but not in the loud, demanding sort of way. in the quiet moments. the ones hidden beneath tangled sheets and sleepy mornings, when it felt like you were the only ones in the world.
he gathered you against him before you could drift too far away, an arm draped lazily over your waist as if it belonged there. his thumb traced absent circles through the fabric of your shirt, never still for long. every few moments another kiss found you. your shoulder. your jaw. the corner of your mouth. your forehead. no exact destination in mind, only the simple need to feel you beneath his lips.
and he never really seemed to get tired of it.
your warmth. your skin. the familiar weight of you tucked against his chest. it was as if every touch answered a question no one else could hear.
his nose brushed against your ear. another kiss on your warm cheek. then another, softer than the last.
you smiled before you even realized you were doing it.
because somehow after all this time, satoru still loved you like he was afraid love had an expiration date. like if he didn’t pour every ounce of his love into you now, he’d never get another chance.
so he held you a little closer. kissed you one more time. and then another. until he was satisfied enough.
a/n: rlly short bc i dont have any motivation to write after getting accused of using ai :)
You are a simple creature of habit. This was your café. Your corner nook. Your wobbly table by the window where the sunlight hit just right every time you came in.
You have a system, a routine, your sacred order the barista starts making automatically anytime you walk through the front door, noise-canceling headphones, and mild productivity. You do not bother the universe, and the universe does not bother you.
It was your emotional support place, an unassuming little spot where you went to work, study, read, or just exist. Cliché, yes, but you were a coffeehouse loafer, so what.
Until one day the universe decides to intervene. It was raining that day, sudden downpour, and he'd forgotten his umbrella, of course, so when he spotted the café on his frantic walk downtown, he ducked in to just wait it out somewhere dry, somewhere cozy. A cup of coffee sounded good anyway.
He tumbled through the door with a soft, breathless laugh, shaking the rain from his shoulders like a very tall wet dog.
You instinctively looked up from your book. The chapter was dragging like craaazy and you were getting bored. He was at the counter, currently trying to wipe the fog off his glasses.
Oh—
You blinked away, but your eyes betrayed you.
You did a double take.
OH—
Tall. Cute. Pale cheeks flushed from the cold, hair plastered to his forehead, and he was burying his fingers into the sleeves of his sweater just to warm his hands up. Wet and cold from the rain but probably the most attractive man you'd seen in your entire life.
You looked back at your book. Bit your lip. Looked up again. Back at your book. Up again.
Triple take.
You could feel your cheeks involuntarily heating up as you took in his wet hair, his nose, his jaw, the adorable little shiver that ran through him while he waited. God, he was really your type. But you just glanced at him, nothing more. As one does. Casually—
Quadruple take.
Okay. Fine. You were staring.
Internal spiral initiated. Deep breaths, babe. He was just a ridiculously attractive stranger. This was a normal human experience. You were in a public space. Hot people existed. You would survive this.
He turned around, clutching a steaming cup of his americano with both hands, and scanned the room. The moment he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the most absurdly blue eyes you had ever seen. Even his eyes were so, so pretty. It wasn’t really fair.
You looked back at your book. You'd read the same sentence four times now.
You forced your eyes to stay glued to the page, aggressively willing yourself to comprehend the actual freaking words.
Focus. You were reading! It was just a man.
But out of the corner of your eye, you tracked him as he settled into a chair a few tables down. The scrape of the chair. The soft rustle of his wet sweater. He finally gave up on wiping his glasses dry on a damp sleeve and just shoved them back onto his face. God, cute men with glasses really did something to your knees. You were so pathetic.
And for the next twenty minutes, you were super aware of his every movement. The plot of your romance novel be damned, ‘cause you glanced at him every few sentences through your peripheral vision only.
You heard the quiet clink of his cup being set down. You heard him sneeze once, very quietly, which was lowkey a ridiculous sound to come out of a man who was easily six-foot-three.
But you did not look directly anymore. You held your ground as you were the god’s strongest soldier right now.
Eventually the frantic drumming of the rain against the window slowed to only a light drizzle. The storm broke and you heard his chair scrape again.
You risked one final, fleeting glance as he stood up. He grabbed his empty cup, ran a hand through his semi-dry, messy hair, and headed for the exit. And you wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked…
As he pushed the door open, he paused as if hesitating, glancing over his shoulder. For one terrifying, totally heart-stopping millisecond, those bright blue eyes flicked over to your corner. Directly, not directly, you couldn't tell because you ducked your eyes back to your book as quickly, immediately chickening out. So he pushed through the door. The little bell above it chimed and off he went.
The air in the café immediately felt weirdly lighter.
Okay, you thought, finally turning the page. Not that you'd been on this page for the last fifteen minutes or anything. Happens to the best of us, I guess.
He was just a glitch in the matrix. A very tall, very blue-eyed glitch in the matrix. You survived the hot stranger. He got his coffee, he dried off, he left.
The gravitational pull you felt was just what happens when you see the man of your dreams. And in true man-of-your-dreams fashion, he disappeared as quickly as he materialized.
