i have recently become re-obsessed with ZSakuVa, as one does when times are tough, ESPECIALLY with Asirel and his Vampire listener, i love both of them so so much.
Now i'd love to be one of those people who can really read into stuff and like have all these theories, but I'm not but i still want to give my two cents. which in this case are an aesthetic board i made and some music i chose, kind of mostly for 'Pet' or Asirel's listener if you didn't know, but it's also got some of their relationship themes in there if you squint.
DISCLAIMER: this is purely my interpretation a d opinion. pls don't come for me.
i very much wanted to combine the grimness of the life of a vampire, one not so long turned aswell. bloodlust, lust, greed, envy and all that pizzaz. I wanted to portray Pet as very bougie, with the pearls and gold and ruby's and what not, silk's satin, fur and feathers. witha color palette of mostly white and red, with hints of gold and black, ash grey and a sickly green.
some snippets of vampy quoted which fitted super well to Asirel's and Pet's relationship in my opinion. the Doberman obviously here to represent their 'job' as Asirel's guard dog, but also a small bit of their personality.
i also included a ring, which is supposed to be the one Asirel bought 'Pet' in the Audio "Wanting A Reward From Your Master". i don't think Oet would want something small and dainty, and the one i found is a good size of not 'in your face' but also not 'i lost it on the fluffy carpet and not I can't find it anymore'.
in my mind they have like unbelievably long white hair, they spent hours upon hours brushing and tattoos in red ink all across their skin, which is like deadly pale. they know they're hot, that's why they wear the sheer red night gown kind of thing at the mansion, always and forever.
in my mind, i really want Pet to lean into the creepy aspect, the lurking, the stalking, the oush and pull of their and Asirel's interaction's. the tension that is still there, the taut string, that so barely keeps Pet from draining Asirel's, because he's just that bit to valuable to them to kill. they're obsessed. and i really really hope we got to see them kind go like, yandere, lowkey hate that word but whatever gets the point across.
(they definitely lurk in the mansion at night scaring the staff)
i saw someone point out in a video that thay didn't think Asirel's really knows what he got himself, i can't really remember what it said exactly and i can't find it either but they are so right.
Now in my Collage, it does seem more feminine than I'd like, since i feel like Pet would be the epitome of androgenous. attractive, sharp jaw and teeth, long canines, like reeeeally long and a sharp red tongue. thin lips, cold and cracked, with a blue-ish tint.
Pet in my head is impossibly tall and lanky, thanks to their height their hips look pointy and dangerous. long fingers with long nails, claws that rip through most materials with ease.
they love being pampered, looked after, showered in affection and riches, dead-un-dead eye sparkle when gold covers their skin.
Now onto some songs i feel like fit.
THIS. i don't think i have to explain right?
this one obviously for the creep factor
this one too
bc Pet is also a bit self obsessed oopsi
and bc they also don't really like men unless it's Asirel hehe
is this a bit much?
and as a perfect ending, Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy. It has everything! it's got the creeps, it's got the obsessive love, it's got the tension, and it's got the drop at the end that makes my hair stand uppppp ughhh it's soo good!!
I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Eman Zaqout from Gaza. I am reaching you out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraiser. I lost both my home and my job due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. 💔
I kindly ask you to visit my campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom. 🙏🕊
Note: Verified by several people as 90-ghost and aces-and-angels. ☑
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unfortunately i cannot donate but i can share and so can you! or maybe even donate!? reblog and share so we can help these people!
days passed and you haven’t been out of your shared room almost at all, which luka, your roommate, pointed out annoyed, more than concerned.
you couldn’t help but notice the familiar glint of worry swimming somewhere beneath his cold, degrading eyes.
you grew up together after all.
the curtains where drawn and you reveled in the warm comforting bedding and blanket that draped over your body, finally keeping you warm instead of just being a cover like back then. there were many plush pillows and stuffed animals thrown about the bed and carpeted floor, the room in a manageable mess. a comfortable one, it felt lived in, warm.
not sterile, white or soft blue, that felt so harsh on your eyes.
you stared into nothing, the slight gap beneath your door let in light from the hallway. it has been hours.
