. ° 𓇼 perhaps when seventeen mirrors crack in your name :: hush, now, they’re talking :: the spaces between suguru’s ribs :: the tremble in satoru’s fingertips :: somewhere out there where the static decays , pondering about what should not be, yet is ::
𝟷𝟾/𝟼. ❝ craving someone so violently should cause withdrawals. but i guess i’m built incorrectly. ❞ [masterlist guide]
𝟽/𝟷𝟸. ❝ it kills me to admit it, but i adore him. and i shall tear reality apart if it meant that he’d look at me like that again. ❞ [about me]
𝟹/𝟸. ❝ i just don’t get it, do i? i love him. i love him like an apology i don’t owe anyone. ❞ [alt]
@decay1ngstatic on tumblr. do not copy, modify, plagiarise or feed my works to AI. this also includes posting them to another platform.
you cannot tell me he didn't pick it up from suguru but then suguru teased him for it forever 😭😭😭😭
help it's giving going to other class for duster and then a flurry of "bhabhi" (never happened to me because i was more of a stuck up bitch 💀)
(i wasn't but that's another story-time)
but gosh, high-school satoru wow, you just know he is sucking upto the lab assistant for your sake
desi suguru saying 'aap' to everyone except satoru (cause he's a lil shit) is canon to me. . . LMFAOOOO.
pls the others calling you bhabhi— toru will shut them up in the most vulgar language EVER with the most aggressive tone you've heard and then turn to you and say (in the most sweetest, sabhya tone possible might i add) ‘sorry, bas iss baar gaali di maine’. i’m laughing so hard at this.
sucking upto the lab assistant 💀💀 ‘sir can i be paired with her?’ ‘why? your roll numbers aren’t even close’ ‘i have to copy from her lab manual’. and there he is, the smug bastard with a goofy giddy smile on his face. desi highschool toru you are so so beloved to me.
you remind me of an oddly appealing piece at a forgotten handicraft shop. perhaps a candelabra,, one that’s kissed by time but not tainted by it. instead of grave, solid iron with long faces— you’ve got an artist’s ceramic heart to hold your flame. the table beneath your feet sings unsteady tales of your fall but you cling to the ragged edges, looking up to the sun in your grasp instead.
────⟢ loving 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 meant loving something that burns, but you’re willing to take it all for the boy you adore so much. teen!suguru implied. gn!reader. teen!reader. eepyguru. fluff and comfort. highly highllllyyyyyy self indulgent. </3 happy birthday, my baby who’s helped me through so much. -> a very personal piece, despite being written in 13 ish minutes. LMAO
the sun had a favourite child.
and all the gods could glare and gasp, but that wouldn’t change a thing. fire had always been selfish, even if it smeared its too fast heart with the ashes it left behind.
(no, the burn was enough to do it all over again. without a second thought.)
you’d think it would take all the stars above to become the sun’s favourite. that the galaxies themselves would dissolve into cosmic sorrow at the thought of something that shines so bright merely existing. that all the clouds would shy away, enviously sparing such warmth bittersweet glances whilst the saccharine slivers of light embraced what was truly theirs.
but 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 was only a boy.
and yet, something more— so much more that your chest aches with something so full that your hands feel hollow. silly you, who told you to fall in love with a forest fire?
then again, suguru doesn’t just burn— he consumes. truly and utterly. fire takes all, it spares no one. and you? you’re just a fawn in the wake of his warmth, basking in something that’s more than enough to scorch you.
(but he doesn’t.)
not because he shouldn’t— but because he dare not to. steady hands ground your own; singed fingertips gasping in protest— but you’ve never felt so . . . mellow. like a dying out bonfire, sucking in dewy breaths.
suguru, suguru, suguru.
(your suguru.)
“. . what’s wrong?” you watch, eyes widening when he stirs— eyebrows furrowing in the same way it always does. “. .wh—. . haaah, you okay?”
oh, shit. did you actually say that loud?
“nothing’s wrong,” a soft hum leaves the back of your throat— and a selfish little part of yourself you keep tucked away wants him to stay like this forever, “go back to sleep.” content. wanted.
suguru’s voice tries to catch onto your own, a little heavier as it’s laced with sleep. but his syllables still catch your own, cradling them so softly— even when he’s like this, half asleep with tangled sheets strewn aside and the evening sun kissing his face.
and so, you cradle them right back— hands wrapping around his head, nose finding its way back home to his temple. a soft brush of your lips, just one— and that’s all he needs to pull you back into the fire once again.
although, the burning trees have died down to something much more tamed— a firefly amidst the tips of your sunlit strands, whispering your name and his in a voice you’re sure you’ve heard before.
“. . love you,” says suguru. you raise a brow at the impetuousness— only for your poor little heart to squeeze in its too small cage when you realise that he’s still asleep. “. . love you, love. . you.”
