suguru teaches you the correct way to worship >^_^<
"do you want to learn?" suguru asks, and his eyes meet yours again, dark and endless and utterly consuming. "do you want me to teach you how to worship properly?"
yes. the word is right there, burning on your tongue, ready to spill out. but you hesitate, because somehow saying it feels like crossing a line you can't uncross, like stepping off a cliff into an abyss you can't see the bottom of.
he waits. patient. unhurried. he knows what your answer will be. he's known since the moment he caught you lingering in the shadows, trembling and wide-eyed and full of hunger you didn't have a name for yet.
"yes," you breathe finally, and the word comes out ragged, desperate, full of all the things you've been too afraid to name.
"then kneel."
the command is quiet, but it resonates through you like a bell, like a prayer, like something inevitable. your body moves before your mind catches up, legs folding, knees meeting the cold stone floor. the impact sends a jolt through you, grounding you, reminding you that this is real, that you're here, that you've chosen this.
he looks down at you, and the approval in his eyes makes your stomach tighten with something that feels almost like triumph.
"good," the priest says for the third time, and each repetition of the word feels like a mark on your skin, a claim, a possession. "you learn so quickly. it's beautiful to watch."
he steps closer, close enough that his robes brush against your shoulders, that you can feel the heat of him radiating down like sunlight. he reaches out, and his fingers card through your hair, gentle at first, then fisting at the roots, tilting your head back further, exposing your throat to him completely.
"worship begins with submission," he says, and his voice is soft, almost tender, even as his grip tightens just enough to make your breath catch. "with accepting your place. with understanding that you are here to serve, to please, to offer yourself up as a vessel for something greater than yourself."
suguru's thumb strokes along your temple, a gesture that might be soothing if not for the intensity in his eyes, the way he holds you like you're something precious and something disposable all at once.
"repeat after me," he says. "i am yours."
your throat constricts. the words feel huge, too big to fit past your lips. but his grip in your hair tightens, just slightly, and the flash of pain sends heat pooling low in your belly.
"i am yours," you whisper, and the words feel like a key turning in a lock.
"i exist to serve you."
"i exist to serve you."
"i offer myself freely, without reservation, without shame."
your voice trembles but you repeat the words, each one carving itself into your chest, reshaping you from the inside out. when you finish, his grip loosens, and his hand slides down to cup your cheek with devastating gentleness.
"perfect," he murmurs. "you're perfect."
suguru guides you forward, and you go willingly, crawling on your knees until you're positioned between his legs, looking up at him from this new vantage point. the stone is cold against your knees. the candlelight flickers across his features, casting half his face in shadow, making him look like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on your perspective.
"now," he says, and his voice drops even lower, intimate and dark, "let me teach you the next lesson."
his hand finds your chin again, tilting your face up. his other hand moves to the tie of his robe, loosening it with deliberate slowness, giving you time to watch, to anticipate, to feel the weight of every second stretching out between you.
"worship takes many forms," he says as the fabric parts, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest, the defined lines of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that disappears below his waist. "prayer. sacrifice. offering." his robe falls open completely, and you see him, hard and waiting, the sight of him making your mouth go dry and your thighs press together. "but some of the most powerful worship is done with the mouth."
"you want this," suguru says, not a question. "i can see it in your eyes. in the way your lips part. in the way your thighs press together on the stone floor."
you nod, unable to form words.
"then ask for it."
you swallow hard. "please—please let me—"
"let you what?" his voice is silk over steel, patient and cruel. "use your words, little one. tell me what you want."
"let me take you in my mouth," you whisper, the words burning on your tongue. "let me worship you."
his smile is slow and dark. "that's better."
he steps closer, close enough that his cock is inches from your face. you can smell him—warm skin, salt, the faint trace of incense. your hands clench in your lap.
"open your mouth," he commands.
you obey instantly, lips parting, tongue resting flat. he guides himself to your lips, not pushing in, just letting you feel the weight of him against your bottom lip.
"take me in," he says, his voice dropping lower. "slow. i want to feel every inch as you take me inside."
you lean forward, parting your lips wider, and let the head of his cock slip past them. the taste of him floods your senses—warm, slightly bitter, intoxicating. you close your lips around him and your tongue darts out instinctively.
"that's it," he breathes, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. "just like that. now take more."
you slide forward, taking him deeper, feeling him press against your tongue, then toward the back of your throat. you gag slightly and pull back, but his hand holds you steady.
"breathe through your nose," he instructs, his voice calm, hypnotic. "relax your throat. you can take all of me. i know you can."
you try, forcing yourself to relax, and when you move forward again, he slides deeper, filling your mouth completely. your eyes water but you don't pull away. you look up at him, and the sight of his half-lidded eyes, the slight flush on his cheeks, sends a thrill through you.
"good girl," suguru murmurs, and the praise makes your cunt clench. "now move. set a rhythm. let me feel your devotion."
you start to bob your head, finding a slow, steady pace. your hands grip your own thighs, desperate for something to hold onto. his hand in your hair guides you, not forcing, just directing.
"faster," he says, and you obey, your pace quickening. "deeper. yes—just like that. don't stop."
the sounds fill the chamber—wet, obscene, punctuated by his soft groans and your muffled whimpers. he tastes like need, like power, like everything you've been missing.
"look at me," he commands, and you lift your gaze, meeting his eyes while his cock is buried in your throat. "i want to see your eyes when you come undone."
you moan around him, the vibration making his hips twitch. his grip tightens in your hair.
"you're so beautiful like this," he says, his voice rough. "so desperate to please. tell me—" he pulls back slightly, letting you breathe, but only for a moment before pushing back in. "tell me who you belong to."
you can't answer with your mouth full, so you hum around him, the sound desperate and pleading.
"say it," he insists, pulling out completely, leaving you gasping, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your lips. "say it, and i'll give you what you need."
"you," you choke out, your voice wrecked. "i belong to you."
"good." he strokes himself once, smearing the moisture across his length. "now open again."
you do, and he guides himself back into your mouth, this time setting a punishing pace, fucking your throat with deep, steady thrusts. tears spill down your cheeks. your nose is pressed against his pelvis. but you don't pull away. you take it all, because this is worship, this is surrender, this is exactly what you asked for.
suguru's breathing grows ragged, his hips stuttering. "don't stop," he grunts. "don't you dare stop until i—fuck—"
he buries himself deep, and you feel him pulse against your tongue, hot cum flooding your throat. you swallow, desperate to take it all, and he groans, long and low, as he spills himself into you.
when he finally pulls back, you're trembling, your lips swollen, your face wet with tears and saliva. he strokes your cheek with his thumb, gentle now, almost tender.
"you did so well," he murmurs. "perfect little devotee."
and you know, as you kneel there, breathless and ruined, that you'll do anything to hear those words again.
“ ࣭⸰ ★ THE MOON SAYS HELLO. . .
