This Is EVERYTHING

it’s the 21st day of the 21st year of the 21st century.

you can only reblog this today.

gojo

Hippity-Hop into Your Heart

Summary: Usahara is all too happy to play the role of boyfriend so you can shake off a creep, but of course, the night ends with him developing an all too real crush. 4.1 k A/N: Art from Gaku Kaze! Usahara Tobikichi/F!Reader. I have a soft spot for this dumb bunny and I think he needs more love. Enjoy! TW: Stalking, cursing (mostly for reader getting called a b*tch by said stalker).

Usahara’s drunk. Again. 

The night has hardly begun and he keeps slumping over the table, cheeks flushed and eyes bleary while he struggles to sit upright. “I wish I was funny.”

“I wish you were sober.” Uramichi slides another glass of water, moving aside the collection of empty shot glasses. “I thought we were only doing beer.”

“We should order motsu nikomi for him.” Kumatani suggests; he’s only on his third beer. 

They did start a bit later than expected for a weeknight. There’s hardly anyone else at the tables around them; hopefully Usahara doesn’t end up getting them kicked out for disturbing the peace. A server comes around with their next round of beers and Kumatani speaks up to request more water while they look over their options for food.

“I want gyoza!” Usahara slurs. “And a girlfriend. Ugh. I really want a girlfriend.” 

“You can have one of those things.” Kumatani glances at the paper menu. “Seeing as how gyoza’s on the menu and you’re a degenerate, let’s keep this based in reality.”

“I’m not a general!”

“Let’s leave him here.” Uramichi whispers, leaning over to Kumatani on his left. “He’ll pass out soon enough.”

“I’m drunk, not deaf.” Usahara grumbles; he sighs and sheds his jacket. “It’s hot. Can we get ice cream?”

“Why do you drink so much when you know you can’t handle booze?” Kumatani rests his chin on his hand. “If you think I’m paying your tab, you’ve got another thing-”

“Honey! There you are, sorry I’m late, I was stuck at the office.”

Usahara raises his head up; there’s a girl sliding into the booth seat next to him. For a split second, he thinks he might be having a hallucination, but you scoot closer and touch his arm with a strained smile. Not to mention Uramichi and Kumatani are also staring at him and you, visibly taken aback at this stranger joining their table, so Usahara is 100% positive the alcohol isn’t making him see things.

“I’m sorry.” You’re leaning in to whisper in his ear, still smiling but now your voice is considerably less cheerful. “A man’s been following me since I left my job.”

“What?” Usahara straightens up and stares at you, bewildered, trying to keep his tone low. “Did he come in?”

“He followed every time I changed directions.” You pretend to look at Uramichi and Kumatani but you’re actually sneaking a peek at the entrance. “He’s outside in the smoking area. I think he’s waiting.”

Usahara glances at the door; there is a man outside. It’s not easy to make his features out, but he can see him turn his head to look into the bar. 

“I’m sorry to intrude.” You drop your fake smile. “This place is the closest building with people and I thought he would keep following me if I sat down by myself. Could I wait here until he leaves? I’ll pay for your next round.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Uramichi frowns. “Do you want to call the police?”

“No, I mean, what could they do?” You release your grip on Usahara’s arm and give him some space. “He could just say he’s going the same way as me. I just didn’t want him to know where I live.”

“I’m going out there.” Kumatani stands up. 

“Oh please don’t!” You say hurriedly. “You really don’t have to get involved.”

“Scum like that need to have their asses kicked before they get the message. He looks weak.” Kumatani glares over at the door. “I’m not gonna be intimidated by some gross stalker.”

“But he could have a knife.” You say worriedly. “Even if he doesn’t, you’ll get in trouble for making things physical. Please, um…”

“Kumatani.” Usahara supplies. “He’s Kumatani, I’m Usahara, and that sad sack over there is Uramichi-”

“Kumantani, let’s use this drunk as a human shield.” Uramichi addresses the still standing Kumatani but his cold eyes are directly on Usahara’s. “If the creep has a knife, you’ll do your part as a concerned citizen, right?”

You glance around at the three of them. “Look, I already feel bad to bother you guys. I can get a ride; I doubt he’ll chase after a car, you know? I just,” you swallow hard; the last thing you want to do is start crying, not now in front of these strangers you had basically forced to be involved in this. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, okay?”

