“ugh, that girl is sooo dramatic! imagine collapsing on the ground like that just because she's not wearing lipstick?”
her name is ... 𝓐URIE?! twenties, she/her; she's never been hollowed by THE STARS. ( ✦ ) whispers echoes around that she's the moon to 𝓢ATORU 𝓖OJO sun's ⁝ multi-fandom ◞ jjk centric blog!
shades of her ... guidelines◞ m.list ◞ ao3.
all eyes on them. ( ✦ ) daily click ◞ donations ◞ boycott list.
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( 1,5k )
main ingredients ... NSFW ◞ prince!satoru gojo, noble!fem reader, forbidden love, angst, yearning, mutual pining, jealousy, fluff, back and forth narrative (flashback), miscommunication, suggestive, pov alternating, heavy emotions, emotional & physical abuse, infidelity, suicidal tendencies, jjk characters cameo, featuring. prince!suguru geto. other tags in individual chapters ◞ repost & rewritten. ( ✦ ) more works ◞ playlist ◞ ao3.
notes in red ... when i say that everything is intentional, i really mean it. ANYWAYS, i hope everyone enjoys the prologue! i wasn't satisfied with the previous one, so having the chance to rewrite this makes me happy. support me by leaving comments and reblogs! <3
series m.list ‹ prologue › chapter one: shattered glass
with all truthfulness, she's as corrupted as the rotten apple that spoils her companions.
the lady used to beam as if the moonlight glitters across her face, all the while it leaves dusts of her sparks for another soul to trace; crawling behind all possible trails in which her feet took her, in wish that she'll continue to glow even when her world is engulfed with darkness.
her pair of eyes once shone brighter than the chandelier that glimmered on the floor of the estate, scattered around as it lit up the whole place— drowning everything in its range with a beauty only those who aren't fortunate are able to appreciate. and the scenery painted by it was more than enough to steal the air of our commoner lungs.
she was a moon incarnation in its purest form, we might argue.
in a similar manner to how the light of it set the place as if it's being bathed by glitters, our lady was once someone that radiant brilliantly, it pierces right through those who rest their gaze on her. all before the sparks in her eyes were wring dry, the colors that decorated her skin were drained out of her face, to her fingertips.
our lady life was as monotone as the love she received from her dearest ones; it was colorless in a way that had us painting colors to her skin. under the sole reason for her to seemingly look alive, even though we understand very well that the lady who stands before us is no different than a rotting corpse.
the lady is wrapped by the similar silence which engulfed her imaginary grave.
a grave that she dug with her own pair of hands, to bury her flesh and bones which are begging to function as it is supposed to, to fulfill its purpose in this earth. her bone dry figure was buried deep in the endless void she recognized as home—she acknowledged it as a place to return—for someone who realized their existence isn't as significant as they believe.
what a gut-wrenching view it was to watch her decomposing in front of us, with no power in the world to ease the striking ache that she let linger like a haze in-between her heart, as she hoped it might diminish her whole being in the long run. a crime the lady believes no one will bat their eyes at, since her presence is worth little to nothing of her dearest times.
in all honesty, who will the authority questioned, if the one suspect soul is no longer attached to the body?
poor the lady, truly. for someone who has a lot to live on, the lady is only a step away from becoming one with the soil. and what a shame it is, that not even the helping hand of her loved ones can save her from doom. well, she has no expectancy that they'll ever pull her from this hollowness she has drowned herself to, for as long as she can remember.
with that being said, down the line, amidst what our foolish mind believed is her nearing end, a piece of broken glass had let itself fall onto the pitch black like a pin drop in a deadly silence. it shatters the once still twilight in a mannerisms where the sun would break through the night into a day enveloped by lightness.
the first prince, the honored one; satoru gojo, happened.
someone our lady is well aware should be anyone but the beholder of her evergiving heart. it once again beat to life when the haze surrounding it evaporates into the thin air, where he had breathed in— the core of her which had been long thrown into the oblivion had found its purpose in pounding again, when she felt his beneath her palms.
our lady is not as corrupted as she was before anymore. the same pair of hands that dig a whole resting place for her, despite the very truth in which her heart is still pumping out blood throughout her body, had carved a way out of the imaginary grave she willingly buried herself onto. all because someone had fixed a cog in the wheel.
her eyes, for a second time, reflected those of moonlight as if she's the moon itself. she's flourishing right before where we stand, like a breakthrough no soul had expected her to be capable of. not after everything we've seen. and for what seems eternity, our lady has finally comprehend how it feels to breathe again, with no fingers laced around her neck.
similar to the first set of air she inhaled when she was born to this earth, mirroring the wail she first voice out when a loving hand brushes her skin, alike the curling she did against the warmness that blanketed her— she's as alive as she was when first being brought out to this world, alongside a fresh set of life intentions.
at the same time, the lady has become the first prince salvation, in ways his mind will never be able to convey in words. as a few arranged words are too measly for him; to the man whose life relies on the actions of his and people around him, action is a language that is far more sacred than words alone. the solid proof of someone's devotion, he might have said.
well, his highness is the epitome of a candle burning in daylight.
he's someone whose love overflows in-between the gaps of his ribcage, spilling through the space of his body like a waterfall, as he lingers for something or someone to patch up the holes on him instead of his hands alone.
the calloused palms of the first prince are one of the many things he desperately tries to wash ashore, years on end, as it is evidence of the times where he's brought face-to-face with devastation and how it consumes him; endless attempts of plastering the scattered parts of him back to where it belongs, with no souls around to lend a hand.
all for the two reasons he has spent his whole life knowing: a broken piece is always meant to be kept locked in a drawer, where no curious gaze may take sight. a facade is meant to withstand the catastrophe of oneself, unyielding from crumbling.
ones in which he believes he's trapped in for an eternity, that he starts to feel as if his fingertips are bound to his flesh by a tangled, invisible string, of something close to fear of being vulnerable and despair of the small chance he might be seen.
in his world, everyone's a glass in their own respective way. one could be polished to withstand everything to come its way, one could be dusty from being left untouched, one could be full of scratches from being treated roughly, and one could be broken pieces glued together of what once was flawless. and the first prince is, unfortunately, the embodiment of a broken one.
despite the truth of it being picked up and glued with detailed attention, to mirror how pristine it was before the shattering— a broken glass is never meant to withhold a delicate substance, for the possibility that it might seeps through the cracks where it were failed to be cured, from how fragile it is to one's touch.
