out. If someone saw you two, it'd be hard to tell who's brain has gone more mushy.

“If-hah-I cum, w-will you stop?” The proposition was tempting and risky.

“Hmmm? You're asking as if you can hold back.” And without another word, he dove right back in, with more determination, more fingers, accompanied by his tongue inside of you, and more of his spit just rolling down the mound of your cunt—he ate you out like a starved man, until you came.

And if you thought you could bargain with Gojo Satoru; you are, oh so, wrong. 

Satoru didn't let you go until you came again on his face on the bed next, and then again while sitting in his face. And by the sixth orgasm, you've had enough, so you passed out on him. 

Next day as punishment for himself, he refrained from doing anything to you, and helped you study while studying for his own exams. And when the urges started to override his beliefs, yet again. He ran back to his dorm room. And locked himself in there until the exams were done. He went as far as to not even touch himself to the thought of you, and kept contact with you minimum. Texts, only five per day; calls, only two per day; and video calls, once if he is about to pull out his dick and jerk it to pictures of your face on his phone. And he wished that maybe this distance will get rid of the discord in his head. 

By the time the exams ended, Satoru felt more than confident, not only in the fact that your grades are about to get better, and that he is going to top yet again; but also that his problem was under control.

Gojo Satoru has fixed his dissonance. His cognition and his behavior are in perfect synchronisation.

“Toruuuu!” You yelled as you ran towards him from across the hallway, to pick him up after his exam.

No, Satoru’s behaviors did not suddenly start to align with his beliefs. In fact, he figured it's better to align his beliefs with his behavior.

“Missed you sweets, so much.”

Gojo Satoru is not that fond of PDA, but like right now, he would never refrain from kissing you with tongue and all in the middle of the hallway. It doesn't matter that his glasses get pushed up to his forehead and he looks silly when you back away, because he will always chase your lips, as you giggle at him and try to fix his glasses.

“Missed you too baby” Your giggles went straight to his head. Making him see hearts floating in front of his eyes, all around you.

So, Satoru cannot keep his hands off you, big deal. Fuck his beliefs. He can, and he should, be able to touch you whenever and however he can. He is lucky enough to have you, to have you love him so dearly to indulge all his silly thoughts and his obsessive love sick behaviors.

It was only about time that his brain also understood that it cannot fight the phenomenon that is, your existence in his life. So why try to pull back his muscles from naturally reaching out to you, and why not just have his hands all over you? Because answer to homeostasis is not to battle with the anomalies disrupting his equilibrium; with all his physiological and psychological might; but to achieve self-regulation and changes from within, to allow proper functioning and survival.

Because Gojo Satoru’s brain may be able to fight anything and everything. Perhaps even find answers to the unknown—but it's always at your mercy, just as his entire being.

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: Art credits @/nekozuu_ on instagram, other pictures are from Pinterest; i could not find the exact sources.

full quote is by Leon Festinger (cognitive dissonance was mainly theorized by him) “A man with a conviction is a hard man to change. Tell him you disagree and he turns away. Show him facts or figures and he questions your sources. Appeal to logic and he fails to see your point."

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐃! 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Join Satoru & Y/N on their journey through parenthood as they navigate through a curse-filled world with their biological children and their adopted sons, Megumi & Yuji.

It is recommended that you read the fics in the correct order as listed below. Some parts can be read as a stand-alone fic.

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈) — ♛

➙ PHONE CALLS || gojo chats with you and your daughter while in the middle of a meeting.

➙ “WHAT? YOU’RE MARRIED? AND YOU’RE A DAD?” || yuji discovers that gojo has a family.

➙ “YOU WANT TO ADOPT ME?” || you & gojo adopt yuji & megumi.

➙ “LET’S HAVE ANOTHER BABY.” — ♛ || after adopting yuji & megumi, you & satoru decide to have another baby.

➙ FIRST FIGHT || the children overhear you & satoru arguing. megumi & itadori try to distract their little sister from it.

➙ MOTHER’S DAY || your family shows you how much they appreciate you.

➙ MY SON || megumi’s depressed and lives in fear that you and gojo will regret adopting him someday soon. you show him just how wrong he is.

➙ VACATION || the entire family goes on a much needed trip, but maya can see curses now. (coming soon)

➙ “YOU’RE PREGNANT?” || you’re getting ready to have a baby. (coming soon)

𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀:

These are fics that are a part of this au series but aren’t necessarily “canon” and/or don’t happen within the current timeline of the au series. You can think of these fics as filler, to be honest!

➙ SUKUNA || sukuna decides to come out.

➙ MOTHER, HOUSEWIFE, & SORCERER || the shibuya incident has endangered your entire family. it’s time for you to do something about it. (coming soon)

➙ ALL GROWN UP || your children are all grown up and have had kids of their own. you & satoru are grandparents. (coming soon)