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader
⠀ ꒰ . . part one of three ꒱ . . . word count; 3.6k
⊹ ⠀⠀despite his insistence on never falling in love, suguru fails to stop himself from becoming smitten with his best friend’s beloved. you’ve become a flicker of hope in his darkness— though you’re someone who can never and will never be his to have and to hold.
series contains; if gojo didn’t kill geto n geto was given a chance to redeem himself, redemption arc!geto, human caretaker!reader, kind of e2l but also not really, love triangle, gojo x reader, fluff, major angst, heartbreak, wedding at the end, swearing probably, geto refers to humans as monkeys per usual
author's note; rewritten fic, will be 3 parts in total (i'm half done pls be patient w me im a slow writer...)
YEAR ONE, DAY ONE
His face is sore. So sore. It’s red, swollen, and sore after he’s spent the last three hours screaming in frustration with his current predicament. This is absurd, Satoru should’ve just killed him when he had the chance. Geto’s lost count of how many times his palms have slapped his own face; over and over again with wishes that he can wake up from this hellish nightmare the higher ups call ‘rehabilitation’— though he can somewhat still recall the first slap that he’d given himself around the half-hour mark. He’s got a pretty good memory…that doesn’t stop him from hoping his veins aren’t too noticeable as they angrily protrude from his forehead in crimson currents.
He’d rather be dead than imprisoned like this…like an animal…like one of those damn useless monkeys.
The intensity of his wails continue to bounce off of the barren walls— barren aside from the dark mark he’d punched in earlier— and echo like a party of lost ghouls in the bottom of an empty well. Geto feels like a mad man.
He’s only just begun his isolation and he’s already growing mad with boredom.
A huff escapes his lips as he plops himself down onto the twin-sized bed that’s nestled in the corner of his so-called ‘suite’. With linen sheets and a dark maroon comforter, it’s almost a cozy living situation; in another life, Geto could imagine himself cuddling beneath the covers with his favorite book and a soft record playing in the background for some ambience. That world is far far away now. Even if he asked for a record player, he doubts the higher ups would grant him one. He’s their most valuable prisoner, and they’re sure to keep him as miserable as possible until he’s one-hundred-percent pure hearted once more. However, despite their reluctance to grant him the things he wants, these aren’t the worst living arrangements he’s ever encountered and he knows that Gojo did his best to give him the best commodities he could to…well…a highly dangerous criminal.
This is the only path to forgiveness, he reminds himself, constantly trying to be optimistic about the utter absurdity of it all.
Optimism hasn’t been his specialty in a long time; anyone with a working pair of eyes would be able to deduce that, and he despises it. He’s quite rusty with the characteristic and has looked on the darker side for a while now— but wishes that he could be as reckless as he once was as a teenager. He can vividly remember how loud his laughter was with Gojo and Shoko, laughing as they chased each other throughout the school yard and using each other's cursed energy to their advantage in games of tag— but that would be near impossible now. His two best friends can barely look him in the eyes after the treason he’s committed. Gojo views him as a ticking time bomb and Shoko’s healed too many people to count that he’s harmed.
If he stepped one foot out of this room, he believes he’d be smothered on sight.
The Jujutsu Society fears Geto Suguru..
…and Geto Suguru fears himself.
In all fairness, he deserves everything that’s come to him. What he did was awful; mass murdering humans…trying to murder even more humans…harming innocent students…starting a war during the holiday season…the whole gist. There are obviously bad actions from the past that continue to haunt Geto to this day and will continue haunting him so long as he breathes— but that’s all it is now…the past. He wants redemption. He needs redemption. If Gojo managed to reach clarity within Geto’s awful decisions, then maybe he can too.
Geto wants to get better, to be better…not only for Gojo…but for himself.
This is exactly why he and his best friend has devised a plan, one that will hopefully help lead Geto on a better path— a five-year path that will only be completed if he truly wants it to, and a half a decade seems like quite a bit of time to most; but for Geto, he doesn’t know if it will be enough.
For Satoru…do it for Satoru…
He wraps his arms around himself in an attempt to comfort his heart that beats with fear every second of every day. It’s been so long since he’s been hugged by another, and he doubts he’ll ever feel that love and comfort from someone in his life. It’s the first time in a long time that he’s been alone with his thoughts with no one else to turn to; and if he’s being honest, there’s nothing in the entire world that scares him more than his own mind.
“Geto Suguru?”
He doesn’t recognize that voice.
The soft sound comes from seemingly nowhere, startling Geto with a slight jump. Whomever it is sounds frail and weak, obviously intimidated by whom they’re going to be in the presence of in mere minutes; and Geto already finds nothing but annoyance at his new companion. Of course they’re going to have prior judgment. He bets you already hate him for the rumors and stories. He doesn’t really have a choice whether or not you come in, though. Gojo insisted on a caretaker— someone to talk to so he doesn’t go insane by himself— and Geto will do anything to make his best friend happy. So, he stands up and dusts his pants off, making sure to look more presentable, and stalks towards the entryway. His hand meets the knob, yanking it open, and ready to meet the stranger on the other side.
Standing before him is you, a woman around his age. You can’t possibly be older than twenty-six, but perhaps you’re a few years younger. In your hands are various sweets and snacks that Gojo knows Geto loves, balancing on a silver tray that shines more light in the room than he’d care for. The reflections dazzle straight into his eyes, blinding him briefly with a scowl on his face. Of course Gojo would know to send you in with his favorites. He’s so predictable. His best friend is less surprising than he thinks, causing Geto to roll his eyes to the top of his head; though he appreciates the kind gesture. It’s far past dinner, though. Gojo must’ve struggled to convince the others to allow him a proper meal.
“Don’t just stand there, monkey.” Geto commands whilst gesturing to the small dining table in the center of his confined space. “Come inside.”
The instant you stepped into his presence, it was horribly noticeable that you have no cursed energy. Zero. Not a lick of it…and he struggles to hide the disgust with his body language. He can’t help but be annoyed that a monkey such as yourself is going to be in his company for the next five years.
With his distaste for you clear as day, he pulls out a chair for himself and disregards the kind option of pulling out yours prior; expectantly looking towards you with the expectation that you’re going to serve him his meal like a servant.
“Well, monkey…” he trails off disinterested, “I’m waiting.”
You hustle towards him, quickly and efficiently placing the special grade sorcerer’s meal on the placemat before him and taking the empty seat opposite. There’s a small breath you’re holding in, Geto can see it in your throat— it’s suffocating you with fear for your life as your fingers lightly tap the dark wood in a nervous fit.
You’re completely pathetic. As if a monkey would ever have the courage to speak to him. This is ridiculous.
His hands slam against the table with a loud bang. “What are you doing?” he questions, heavily interrogating you as you cower in your seat like a meak mouse. “Does Satoru expect you to monitor my meals?”
He really is nothing but a prisoner, isn’t he?
“What damage could I possibly do with this slob that’s been served to me by the scum of the earth? Start a food fight in the halls? Overthrow the Jujutsu world with a biscuit?” (If that is the case, in your defense, the biscuits are quite hard. There must be a new kitchen hand in training who based them.) This is a horrible day.
As Geto impatiently awaits your answer, a deep breath escapes your lips— perhaps a way to soothe your heartbeat into something less than a record-breaking speed— and you attempt to focus your stress and fear into a fleeting moment of zen. Your large eyes shut for a total of three seconds; one, two, three…before opening again. This time, as his own eyes make contact with yours, they’re shining with slightly more confidence than before as you swallow hard and settle your gaze on Geto— the look in your eyes evolving from that of anxiety to empathy.