because his life purpose isn't finding an heirloom of its descendant—meeting someone who understands a part of you that you had grown tired of explaining—he's fated for a life of infinite drinking of loneliness, from a golden cup meant for someone of his status.
satoru gojo isn't destined for the one luxury he craves and yearns, for as long as he learned how to breathe; a companion, who's his and his only.
perhaps being scattered into pieces is far worse than living as a rotten corpse.
a life where you're set for doomed and an infinite measure of fixing yourself, because no soul is willing to do so, is truly a nightmare disguised as maturing. a person can only pick themselves up so many times in life, before they're fractured beyond one's saving, after all.
the prince shall learn of it the hard way. whether it's metaphorically or factually.
our lady and his highness shall face the consequences of falling in love with someone they should be anything but; a person they should've never let their life be tangled with. and we shall let the two poor souls engulf their-self in the affection they both desired all their life, with every fiber in their being.
in the end, what power do people of our humble standing have when their hearts collide in parallel as fiercely as the massive stars in the sky, creating a black, never-ending hole? a merge of the two extraordinary hearts isn't something we have authority to put an end to. the stars have spoken for them, it's beyond the limits of our reach to meddle about.
for it's the truth: the life of the two pitiful nobles were orchestrated far before they bloomed inside their mother's womb and it's, undeniably, their destiny.
they ought to let the scroll of fate—of their life—find its end to each other; letting every word written on the paper to continue the left-waited story be unveiled, to find the ending they've begged on their knees for. and perhaps, the universe would bless them this time. in ways only humans who've spent their entire life whispering prayers to the stars, are capable of understanding.
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( 1,5k )
main ingredients ... NSFW ◞ prince!satoru gojo, noble!fem reader, forbidden love, angst, yearning, mutual pining, jealousy, fluff, back and forth narrative (flashback), miscommunication, suggestive, pov alternating, heavy emotions, emotional & physical abuse, infidelity, suicidal tendencies, jjk characters cameo, featuring. prince!suguru geto. other tags in individual chapters ◞ repost & rewritten. ( ✦ ) more works ◞ playlist ◞ ao3.
notes in red ... when i say that everything is intentional, i really mean it. ANYWAYS, i hope everyone enjoys the prologue! i wasn't satisfied with the previous one, so having the chance to rewrite this makes me happy. support me by leaving comments and reblogs! <3
series m.list ‹ prologue › chapter one: shattered glass
with all truthfulness, she's as corrupted as the rotten apple that spoils her companions.
the lady used to beam as if the moonlight glitters across her face, all the while it leaves dusts of her sparks for another soul to trace; crawling behind all possible trails in which her feet took her, in wish that she'll continue to glow even when her world is engulfed with darkness.
her pair of eyes once shone brighter than the chandelier that glimmered on the floor of the estate, scattered around as it lit up the whole place— drowning everything in its range with a beauty only those who aren't fortunate are able to appreciate. and the scenery painted by it was more than enough to steal the air of our commoner lungs.
she was a moon incarnation in its purest form, we might argue.
in a similar manner to how the light of it set the place as if it's being bathed by glitters, our lady was once someone that radiant brilliantly, it pierces right through those who rest their gaze on her. all before the sparks in her eyes were wring dry, the colors that decorated her skin were drained out of her face, to her fingertips.
our lady life was as monotone as the love she received from her dearest ones; it was colorless in a way that had us painting colors to her skin. under the sole reason for her to seemingly look alive, even though we understand very well that the lady who stands before us is no different than a rotting corpse.
the lady is wrapped by the similar silence which engulfed her imaginary grave.
a grave that she dug with her own pair of hands, to bury her flesh and bones which are begging to function as it is supposed to, to fulfill its purpose in this earth. her bone dry figure was buried deep in the endless void she recognized as home—she acknowledged it as a place to return—for someone who realized their existence isn't as significant as they believe.
what a gut-wrenching view it was to watch her decomposing in front of us, with no power in the world to ease the striking ache that she let linger like a haze in-between her heart, as she hoped it might diminish her whole being in the long run. a crime the lady believes no one will bat their eyes at, since her presence is worth little to nothing of her dearest times.
in all honesty, who will the authority questioned, if the one suspect soul is no longer attached to the body?
poor the lady, truly. for someone who has a lot to live on, the lady is only a step away from becoming one with the soil. and what a shame it is, that not even the helping hand of her loved ones can save her from doom. well, she has no expectancy that they'll ever pull her from this hollowness she has drowned herself to, for as long as she can remember.
with that being said, down the line, amidst what our foolish mind believed is her nearing end, a piece of broken glass had let itself fall onto the pitch black like a pin drop in a deadly silence. it shatters the once still twilight in a mannerisms where the sun would break through the night into a day enveloped by lightness.
the first prince, the honored one; satoru gojo, happened.
someone our lady is well aware should be anyone but the beholder of her evergiving heart. it once again beat to life when the haze surrounding it evaporates into the thin air, where he had breathed in— the core of her which had been long thrown into the oblivion had found its purpose in pounding again, when she felt his beneath her palms.
our lady is not as corrupted as she was before anymore. the same pair of hands that dig a whole resting place for her, despite the very truth in which her heart is still pumping out blood throughout her body, had carved a way out of the imaginary grave she willingly buried herself onto. all because someone had fixed a cog in the wheel.
her eyes, for a second time, reflected those of moonlight as if she's the moon itself. she's flourishing right before where we stand, like a breakthrough no soul had expected her to be capable of. not after everything we've seen. and for what seems eternity, our lady has finally comprehend how it feels to breathe again, with no fingers laced around her neck.
similar to the first set of air she inhaled when she was born to this earth, mirroring the wail she first voice out when a loving hand brushes her skin, alike the curling she did against the warmness that blanketed her— she's as alive as she was when first being brought out to this world, alongside a fresh set of life intentions.
at the same time, the lady has become the first prince salvation, in ways his mind will never be able to convey in words. as a few arranged words are too measly for him; to the man whose life relies on the actions of his and people around him, action is a language that is far more sacred than words alone. the solid proof of someone's devotion, he might have said.
well, his highness is the epitome of a candle burning in daylight.
he's someone whose love overflows in-between the gaps of his ribcage, spilling through the space of his body like a waterfall, as he lingers for something or someone to patch up the holes on him instead of his hands alone.