“Alright.” Kumatani finally takes his seat. “You’ve got a good point.”

“You must have been scared.” Uramichi looks at you with some sympathy. “I’m not eager to do any heroics myself and I don’t blame you for not wanting to stir the pot. How far away is your work?”

“About ten minutes. I work for a family, well, a few different families in the area.” You explain; your teeth have stopped chattering and your heart has stopped pounding. “I actually do babysitting and cleaning jobs. Today the parents went out for a date: they offered to drive me home, but they had a few drinks at dinner and I didn’t want to spend money on a ride share app when my place is so close. I actually come here every now and then to wind down after work…I didn’t think I’d be coming in tonight to escape that asshole.”

“Uh, so,"  Usahara clears his throat. “Why did you sit next to me? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Dude.”

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Usahara holds up his hands as if to block himself from the death glares being shot his way. “Just curious!”

“The seat next to you was empty.” You answer honestly. “Why else would I?”

“Because I’m…cute?” Usahara grins but it fades as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Sorry. Okay, no more joking: are you hungry? You might as well eat something, my treat.”

“I thought you were broke?” Kumatani snips. “I told you, I’m not covering your tab.” he turns to you. “Order what you want.”

“Ice cold.” Usahara crosses his arms. “I just so happen to have some extra funds. I helped my folks in their store earlier, so they floated me a few bucks.” he winks at you. “Since I’m playing your boyfriend, I should treat my girl to something nice.”

“You made your poor parents pay you for helping them?” Uramichi shakes his head somberly. “I didn’t think you could sink lower.”

“They insisted! I’m not gonna turn down money in this economy.”

“Don’t blame the economy for your piss poor spending habits.”

“They’re so mean.” Usahara pouts to you. “Aren’t you going to stand up for your boyfriend?”

You look at him for a moment before your face breaks out into a smile, a real one. Before you can stop, a laugh escapes you and you keep laughing until you start wheezing slightly. 

“Wow, I think you broke her psyche.” Uramichi comments lightly. 

“I’m so-sorry, really, I don’t mean to laugh at you!” Your voice cracks as you press your hands to your mouth. “Usahara? I’m sorry, you’ve all been so great to help me out.”

“I’m glad.” Usahara smiles bashfully, rubbing the back of his head; he realizes he must seem hilariously pathetic, but hey, it’s not like this is a real date. “If you’re laughing, it means you’re feeling better, yeah?”

Your giggles die off and you wipe your eyes. “I am.” with a deep sigh, you’re able to calm down and breathe normally. “I was really scared. Thank you. I feel better mostly.”

“You need a good laugh, I’m your guy.” Usahara hands you his untouched glass of water. “Here, it’s just plain water. Do you want a beer or something?”

“You know what? I could use a drink.” You confess tiredly. “So, what brings you guys here?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly two hours pass in the blink of an eye; Usahara plays his role well. He pours you drinks, stays close, but not too close to you, and even hand fed you a couple of snacks. To the casual observer, the four of you would never know you were all strangers.

Despite the cordial mood, Usahara kept up the charade, just in case the man outside was still lurking around, though they haven’t seen his profile in the window for some time now. It’s an unfortunate truth that some men will only back off if they know a girl already has a boyfriend who can potentially beat them up. Usahara, although not quite as intimidating looking in comparison to his friends, is the tallest and he does spend a good amount of time training on his own. He’s confident that if nothing else, all three of them are more than enough to take down one shady weirdo. 

It’s too bad though. Usahara can't smother the twinge of bit guilt he feels at how much fun he’s having; there’s no need for him to put up a front or try to play it cool since this is very much not a date. There’s no pressure to look good in front of you, so Usahara can relax and not think about what he says too much or how he holds himself. 

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s awesome!” You tell him excitedly, hands grabbing onto his arm as if to shake sense into him. “An absolute classic, how the heck have you never heard of Killer Clowns from Another Dimension? Do you even watch movies?”

“Sometimes” Usahara sips a new glass of water you made him order. “I can’t believe you’re judging me.”

“I saw it.” Kumatani raises his hand. “The effects are next level.”