your phone, apparently, was probably flooded with messages, mail, and notifications you couldn’t possibly keep up with, so you put it on silent and set it away.
your throat was dry, your last glass of water you drank last night, your lips probably chapped aswell. and you continued staring.
minutes passed, hours maybe, before the distinct noise of keys in a lock and a door opening and closing, muffled through your walls and doors, sounded around the flat.
there was some more silence, you were barely hearing some shuffling, and then footsteps, light and almost shaky feeling, you‘d compare it to a fawn, sneaking closer and closer to your door.
you then saw the shadows in the gap, and the door opened slightly. you couldn’t muster up the strength to look up, so you kept your eyes on the floor.
„you still haven’t left your bed?.“
luka hissed, his eyes narrowed as he stepped into the trashed room, the air was stale and the heater turned up way to high.
„you didn’t even clean up, can’t you do anything on your own now…“
he mocked and you could almost hear his eyebrows raise. he probably found you pathetic, he used to tell you that all the time at least, and right now? you honestly were.
to think you used to kill, to survive, and now you couldn’t even get out to piss.
there was just so much going on that didn’t make sense. people you thought were dead, now living and breathing, thriving, right infront of your eyes. anakt garden didn’t exist, now being a college of the arts, nor did the whole sing well or die thing that ruined your life and every one else’s.
luka kneeled down infront of you, and just as his eyebrows narrowed, his cold fingers grabbed your hair lifting up your head, it hurt, yes, but you found even the slightest touch of his ice cold fingers on your skin soothing, the yelling and screaming in your mind clearing out with alight breeze.
„you look so awful, really..“
the air of superiority that always surrounded him made him look down on you, and you gave him a lazy ghost of a smile.
„you don’t…have to look at me if you don’t want to, no ones forcing you…“
you said with a bit to much enthusiasm.
you were so happy he was finally free. his fingers weren’t as cold as they were before and he was slightly taller and had just a bit more healthy weight on his bones, not underfed anymore.
from what you gathered even his sickness was being treated, you were ecstatic, elated, worry falling off of your shoulders.
you didn’t know wether you were dreaming or nor, you hoped to someone you weren’t.
luka continued staring, and his eyes softened just for you, he huffed, scoffing quietly.
„aren’t you funny..“
he teased softly, his fingers running through your hair before ghosting along the side of your face and you closed your eyes, indulging in the sudden vulnerability of the other that you didn’t get to see often, especially with others around.
but right now it was just you and him, and suddenly, everything didn’t seem so complicated anymore, for now only you could exist on this stage, with him in the spotlight and you admiring.
„why must you worry me so…?“
he whispered and you swore you could hear angels sing through his voice, a choir of the divine grazing your ears even with the quietest words.
„i‘m sorry-“ you started absentmindedly but he interrupted you, snapping a sharp „don’t.“
he took a breath and his words weakened.
„just… don’t… we-… you will get through this..“
he bit back, and his tone left no room for disagreement.
and you couldn’t help but smile.
<<previous next>>
also on ao3
(the linking isn’t working rn, pls bear with me here)
summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.
word count — 7.4 k
genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love
warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, little angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts
author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on in the world rn, i just wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really.
i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know, and i'll edit accordingly.
masterlist
Three little words.
Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you.
Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.
I love you.
Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.
Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.
Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions.
Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.
But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.
It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.
Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.
It was everything else that was complicated.
Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.
And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.
So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.
Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.
But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.
Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.
✦ . ⁺ Age 6 ⁺ . ✦
The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.
"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."
You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."
He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."
Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.
Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.
That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.
His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.
✦ . ⁺ Age 12 ⁺ . ✦
Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away.
Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.
You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.
He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.
But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.
Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.
As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.
How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?
So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.
✦ . ⁺ Age 16 ⁺ . ✦
High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.
Everyone had bought it except you.
You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.
"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.
During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.
High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.
He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.
On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.
In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.
But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.
But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.
He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.
✦ . ⁺ Age 18 ⁺ . ✦
College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.
He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.
The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence.
They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.
The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).
He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."
The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.
But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.
You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.
When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.
He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.
Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush.
What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.
He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.
The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.
Especially when it hurt.
College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.
He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.
✦ . ⁺ Age 22 ⁺ . ✦
After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.
You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.
Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased.
He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted.
You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.
Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.
The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.
The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.
"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.
"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.
"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."
The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.
You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years.
The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.
✦ . ⁺ Age 25 ⁺ . ✦
It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.
He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.
At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.
The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?
But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.
He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.
"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.
The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.
He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.
"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"
The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.
Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.
Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.
There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.
Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.
But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.
So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.
✦ . ⁺ Age 28 ⁺ . ✦
The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.
You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.
It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.
Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.
And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.
That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.
He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.
But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.
He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.
Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.
Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.
For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.
But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.
That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.
"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"
"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.
"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.
A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.
But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.
"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."
"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"
"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"
"I'm not afraid—"
"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."
"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.
"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."
"And what about what I want?"
"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.
You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.
"Get out."
He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.
"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.
The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.
✦ . ⁺ Age 30 ⁺ . ✦
Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.
Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.
"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"
Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.
You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.
Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.
Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.
You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.
The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.
The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.
You were getting married.
To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.
The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.
Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.
'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'
His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.
'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'
Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.
It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.
He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.
His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'
Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.
He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.
But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"
But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.
The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.
He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.
You hadn't turned around. "I know."
"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."
"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"
"You invited me."
"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"
He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."
"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"
"I—"
He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.
Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.
"Don't marry them," he had whispered.
"What?"
"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."
"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."
"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.
"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.
"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."
"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"
"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"
"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.
He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.
Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.
He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.
His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.
When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.
The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.
"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"
"Run away with me."
"What?"
"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."
"Satoru—"
"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."
You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."
"Is that a yes?"
"My parents will never forgive me."
"I'll win them over."
"The clan will be furious."
"Let them be."
"Everyone will talk."
"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."
"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"
"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."
You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.
Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."
He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.
"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"
"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."
"And where exactly are you taking me?"
"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."
You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."
He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."
"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."
As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.
Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.
Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.
Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.
The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.
Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.
Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.
The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.
"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.
"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.
"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.
"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.
"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.
And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.
Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.
Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.
And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.
I love you.
And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.
author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!
till muttered to himself, seeing his friend acquaintance delirious, panicked even. he was a bit spooked by what just happened.
till had never seen them that way, they were usually calm if not a bit lost in their head, a free spirit.
what he saw now, reminded him more of a scared animal, a kicked puppy, and at worst gnawing off it’s foot to get out of a trap. the look in their eyes changed too, like with the flick of a switch, the carefree light left and got replaced with a gaze that told a long gruesome story. it sent sharp shivers down his spine.
a hand put on his shoulders, snapped him out of his thoughts and his eyes blinked away the dryness from staring. it was… ivan, of course..
he had to hold back an annoyed sighed, almost rolling his eyes. why did he get his hopes up again? miz had a partner and he was happy for her, of course he was, but it still hurt.
“are you… okay..?” ivan asked, a bit hesitantly, aware of till’s…. ‘difficult’ feelings towards him. for once his usually leisure smile was gone.
till’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, carefully moving his shoulder away from ivan’s hand.
“…’course….”
was his short answer, though it came out a bit rough, a bit to stuttery for his taste.
“what happened when i was gone…? it….looks like someone choked them….”
ivan’s eyes narrowed, slightly concerned.
“fucking idiot choked themselves, mumblin’ all this… uh- this random stuff…” till sweat dropped.
“they actually choked themselves?!”
the other yelled out, getting an annoyed glare from the blonde currently fussing over [y.name], which made him shut his mouth.
“mhm… but they’re gonna be fine, they’re always fine…”
seeing as [y.name] was being cared for, and not wanting to seem to worried, till stepped away, walking after mizi and her girlfriend like a lost puppy, after which ivan followed diligently.
your back hit the ground harshly, the air in your lungs escaping.
you gasped for air, probably looking like a fish out of water, and someone above you yelled your name.
groaning, you moved your hand onto your chest, in a comforting manner, soothing your aching rib cage.
there was a bright light, were you at the infirmary? were they operating on you again?
through the constant beep that rang painfully through your jumbled brain your barely heard a door open and close, several voices mudding together into a panicked mess.