the calloused palms of the first prince are one of the many things he desperately tries to wash ashore, years on end, as it is evidence of the times where he's brought face-to-face with devastation and how it consumes him; endless attempts of plastering the scattered parts of him back to where it belongs, with no souls around to lend a hand.
all for the two reasons he has spent his whole life knowing: a broken piece is always meant to be kept locked in a drawer, where no curious gaze may take sight. a facade is meant to withstand the catastrophe of oneself, unyielding from crumbling.
ones in which he believes he's trapped in for an eternity, that he starts to feel as if his fingertips are bound to his flesh by a tangled, invisible string, of something close to fear of being vulnerable and despair of the small chance he might be seen.
in his world, everyone's a glass in their own respective way. one could be polished to withstand everything to come its way, one could be dusty from being left untouched, one could be full of scratches from being treated roughly, and one could be broken pieces glued together of what once was flawless. and the first prince is, unfortunately, the embodiment of a broken one.
despite the truth of it being picked up and glued with detailed attention, to mirror how pristine it was before the shattering— a broken glass is never meant to withhold a delicate substance, for the possibility that it might seeps through the cracks where it were failed to be cured, from how fragile it is to one's touch.
because his life purpose isn't finding an heirloom of its descendant—meeting someone who understands a part of you that you had grown tired of explaining—he's fated for a life of infinite drinking of loneliness, from a golden cup meant for someone of his status.
satoru gojo isn't destined for the one luxury he craves and yearns, for as long as he learned how to breathe; a companion, who's his and his only.
perhaps being scattered into pieces is far worse than living as a rotten corpse.
a life where you're set for doomed and an infinite measure of fixing yourself, because no soul is willing to do so, is truly a nightmare disguised as maturing. a person can only pick themselves up so many times in life, before they're fractured beyond one's saving, after all.
the prince shall learn of it the hard way. whether it's metaphorically or factually.
our lady and his highness shall face the consequences of falling in love with someone they should be anything but; a person they should've never let their life be tangled with. and we shall let the two poor souls engulf their-self in the affection they both desired all their life, with every fiber in their being.
in the end, what power do people of our humble standing have when their hearts collide in parallel as fiercely as the massive stars in the sky, creating a black, never-ending hole? a merge of the two extraordinary hearts isn't something we have authority to put an end to. the stars have spoken for them, it's beyond the limits of our reach to meddle about.
for it's the truth: the life of the two pitiful nobles were orchestrated far before they bloomed inside their mother's womb and it's, undeniably, their destiny.
they ought to let the scroll of fate—of their life—find its end to each other; letting every word written on the paper to continue the left-waited story be unveiled, to find the ending they've begged on their knees for. and perhaps, the universe would bless them this time. in ways only humans who've spent their entire life whispering prayers to the stars, are capable of understanding.
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( 1,5k )
main ingredients ... NSFW ◞ prince!satoru gojo, noble!fem reader, forbidden love, angst, yearning, mutual pining, jealousy, fluff, back and forth narrative (flashback), miscommunication, suggestive, pov alternating, heavy emotions, emotional & physical abuse, infidelity, suicidal tendencies, jjk characters cameo, featuring. prince!suguru geto. other tags in individual chapters ◞ repost & rewritten. ( ✦ ) more works ◞ playlist ◞ ao3.
notes in red ... when i say that everything is intentional, i really mean it. ANYWAYS, i hope everyone enjoys the prologue! i wasn't satisfied with the previous one, so having the chance to rewrite this makes me happy. support me by leaving comments and reblogs! <3
series m.list ‹ prologue › chapter one: shattered glass
with all truthfulness, she's as corrupted as the rotten apple that spoils her companions.
the lady used to beam as if the moonlight glitters across her face, all the while it leaves dusts of her sparks for another soul to trace; crawling behind all possible trails in which her feet took her, in wish that she'll continue to glow even when her world is engulfed with darkness.
her pair of eyes once shone brighter than the chandelier that glimmered on the floor of the estate, scattered around as it lit up the whole place— drowning everything in its range with a beauty only those who aren't fortunate are able to appreciate. and the scenery painted by it was more than enough to steal the air of our commoner lungs.
she was a moon incarnation in its purest form, we might argue.
in a similar manner to how the light of it set the place as if it's being bathed by glitters, our lady was once someone that radiant brilliantly, it pierces right through those who rest their gaze on her. all before the sparks in her eyes were wring dry, the colors that decorated her skin were drained out of her face, to her fingertips.
our lady life was as monotone as the love she received from her dearest ones; it was colorless in a way that had us painting colors to her skin. under the sole reason for her to seemingly look alive, even though we understand very well that the lady who stands before us is no different than a rotting corpse.
the lady is wrapped by the similar silence which engulfed her imaginary grave.
a grave that she dug with her own pair of hands, to bury her flesh and bones which are begging to function as it is supposed to, to fulfill its purpose in this earth. her bone dry figure was buried deep in the endless void she recognized as home—she acknowledged it as a place to return—for someone who realized their existence isn't as significant as they believe.
what a gut-wrenching view it was to watch her decomposing in front of us, with no power in the world to ease the striking ache that she let linger like a haze in-between her heart, as she hoped it might diminish her whole being in the long run. a crime the lady believes no one will bat their eyes at, since her presence is worth little to nothing of her dearest times.
in all honesty, who will the authority questioned, if the one suspect soul is no longer attached to the body?
poor the lady, truly. for someone who has a lot to live on, the lady is only a step away from becoming one with the soil. and what a shame it is, that not even the helping hand of her loved ones can save her from doom. well, she has no expectancy that they'll ever pull her from this hollowness she has drowned herself to, for as long as she can remember.
with that being said, down the line, amidst what our foolish mind believed is her nearing end, a piece of broken glass had let itself fall onto the pitch black like a pin drop in a deadly silence. it shatters the once still twilight in a mannerisms where the sun would break through the night into a day enveloped by lightness.
the first prince, the honored one; satoru gojo, happened.
someone our lady is well aware should be anyone but the beholder of her evergiving heart. it once again beat to life when the haze surrounding it evaporates into the thin air, where he had breathed in— the core of her which had been long thrown into the oblivion had found its purpose in pounding again, when she felt his beneath her palms.
our lady is not as corrupted as she was before anymore. the same pair of hands that dig a whole resting place for her, despite the very truth in which her heart is still pumping out blood throughout her body, had carved a way out of the imaginary grave she willingly buried herself onto. all because someone had fixed a cog in the wheel.