“Actually,” your lips rise into a thin smile, “Gojo Satoru didn’t send me here, the higher ups did.”
Your eyes search Geto’s for any signs of discomfort or inner rage that could be boiling beneath the surface of his poker face. It appears that he’s grown even stronger at hiding his true emotions towards humans; however, you can see through the veil. Yes, it’s thick and difficult to brush past, but there’s a slight opening in the center that you peek inside— and what you can see in his heart is a man who simply wants to finally do what’s right.
“The higher ups are aware that Gojo Satoru has a soft spot for you— hell, everyone who knows your name is aware that when it comes to you, he has no reason. He has no right of mind. I’m only here to monitor and report your progress in an honest manner. That’s it. That’s all. I promise I won’t intrude on your life more than necessary.”
Shit.
“I’m sorry, Geto Suguru…but you’re stuck with me.”
It’s as if his left and right sides are arguing between themselves. His good conscience says that he should give you a chance, perhaps you could be different than the monstrous humans that attempted to kill his beloved Mimiko and Nanako; while his bad conscience tells him to let out one of his cursed spirits to devour you where you stand. Listening to his right side would definitely get him his best case scenario…a chance to see his girls again…but the left side would be so much more enjoyable. Oh well. At least the higher ups sent someone somewhat his age and not an ancient and decaying corpse like themselves. That’s a disgusting thought. He’d rather be hugged by a hundred humans than be forced to befriend a higher up. A shiver runs through Geto’s spine as a newfound appreciation for you is birthed within him.
“Do you have a name?” Geto taunts as he begins to pick at his meal, slightly disgusted with the stale quality of some of the snacks but nevertheless thankful that he at least has something to subside his aching hunger. “Or should I just call you ‘monkey’ as I do with the rest of your kind?”
That sound?
You’re laughing?
Your giggles are surprisingly pleasant to Geto’s ears as they harmonize into a song that he can imagine himself listening to each morning. Why did you find that funny? He was quite literally insulting your entire existence. Geto is dumbfounded by the strange humor you seem to have, considering that he was being entirely serious with his question. Humans are so strange. He’s never really been able to understand how your peoples’ minds work, but perhaps he could begin to learn the basics. It’s not like he has anything better to do, and some entertainment would be nice.
He’ll keep you around…it wouldn’t hurt and you can be his companion kind of like a pet.
Pets are cute…
…your smile is cute too.
You smile once more, answering his question with a blush on your face. “Please,” your cheeks redden, “Call me by my name, Suguru.”
YEAR ONE, DAY NINETY-FOUR
“You’re late.” Geto crosses his arms over his chest, exhaling a large breath of air in a loud and annoyed huff as he attempts to seem seriously angered by his new friend’s awful timing.
It’s nearly twenty minutes past the time that you were supposed to be here; emphasis on supposed. He’s been waiting with his eyes staring at the clock, watching it tick and tick as the time passed by with no you knocking on his door. That’s twenty whole minutes of time in which he was forced to entertain himself rather than listen to your rambles and rants about whatever the latest scandal is in the outside world. You love that pop culture gossip stuff that social media and magazines rave about, and in a weird way, you somewhat remind him of his daughters— personality-wise…not attraction wise…that would be weird.
Over the past few months, Geto’s grown severely accustomed to the daily routine that you’ve developed, becoming so fond of you that he strangely pictures your smile and recalls your laughter when you aren’t even here. Friendship is a funny thing. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a friend like yourself; yes, Satoru will always be his closest confidant…but his relationship with you is different in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on. He’s never considered anyone else the highlight of his every day like he does you. Your company is the kind of presence that he overwhelmingly enjoys; with such a positive and warm nature exuding comfort to Geto’s loneliness, and your judgment-free outlook on life rivaling his pessimism in a perfect mixture of negativity and optimism. He wishes he’d met you sooner, perhaps when he was a child— and if he had, maybe he wouldn’t have turned out the way he did.
It’s too bad you would’ve only been an awful human to him back then…he would’ve called you his infamous nickname without batting an eye…a monkey…
…a mere monkey whom he never ever thought he’d develop unwanted feelings for.
For his entire life, Geto always told himself not to fall in love. That love isn’t real. It isn’t obtainable, not when there are people like Satoru in the world— people that you can’t help but love— and then people like him; people who you can’t help but hate. With that being said, he’s never necessarily been looking forward to any potential love matches in his future.
…no matter who he was involved with…
…until he met you.
“Sorry about that, Suguru!” you hustle through the doorway, your appearance a tangled mess with dusty dirt particles littered with gravel.
There’s a large scratch on your right cheek, not deep or in danger of infection in any way, but noticeable enough that he’s able to see it from a distance. Knowing you, it’s most likely accidentally self-inflicted in some sort of way; you being notorious for tripping or snagging your skin on the sharp end of a table. How do you always manage to be so uncoordinated? Geto can’t help but let out a short laugh, his eyes scrolling up and down your body and taking in your entire appearance, dirt and all. You even manage to make dirt look good. What the fuck? He hates this.
Your voice carries on as you approach him. “I was running on time, but then I saw this adorable shop downtown and I just had to make a stop.” The overexaggerated tone you hold is amusing as your hands wave through the air in a physical storytelling of your experience. The skin of your cheeks is flushed red from your sprint through the city, looking beautiful in resemblance to that of a blooming rose.
Geto can feel his own face heating up at the sight of you, choosing to shrug nonchalantly in an attempt to seem as if he doesn’t care at all about your dilemma…
…as if he doesn’t care about every second of your everyday…
…as if your overall excitement isn’t the only thing that truly keeps him going nowadays.
“You tell me these things as if what you do outside of this room matters to me.” He hopes his words mask his rising blush. (Spoiler alert: They don’t.)
Flawlessly, you brush off Geto’s phony disinterest without the slightest acknowledgement. It’s as if the phrase had never even left his lips, with no evidence and proof of insult. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence when the topic of what you do when you’re not with him comes up in conversation, as the prisoner typically tries to ignore his interest in your daily shenanigans— and you can’t deny that it hurts. Most of the time, it feels as if Geto never actually listens to anything you say, and you were able to quickly realize that in the early weeks of your arrangement when the pain began to torment your heart; ripping and shredding it to bits with every eye roll and mocking scoff. You don’t seem to matter in Geto’s point of view. He doesn’t care…at least that’s what you believe.
In contrast to Geto, you’re an emotional spirit— you crave love.Love is all you’ve ever wanted, needed, and desired. In your time with him, you’ve developed inklings of feelings as well. However, you’ve chosen to let your feelings grow and blossom out of the dirtied patch of grass they were planted in— ignoring the warnings every single person in your life has given you in advance. Despite that, Geto continues to stomp on your budding flowers. He takes a heavy watering can, filled to the brim with hose water, and drowns your garden in the tears that you shed in the privacy of your bedroom. Those tears that are a never ending waterfall due to the fact that you know it isn’t your job to fall in love with your client. Your duty to Jujutsu Society is to help Geto learn to love humans and sorcerers as one in the same and to gain the trust of his community once more— not to love you.