„oh my god! are you alright“
one called out, followed by a shadow in your blinding vision.
„i saw them move…. they’re not dead at least..“
spoke another more calm voice.
„… not dead yet…“
one muttered.
„Till!“
suddenly many gasped or exclaimed some sound of shock.
„…they fell from the ground floor, onto grass, no way they already died!“
the voice defended, sounding embarrassed.
the voices all sounded so familiar.
„huh..?“
your throat unconsciously made a noise and with a last heavy sigh you forcefully peeled your eyes open, a blue sky greeting you.
„They opened their eyes!“
the blotch of pink yelled and move colors entered your blurry line of view.
and they all matched.
matched their description.
two black, one grey, one pink, a blonde and a brown one.
and you could cry on the spot.
what a cruel vision your keeper gave you. was this your punishment? if so, you‘d rather take electric shots any day.
one rather soft, masculine voice called out your name, once again.
„are you alright? can you hear me?“
they continued, kneeling by your head, prodding at your carotid artery then laying a cold hand to your forehead.
„mhm…“
you muttered out, your breath rattling.
„they’re alright no need to worry…“
the voice reassured and Ivan- another voice excused himself to get some help.
„hey, can you tell us your name and what day it is?“
what was with these questions?
„huh…? you know my name mizi, why would you ask me that?“
you hissed out a bit to harsh for your liking, but you were always more aggressive when you hurt somewhere, and another round of relieved sighs sounded out.
„are we back in-… uhh… an— anakt garden….?“
and everyone went quiet for just a second to long.
„what- no- huh…?“
one seemingly laughed at you.
„garden..? no- it’s still anakt college, how do you keep getting that wrong“
another laughed.
finally your vision cleared up some more and your breath almost hitched.
they all died, you saw them die, live TV, sitting right next to your keeper as he laughed and cheered.
voting voting voting.
it made you sick, you did not show it.
„you alright..? did you see a ghost or something?“
till asked judging silently. and mizi gasped, her hand and sua‘s intertwined, a gently grip.
cute. but not possible.
you felt nauseous, tilting over as you held your stomach as it contracted painfully. your breathing hitched and your other hand reached for the green grass beneath you.
your fist tightened and the grass leaf snapped pathetically.
„… you’re dead…. you died— you all died fucking- haah.. dead, died— shot—..“
uncharacteristically, your breathing didn’t level out after you tried to calm down, an unfamiliar stone dropped into your throat rough. you clawed at your throat and you didn’t even notice the others fussing over you, trying to get you to lay back down, to not choke yourself out. you dry heaved multiple times.
your nails already leaving aggressive red marks as multiple hands tried to pry them off.
more people seemed to run in, not that you’d notice, halfway down the spiral of eternal darkness while heaving with the pressure of seeing your friends be shot squeezing and ripping your lungs.
and finally they ripped your hand from your throat, restraining your arms, your eyes unfocused looking at the sky.
delirious, your lips formed a trained smile, and you started shakily singing a trained song, breathless and barely above a whisper.
„what a nice dream, thank you— keep-keeper for letting… me— see them, one last time…“
you whispered, chuckling or rather hackling, before coughing.
a shot rang out as the crowd cheered on loudly, almost loud enough you couldn’t even hear the sharp noise.
you could feel it though, and you wondered if they aimed for your side deliberately or if you moved to much for them to get a good shot at your head or heart.
maybe they just wanted you to suffer.
you voice faltered for the smallest of seconds, unnoticeable really, for everyone but you, and you couldn’t help the shiver at the thought of punishment when your keeper got to you.
a slow hand reached over, covering the bleeding wound, staining the expensive clothes with liquid crimson. in a haze you continued your choreography, muscle memory kicking in: you continued as if nothing happened. giving more and more, trying to be better and better.
and the crowd cheered.
they loved it.
even as the show was seemingly over, with you loosing, you kept on going, the crowd cheered and your opponent looked at you in shock horror, switching between you and the crowd, confused on what to do.