“A man of culture.” You give him a thumbs up. “This guy knows. Uramichi, make Usahara apologize.”

“Don’t drag me into this.” Uramichi drones. “I don’t get what any of you are saying.”

“Now who needs to watch more movies.” 

“I saw one recently.” Uramichi cocks his head to the side. “It was a comedy; some idiot didn’t know when to stop running his mouth so his co worker buries him alive.”

“That’s a horror movie! If I go missing, you’re gonna be the first one the cops talk to.” Usahara clings to your arm. “Babe, tell him to leave me alone.”

“If you coddle him, he’ll never learn to shut his trap.”

“There, there, honey bunny.” You pat Usahara’s head lightly. “I promise to light a candle for you until they find the body.”

“You won’t even look for me?!”

“I think it’s more likely you’ll be disposed of by some loan sharks.” Kumatani deadpans but even he has a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Keep up the gambling and you’ll be found in a river instead of a shallow grave.”

“You guys are terrible and when I hit the jackpot none of you are seeing a cent.” Usahara tells them before leaning his head on your shoulder, sticking his tongue out at the both of them. “She’s been way nice to me and we only just met.”

“Because she doesn’t know how insufferable you are yet.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You glance down at Usahara as he gives you puppy eyes. “He’s doing a pretty good job of letting me know.”

“Babe, not cool.” 

“Sorry, honey.” You giggle and poke his flushed cheek; it’s funny how comfortable you feel right now and you don’t think it’s because of the beers. Maybe it’s because Usahara has no filter; you were so tense before, yet now you’re joking and chatting like this was the plan, to show up and hang out with these odd characters. “So, what would you do if you won the lottery?”

“Hm…”

“You should pay your rent on time.” Uramichi remarks; he’s eating his own plate of mackerel, sashimi style. “It would be nice to never have to get up for work again.”

“I want to take time off and buy a boat.” Kumatani closes his eyes. “Just floating out to sea, nice and quiet, fresh saltwater air.”

“Lame.”

“Usahara.” You smack his shoulder lightly. “Knock it off.”

“Hey why are you defending that jerk?” 

“This jerk is going to leave you to pay for all our food and drinks if you keep running your mouth.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” You shake your head somberly in disapproval as Usahara sulks. “Apologize or you’re sleeping on the couch, mister.”

“You sound more like a naggy wife than a cute girlfriend…”

“What’s that?”

“Sorry.” Usahara bows his head. “Sorry, Kumatani.”

“Good one.” Kumantani reaches over to refill your glass with a fresh pour of beer. “I’ll lend you the Man-Eating Salmon boxset if you can keep him quiet for the rest of the night.”

Usahara sips his water as you grin at Kumatani; oh well. He gets it. On paper, Kumatani makes sense: even he admits, it was pretty cool how Kumatani was going to go out there and take on that creep head on. It’s not Usahara’s style; he’s scared to get beat up and can barely throw a punch. Sue him. Still, it stings that even on this pretend date, Kumatani is still showing him up. 

“Hey guys?” It’s Uramichi that breaks the silence. “I think that creep got tired of waiting.”

They all look to the door; it’s not clear at first, but from your shaken expression, it’s apparent the man who’s made his way inside the bar is the same one who was stalking you. The smile is gone from your face; he’s approaching the table with an almost apologetic smile. He looks like a fairly normal person, to Usahara’s slight surprise, not like a thug or anything. Hell, he looks more intimidating. 

“Sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to get your number?” 

“What?” You sink into your seat. “That’s why you followed me?”

“Followed? I didn’t do anything like that.” The man looks surprised. “I go here all the time. I just saw you, thought I’d shoot my shot, you know? Besides, I don’t need anyone’s permission to come inside and have a drink-”

“Excuse me, but we’re trying to have dinner.” Usahara stares at the man blankly. “We saw you out there. If you just came to eat here coincidentally, why were you lurking outside?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Cut the bullshit.” Kumatani glares at the man, grip tightening on his mug like he wants to smash it against the offending stranger’s head. “Get the hint already, asshole.”

“You’re making everyone uncomfortable.” A dark look crosses Uramichi’s face; he’s poised as though he’s about to rise from his chair. “I think you ought to leave. She’s not interested.”