“Okay, before you judge me, at least give me a chance to explain myself.” Stumbling towards Geto, you accidentally trip over your own feet in embarrassment, and proceed to hold out a single flower not yet in bloom. “It’s freshly cut. I saw a bouquet in the window and it caught my eye, because it reminded me of you; but I knew you’d hate a flashy bunch of them so I just bought the one.”
It reminded you of him?
Taking the gift into his own hands, Geto studies it intensely. The rose is a dark shade of red, crimson, or scarlet depending on your vocabulary. The petals are a brighter color while the plushness near the stem turns dark, more sinister as it approaches the thorns lining the sides. Just by looking at the rose, he can understand why it made you think of him. It’s gorgeous, but practically untouchable figuratively and literally. There’s only one angle that he can hold the stem at that doesn’t prick his fingers. Ouch. And he just did the very thing he was being so careful of avoiding.
All his life, he’s never been the kind of person who longed for gifts or compliments, but when coming from the right person…perhaps he is.
Whilst he struggles to come up with a reply— a simple ‘thank you’ or ‘i appreciate this’— you mentally applaud yourself as you’ve finally found a way to make him speechless…
…but your praise for yourself is short-lived.
He can’t be weak. Not even for you.“I guess it’s not terrible.” Geto throws the flower to the ground and lightly kicks it away with his right foot. As one of the beautiful petals drifts away from the lonely flower, he turns away, not being able to endure the heartbroken look on your face and the offended rose on the floor. Why does he have to be like this? “I’m sure that garbage is all a monkey like you can afford anyways.” Why is he so cruel?
His eyes clench shut as he hears the door begin to close. You’re so gentle even when upset. He admires that about you— you’re the calm to his ever-raging storm, the sailor to his tsunami, and the lifeboat to his wreckage— you’re the most pure-hearted person he knows, and you don’t deserve this awful anger he holds within him.
Is he…crying?
As tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Geto collapses against the wall with his knees buckling beneath him and his weight crumbling down to a pile of patheticness. He’s just a shell of a man undeserving of someone like you. Soft sobs escape his lips and silent cries fill the hollow room, absent of your joy, crying out until he notices the faint outline of the young rose beside him. With the flick of his hand, he snatches the flower off the ground and lifts the thorny plant with careful hands— finally and truly understanding your meaning behind the gift. This is how you see him? He’s dreadful and hurtful to others on the outside, prickling kind people away with his thorns…but when encouraged and supported, he has the potential to become something beautiful.
Someone that could one day be compared to the beauty that is of a blooming rose.
With the budding rose in his grasp, Geto sits alone. He realizes that he’s only able to become that person with the help of you. You’re the only person that has even come close to seeing him for who he truly is; aside from Satoru you’re the only person who would think of giving such a gift to the number one enemy of the Jujutsu world. You’re the only person who he’s ever come to feel true and honest romantic love towards.
Geto has to become better. Not only for himself and Satoru…but now, for you.
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated!
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀i promise i'll post the next 2 parts soon pls be patient :3
warning: this has sexual content so viewer discretion is advised. Also the characters here aren't exactly pleasing i.e. their behaviour is pretty problematic throughout the oneshot.
synopsis: You live with your two best friends Gojo and Geto. No matter how much others insist so, No, you aren't attracted towards your insanely good looking best friends. You guys have been friends for too long to spark anything up. But one night, everything changes when Gojo suggests something that you guys have never done. A challenge, where the first one to cum while you suck both of them off one after another, looses. Surely a silly game can't ruin anything right?
pairing: Roommate!geto x reader x Roommate!gojo
content: threesome head (?), praise kink, oral (m. recieving), Geto is very gentle, Gojo is bratty and shameless, Reader is bold, Reader is secretly into her roomates.
author's note: Can this count as porn with plot...? I mean.. I did do a bit of world building.... I might be a little inexperienced when it comes to writing smuts. All the characters here are adult and working in similar fields (will be mentioned later). Minors dni!
The day started off as normal as usual. Suguru was in the kitchen making breakfast for you both since he was the only one able to do so without burning down the whole kitchen. Gojo walks over to the kitchen counter and takes a pic of Suguru from the back. "This will do" Gojo says. "Post me too, toru", You pout at Gojo. "When you look like you were fighting wars before you woke up? Hell no" Gojo sarcastically says. You roll your eyes at him as you brush your hair. Gojo types down on his phone for few seconds before throwing it on the couch. Soon a notification from Geto's phone follows. "You didn't tag me?" You ask Gojo. Gojo stares at you blankly. Soon another notification from your phone follows and gojo rolls his eyes at you. You giggle as you repost gojo's mention of you in his story.
Gojo is an influencer and Geto is a model. You are a youtuber. You started off with only 1k subscribers, from what your followers in social media could provide you. But you are one successful youtuber now. Why? because of your best friends. "Living with my two best friends" is a series your audience seems to enjoy very much. You had no business living with two of your very attractive friends, but they bought you money and whole lotta fame. Who are you to say no? Don't get me wrong, you did love them. They have been there for you at your highs and lows and you love them for it. But from how Geto and Gojo toss around girls after sleeping with them? You simply couldn't love them fully for that. That's one of the reasons why you were never really romantically attracted towards either of them. No matter how much others envied you for living with such attractive guys. Other than that, everything was fucking great.
Both Gojo and Geto's label loves the fame your channel brings to them. It helped boost up Gojo's career as an influencer. And for Geto, he was always popular for his gentleman behaviour. He would often stand up for other women whenever they were in trouble. No matter how many girls he brang to bed, he hasn't ever disrespected a single one of them. Gentleman my ass, you thought. His popularity helped his name to reach out to a model agencies and here he was, almost a professional model who walked for the best fucking brands out there. As for Gojo, He was popular in college for his good looks but his personality gave it away. Gojo would often get in fights and Geto would have to save his ass from it. Despite his looks, girls would often be scared to approach him for his fighting tendencies. Nevertheless, he got away with his reputation and is a successful influencer now. He goes around whole day posting his life on instagram and earns money from it.
You guys met in college and have been inseparable since then. The three of you were quite famous. And all for your looks. "I really hate my label" Gojo throws his head back and leans against the sofa. "I don't see why I need to go work today. My hell of a manager won't leave me the fuck alone" Geto sighs. "Why do you guys have work on saturday" you complain. "I thought we could watch movies the whole day today". "I know right" Geto puts his arms around your shoulder and massages the spot his hands rest on your right shoulder. "I promise to come up with something fun by the time I am home. All three of us will have a blast" Gojo says excitedly. "Sure" you roll your eyes once again. Geto kisses your temple and gets up from the couch. You watch as Both Gojo and Geto walk up to their respective rooms to get ready for the day.