Normal human experience.
Except, a week later, on a perfectly sunny afternoon, the little bell above the door chimed a little more loudly in your perceived little bubble.
Hmm. Weird.
You didn't even mean to look up. It was a reflex at this point. But there he was.
Wearing an aggressively cozy hoodie this time, those big glasses, and that ridiculous height with it.
Your stomach violently dropped to your shoes. Oh no. He wasn't just a figment of your imagination. He was freaking back.
And a few days later, he was back again.
You figured he just really liked the coffee. And to be fair, just your luck perhaps, because the coffee here actually was that good. The Google Maps reviews were damn right about it being the best espresso in town. So it made perfect sense that a guy who stumbled in out of the rain would become a repeat customer after tasting the superb roast.
Perfectly logical. Totally normal. Nothing to do with you. Why would it anyway.
But there was something you didn't know.
He also came back because there was this girl in the corner with a book who looked up when he walked in and then immediately looked away like she hadn't — and something about that was, well. He didn't have exactly a word for it. Because while you were busy having a silent, hyper-fixated meltdown over him on that rainy first day, he had clocked you too.
In fact, the moment he'd turned around from the register with that steaming americano and caught you aggressively chewing your lip while pretending to read, his brain had completely stalled out. White-out.
So on his very second visit, Satoru had stood on the pavement half a block away, pathetically arguing with himself whether you'd even be there — or if he was actually crazy for thinking about it at all. He told himself he just wanted to take a lewk. Just to confirm that a girl that pretty! actually existed and wasn't some kind of fever dream brought on by the rain.
He walked in. There you were. Same corner. And just as cute as the first time, maybe even cuter.
So he kept coming back. And he felt a little pathetic about it, tbh. Showing up like a well-trained dog just because he was crushing on a girl he'd never even spoken to. But he couldn't help it. He was just a man, after all.
Satoru learned quickly. Look your way from his table. Look away. Look back. Realize he was staring, look away again too fast. Rinse and repeat.
He caught you looking, twice, three times, every single time. The first time your eyes actually met properly, you both snapped your heads away so fast it was a miracle neither of you pulled something.
He told himself he wasn't a coward. He just… He figured you'd say something eventually. You kept looking at him. And that meant something, right? You were practically telegraphing your interest! Which — was it interest though? What if you were staring only because he looked weird, hair a mess or some stain on his clothes —
Oh god.
OH GOD.
He wasn't great at reading people. So he decided to simply wait it out. His strategy was simple: exist in your general vicinity, look nice, and eventually you would come over and say something. He was not a coward. He wasn't, I swear!
Except you did not, in fact, say something.
You just kept staring at him like he was a jump scare and then violently burying your face back in your book, or your laptop, or your hands.
Your eyes betrayed you constantly. Do not look at him, you would tell yourself. You would look at him anyway. You would catch him glancing in your direction—chewing on the end of a stir stick, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose—and panic would seize your throat. You would snap your head away just to study the gluten-free muffins in the pastry case.
He would realize you caught him, and he’d immediately pretend to be so so engrossed in a completely blank stretch of the wall. Sometimes he’d accidentally bump his knees against the bottom of the table and the soft thump! followed by his quiet sigh would make you want to literally melt into your chair.
A lot of fleeting glances, a lot of unnecessary throat-clearing, and one very serious pep talk he gave himself in the bathroom mirror. But to no avail.
So once you locked eyes again, you did that awkwardly, very pathetically, very often, he tried to be brave brave. He did this tiny, little nod, like a quick acknowledgment, a gentle, hesitant yes, I see you seeing me, hi hello.
You stared back at him with a blank, wide-eyed face of a person whose brain had simply ceased to operate. What the hell. Affectionately, of course.
His cheeks flushed, turning this soft, pretty pink.
Your cheeks flushed so hot you were surprised you weren't actively steaming.
He held the look for a beat, his expression so painfully hopeful, before you completely gave up, turned away like a loser, and snapped your gaze back to your mug. He deflated a little, pushing his glasses back up his nose with a quiet exhale. And here went his chance. Well, damn...
It was truly agonizing, if you ask me. It was the most physically painful, heart-fluttering, ridiculous thing to endure.
Satoru was too invested now, but entirely out of his depth. He kept coming back, genuinely believing every single day that this would be the day! you finally made the move, because surely you realized how cute he thought you were.
And you believed every single day—every single one—that this would be the day! he finally made the move, because surely he knew he was the most gorgeous man to ever walk into your life.
Yet every day, neither of you did.
The panic just kept growing. Growing. Growing! And the respective crush along with it.
Until a rainy Wednesday, exactly one month after he first walked in.
You were there, you always were.
You didn't even need to look up to know. Your stomach did the thing, the fluttery one, that happened only when a specific six-foot-three man in glasses walked through the door.
Satoru got his order, sat at his usual table.