“Let her tell me herself-”

“She shouldn’t have to talk to some freak hounding her in the dark.” Usahara takes his jacket and drapes it over your shaking shoulders; he puts his arm around you. “You’re bothering my girlfriend; who do you think you are? She doesn’t owe you shit.” he forces himself to temper his anger and speaks to you gently. “Don’t feel like you have to say anything, okay babe? You haven’t done anything; it’s not your fault this loser is bugging you.”

“Fuck you.” The man snaps, posture rigid; he’s shaking, but he doesn’t move any closer. “I didn’t do anything, this bitch-”

“Don’t call her that!” Usahara stands up, but doesn’t try to attack the man; he stands in front of you, arms out slightly to obscure you from the stranger’s eyes. “You can either get your ass handed to you by my buddies-”

“Really? What are we, you bodyguards?”

Usahara ignores Kumantani’s dry stare. “-or leave in handcuffs.” he makes sure you’re blocked from view. “Your choice.”

“Go to hell.” 

But the confrontation ends there. With a sneer, the man storms out of the bar, rather quickly in fact; one of the staff members comes out from behind the counter with a concerned frown and asks if she needs to call the cops. Kumatani explains the situation and Uramichi actually goes himself to check if the man is just hiding around the corner of the bar. Usahara stays with you; despite how relieved you are, tears come to your eyes, dripping down your face.

“It’s okay.” Usahara hands you some napkins. “Do you need these?”

“Thank you.” You sniff and blow your nose into the offered napkins, but the tears aren’t stopping. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t even tell that asshole off, it was like I couldn’t even speak. I feel so dumb for being scared.”

“Not gonna lie, I was kinda scared too; Uramichi still has him beat in the dead eyed stare competition though.” Usahara chuckles; he tentatively holds one of your hands; your palm is clammy and your fingers are cold. “Sorry you had to go through that. I really thought he had left; I think the owner’s gonna call the cops anyway, dude seemed unhinged.”

“Oh, your jacket,”

“You can hold onto it. Your hand’s freezing.” Usahara ignores the slight chill he feels as you squeeze his hand. “You want me to get you a hot tea or something? Sorry, I have no clue what to do for these kinds of situations.”

“You’ve done more than enough.” You smile at him; your cheeks and eyes are red and puffy. “Thank you; the only reason I was able to feel okay at all is because of you guys being so kind. I’m so sorry for all this.”

Usahara feels bad for your gratitude; he’s also angry. He’s half tempted to go outside himself and chase after that creep, but more than that, he could cry himself from how sad you look, how you actually felt like you had to apologize for someone else's horrible actions.

“Don’t apologize. Hell, I didn’t do anything.” Usahara has to stop himself from trapping you in a big bear (bunny?) hug. “Look, do you want one of us to take you home? It’s past midnight and sometimes you get creepy drivers on that app if you request a ride this late at night.” Usahara averts his eyes to the table, trying to sound assuring despite the pit forming in his stomach. “Kumatani seems grumpy, but you won’t find anyone more reliable and Uramichi is a decent guy, even if he mopes a lot. They’ll keep you safe on your way home.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

You look nervous. “I trust you…of course, you’ve already helped me so much. I can walk home alone, I’ll pretend to be on the phone.”

“No, not at all!” Usahara scrambles to talk. “I’d be totally okay walking you home! Just leave it to Tobikichi Usahara, you won’t have anything to worry about!”

“Are you trying a stand up routine?” Uramichi reenters the booth, unmoved by Usahara’s objections. “Anyway, I think he’s really gone this time, but the owner’s still going to call the police and have them take a look around. I guess this isn’t the first time they’ve had a problem, she’s pretty sure it’s the same guy too. With any luck, he won’t be bothering anyone again.”

“I hope so.” You wipe your eyes. “Thank you, Uramichi; where’s Kumatani?”

“Settling your tab.”

“What?!” You gap at him, almost expecting this to be a joke. “That’s way too much, I was going to pay for you guys-”

“Give it a rest.”

“Uramichi!” Usahara is scandalized. “This is why girls don’t talk to you.Would it kill you to show a little tact? She's upset.”

“Are you seriously telling me that? Who asked you anyway? Look, I’m just saying, it’s no trouble.” Uramichi’s eyes soften a smidge as he looks at you. “Don’t get me wrong, I really hope this never happens again, but tonight was almost fun.”