-
The whole day was very unproductive for you. After Geto and Gojo left, you had to entertain yourself with movies. The movies were too damn boring and nothing you did seemed to make you happy. Now it was finally 9 pm, meaning, Both your friends will be back soon. Finally you had found a reason to be happy for the first time today. You hear the door unlocking and happily walk towards it to welcome your best friend. The door opens to reveal Geto with a flower bouquet and a big shopping bag. You raised an eyebrow at him in questioning look to conceal your excitement. "My label, it was giving away all this cool clothes I thought you would like" he hands you the bag. "Thank you!" you squeal and hug him. "And I bought booze!" Gojo exclaims as he comes up from behind Geto. "Gojo dropped at my office and wanted to buy alcohol. That fucker made me pay for everything" Geto complains as he walks inside. "Aww, come on man, I know you love me" Gojo says as he slaps Geto's shoulders playfully. You laugh as you help Gojo bring in the cartoon of booze Gojo was carrying.
"So now? what's the plan for today" you ask them. Both Gojo and Geto exchange looks. "What?" you ask. "How about we lighten up with drinks first and Gojo tells you his plan?" Geto says as he wraps his hands around your shoulder and leads you to the living room. "I don't like this" you say while eyeing both of them. Once, you had found yourself in a similar situation like this and Gojo had suggested something so absurd for entertainment that you and Geto had to knock him drunk and put him on bed before he suggested something more horrible. It was to fucking pee in a bottle and give it to a neighbour saying it's "a special juice" as a form of prank. "Oh trust me it's nothing like last time" Geto assures you as Gojo walks to the kitchen to get you guys glasses.
-
You are five glasses down as you feel yourself getting dizzy. Geto leans against the back of the couch and spreads his legs to get comfortable. "Oh dude stop, we know its big" Gojo says with playful irritation in his voice. "Oh I bet it is" you jokingly say. Suddenly Geto gets up from his comfortable position and looks agt Gojo again. They silently nod at each other and face you. "What?" you ask, clearly sensing they had planned something big on their way here. "Well uh, Gojo had came up with something just for fun for us tonight" Geto says while fidgeting with the thread of his grey sweatpants. You look at both of them, already guessing that whatever follows won't be nice. "Do you promise to not beat us up if I say it?" Gojo asks you with puppy eyes. "I'm too tipsy to do it" You reply. "It's just a game alright? Nothing serious" Gojo says nervously.
"Yeah I get it Gojo, what is it?"
"Really, it's something silly me and Gojo planned. Nothing to worry about"
"I get it, but what is it?"
"It really is meaningless, doesn't mean anything"
"You can say no if you want to"
"Can you guys fucking tell me what it is?"
"It won't change anything between us, I promise"
"YEAH BUT WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU GUYS PLANNED"
Gojo exhales before saying, "I don't know- it feels like a bad idea now". "At least we should ask her" Geto says as he nudges Gojo with his elbow. Clearly, he too, is excited for what Gojo has planned. You stare at them in defeat. Gojo and Geto are the last person on earth to hesitate before saying something. Especially Gojo. What is it? You thought. Are they going to suggest a threesome? That's something Geto would never agree to- "How about you take turns giving us head" Gojo says, too fast, almost as if he'd rather you did not hear him say that. "what" you say, completely flabbergasted.
"Yeah it was a bad idea" Geto says as he gets up. "It's okay. Pretend you never heard it" he adds. "wait" you say. Both Geto and Gojo look at you in sync. "What's in there for me?" You ask bravely. "You are getting our cock in your mouth, baby. Isn't that enough?" Gojo asks while smiling widely. Yeah, he is very excited. "Don't be a dick satoru. I will get you more of these clothes" Geto says while pointing at the shopping bag on the floor. "That works fine I guess" You say. "You see, me and Geto talked it over with. It will be a small game. You will suck us off one after another. Whoever cums first is the looser" Gojo explains.
You consider all the possibilities to yourself. Certainly after this, things won't be the same. Even if you guys decide to pretend like it never happened, there would still be a high tension. What if Geto and Gojo toss you out like they do to other girls? The thought almost makes you stand up and leave the room. But then you notice both of them looking at you with anticipation so you think to yourself, yeah, one time can't hurt. "That's fine by me" you tell them.
"Me first!" Gojo exclaims as he pushes Geto from beside you and sits on the couch. Geto shakes his head in acceptance and takes out his phone. He holds the clock app open in front of your faces. "I will start it once Gojo is hard and you are ready" He says. "No need" Gojo says as he adjusts his pants, the bulge already visible. Seriously? you think. He got hard just like that? But then you notice your hard nipples visible from your tank top so now you know why Gojo got hard. It makes you wonder if he gets hard like this often because you are almost never wearing bra. "So, ready?" geto asks "Hell yeah" Gojo says loudly as both of you roll your eyes.
You tie up your hair in a ponytail and pull down Gojo's pants. It wasn't your first time. You have had boyfriends before and you know how to do it. Actually you are quite good at it. Five minutes is all it will take you to make Gojo cum. Only five minutes. You hold Gojo's cock in your hand and start rubbing it up and down. Gojo throws his head back in pleasure as the stopwatch in Geto's phone stays on the table, seconds and seconds passing by... You start licking Gojo's dick from the bottom to up while maintaining eye contact with him. Gojo's eyes is locked in with yours and his mouth open, taking heavy breaths. You tease his tip with your tongue. Licking and rubbing the tip of your tongue on his foreskin, which makes low whimpers escape his mouth.
You take a his whole dick in your mouth and push it deep in your throat. Gojo groans as his hands grip the back of your skull and pushes you further down. You choke as a tear falls down from your eyes. "Mhmm..Fuck... you are doing so good" Satoru groans as his hands find the back of your head and pushes your skull down his cock. You palm his balls as more tears fall down your eyes. "Fuck" Gojo curses as more whimpers follow. "Ngh... fuck.. I can't keep it in anymore" Gojo moans as his hands keep bobbing your head down his cock. You lick the base of Gojo's dick then trail your tongue up to his tip. You run his dick around the tip of your tongue like a popsicle. That's all it takes for Satoru to reach his edge. Warm cum flows out of his dick on the base of your tongue. You keep your lips locked around his dick till he finally finishes cumming. You look at Satoru in the eye as you swallow his loads.
Gojo's breathing is still heavy as he watches you lick the corner of your lips. "Fuck" he throws his head back. "Exact five minutes" Geto says as he takes his phone from the table and stops the timer. There is a smirk on his face as he sits on the couch and nudges Gojo to get up. Telling him it's his turn now. Gojo gets up from the couch and pulls his pants back. "Any reviews? Feedbacks? Comments?" you playfully ask Gojo. "Your ex boyfriends weren't lying when they said you suck dick like an ovulating bitch who loves dick like she loves food" Gojo says. You bite your lips as you sultrily smile at him. "Why, thank you' you say. "My turn now" Geto says, with hint of impatience in his voice. Gojo sits on the same chair geto was sitting the whole time you were sucking him off as he takes his phone out. "I will start the stopwatch when your pants are off" he points at Geto. You play with the strings of geto's sweatpants as you maintain eye contact with him. You pull down his pants and hold his cock. A low sound escapes his throat as he looks down at the beautiful sight of you between his legs.