her eyes, for a second time, reflected those of moonlight as if she's the moon itself. she's flourishing right before where we stand, like a breakthrough no soul had expected her to be capable of. not after everything we've seen. and for what seems eternity, our lady has finally comprehend how it feels to breathe again, with no fingers laced around her neck.
similar to the first set of air she inhaled when she was born to this earth, mirroring the wail she first voice out when a loving hand brushes her skin, alike the curling she did against the warmness that blanketed her— she's as alive as she was when first being brought out to this world, alongside a fresh set of life intentions.
at the same time, the lady has become the first prince salvation, in ways his mind will never be able to convey in words. as a few arranged words are too measly for him; to the man whose life relies on the actions of his and people around him, action is a language that is far more sacred than words alone. the solid proof of someone's devotion, he might have said.
well, his highness is the epitome of a candle burning in daylight.
he's someone whose love overflows in-between the gaps of his ribcage, spilling through the space of his body like a waterfall, as he lingers for something or someone to patch up the holes on him instead of his hands alone.
the calloused palms of the first prince are one of the many things he desperately tries to wash ashore, years on end, as it is evidence of the times where he's brought face-to-face with devastation and how it consumes him; endless attempts of plastering the scattered parts of him back to where it belongs, with no souls around to lend a hand.
all for the two reasons he has spent his whole life knowing: a broken piece is always meant to be kept locked in a drawer, where no curious gaze may take sight. a facade is meant to withstand the catastrophe of oneself, unyielding from crumbling.
ones in which he believes he's trapped in for an eternity, that he starts to feel as if his fingertips are bound to his flesh by a tangled, invisible string, of something close to fear of being vulnerable and despair of the small chance he might be seen.
in his world, everyone's a glass in their own respective way. one could be polished to withstand everything to come its way, one could be dusty from being left untouched, one could be full of scratches from being treated roughly, and one could be broken pieces glued together of what once was flawless. and the first prince is, unfortunately, the embodiment of a broken one.
despite the truth of it being picked up and glued with detailed attention, to mirror how pristine it was before the shattering— a broken glass is never meant to withhold a delicate substance, for the possibility that it might seeps through the cracks where it were failed to be cured, from how fragile it is to one's touch.
because his life purpose isn't finding an heirloom of its descendant—meeting someone who understands a part of you that you had grown tired of explaining—he's fated for a life of infinite drinking of loneliness, from a golden cup meant for someone of his status.
satoru gojo isn't destined for the one luxury he craves and yearns, for as long as he learned how to breathe; a companion, who's his and his only.
perhaps being scattered into pieces is far worse than living as a rotten corpse.
a life where you're set for doomed and an infinite measure of fixing yourself, because no soul is willing to do so, is truly a nightmare disguised as maturing. a person can only pick themselves up so many times in life, before they're fractured beyond one's saving, after all.
the prince shall learn of it the hard way. whether it's metaphorically or factually.
our lady and his highness shall face the consequences of falling in love with someone they should be anything but; a person they should've never let their life be tangled with. and we shall let the two poor souls engulf their-self in the affection they both desired all their life, with every fiber in their being.
in the end, what power do people of our humble standing have when their hearts collide in parallel as fiercely as the massive stars in the sky, creating a black, never-ending hole? a merge of the two extraordinary hearts isn't something we have authority to put an end to. the stars have spoken for them, it's beyond the limits of our reach to meddle about.
for it's the truth: the life of the two pitiful nobles were orchestrated far before they bloomed inside their mother's womb and it's, undeniably, their destiny.
they ought to let the scroll of fate—of their life—find its end to each other; letting every word written on the paper to continue the left-waited story be unveiled, to find the ending they've begged on their knees for. and perhaps, the universe would bless them this time. in ways only humans who've spent their entire life whispering prayers to the stars, are capable of understanding.
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( 1,5k )
main ingredients ... NSFW ◞ prince!satoru gojo, noble!fem reader, forbidden love, angst, yearning, mutual pining, jealousy, fluff, back and forth narrative (flashback), miscommunication, suggestive, pov alternating, heavy emotions, emotional & physical abuse, infidelity, suicidal tendencies, jjk characters cameo, featuring. prince!suguru geto. other tags in individual chapters ◞ repost & rewritten. ( ✦ ) more works ◞ playlist ◞ ao3.
notes in red ... when i say that everything is intentional, i really mean it. ANYWAYS, i hope everyone enjoys the prologue! i wasn't satisfied with the previous one, so having the chance to rewrite this makes me happy. support me by leaving comments and reblogs! <3
series m.list ‹ prologue › chapter one: shattered glass
with all truthfulness, she's as corrupted as the rotten apple that spoils her companions.
the lady used to beam as if the moonlight glitters across her face, all the while it leaves dusts of her sparks for another soul to trace; crawling behind all possible trails in which her feet took her, in wish that she'll continue to glow even when her world is engulfed with darkness.
her pair of eyes once shone brighter than the chandelier that glimmered on the floor of the estate, scattered around as it lit up the whole place— drowning everything in its range with a beauty only those who aren't fortunate are able to appreciate. and the scenery painted by it was more than enough to steal the air of our commoner lungs.
she was a moon incarnation in its purest form, we might argue.
in a similar manner to how the light of it set the place as if it's being bathed by glitters, our lady was once someone that radiant brilliantly, it pierces right through those who rest their gaze on her. all before the sparks in her eyes were wring dry, the colors that decorated her skin were drained out of her face, to her fingertips.
our lady life was as monotone as the love she received from her dearest ones; it was colorless in a way that had us painting colors to her skin. under the sole reason for her to seemingly look alive, even though we understand very well that the lady who stands before us is no different than a rotting corpse.
the lady is wrapped by the similar silence which engulfed her imaginary grave.
a grave that she dug with her own pair of hands, to bury her flesh and bones which are begging to function as it is supposed to, to fulfill its purpose in this earth. her bone dry figure was buried deep in the endless void she recognized as home—she acknowledged it as a place to return—for someone who realized their existence isn't as significant as they believe.
what a gut-wrenching view it was to watch her decomposing in front of us, with no power in the world to ease the striking ache that she let linger like a haze in-between her heart, as she hoped it might diminish her whole being in the long run. a crime the lady believes no one will bat their eyes at, since her presence is worth little to nothing of her dearest times.
in all honesty, who will the authority questioned, if the one suspect soul is no longer attached to the body?