Kumatani approaches the table, tucking away what you assume is a receipt in his wallet. “Let’s finish up and call it a night: Usahara, you owe me half the tab.”

“Saw that coming.” Usahara shrugs and manages a weak smile. “Fair enough; but I’m only paying for her and my stuff.”

“Okay.” Kumatani chuckles. “I expected you to put up a fuss like usual. We should invite your girlfriend out every time we get drinks.”

“Dude!” Usahara’s already flushed face turns bright red. “Jokes on you, I’m never inviting you guys out with us.” he sends you a lopsided grin. “If I win the jackpot, it’ll be dinner for two, wherever you want to eat.”

“Actually,” You fiddle with the sleeve of his jacket. “I was hoping we could all do this again sometime; you know, without the looming threat of being stalked. Is that weird?”

“You want to put up with us again?” Kumatani asks, but you can tell he’s mostly teasing. 

“I guess.” Uramichi concedes. “It’s nice to have a buffer.”

“Buffer? What, so you can ignore me and get drunk in peace?” Usahara sighs dramatically. “Well, that’s fine with me; having another person around makes your mood swings less stressful-ow, ow, ow! I’m sorry, I give up, you’re not moody!”

Uramichi stops grinding his fists on either side of Usahara’s temples. “Just take her home already and try not to fall over in the street.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, that’s us.” Usahara laughs somewhat embarrassed. “Did you really have fun tonight?”

“Yeah.” You say honestly; you’re leading the way to your apartment, walking slow. “You’re looking pale; do you always drink that much?”

“....yeah…” Usahara admits reluctantly. “I know, I know, I’m a mess.”

“Without a doubt.” 

“So mean…”

“But you’re very nice.” You offer him with a half smile. “And brave.”

“Me?”

“Uh huh.”

Usahara stares at you from the corner of his eye; the street lights overhead shine a dim glow on your hair and face. You’re still wearing his smelly old jacket, a grease stain on the front from dropping fried chicken on himself the other day. It looks better on you.

“Uh oh.” Usahara could slap himself. “Dude, not cool. She’s been through enough tonight. You were pretending so she could feel safe. It’s not like she actually wants to date you. Don’t let yourself get caught up in the moment. She’s a nice girl who needed your help and as it stands, she doesn’t think you’re a complete loser. Let’s keep it that way and call this a win.”

“This is me.” You come to a stop in front of a complex Usahara has gone past quite a few times before. “I’d invite you in for tea, but I should be going to bed. Can I give you my number? If you want to hang out again sometime.”

“Sure thing.” Usahara switches phones with you. “Call, text, whatever; let me know when you’re free.”

“I’ll do that.” You nod and hand him back his cellphone. “Wait, don’t go yet.”

Usahara was about to leave. “Is everything alright? I can wait until you get inside to-”

“You’re sweet.” You take off his jacket, putting it around his shoulders; you peck his jaw, not quite able to reach his cheek. “Next time, maybe we can go on a real date?”

“Am I passed out at the bar?” Usahara touches the spot where you had pressed your soft lips against his skin. “Sorry, let me get this straight: you want to see me again? Me, Usahara, specifically? For a date? Like a ‘date-date’?” he frowns, examines your face carefully. “Are you drunk? I don’t want to take advantage, I mean, you might have second thoughts later, which is totally okay, I-I don’t mind just being friends-!”

“I am a bit tipsy, but I don’t think that’s affecting anything.” You smile a little. “Maybe you should text me first thing in the morning? Just to make sure.”

“I’ll probably be super hungover.” Usahara looks at you like you’re too good to be real. “I usually go to this breakfast place, if you’re interested. It’s a cheap spot but the food’s good. Sorry, I-”

“Are you treating?”

“Yes! And I’ll pick you up?” Usahara is on pins and needles, utterly failing to reign in his excitement. “I have a spare helmet, if you don’t mind riding on a motorcycle. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“It’s a date.” You start to walk away. “Tell the guys I said thank you, again. Do you think they’ll want to get breakfast too?”