Without wasting more time, you start licking it up from the bottom to his tip. Unlike Gojo, Geto doesn't show his satisfaction by throwing his head back or even letting a whimper escape his mouth. It makes you want to suck him harder only just to exude a reaction from him. Geto maintains straight eye contact with you as he wraps your hair around his wrists and pushes your head down his cock with it. You rest your palms against his inner thighs and let Geto bob your head up and down his cock using your hair. Geto exhales deeply as he pushes his cock down your throat and you start to choke. You use your tongue more as he pushes your head up and down his dick only as to make him make the smallest of sound. And he does. A small moan escapes Geto's mouth as his grip on your hair lightens a bit. Indicating that he is close. You start sucking his dick harder and push it down your throat more. Geto's grip on your hair tightens again as he is slowly pushing your head down his cock now. So he likes the process harsh and can't even cum without me slowing down first? wow, you think to yourself. Geto lets out a moan and soon your mouth is filling with hot liquid.
You swallow it all and look up at Geto. His mouth is left in an O and his breathing still heavy. "Four minutes and 30 seconds. Really Geto?" Gojo says in disbelief. You laugh as you get up and tie your hair back in place after Geto had made it messy. "I thought you were better than me" Gojo says, still shocked. Geto doesn't say anything, too embarrassed from his failure. "I will take my leave now" you get up from the floor. "I am tired" you say. "Wait" Gojo stops you.
"What?"
"Nothing"
"Seriously?"
"Well I think we should-"
"You should go rest now [name]" Geto cuts Gojo's speech.
"Alright" you stretch your arms above your head and then walk to your room and close the door.
"Are you crazy?" Geto asks Gojo after you are gone. "Why? i thought we talked it out" Gojo says, feeling attacked by Geto's words. "Seriously Satoru? I don't even know how to face her tomorrow forget even about a threesome after the weird game you pulled tonight" Geto says. "Weird??? I thought we were in this together. Don't act like you didn't just have the time of your life few moments ago. And it's ruined already Suguru, Stop being a pussy and stress over it." Gojo says. "I don't know... I will ask her to pretend tonight never happened" Suguru says. "ABSOLUTELY NOT" Gojo snaps. Geto throws a cushion at Gojo for being loud and gets up from the couch. "I am too dizzy right now from tonight's events to even talk with you, Satoru. Let's wake up early tomorrow and discuss it over before confronting her. It is a good thing she went to her room than to ask us what we are now. Goodnight" Geto walks to his living room and closes the door. Gojo sighs as he leaves for his own room too.
Well, whatever happened, happened. It wasn't as if the three of you never had meaningless hookups before. If you had to pretend that nothing happened, then so be it. It's not like you can undo what you did. After all, playing ignorant was something the three of you excelled in.
author's note: I should do more with this trio ngl...
౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader
⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k
⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide.
contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting
author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!
Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.
However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.
Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.
He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.
And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.
“Do you like it?”
Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.
“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”
“What do you think?”
You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.
“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”
You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”
“Did you touch my painting?”
Oh boy, he’s in for it now.
A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”
Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.
“I guess you caught me red handed?”
There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him.
You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”
“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”
Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.
The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before.
“Anyways, to answer your question—”
Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.
“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”
Yeah, he doesn’t believe that.
“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”
Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.
“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”
Yep. Tripped.
“—which led me to you!”
You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.
He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”
“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”
Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”
You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes.
“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”
She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail.
However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired.
“That’s actually perfect!”
What.
The.
Fuck?
“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”
The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does.
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”
“Oh.”
All you have to say is ‘oh’?
“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”
You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize.
He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality.
God, he’s so bad at flirting.
“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”
He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.
You’ve left your entire bag this time.
He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense.
It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too.
Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together.
He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.
You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin).
He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind.
A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.
‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”
As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will.
It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you.
Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear.
‘Hello. You know me.’
Perfect.
In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.
‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’
‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’
He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Where the fuck did you come from?
Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan.
“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”
He’s so bad at this.
You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.
“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”
Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?
“I’ve got nothing to do today.”
—because he’ll gladly let you do so.
The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often).
“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”
“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He smiles to himself.
Yes, you do.
He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again.
“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?”
This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution.
Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years.
The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?
Wrong. He’s a chicken.
“Here. This might help you cool down.”
Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his.
“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”
You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”
And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world.
As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings - to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color.
It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of.
To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his.
He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?
How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand…
…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand.
Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.
He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same.
Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions.
“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”
Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this.
“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?”
“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”
“Nice.”
He doesn’t know how to respond to that.
“Yeah, nice.”
Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence.
“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.”
He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.
He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—
“What am I to you?”
Oh.
Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now.
What the hell is he supposed to say to that?
This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea.
Why can’t he think of anything to say?
His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern.
This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything.
“You’re my mom’s student.”
Anything but that.
“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”
Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one.
He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?
“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.”
Oh God, he made it worse.
“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?”
How the hell are you so fast?
Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.
“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”
You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands.
“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”
“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”
“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”
Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”
If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces.
You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared.
“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger.
“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”
“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”
He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.
“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”
“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding.
“Are you being serious, right now?”
Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in.
“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”
His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression.
“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”
You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”
As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free.
“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”
You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”
“Grey.”
He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”
His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.
“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”
He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does.
The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers.
“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk.
“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”
“Cycle?”
What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?
“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”
Suguru hates him.
“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”
Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”
“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”
“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”
Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him.
It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other.
Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears.
You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth.
When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know.
It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good.
Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things.
Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard.
The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?
Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?
Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?
What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?
“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back.
“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!”
His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along.
…
Did he just…
What did—
There’s no way.
Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?
He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.
Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing.
Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you.
‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’
He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.
An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?
He’s counting.
The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago.
Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you.
Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back.
Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him.
He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before.
“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?”
This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?
You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”
“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”
The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you.
He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right.
“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”
“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”
“You love your art, and I love you.”
He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.
You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…
…and then a tear falls.
One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful.
Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it.
“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”
You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay.
“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”
Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it.
Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him.
His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—
Aw shit, he knocked over an easel.
“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!
“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”
“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”
The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.
As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…
…a kiss.
“I love you.” You whisper.
“I love you more.” He replies.
This is a fancy-ass venue.
Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it.
It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster.
He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are.
With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching.
“She’s talented isn’t she?”
Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.
“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”
Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.
“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”
Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?
His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”
His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.
There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”
Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”
Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was.
“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”
“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs.
“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”
With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room.
Holy shit. You’re breathtaking.
Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.
The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates).
Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—
“Cat got your tongue?”
Speak of the devil.
“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”
You said the same thing when you first met.
Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen.
The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”
As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.
Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him.
“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”
“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”
You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it.
He sees himself.
Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life.
He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular.
"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"
Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"
Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.
"I'm painted in black and white."
Oh?
"You're painted in color."
...Oh.
"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."
He loves you.
He loves you so, so much.
A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.
There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.
౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ midnight love
⠀ ꒰ . . geto suguru x gn reader ꒱ . . . word count; 0.7k
⊹ ⠀⠀ heartbreak is a cycle. over, and over, and over again.
contains; geto suguru x gn reader, angst, geto dumped you and you can't get over it, mentions abandonment and attachment issues, lots of reader insecurities, womp womp
author's note; hey ! XD
"you really can't be calling me at this hour anymore." suguru's voice is faint. he's likely just woken up from a deep slumber, probably dreaming of something far more interesting and attractive than you are, but that isn't a dream that you'd like to picture. he did this to you.
sometimes, he needs to see what your nightmares look like.