poor the lady, truly. for someone who has a lot to live on, the lady is only a step away from becoming one with the soil. and what a shame it is, that not even the helping hand of her loved ones can save her from doom. well, she has no expectancy that they'll ever pull her from this hollowness she has drowned herself to, for as long as she can remember.
with that being said, down the line, amidst what our foolish mind believed is her nearing end, a piece of broken glass had let itself fall onto the pitch black like a pin drop in a deadly silence. it shatters the once still twilight in a mannerisms where the sun would break through the night into a day enveloped by lightness.
the first prince, the honored one; satoru gojo, happened.
someone our lady is well aware should be anyone but the beholder of her evergiving heart. it once again beat to life when the haze surrounding it evaporates into the thin air, where he had breathed in— the core of her which had been long thrown into the oblivion had found its purpose in pounding again, when she felt his beneath her palms.
our lady is not as corrupted as she was before anymore. the same pair of hands that dig a whole resting place for her, despite the very truth in which her heart is still pumping out blood throughout her body, had carved a way out of the imaginary grave she willingly buried herself onto. all because someone had fixed a cog in the wheel.
her eyes, for a second time, reflected those of moonlight as if she's the moon itself. she's flourishing right before where we stand, like a breakthrough no soul had expected her to be capable of. not after everything we've seen. and for what seems eternity, our lady has finally comprehend how it feels to breathe again, with no fingers laced around her neck.
similar to the first set of air she inhaled when she was born to this earth, mirroring the wail she first voice out when a loving hand brushes her skin, alike the curling she did against the warmness that blanketed her— she's as alive as she was when first being brought out to this world, alongside a fresh set of life intentions.
at the same time, the lady has become the first prince salvation, in ways his mind will never be able to convey in words. as a few arranged words are too measly for him; to the man whose life relies on the actions of his and people around him, action is a language that is far more sacred than words alone. the solid proof of someone's devotion, he might have said.
well, his highness is the epitome of a candle burning in daylight.
he's someone whose love overflows in-between the gaps of his ribcage, spilling through the space of his body like a waterfall, as he lingers for something or someone to patch up the holes on him instead of his hands alone.
the calloused palms of the first prince are one of the many things he desperately tries to wash ashore, years on end, as it is evidence of the times where he's brought face-to-face with devastation and how it consumes him; endless attempts of plastering the scattered parts of him back to where it belongs, with no souls around to lend a hand.
all for the two reasons he has spent his whole life knowing: a broken piece is always meant to be kept locked in a drawer, where no curious gaze may take sight. a facade is meant to withstand the catastrophe of oneself, unyielding from crumbling.
ones in which he believes he's trapped in for an eternity, that he starts to feel as if his fingertips are bound to his flesh by a tangled, invisible string, of something close to fear of being vulnerable and despair of the small chance he might be seen.
in his world, everyone's a glass in their own respective way. one could be polished to withstand everything to come its way, one could be dusty from being left untouched, one could be full of scratches from being treated roughly, and one could be broken pieces glued together of what once was flawless. and the first prince is, unfortunately, the embodiment of a broken one.
despite the truth of it being picked up and glued with detailed attention, to mirror how pristine it was before the shattering— a broken glass is never meant to withhold a delicate substance, for the possibility that it might seeps through the cracks where it were failed to be cured, from how fragile it is to one's touch.
because his life purpose isn't finding an heirloom of its descendant—meeting someone who understands a part of you that you had grown tired of explaining—he's fated for a life of infinite drinking of loneliness, from a golden cup meant for someone of his status.
satoru gojo isn't destined for the one luxury he craves and yearns, for as long as he learned how to breathe; a companion, who's his and his only.
perhaps being scattered into pieces is far worse than living as a rotten corpse.
a life where you're set for doomed and an infinite measure of fixing yourself, because no soul is willing to do so, is truly a nightmare disguised as maturing. a person can only pick themselves up so many times in life, before they're fractured beyond one's saving, after all.
the prince shall learn of it the hard way. whether it's metaphorically or factually.
our lady and his highness shall face the consequences of falling in love with someone they should be anything but; a person they should've never let their life be tangled with. and we shall let the two poor souls engulf their-self in the affection they both desired all their life, with every fiber in their being.
in the end, what power do people of our humble standing have when their hearts collide in parallel as fiercely as the massive stars in the sky, creating a black, never-ending hole? a merge of the two extraordinary hearts isn't something we have authority to put an end to. the stars have spoken for them, it's beyond the limits of our reach to meddle about.
for it's the truth: the life of the two pitiful nobles were orchestrated far before they bloomed inside their mother's womb and it's, undeniably, their destiny.
they ought to let the scroll of fate—of their life—find its end to each other; letting every word written on the paper to continue the left-waited story be unveiled, to find the ending they've begged on their knees for. and perhaps, the universe would bless them this time. in ways only humans who've spent their entire life whispering prayers to the stars, are capable of understanding.
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( 1,5k )
main ingredients ... NSFW ◞ prince!satoru gojo, noble!fem reader, forbidden love, angst, yearning, mutual pining, jealousy, fluff, back and forth narrative (flashback), miscommunication, suggestive, pov alternating, heavy emotions, emotional & physical abuse, infidelity, suicidal tendencies, jjk characters cameo, featuring. prince!suguru geto. other tags in individual chapters ◞ repost & rewritten. ( ✦ ) more works ◞ playlist ◞ ao3.
notes in red ... when i say that everything is intentional, i really mean it. ANYWAYS, i hope everyone enjoys the prologue! i wasn't satisfied with the previous one, so having the chance to rewrite this makes me happy. support me by leaving comments and reblogs! <3
series m.list ‹ prologue › chapter one: shattered glass
with all truthfulness, she's as corrupted as the rotten apple that spoils her companions.
the lady used to beam as if the moonlight glitters across her face, all the while it leaves dusts of her sparks for another soul to trace; crawling behind all possible trails in which her feet took her, in wish that she'll continue to glow even when her world is engulfed with darkness.
her pair of eyes once shone brighter than the chandelier that glimmered on the floor of the estate, scattered around as it lit up the whole place— drowning everything in its range with a beauty only those who aren't fortunate are able to appreciate. and the scenery painted by it was more than enough to steal the air of our commoner lungs.
she was a moon incarnation in its purest form, we might argue.
in a similar manner to how the light of it set the place as if it's being bathed by glitters, our lady was once someone that radiant brilliantly, it pierces right through those who rest their gaze on her. all before the sparks in her eyes were wring dry, the colors that decorated her skin were drained out of her face, to her fingertips.