“NO!” Usahara hates how his voice pitches so high in panic; he looks down at the ground, a little ashamed of himself, but not enough to be unselfish. He really is shameless. “At least for this time, I want it to be just us. You can see for yourself if I’m worth your time; I swear, you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m holding you to that.” You smile playfully. “Honey bunny.”

Usahara blushes so much he thinks his face might be on fire, waving in a daze as you disappear into your apartment. 

“Oh crap." It almost hurts how hard Usahara's smiling as he thinks about seeing you again. "I'm so screwed.”

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operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

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

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

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

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

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

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

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

“You’re so dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t say anything.

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

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

Another type. That’s not you.

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

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He goes still.

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

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

His jaw tightens.

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

He finally turns to look at you.

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

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

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

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

You laugh. It sounds forced.

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

He’s silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d been doomed since day one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

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

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

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

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

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

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

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

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

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru!”

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

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

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

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

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

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

“…What did you do?”

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

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

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

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

“Good.”

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

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

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

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

Gojo freezes.

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

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

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

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

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

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

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

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

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

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

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

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

You blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

But the moment passed.

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

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t even notice.

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

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

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

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

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

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

Exactly. That was the point.

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

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

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

Satoru.

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

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

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

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

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

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

“…Kazuya.”

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

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

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

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

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

Almost good, even.

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

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

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

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

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

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

Your stomach sinks.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s that he chose her.

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

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

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

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

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

You go silent.

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

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

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

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

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

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

Well—no. That’s a lie.

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

But he tells himself you’re busy.

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

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

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

You’d be making fun of me right now.

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

Ayane is lovely.

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

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

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

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

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

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

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

You are silent.

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

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

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

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

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

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

And Satoru is suffering.

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

But you were always one step ahead.

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

Gojo Satoru is… just tired.

Miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

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

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

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

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

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

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

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

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

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

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

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

He looks like he’s been hit.

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

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

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

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

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

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

Your breath catches.

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

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

You gape.

“Wait—”

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

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

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

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

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

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

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

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

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

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

And then, finally, he kisses you.

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

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

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

😭😭

:3c

he’s so pretty ☹️

清淡

I had a dream that someone started a meme at the bottom of their tumblr posts that was just a banner of harry styles giving a thumbs up with the text "This post is Ravioli Approved." It got really popular, and eventually Harry got wind of it and went on James Corden and said "this meme is Ravioli Approved." Everyone loved it and it was really funny, and Harry Styles played along. Until one day he tweeted "Donald Trump is not Ravioli Approved." And the next day Trump fucking died.

suddenly everyone was DMing Harry Styles like "am I ravioli approved???" And he mostly said yes, but the ones he said no to died. And the next day it would come out that they had been murderers or just terrible people.

They gave Harry Styles his own government Bureau of Ravioli Approval (BORA) and every baby born got an approval/disapproval rating with their social security number. Infant mortality dropped because every baby except the Disapproved ones lived.

Eventually he did like a 12-hour live special of him reading the death records of the last 20 years and approving/disapproving of their deaths. There wasn't any earthly repercussions to that but im pretty sure it meant he was sending them to heaven or hell?

The dream ended with a looney tunes ending card, except instead of porky pig it was harry in the middle with the message "This Dream Is Ravioli Approved." And i woke up.

happy wife, happy life : gojo satoru

includes: fem reader, mentions of having children, elopement/marriage, and clan hierarchies

it’s a cold, empty sunday when you and satoru get married. you call it an elopement, and he prefers the term private matter. you both compromise that maybe it’s simply just love and you should leave it at that.

scandalous, maybe. but love all the same.

“your parents will kill me,” you say, laying on his chest. it’s cold outside, but satoru is perfectly warm. you don’t worry about what’s out there when his fingers trace your arm, goosebumps making home on your skin.

“think so?” he asks slightly amused. maybe a little excited at the prospect. he likes pissing them off, you think—you almost wonder if you should be scared of just how much.

“yeah,” you snort, looking up at him like he’s stupid. he is a little, but you don’t point it out. “i just married their clan’s star child. how will you make future strongest babies now?”

“with you, silly,” he grins, “we’ll make plenty of babies if that’s what you’re worried about.”

it’s the wink he gives you that makes you realize you married the right man. the type of man who knows how to get under your skin, making himself home there as he pokes and prods at your insides but makes you feel warm…complete. like a part of you was missing until he filled the void with his infinite presence.