"i'm sorry, it's just that i've been thinking about everything again." clearing your throat, you can't help but notice that your voice can't stop shaking. get a grip of yourself. you're embarrassing. "i feel like we made a mistake. it's not crazy to try things again; we know what went wrong so let's just fix it this time. right? we can be even better this time around."
you know the hopefulness slipping from your tongue is something that suguru has grown to hate. he hates the guilt that it makes him feel. he hates the reminders of a time where he was so madly in love with you that he couldn't imagine sleeping through one of your sporadic phone calls in the middle of the night. he hates how it reminds him how hard you sobbed when he said those three little words. not 'i love you'...but 'let's break up'.
he hates that it makes him regret things.
so instead, he forces you to bottle it all up.
"i'm not interested anymore, i've told you that." the sound of your poorly mended heart shattering once more is far too familiar. "seriously, we crashed and burned so let's just leave it at that."
this is the third time he's said these words. the first being an hour after he dumped you over the phone, when you called him back amidst uncontrollable sobs and he didn't seem to care all that much. the second being a month after what would've been your first anniversary together, to which he was careless with your heart as you poured it out to him on his doorstep. now, the third, where it's been a whole three months since your untimely break up and your sleep has been lost to you for yet another night.
...and he still doesn't care.
he doesn't care about you.
he doesn't care at all.
why doesn't he care?
"suguru, please." it's pathetic to beg, but what else can you do? "i love you. i want to be with you and i'm willing to do anything to make it work. c'mon, work with me, here." just say yes. just say yes and maybe you'll smile again.
he takes a deep breath. you can count down the seconds until he exhales.
three.
you envision a scenario where he bolts from his bed, frantically grabs his jacket, and drives straight to your house. his hand hovers over the front door, ready to knock, when you fling it open and then fling yourself into his arms. suguru laughs at your eagerness, gently gripping your face beneath your jaw and kissing you tenderly. god, it's been so long since you felt his kisses. you could cry from the overwhelming happiness in your heart. the overwhelming joy that he never fails to make you feel when he's truly and completely in love with you, too.
two.
you recall one of your favorite dreams, one just a few nights ago, where suguru had never broken up with you in the first place. in fact, he thinks the mere thought is comically funny. he'd never ends things. you're the best thing that's ever happened to him and he never fails to tell you that at every hour of the day. he's the perfect boyfriend. he's the ideal husband. he's the man that you've been wishing for for your entire life...but he really is just that. he's a dream.
one.
"i don't love you anymore."
oh...
oh.
you wish this were a scenario. you wish you were sleeping. you wish he could've said anything other than those awful words, but this is reality. dreams don't reflect reality. dreams aren't real. his love for you isn't real. he doesn't love you. he doesn't want you. he doesn't need you. give up. give up. stop making a fool of yourself.
"but i love you."
pathetic.
you're pathetic.
the sigh he exhales is pitiful.
he's so obviously aware of how clingy you've become in your lonesome life that he's not even surprised by your behavior. he's not surprised by your confession. it's almost as if he expected it. he knows your flaws. he knows your stance on abandonment...on attachment...on absence. he knows you can't possibly function in a world without him...
...and he hangs up.
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated!
“ ࣭⸰ ★ THE MOON SAYS HELLO. . .
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader x gojo satoru
⠀ ꒰ . . a three part miniseries ꒱ . . . est. total word count; 25k
⊹ ⠀⠀despite his insistence on never falling in love, suguru fails to stop himself from becoming smitten with his best friend’s beloved. you’ve become a flicker of hope in his darkness— though you’re someone who can never and will never be his to have and to hold.
series contains; if gojo didn’t kill geto n geto was given a chance to redeem himself, redemption arc!geto, human caretaker!reader, kind of e2l but also not really, love triangle, gojo x reader, geto x reader, fluff, major angst, heartbreak, wedding at the end, kissing, swearing probably, geto refers to humans as monkeys per usual
.𖥔 ݁ library of loss and love ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑
a tragedy: the narrative of geto suguru
introduction: the moon says hello
conclusion: of stardust reflections
bonus — a love story: the narrative of gojo satoru
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀thank you for reading! reblogs are greatly appreciated!
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀will be updated as i rewrite! pls be patient w me!
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to be added to/removed from taglist,,
“ ࣭⸰ ★ HOPELESS ROMANTIC ; geto x fem reader
⠀ ꒰ . . episode four ! ꒱ . . . word count; 0.9k
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᯇ leaves are falling, and he is too
⊹ ⠀⠀ with so many love stories on the shelf, geto feels his heart being influenced. if he's going to fall in love with anyone...it's you.
contains; geto suguru x fem reader, university (year 2) au, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, love triangle
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀pm or send ask to join/be removed from taglist,,
⋆⋆⋆⠀ ⠀link to miniseries masterlist
"suguru how do you expect me to read when my heart is in a million pieces?"
he doesn't think he's ever met a person as dramatic as you are.
"these books can't teach me how to get laid."
it's kind of cute, though. annoying...but cute.
with the november breeze sweeping the leaves from every tree on campus, winter is approaching fast and geto feels like your irritation towards gojo is at an overwhelming high. there really isn't anything he can do about it. after all, he wasn't there when you oh-so-spontaneously confessed your undying love for satoru on halloween; to which you received a brutal rejection...this is why geto doesn't date— especially why he doesn't date in a world run by satoru gojo.
now, geto has done his very best at trying to distract you from the devastating heartbreak that comes with loving his best friend. there have many so many girls before you who've tried to get on with him after being ignored by the white haired boy; which is extremely insulting that any of them thought geto would be an easy target or a second option to satoru. when geto does fall in love, he hopes that it'll be with someone who chooses him first. someone who doesn't even consider their other options and believes that he's the only person in the entire world who can fit with their uneven puzzle piece. clearly, gojo isn't the person to fit with yours.
"maybe you just need to sit down and be silent?" he purses his lips in annoyance, trying his best to focus on the words of poetry and rhyme. poems are the language of love. you could take some advice from these lines. "you're talking so much that you're not even enjoying the book."
you groan. "this book is boring. who the fuck reads poetry for fun?"
um. he does.
the glare he sends your way is intimidating, but also gentle. "what would you like to read instead? since you're such an avid reader?"
his sarcasm is meant to be insulting.
a mischievous smile creeps into the corners of your lips; smile likes yours used to scare him as a child after having seen alice in wonderland one too many times. he never understood the other children's fascination with a purple, talking cat. it's just weird. "how about this one!"
the book your present to him isn't anything he's read before. actually, it's something that he hopes to never read ever. "you're kidding."
"dead serious!"
how is a cheesy romance supposed to make you feel better?