our lady life was as monotone as the love she received from her dearest ones; it was colorless in a way that had us painting colors to her skin. under the sole reason for her to seemingly look alive, even though we understand very well that the lady who stands before us is no different than a rotting corpse.
the lady is wrapped by the similar silence which engulfed her imaginary grave.
a grave that she dug with her own pair of hands, to bury her flesh and bones which are begging to function as it is supposed to, to fulfill its purpose in this earth. her bone dry figure was buried deep in the endless void she recognized as home—she acknowledged it as a place to return—for someone who realized their existence isn't as significant as they believe.
what a gut-wrenching view it was to watch her decomposing in front of us, with no power in the world to ease the striking ache that she let linger like a haze in-between her heart, as she hoped it might diminish her whole being in the long run. a crime the lady believes no one will bat their eyes at, since her presence is worth little to nothing of her dearest times.
in all honesty, who will the authority questioned, if the one suspect soul is no longer attached to the body?
poor the lady, truly. for someone who has a lot to live on, the lady is only a step away from becoming one with the soil. and what a shame it is, that not even the helping hand of her loved ones can save her from doom. well, she has no expectancy that they'll ever pull her from this hollowness she has drowned herself to, for as long as she can remember.
with that being said, down the line, amidst what our foolish mind believed is her nearing end, a piece of broken glass had let itself fall onto the pitch black like a pin drop in a deadly silence. it shatters the once still twilight in a mannerisms where the sun would break through the night into a day enveloped by lightness.
the first prince, the honored one; satoru gojo, happened.
someone our lady is well aware should be anyone but the beholder of her evergiving heart. it once again beat to life when the haze surrounding it evaporates into the thin air, where he had breathed in— the core of her which had been long thrown into the oblivion had found its purpose in pounding again, when she felt his beneath her palms.
our lady is not as corrupted as she was before anymore. the same pair of hands that dig a whole resting place for her, despite the very truth in which her heart is still pumping out blood throughout her body, had carved a way out of the imaginary grave she willingly buried herself onto. all because someone had fixed a cog in the wheel.
her eyes, for a second time, reflected those of moonlight as if she's the moon itself. she's flourishing right before where we stand, like a breakthrough no soul had expected her to be capable of. not after everything we've seen. and for what seems eternity, our lady has finally comprehend how it feels to breathe again, with no fingers laced around her neck.
similar to the first set of air she inhaled when she was born to this earth, mirroring the wail she first voice out when a loving hand brushes her skin, alike the curling she did against the warmness that blanketed her— she's as alive as she was when first being brought out to this world, alongside a fresh set of life intentions.
at the same time, the lady has become the first prince salvation, in ways his mind will never be able to convey in words. as a few arranged words are too measly for him; to the man whose life relies on the actions of his and people around him, action is a language that is far more sacred than words alone. the solid proof of someone's devotion, he might have said.
well, his highness is the epitome of a candle burning in daylight.
he's someone whose love overflows in-between the gaps of his ribcage, spilling through the space of his body like a waterfall, as he lingers for something or someone to patch up the holes on him instead of his hands alone.
the calloused palms of the first prince are one of the many things he desperately tries to wash ashore, years on end, as it is evidence of the times where he's brought face-to-face with devastation and how it consumes him; endless attempts of plastering the scattered parts of him back to where it belongs, with no souls around to lend a hand.
all for the two reasons he has spent his whole life knowing: a broken piece is always meant to be kept locked in a drawer, where no curious gaze may take sight. a facade is meant to withstand the catastrophe of oneself, unyielding from crumbling.
ones in which he believes he's trapped in for an eternity, that he starts to feel as if his fingertips are bound to his flesh by a tangled, invisible string, of something close to fear of being vulnerable and despair of the small chance he might be seen.
in his world, everyone's a glass in their own respective way. one could be polished to withstand everything to come its way, one could be dusty from being left untouched, one could be full of scratches from being treated roughly, and one could be broken pieces glued together of what once was flawless. and the first prince is, unfortunately, the embodiment of a broken one.
despite the truth of it being picked up and glued with detailed attention, to mirror how pristine it was before the shattering— a broken glass is never meant to withhold a delicate substance, for the possibility that it might seeps through the cracks where it were failed to be cured, from how fragile it is to one's touch.
because his life purpose isn't finding an heirloom of its descendant—meeting someone who understands a part of you that you had grown tired of explaining—he's fated for a life of infinite drinking of loneliness, from a golden cup meant for someone of his status.
satoru gojo isn't destined for the one luxury he craves and yearns, for as long as he learned how to breathe; a companion, who's his and his only.
perhaps being scattered into pieces is far worse than living as a rotten corpse.
a life where you're set for doomed and an infinite measure of fixing yourself, because no soul is willing to do so, is truly a nightmare disguised as maturing. a person can only pick themselves up so many times in life, before they're fractured beyond one's saving, after all.
the prince shall learn of it the hard way. whether it's metaphorically or factually.
our lady and his highness shall face the consequences of falling in love with someone they should be anything but; a person they should've never let their life be tangled with. and we shall let the two poor souls engulf their-self in the affection they both desired all their life, with every fiber in their being.
in the end, what power do people of our humble standing have when their hearts collide in parallel as fiercely as the massive stars in the sky, creating a black, never-ending hole? a merge of the two extraordinary hearts isn't something we have authority to put an end to. the stars have spoken for them, it's beyond the limits of our reach to meddle about.
for it's the truth: the life of the two pitiful nobles were orchestrated far before they bloomed inside their mother's womb and it's, undeniably, their destiny.
they ought to let the scroll of fate—of their life—find its end to each other; letting every word written on the paper to continue the left-waited story be unveiled, to find the ending they've begged on their knees for. and perhaps, the universe would bless them this time. in ways only humans who've spent their entire life whispering prayers to the stars, are capable of understanding.
HOW DOES THIS LOOK LIKE THE PERFECT TRAP TO TRAP ME /pos
can’t wait for the rie cinematic universe to expand here hehe
IT IS A TRAP FOR THOSE WHO LOVES RED ... IT IS INTENTIONAL ... #redissuperior
but, AAH, i'm excited to start posting again! my plan on being active here keeps getting whoosh away by rl, lol ... but, i'm hoping to be able to post A LOT in june, because my break is only for a month ... *sfx heart breaking* 💔 ANYHOW, how are you, liaaa?
i LOVE your theme, so pretty and creative rieeee 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
I'M GOING TO CRY ... i thought i've replied to this, but turns out i haven't and i feel like jumping off a cliff 😭 but, THAAANK YOU, my lovely! i really like this theme, AAH. anyways, how are YOUUU?