(suguru, suguru, suguru.)
“. . i love. . i love you too,” your lips find his temple again— but this time, they stay, unafraid to cradle the sun that shines so bright. your sun that shines so bright.
(your suguru.)
maybe the fireflies whispered to him your message in the place of his dreams— because suguru’s lips form a barely there smile. soft, like the wispy flames of a distant star. it flickers, but stays forever, even when he doesn’t.
and behind him, the sun sets, smiling an envious, bittersweet smile at your warmth that burnt so much more than their own— leaving behind their child to your love.
★ contents. satoru gojo x gn!reader. yandere!satoru. unhealthy relationships. angst. conflicting feelings. mentions of blood. satoru. . kills someone (?). jiah being one MENACE of a narrator (sorry not sorry, HAH). grotesque imagery (as always).
★ jiah’s notes. bringing this back while i’m at it. i’m. i’m normal about yantoru i swear. yaaaaaay
you don’t get it, do you? yandere!satoru’s such a dog.
i mean, look at the guy. already a strayatinator prime 3000. best model in town, won’t get another stray like him anywhere else— you have my word for it. and when he loves something? boy, it’s over.
see, when i say that satoru’s a stray, i don’t mean the good ol’ fuzzy ones you find on your daily nightly walks that wag their tails and accept your empty lil’ pats or something. no, none of that— satoru was born with a muzzle in his hands and a rusty blade right where his heart should’ve been.
(. . he never learnt how to use the muzzle, though. but that’s fine. he doesn’t bite unless you ask, anyway.)
it’s hard, you say? c’mon. the guy’s basically putty when it comes to you.
. . . oh. you’re talking about the impulsiveness. right. well—
he’s— trying. he’s trying so hard for you, can’t you see that? he’s trying to be so good for you.
like now. when he’s got you pressed against himself— i suppose you’ve gotten used to the tremble in his fingertips by now, yeah?— hands somehow, just somehow pulling you even closer as the seconds scream their life away.
(should you scream, too?)
but somewhere at the back of your mind, a part of yourself doesn’t really know what to say about that. don’t do that, it chides you, ever so gently, his head hurts so much already. don’t do that to your satoru.
you wouldn’t hurt your satoru now, would you?
(clammy hands tighten ’round your ribs.)
a scream bubbles at the base of your guts, and satoru’s forehead kisses your sternum. you shove it back down.
“talk to me,” he murmurs. quiet. sounding so painfully small.
(a pause.)
“there’s. . .” your hands stitch his snowy locks onto your skin, but satoru barely flinches— he’s got to be good for you, right?— the frightened little rabbit you have for a heart skidding against your chest and colliding with his own, “there’s nothing left to talk about, satoru.”
oh, satoru looks so pretty like this.
he almost looks innocent— eyes holding broken shards of glass; some of it bleeding into a saccharine smear right beneath his right one. unfocused, like he’s not really there — but you know better.
(satoru is all there is.)
“what’s wrong?” he mumbles, holding onto your hips— the muzzle— just a fraction tighter. nothing more. “talk. . talk to me.”
lost little stray— i know, i know. you see, it’s just so hard for him to fit anywhere. weaved in too deep with the wild for sleepy little coos and born with claws that are too much of a coward to look at bloody teeth in the eye.
but i’ll tell you something.
satoru yearns.
(oh, how he yearns.)
he’d bleed his entire life away if you said you liked the colour red. he’d cough out lilies if you said you liked white. he’d burn all his blindfolds to a crisp if you said you liked the blue of his eyes. see? satoru just— rips— himself apart for you till there’s nothing left but hollow love that’s too full for your jittery hands to hold.
so don’t be too surprised if some pieces of you get a little singed, too. it’s your fault for standing too close to a forestfire.
(although, you don’t need to worry. satoru’s always there to kiss the burns away.)
“did i do something wrong?” he rasps, poor thing, you should help him out— “they tried to hurt you. was i not. . . supposed to— talk, please. talk. . talk to me.”
(look what you’ve done.)
“i—” but the words don’t make it out of your throat ’cept for a crack— just a teensy little crack on the edges of your voice, and that’s what makes the blade between his ribs scream.
“you’re mad,” satoru’s chest heaves, and you can practically hear his soul shatter, “you’re—. . . you’re mad.”
“i—”
“i’m sorry,” a gasp against your skin and all the tiny little breaths bubbling in your lungs get pushed away when he merges his body into your own, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m—”
(hurting, are you? it’s only fair, you hurt him first.)
“sa—. . . satoru,” you rasp out, and satoru’s bloody breaths devour them whole without a second thought, such cold cradling your face so tenderly that it feels wrong, “you’re—”