another shot rang out, your shoulder this time, and you couldn’t hear from your left ear anymore. you stumbled back a bit, another one, and second by second you stumbled closer to the edge, the towering cliffs over the cheering sea of aliens, reaching grabbing.
you didn’t even notice when you tripped and fell.
the lights above looked like stars, you reached for them, and your hand seemed so close to touching one.
a smile reached your lips, your cheeks hurt and your throat was sore, mouth dry.
cw: blood, gore, angst, really bad attempt at being poetic, reader implied to be from another world/universe(isekai), dead dove: do not eat
no character is mentioned, but it’s a jujutsu kaisen…. thing i wrote, i honestly don’t know what to call this
what were you doing…?
what have you….. done….?
blood rushed to your head and you suddenly couldn’t feel your feet and hands anymore, besides the aching cold that filled you to your bones.
your knees screamed, the rough, cracked ground you kneeled on duh into your skin like needles. but you didn’t move just yet, your body just… refuse to let you turn away from the gruesome scene in front of you.
one that you alone had caused.. this, was your own doing…
at one point a painful sound rung through your ears, piercing your eardrums, red bleeding down your neck onto clothes you borrowed.
you didn’t notice, it felt as if everything around you was dulled yet so enhanced at the same time. you thought if you felt hard enough, you could feel the pitter patter of ants from the park far away, that was spared by the havoc.
god…. have you always been this cruel?
you never thought you could fall this far.
clarity, yet you couldn’t even see your own perspective anymore. you lost sight of something you could barely remember anymore, lost in a war that had nothing to do with you, that shouldn’t have been possible to have anything to do with you.
yet… like a fool, you went with whatever was thrown at you… instead of helping yourself, like you always did, instead of taking things into your own hands, like you knew you had to.
you sat around and did nothing: twiddled your thumbs, achieving nothing to help your peculiar case.
the day you came to was a blur, yet you seemed to gain a sense of deja vu, red filling to much of your unfocused view.
you breathed calmly, deep breaths that made your lungs want to burst out of your chest in shame of what you’ve achieved.
your heart beating uncomfortably fast, but not enough to be threatening.
it felt like when you didn’t sleep a minute at night, your body doing everything to pull your through the day, while also staying alive and alert, creating an almost out of body experience, you could see yourself kneeling in front of the growing pool of crimson blood.
the one you created, on your own with no one to blame but your own.
god, those hands that were smeared with cake batter just a few days prior, now forever stained with cooling blood of someone you recognize.
you took another deep breath and your lips parted, cracking and tearing apart, fresh dropplets of blood filling the spaces between dried skin, your teeth coated in a lot more of the same liquid, horrifying, as it forced it’s way down your throat.
you didn’t even mind the taste.
your hands shook, as did your vision as you looked at the appendages, moving them in any kind of way hurt as dried wounds reopened, ripping open even more and your bones scratched from below.
your skeleton wanted to escape its sinful bindings, and so did you, run away to a place that wasn’t this, that wasn’t here.
hide from the world and rot until dirty maggots feast upon you like you are a delicacy, loving your taste, your texture, your thoughts and feelings.
loving you, even if they were lowly, filthy things that crawled to the dead like moths to a flame.
eating hole in your heart, finding there is one already, round and empty, black and blistering like tar, bleeding into your live essence, mingling with your blood like old friends. when it shed, only then was it’s true nature revealed, sticking to everything like sweet, sweet honey, everything you once reached for so hopefully, was painted it’s ugly color, the saccharine smell attracting flies to lay their spawn, setting their doom.
yet you were still alive, the maggots loved your flesh, yet you moved and lived and continued on with your live, letting decay fall upon all without a care.
you should‘ve helped yourself, when you still had the chance, now you killed and your fate was sealed, your doom was to come. you felt it in your corroding heart, you felt it.
god, or was that feeling just the larva indulging in your core?
cw: gender neutral reader, slightly insecure reader, angst, tiniest bit of fluff, reader doesn’t cry, mean frat dude probably, ooc probably
tw: mocking, being made fun of for appearance
well at least until you have the glow-up everyone else seems to be having, or already had, or never needed.