( ✦ ) SFW ◞ fem!reader, slight angst, mention of death, and past lover ⁝ repost.
satoru would never admit outright at how much he loves the very truth that she resemble you, in all the way it may exist, in every sense which humans are capable of understanding.
ah, no. that's far away from the truth. too fetched from the reality which crawls behind him, as it slowly merge itself—steadily—into every fiber that runs through his body. it clings to satoru in a manner that has him grasping for air, late at midnight, when silence engulfed the time of day.
he wouldn't dare to let the words slip in-between his lips, in fear it might burn his tongue if he took a step to do the forbidden.
it all lies close to the ground where most people will return to after their death. everything revolves around the very woman whose existence has haunted the man every wake; his past lover.
despite how satoru can feel her whispering in his ears when he sees you, he lets the imaginary words disintegrate into the thin air. because again, satoru found no courage or will in him to acknowledge that you and him may perish once the truth is unveiled.
you, his ever loving fiancee, is truly a carbon copy of his past lover. a woman who, undoubtedly, is the splitting image of the woman he used to call home. the one who should be sitting beside him at this very moment, rather than resting against the earth.
the one whose decomposed existence should never be named or slipped from anyone's parting lips. especially, not around you.
you, with your head leaning on his broad shoulder, have no knowledge of the truth of his past lover and the striking resemblance that you hold dearly. unknowingly.
you, with your fingertips trailing down his palm, doesn't understand that you reminded him—in an unbearable amount—of her, it makes him nauseous.
you, with your heart beating faithfully for him, would never comprehend how your similar scent to hers is tearing away all the truth which his pair of eyes plants behind his eyelids.
you, with your toasted soft smile that exists because of him, will in no way figure out that her photos are tucked in the safest part of his album. dedicated and meant only for her to reside.
you, with your starry gaze staring at him, are in no position to root out at how much your honeyed voice sounds identical to hers, when love was still capable of painting a beautiful expression on her face.
you, with your divine appearance and excruciatingly breathtaking personality, are set to be left in the dark, forevermore, of the unsettling reality that he sees her instead of you when his blue-eyed laid themselves on you.
and maybe, this is how it should be. it's for the better, for your own good intentions, that you're to not dig up the obscure secret he has hidden away in the comfort of his loving being. satoru, truly, rather have you be under the scorching daylight than the haunting night sky.
because how can satoru even begin to explain that her blood is still trickling down his very own hands? how is he supposed to lay it out for you that her life was stolen from her by his own power, ages ago on a mission no one dares to mention?
it's true that everything was an accident, yes. it's already written in her scroll of fate, when her feet was set on this earth. however, how will satoru ever find the courage in him to mutter in your ears, that he's more than terrified he might repeat the same thing, to you?
so, for you, for him; for the two of you that he may call “us”, satoru rather goes down the path in stitching his lips shut and being silent. because if the both of you are going to rot from the glaring truth which will always be buried six-feet-under, let it be the same way silence enveloped her grave.
evergiving flower ◞ jester!satoru gojo x princess!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 121125.
on today's beautiful night, a jester who's said as the greatest one to have existed will finally come to entertain the royal court— performing his sets that got the people livid. and on the same night, the kingdom's beloved princess heart is set ablaze with a crush.
drive me crazy! ◞ student athlete!satoru gojo x shy!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 150226.
for valentine's day, satoru decided that he should stop being a loser and ask to be your valentine. you, the shy girl from his class that he has a crush on. well, safe to say he did a good job!
the rabbit hole ◞ chesire cat!satoru gojo x alice!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 231225.
falling into a rabbit hole is something you never expected to happen in this lifetime of yours. but now, you found yourself endlessly falling into the deep end because of a rabbit you decided to chase. really, what's waiting for you and what's going to happen? ( previously named the way in wonderland. )
my premises; you ◞ singer!satoru gojo x actress!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 090226.
you and satoru used to have a relationship—backstreet—which ended due to each other's schedule. tonight, at an award show, you two see each other after a long time and oh, he's performing a song ... about you?
moonlight dust ◞ moon incarnation!satoru gojo x knightess!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 281125.
with everything that's happening in this life of yours and the impending war that's about to break out, you decided to pay a visit to the moon incarnation in the forest for a blessing. you didn't know then that the incarnation takes form in a human—man—who craves nothing but a company. ( previously named farewell, my light )
ex-factor ◞ boxer!satoru gojo x sports journalist!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 010226.
satoru gojo, the heavyweight wbc champion whose name is heard of by various age groups, (un)fortunately behold the status of your ex. and tonight at one of his matches people been waiting for, he decided to show his still existent love for you: watched by thousands of humans, countless cameras, and the world itself.
our seesaw ◞ epimetheus!satoru gojo x pandora!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 161125.
you're created thoughtfully by the olympians as a way to serve punishment to mankind under zeus's will. and satoru, the brother of who stole the fire from zeus, is the one who'll help them bring misfortune. who knows what might happen between an immortal and mortal? ( previously named seesaw: good night )
y(our) company ◞ co-worker!satoru gojo x matchmaker!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 110226.
being a professional matchmaker is a job that's fun, overall. though yours came with a co-worker that keeps teasing you— satoru gojo. and maybe there's sparks between you two, who knows?
his lucky star ◞ satoru gojo x sorceress!reader. ( ✦ ) first posted on 231025.
leaving the jujutsu society wasn't easy. putting yourself on the line was your daily routine for the longest time and with all the complexity that came with this line of work, you can't help but choose to step back— wanting to live a normal life. but, leaving that part of your life means leaving the strongest one, star of your life. would fate be kind enough to let you two meet again?