“i don’t know if my cursed technique is currently on their radar to pass down to heirs,” you hum, nibbling at his fingers as they work their way up to trace your jaw.

he flicks your nose, chuckles when you scrunch it before cupping your cheek. his hand is big enough that you can hide half of your face in it so that his eyes aren’t as distracting as he takes you in.

it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. or maybe the last. you can never tell if the way he looks at you is like he’s stunned or longing. maybe both. maybe he looks at you with a mix of everything all at once, like you pull every emotion out of him.

“don’t care,” he shrugs after a moment, giving you that wicked grin as he adds, “i can do whatever i want. because i’m strong.”

“how strong?” you challenge, laughing.

“really, really strong,” he says smoothly, “the strongest. so strong, that my prissy little mother can’t say anything to my dear wife.”

“oh, really?” you raise an eyebrow like you don’t believe him.

but satoru knows. he’s perfectly aware that if there’s only one person you believe, it’s him. the world could say one thing and him another—logic might tell you he’s wrong. your heart tells you he’s right.

“yes, really,” he nods with utmost sincerity, “she’s too outdated, anyway. kids these days marry for love, y’know. not for bloodlines and techniques and all that loser shit.”

“oh, forgive me. i’m really not too educated on these matters,” you nod along, “you see, i didn’t grow up on these traditions, i wouldn’t know the first thing about them.”

“right, right,” he hums like he’s beginning to understand your situation, “clan traditions aren’t very publicized, you see. you know how it is…we can’t let outsiders know our secrets.”

“ah,” you snap your fingers, waving your pointer as if it hits you all at once. satoru stifles a snort. you pretend your lips aren’t pulled into a wide grin. “i get it now. but are you sure you can tell me all this if that’s the case?”

“don’t worry,” he’s smiling far too wide by now, wide enough that you can dig your finger into that dimple of his that you love so much. “you’re my wife, so that makes you an honorary member of this clan.”

“oh,” you gasp, “i’ve made it in the network now!”

“yup,” he laughs. and you too. and then his lips are on yours, and your hand is on his cheek, and his breath feels like it’s your own as he shares his oxygen with you to keep you alive.

and you feel so, so alive.

“your parents will kill me,” you breathe, the words whispered against his lips, “i stole you away.”

“i don’t think you know how stealing works,” he clicks his teeth in disappointment as he shakes his head, “you can’t exactly steal something if it’s already yours.”

“i married a fool,” you slap his chest, “a corny one, at that. my life is on the line here, satoru. your parents will kill me.”

“i told you i’m the strongest!”

“oh right, i forgot,” you tease, “you don’t look the part.”

he looks at you wounded. the type of wounded that makes his eyes gloss with hope that you’ll lean in and kiss him to rebuild his crumbled pride.

you take the bait. he reels you in closer, closer, closer. impossibly closer.

“my parents might want to kill you,” he chuckles, voice just barely a whisper.

you hum, pecking his lips twice before he closes his eyes. “i know,” you stroke his cheek, “i was aware of the risks. love makes you do stupid things.”

“like what?”

“like marrying a man who’s parents want to kill you,” you say sarcastically, pulling a giggle out of him.

you want to tell him he doesn’t look like the strongest now, with rosy cheeks and dazed eyes as he giggles of all things. but he knows, you think—because he doesn’t feel like the strongest right now.

right now, he really just feels like a man who loves his wife. maybe a little too much, but never enough for him to be satisfied. so he’ll love you a bit harder tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

until maybe, one day he’ll be satisfied because you’ll be loved like you deserve.

“they’ll understand,” he says softly, “and even if they don’t, i’m pretty strong. people listen to me.”

“not me,” you raise an eyebrow.

“not you,” he concedes, “you’re the boss.”

“what a dutiful husband you are,” you pinch his cheek.

he grins, pulling you closer as his head tucks into your neck. it’s sunday, and it’s cold outside, and you’re somehow married even though you shouldn’t be. but somehow, you feel like you’ve swallowed the sun and drank her warmth.

“you know what they say,” he murmurs, “happy wife, happy life.”

reblogs appreciated!

ctrltoru — do not repost, translate, or plagiarize.