you were so jealous of those people,
and you genuinely never understood how it even came to, that you befriended them.
that they genuinely want to hang out with you in breaks, write you(by their own will, mind you) regularly or ask if you‘d like to go out with them, to a restaurant, expensive ones, your friends seemed to have that money, or amusement parks, or to one of your places.
you were amazed by the fact they simply didn‘t care. they didn’t care that you looked a mess 80% of the time, they didn’t care that you had emotions, that you were more sad and depress at times. your small friend group didn’t care that your room looked how it looked, overlooking the trash mountain by the side of your bed, which you didn‘t have the energy’s to clean up yet.
you were never conventionally attractive. and you never will be, you made peace with that. it was hard, and it still is. every time you come across a reflective surface and catch a peek of yourself you falter, jump at someone you don’t quite recognize. you know those features, all to well, after spending hour standing in front of a mirror, criticizing every wrong placed cell in your body, but they don’t make sense in the way you want them to. your image in your mind is so much different than whatever it is that owlishly blinks back at you.
but after years of yearning to be normal, to look normal, you‘ve come to an agreement with your body and mind, and now you don’t completely hate how you look anymore. it was nice in a way, but it still wasn’t easy.
you felt like you lost so much in your younger years. something you could never recover or catch up on.
conventionally attractive people have it easy, you always thought. sure they might have problems too, but they didn’t wake up with dread, dressing in the biggest and darkest clothes because nothing else felt right on their dirty skin, you always told yourself, in that close mindedness of yours. and that’s okay, somehow this close mindedness brings comfort, just once you only thought of yourself.
conventionally attractive people didn’t have the problem of seeing their friends get pined after left anf right, didn’t have to give advice to a topic they couldn‘t even imagine, and only dream of.
people tend to say ‚your time will come‘ or ‚you will meet someone when you least expect it‘, well…. now you don’t expect it at all anymore, so where is your soulmate? you angrily thought to yourself as a, now ex friend, told you how hard it was to have three people have a crush on her at the same time, because it was so exhausting trying to be nice to them, even if they annoyed her and she only had eyes for one.
‚just block them‘
you once said to which she simply replied
,i don’t want to be mean‘
you stood up and left then and there. your friendship crumbled like ash after. and you never talked again.
romantic interaction and people telling you they like you, romantically or platonically, wasn’t really a thing for you growing up.
one or two friends stayed with you over the years, but the rest you never saw or even talked to anymore.
you often wonder if they think about you as much as you do about them and the way they openly disrespected you and hurt your feelings and you didn’t even get it.
you never had much reassurance growing up that how you looked didn’t matter, that to some people you looked cool, that they wanted to be friends with you because you looked the way you looked.
and that ruined so much for you, most of which you have yet to heal from, yet you’re trying your best.
and then, after you graduated from secondary school, you went off to a technical college. were you met your new friends.
they were so odd and awkward at the beginning. but so were you. you guessed it was destined you got jumbled together into this mess of a group you call friends.
and things finally started to look up. you laughed and cried, shared secrets and insulted each other, it just fit perfectly.
you were oh so greatful to finally find people that you could start to believe, wanted to be friends with you.
even when you started to doubt and ask, they always reassured you, so lovingly, in a way no one else had, you had no other chance than to believe them.
but you have yet to come over the fact that such, ethereal, pretty and handsome people, wanted to be friends, with you, it sounded absurd and made absolutely no sense to you.
all of them were more than just conventionally attractive, and definitely way above ‚over average‘ and they definitely knew, how could they not?
gojo satoru, a tall, white haired dude with big blue eyes was the heartthrob of the school. wearing sunglasses all the time, his laid back and nonchalant personality made him even more popular with everyone but the teachers.
geto suguru was more toned down, a calm and collected individual, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as much of a menace as satoru. his long hair, done in an attractive loose man-bun most of the time, helped bring across his put together yet relaxed persona. and slightly slanted and ever narrowed eyes that gave him such an alluring look that had everyone swooning in secret.