( ✦ ) SFW ◞ fem!reader, slight angst, mention of death, and past lover ⁝ repost.
satoru would never admit outright at how much he loves the very truth that she resemble you, in all the way it may exist, in every sense which humans are capable of understanding.
ah, no. that's far away from the truth. too fetched from the reality which crawls behind him, as it slowly merge itself—steadily—into every fiber that runs through his body. it clings to satoru in a manner that has him grasping for air, late at midnight, when silence engulfed the time of day.
he wouldn't dare to let the words slip in-between his lips, in fear it might burn his tongue if he took a step to do the forbidden.
it all lies close to the ground where most people will return to after their death. everything revolves around the very woman whose existence has haunted the man every wake; his past lover.
despite how satoru can feel her whispering in his ears when he sees you, he lets the imaginary words disintegrate into the thin air. because again, satoru found no courage or will in him to acknowledge that you and him may perish once the truth is unveiled.
you, his ever loving fiancee, is truly a carbon copy of his past lover. a woman who, undoubtedly, is the splitting image of the woman he used to call home. the one who should be sitting beside him at this very moment, rather than resting against the earth.
the one whose decomposed existence should never be named or slipped from anyone's parting lips. especially, not around you.
you, with your head leaning on his broad shoulder, have no knowledge of the truth of his past lover and the striking resemblance that you hold dearly. unknowingly.
you, with your fingertips trailing down his palm, doesn't understand that you reminded him—in an unbearable amount—of her, it makes him nauseous.
you, with your heart beating faithfully for him, would never comprehend how your similar scent to hers is tearing away all the truth which his pair of eyes plants behind his eyelids.
you, with your toasted soft smile that exists because of him, will in no way figure out that her photos are tucked in the safest part of his album. dedicated and meant only for her to reside.
you, with your starry gaze staring at him, are in no position to root out at how much your honeyed voice sounds identical to hers, when love was still capable of painting a beautiful expression on her face.
you, with your divine appearance and excruciatingly breathtaking personality, are set to be left in the dark, forevermore, of the unsettling reality that he sees her instead of you when his blue-eyed laid themselves on you.
and maybe, this is how it should be. it's for the better, for your own good intentions, that you're to not dig up the obscure secret he has hidden away in the comfort of his loving being. satoru, truly, rather have you be under the scorching daylight than the haunting night sky.
because how can satoru even begin to explain that her blood is still trickling down his very own hands? how is he supposed to lay it out for you that her life was stolen from her by his own power, ages ago on a mission no one dares to mention?
it's true that everything was an accident, yes. it's already written in her scroll of fate, when her feet was set on this earth. however, how will satoru ever find the courage in him to mutter in your ears, that he's more than terrified he might repeat the same thing, to you?
so, for you, for him; for the two of you that he may call “us”, satoru rather goes down the path in stitching his lips shut and being silent. because if the both of you are going to rot from the glaring truth which will always be buried six-feet-under, let it be the same way silence enveloped her grave.
( ✦ ) SFW ◞ fem!reader, slight angst, mention of death, and past lover ⁝ repost.
satoru would never admit outright at how much he loves the very truth that she resemble you, in all the way it may exist, in every sense which humans are capable of understanding.
ah, no. that's far away from the truth. too fetched from the reality which crawls behind him, as it slowly merge itself—steadily—into every fiber that runs through his body. it clings to satoru in a manner that has him grasping for air, late at midnight, when silence engulfed the time of day.
he wouldn't dare to let the words slip in-between his lips, in fear it might burn his tongue if he took a step to do the forbidden.
it all lies close to the ground where most people will return to after their death. everything revolves around the very woman whose existence has haunted the man every wake; his past lover.
despite how satoru can feel her whispering in his ears when he sees you, he lets the imaginary words disintegrate into the thin air. because again, satoru found no courage or will in him to acknowledge that you and him may perish once the truth is unveiled.
you, his ever loving fiancee, is truly a carbon copy of his past lover. a woman who, undoubtedly, is the splitting image of the woman he used to call home. the one who should be sitting beside him at this very moment, rather than resting against the earth.
the one whose decomposed existence should never be named or slipped from anyone's parting lips. especially, not around you.
you, with your head leaning on his broad shoulder, have no knowledge of the truth of his past lover and the striking resemblance that you hold dearly. unknowingly.
you, with your fingertips trailing down his palm, doesn't understand that you reminded him—in an unbearable amount—of her, it makes him nauseous.
you, with your heart beating faithfully for him, would never comprehend how your similar scent to hers is tearing away all the truth which his pair of eyes plants behind his eyelids.
you, with your toasted soft smile that exists because of him, will in no way figure out that her photos are tucked in the safest part of his album. dedicated and meant only for her to reside.
you, with your starry gaze staring at him, are in no position to root out at how much your honeyed voice sounds identical to hers, when love was still capable of painting a beautiful expression on her face.
you, with your divine appearance and excruciatingly breathtaking personality, are set to be left in the dark, forevermore, of the unsettling reality that he sees her instead of you when his blue-eyed laid themselves on you.
and maybe, this is how it should be. it's for the better, for your own good intentions, that you're to not dig up the obscure secret he has hidden away in the comfort of his loving being. satoru, truly, rather have you be under the scorching daylight than the haunting night sky.
because how can satoru even begin to explain that her blood is still trickling down his very own hands? how is he supposed to lay it out for you that her life was stolen from her by his own power, ages ago on a mission no one dares to mention?
it's true that everything was an accident, yes. it's already written in her scroll of fate, when her feet was set on this earth. however, how will satoru ever find the courage in him to mutter in your ears, that he's more than terrified he might repeat the same thing, to you?
so, for you, for him; for the two of you that he may call “us”, satoru rather goes down the path in stitching his lips shut and being silent. because if the both of you are going to rot from the glaring truth which will always be buried six-feet-under, let it be the same way silence enveloped her grave.
i have three more series masterlist to post in the next few hours, so pleaseee don't throw tomatoes at me. this is the only time i can post and i don't really trust queue #trustissues
fiance! naoya x paediatrician! fem reader x single uncle! satoru
summary: Your days had long turned into an endless grey stream of monotony, brightened only by children's smiles at the hospital. Soon, your life would be subjected to loneliness in the golden cage of the Zenin Estate as you agreed to be Naoya's wife; the weight of his love had already burdened you to the point you no longer believed there was any left.
And then you met Satoru Gojo.
Your biggest curse. And your greatest remedy.
tags: AU, medical setting, heavy angst, toxic relationships, messy feelings, emotional abuse, manipulation, gaslighting, misogyny (Naoya is a prick), reader struggles with her self-image, slow healing, falling in love, yearning. eventual smut and happy ending, i promise! we just have to get here. some specific tags will be included in the parts, if any.
word count: TBD
gojo's art by @/maronjapan9a. all dividers are mine.
playlist
DISCLAIMER: i do not condone and romanticise abusive relationships. this work is heavy on this theme and might be triggering. please read at your own discretion.