"that's just going to make you feel worse, y'know." he gently takes the book from your hands and shuffles through the pages. with his head nodding along to each words his eyes skim, it's painfully obvious that you're going to read this book imagining the male lead to be satoru. "you have such an active imagination, you'll be heartbroken all over again."
with his words, your smile melts and geto knows he's right. "satoru is a lost cause in the romance department." he explains, scooting a little closer to you and rubbing your knee. the two of you have been seated on the floor of the lovely little bookshop near campus for an hour now. you're practically the only two people in the entire store, which has made this fake date feel a little more real. "i promise that you're better off dating anyone other than him."
you don't move away from the comfort of his palm, and instead lean into it; but your words are in defense of gojo. they always are. you can't seem to find it in your heart to let him go— no matter how awful of a rejection. "he's not a bad guy. he just needs a little help learning how to love."
the look in your eyes is earnest and geto sees that you believe your statements with your whole heart.
"i can be the person to help him learn."
there's no physical tell that you're upset, but he can somehow sense that you're about to cry. maybe it's the way you slightly tensed up with your body rejecting his soft touch or the way your gaze refused to meet his; no matter, he's going to cheer you up anyways. there aren't many people that geto can make smile— but somehow, in the past four months of being your friend (?), you've become the only person he cares to cheer up.
he murmurs your name in the most comforting, gentle voice that anyone's ever spoken to you. "you are the most talented, most interesting, and most extraordinary person in the universe; and you are capable of amazing things—"
"because you are the special. suguru, i've seen the lego movie. you're not being slick." aw man.
your tone of voice is irritated, yet you still laugh. yes, geto knows that might possibly have been the stupidest and cheesiest thing he's done in his whole life, but he doesn't care. he made you smile. him! not satoru. geto suguru made you smile. it's not something he'd win an olympic medal for, though in his mind it's worth more than that. he doesn't know when you became so special to him. he doesn't know how you managed to creep your way into his heart and cause this embarrassing blush to consume his cheeks; and he isn't bothered to figure it out.
he doesn't want to rejoice in your heartbreak...however, there is a tiny part of him that's happy satoru doesn't love you back.
maybe it's finally time suguru gets to be loved.
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“ ࣭⸰ ★ HOPELESS ROMANTIC ; geto x fem reader
⠀ ꒰ . . episode two ! ꒱ . . . word count; 1.1k
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᯇ it's not a hot-girl summer
⊹ ⠀⠀ geto suguru was having such a great day...until you knock on his door at 6:00pm begging for help with your boy troubles.
contains; geto suguru x fem reader, university (year 2) au, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, love triangle
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"what the fuck are you doing here?"
geto thinks this is the first time ever, that the two of you have been within six feet of each other without gojo around to make conversation...and it's weird. he didn't even know that you knew where he lived, let alone would come knocking on his door right before he was about to leave to get some korean barbecue chicken. he's barely moved in yet, with the summer coming to a close as campus begins to open up again, and you're surprisingly the first familiar face he's been able to see. yippee, lucky him. man, he really wants some honey garlic chicken, right now.
it's not that he doesn't like you. he thinks you're fine. you're normal. you don't cause any trouble unless you're with gojo, and you might be more similar to geto than one may think— but hanging out with you has never really been a thing. the only notable thing that you do have in common is gojo; and unfortunately, that's the very reason why you're here.
"satoru made a hinge profile." you sigh.
who cares?
"okay? he's satoru, that's not unusual." geto assumes this conversation will be a waste of time, but he wants to hear you out. he's nice like that. "is there a bigger issue?"
the look in your eyes tell him that there is, and within the ten seconds he takes to gaze at them, he finds himself lost. just for a moment, he's standing on a cliffside, gazing out at the open sea, with a sunset of colors painted before him. he's understanding your emotions from a painter's point of view, noticing each blended shade watercolored onto your irises with gentle brush strokes. there's loneliness, hopelessness, helplessness...and most significantly...there's love.
"you're in love with him, aren't you?"
without thinking, he moves aside to give you space to enter his room. he knows that this conversation will be difficult for you and wants to give you the privacy to vent in quiet; after all, it's the least he can do.
"how are you in love with satoru? he's like a walking std." geto thought you were the one girl who wasn't in love with his best friend. it seems he was wrong. "there's a ton of other guys on campus to go out with. why don't you do that thing people talk about online...the...what is it? hot girl summer?"
you groan and hug his pillow to your chest. when did you get on his bed? "i don't want a hot girl summer anymore, geto."
"i want a satoru summer."
that sounds like something out of his nightmares. the thought of gojo invading his every day and shadowing him from the sun is almost nausea inducing— however, geto didn't let you into his safe space to judge you. he let you in so he could listen.
"i'm just so tired of watching every other girl go on dates with him, it's not fair! why does he want them? none of them actually know him. they don't know his favorite stores or how he likes his eggs cooked! they don't see the face he makes when he's actually upset, and they definitely can't tell the difference between his fake upset look and his real upset look! i know him better than anyone— including you— and i don't understand why he doesn't love me like i love him! —and now this new class of freshmen girls get to have him? no! it's like he doesn't even see me as an option, he just looks through me. i don't exist in any romantic category in his brain, it's bullshit."
as your tears soak his favorite throw pillow, geto takes a moment to piece together everything you cried. with the voice cracks and small sobs, it was difficult for him to follow along, but he believes he understands the main point. you love gojo. gojo doesn't love you. simple.
geto would be lying to say that gojo's just a coward and actually does want you back. he knows firsthand that his best friend has never ever mentioned you in any romantic way. to gojo, you're just another best friend that he can rely on when he's being an absolute dick— which is a shitty situation for your sake, but you deal with it anyways just as geto does.
"y'know what i think?" he leans against his bed frame, gently tilting your head up to look at him. "i think that he might not be right for you. i mean, if you feel like he doesn't see you, he's not the one."
you bite your lip, struggling to hold in your tears. "but he is. i know he is. i need to be better for him."
now that's just not right.
"no." his hand is caressing your face. the position is very intimate and if anyone walked in they'd definitely assume you're a couple, but geto isn't aware of that. he just wants to make sure that you're going to be okay. "you shouldn't have to change yourself for satoru of all people—"
"but i do need to!" the volume of your voice surprises him, causing him to jolt back and let go of your cheek. "i just need more experience to be the kind of woman he likes. i need to actually put myself out there, i mean, i never do that. obviously he isn't going to like me if i don't even know how to flirt." you don't know how to flirt?
"you're joking right?"
"why would i be joking?"
"you seriously can't get a guy?"
"...i don't want to answer that."
ohmygod.
"alright," geto clears his throat and sighs the deepest sigh in his entire life, "i'm going to do you a favor and take you on some dates for practice. nothing more than that; just a few dinners, maybe some coffee shops, and if you're lucky i'll even throw in a bookstore or two. nothing romantic, though. i just want to be a good friend."
there's a small smile creeping on your lips. "are you serious?"
it's kind of cute. "dead serious."
and suddenly your arms are around him and geto thinks he might lose consciousness with the lack of oxygen he's getting. you give good hugs.
"thank you! thank you!" you're excited again and he's happy to make you laugh. your crying face was too much for him to handle. you don't deserve to feel sad, you're too sweet for that. "i'm so excited! i can't wait!"
what has he gotten himself into...
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