(he even had tunnels, a feature you shared, which made you even more happy, his were just a bit smaller than yours)
and last but not least, shoko leiri, an ever tired, chain smoking woman. her brown hair suited her well, and while controversial, so did her dark circles, it gave her such character you couldn’t even begin to describe. when you looked at her, everything just clicked into place and made sense. having smoker parents yourself, her scent was comforting, oddly enough, mixed with her cherry scented lipgloss (she sometimes shares it with you).
and then there was you… you knew how you looked like, and that’s the exact reason you avoid looking at yourself in group pictures. it was a sweet gesture of them, of course, and you appreciated not being left out, but you simply couldn’t stand seeing yourself next to them. so out of place, so happy yet, it almost disgusted you, you disgusted yourself for ruining such a pretty photo once again.
‚aww, it looks so cute!‘
you excitedly tell your friends as they show you the picture they took of you all while out eating, skillfully ignoring that nauseatingly familiar face, stuffing itself full with food. they don’t notice how you felt, years of covering your disappointment made that possible.
it’s not like you didn’t want them to see or know, because they did, you just… didn’t know how to stop doing it.
if you knew someone, gojo most of the time, took a picture, you took great care in hiding your face, with your hand or a piece of clothing. but sometimes your weren’t fast enough or didn’t notice gojo was taking a picture in the first place. he loved to take those kinds of pictures. and you let him have his fun, admittedly, some of them were really funny and made you laugh aswell, but you‘d never tell them that… they‘d never let you live it down.
it was only one time this kind of escalated into something ugly…
———————————————————————
„oh my god, i look disgusting in this picture..“
„whaaat? no! you look totally cute“
you shot gojo a glare as you continued to look through the plethora of pictures he had taken, physically sick at the way you looked.
it was already evening and the sun just started to set. you and gojo sat on a bench, waiting for geto and shoko to come back from their smoking break. satoru hated the smell and you didn’t smoke anymore so you two always did something else while they killed their lungs.
and today satoru felt like taking pictures, stupid ones that looked ugly no matter how you looked at it, but also some really pretty ones if it wasn’t for you and your little imperfections that only seemed visible to you.
„i’m going to delete them..“
you said, after a lengthy pause and instantly were tackled. gojo put his whole body weight on top of you and reached for his phone, eyes wide and panicked.
„NO YOU‘RE NOT- THOSE PICTURES ARE AMAZING-„
he yelled, or more like whined as he struggled to get ahold of his phone, you kept far away from him. you tried to push him off but to no avail, so you wriggled your way out from beneath him and took some steps back as a precaution.
„nooo- i look awful in these, i’m not gonna let you keep those-..“
you groaned, sidestepping your friends attempt at catching you.
„oh come on, why not? it’s not like anyone is gonna see..“
he tried convincing, stalking closer, eyeing his expensive phone, gripping tightly in your hand.
you faltered a bit, your arm lowering slightly, easily convinced.
„alright, okay“
you sighed out
„but you’re not gonna show anyone else alright? you can send them into the group chat but no showing around..“
you handed him back his phone and he sighed in relief, checking his phone for damage that wasn’t there.
always so quick to exaggerate.
you really hope you could rely on the small chance no one would see.
but alas, you hoped to soon..
days later, in the big break, you sat with suguru, shoko and gojo at a small table at the back of the cafeteria, where you always sat. there was more space for others to sit at but most f the time it was just the four of you.
not today though, some people you didn’t know, but gojo apparently did sat with you for some stupid reason, talking his ear off and taking all his attention.
to say it was awkward would be an understatement. you geto and shoko weren’t quite as extroverted as gojo was, so you didn’t talk, which you were totally okay with, but there were strangers at the table that stared, and talked about topics you didn’t know about. they were loud and unruly, disrespectful and you you could see satoru cringe here and there at something one of the guys said, his phone screen side up layed in front of him, as he played with it impatiently, hoping the guys he knew but really didn’t know would finally leave.
it all happened in a matter of seconds, and gojo received a message, his screen lighting up, showing a dimly lit photo.
it was one from a few days ago, on the bench.
someone stupid and ugly looking sitting right next to him, as if they were on the same level. they shouldn’t even be near him.
thoughts started to crowd their mind, progressively getting worse and worse but you said nothing.
„who is that person with you on that photo?“
one of the guys asked, his voice sounding odd, almost degrading even if he hadn’t said anything bad. you snapped out of your mind, and your eyebrows furrowed. now you felt ashamed.
you could just hope gojo wouldn’t say it wad you, to spare you the embarrassment of being perceived.
„is that your partner?“
another voice called out, less condescending and more curiously before a third voice joined in, grating and mocking tone of voice. it hurt your ears.
„really? you could do better than that, satoru, they look so weird, you can even see their double chin“
the voice laughed, and so did the other’s. all the while your friends already small smile slipped from his face, as now a borderline annoyed expression took it‘s place.
„and such unclear skin“
„and their weight?“
„they look stupid“
„ugly“
„unlovable“
you weren’t quite sure anymore which words your mind made up and which ones were truly spoken, but it mattered little. if you could, you would just love to sink into the ground and never face earth an it’s opponents ever again.
„it doesn’t matter does it?!“
gojo’s uncharacteristically angry voice interrupts, and you were happy it was quiet again.
„how they look doesn’t fucking matter does it? their personality is awesome, unlike yours and they look stunning something you could never achieve, so fuck off..“
it was unusual for gojo to slip out of his happy-go-lucky persona, but this was his friend we‘re talking about, he never held back when it came to his friends.
you didn’t listen what happened after that, leaning onto geto’s shoulder and indulged yourself in your phone, a nice distraction from this escapade.
you knew it didn’t matter, those guys… didn’t matter, but that didn’t make it hurt less. emotions from still open wounds trickled out like cold blood. you took a deep breath as the table got silent again. no one talked. but it wasn’t awkward.
there was just a bitter solemn tension in the air.
you were a bit more reserved after that, quiet and less engaging in silly conversations, and your friends knew to give you a bit of time, they didn’t pity you and kept treating you normally.
but they were a bit more affectionate, especially geto.
gojo kept his distance knowing he was part of the cause, and also because he didn’t know if or how he could apologize.
shoko gave you her silent support, a stable individual you could rely on. and you loved her for that.
it was alright though, you‘ll come around eventually, you always did…
songs i think fit to YuuriVoice characters and listeners, maybe with and maybe without elaboration
Charlie(my love <3)
i’m german so i know what the lyrics say and it just fits you get me, also just the beat n stuff- it sounds very much ‚my life is going downhill and i’m getting chased by people who don’t like me‘ and it- just fits charlie‘s storyline so so well i think
now just for funsies we’re doing vamp!auron hehe
for him i have Overtüre from the dance of the vampires musical which i very much adore. even if you don’t know german, go listen to the whole musical(i know there’s an englisch version but the german one is just superior<3)
now onto Boo which is very mich meant as a joke but like:
how could i resist, please tell me. boo just shot bro and did a lil dancey dance like c‘mon the joke writes itself
now going onto charlie‘s(<3) listener to me they’re just so lady gaga coded like-
and especially government hooker????? YES PLEASE
and obviously IT GIRL like-
they are- they really are
and the boys, the bæs Al and Seth(YEA BABY)
another german song bc :P
for them ‚diamanten‘ by kontra k fits super well to. the beginning stages of their relationship when they were deep in the gang shit.
and yea that’s it for now, thanks for listening(go listen to ‚tanz der vampire‘ now >:( or else)
continuing my little luca and listener headcanon rant, since we don’t know much about the listeners job, i alway imagine they are part of the mafia elias is part of. idk how i came to this thought to be honest, but i feel it‘d be interesting to see.
so the listener, as i hopefully remember right, come around a lot, and brings luca all the hot chocolate and stuff, so they’re defending something of a executive or smth, and get to travel a lot. they don’t tell their husband anything about their job, because they want to keep him out of it as best as they can.
also, everyone in the mafia is so rooting for listener and luka, and they’re so in love, stopping interrogations and missions if luca calls without hesitating, and they always talk about him and they’re never overworking to get home to their love on time and ughh their so sappy and happy and lovely i wanna throw up