For the next hour, you fell into the build of your usual dance. You were actually working, doing okay, but your eyes kept drifting, always drifting. He caught you once or twice; you caught him twice or thrice. Your silent language. Settled into something almost comfortable. Something that made you look forward to coming here beside the actual coffee. A quiet, familiar routine noone had balls big enough to break.
And then, he ruined it. By taking the leap again.
You glanced over, expecting him to be snapping his neck sideways. Instead, he was already looking right at you.
He visibly swallowed, sat up a little straighter, and risked to lift a hand off the table, offering a small, hesitant wave, accompanied by a soft, genuine smile that completely transformed his face. Breaking the stalemate, daring you to participate too.
Oh my. Your hand spasmed and in said hand was your mug with your latté. Your wrist ungracefully, unceremoniously jerked and enough espresso and oat milk splashed! over the rim to soak your notes and pool dangerously close to your laptop.
Humiliation hit your face like a freight train.
You couldn't find the courage to look up, if you did right now, you would literally expire on the spot. You grabbed a fistful of dry napkins, slapped them blindly over the puddle, and immediately started shoving your things into your bag.
Book? In. Laptop? Shoved. Dignity? Left in the puddle of dairy. Hotel? Trivago. (And I swear I will stop using this phrase. One day…)
You were packed and out of your chair in record time. The little bell chimed its cheery goodbye, and you noped the fuck out into the downtown crowd before you could actively perish from the secondhand embarrassment.
The air in the café suddenly felt completely different. Heavier. Emptier.
Satoru sat frozen in his chair, his hand still half-raised in that pathetic, brave little wave.
But you were fucking gone.
He lowered his hand, staring blankly at the empty chair you'd left behind. His heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t because of the fluttery panic of having a crush. No no. This was faaar more dreadful.
Oh no.
He had spooked you. He had tried to be brave, bravest either of you ever allowed yourselves to be, he had tried to just smile at you, and you had literally rather fled the premises.
Satoru buried his face in his hands, his glasses digging uncomfortably into his palms.
Fuck, fuck. He didn't know your name, for fuck’s sake! He didn't know what you did for a living, or what you were always reading, or anything other than the fact that you had a sacred order and the cutest face he had ever seen.
He sat frozen to his spot with very icy, very ugly realization. What if you stop coming in because of him?
What if you were so so embarrassed that you will never come back to your wobbly little table? What if he had just ruined the one undeniably good thing about his week, all because he had spent a month staring at you like a coward, okay he is a coward he admits it okay?!, instead of just walking over and saying hello?
He furrowed his eyebrows as he eyed the soggy pile of soaked napkins as he sipped his own coffee. Tapped a finger against the ceramics.
Next time.
Next time he was just going to walk over. That was it. That was the whole plan. Simple.
NEXT TIME!
Except, there almost wasn't a next time. And he cursed himself every time you didn’t show up. You didn't show up the day after, nor the day after that.
By the following week, Satoru was practically vibrating out of his skin. He went in every single day, just in case you broke your routine. But every single time he sat in the café alone, he almost convinced himself that he had ruined his own life by smiling too aggressively. Were his parents lying when they taught him to be nice to strangers?
But then you came back. Of course you came back. It’s your freaking café.
Yes, you had been avoiding it for almost a week, surviving on approximately seventeen different bathroom mirror pep talks and five different affirmation YouTube videos about how you were going to be completely, totally normal this time.
You will not stare! You will not spill a single drop of anything! You can drink a caffeinated beverage in the same zip code as a super hot guy in glasses. You can do this! You go girl!
You pushed the door open and he was there. Obviously, he was there. Why was he there.
You ordered your drink. But when you turned around to head to your cozy familiar corner, you froze.
Your table was taken. Some random-ass guy was sitting at your precious wobbly table, aggressively typing on a laptop. What the hell? Just your fucking luck. You stood in the middle of the café, clutching your mug, completely derailed. You scanned the room in a mild panic.
And the only open table left was... oh, God.
It was exactly one table away from Satoru.
It was closer than you had ever sat before. Closer than you would ever choose to sit. But you had no choice, though. You power-walked over like the big girl you were and practically threw yourself into the chair.
You were instantly off balance. You took out your book of the week, but you couldn't focus. You were so close now. Too close now.
You could feel the warmth radiating off him. You could smell his ridiculously good, subtle cologne. Something like cedar and clean laundry mixed with the scent of roasted beans. It was making you so, so pleasantly dizzy, or perhaps it was just him. You couldn’t really tell.
You both fell right back into the unspoken dance, but it was completely different now. More exposed. You looked. He looked. The usual betrayal of your eyes, but with the closeness dialed up to an utterly suffocating, heart-fluttering level. Every time he shifted in his seat, you felt it. Every time you shifted, he felt it. Hyperaware of every movement, of every breath taken, of him.
You decided to look sideways, properly, for the first time today.
And it locked. It held.
It was longer than usual, electric! and absolutely terrifying. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, yet the warm flutter that spread from your stomach all over your body prevented you from chickening out right away. It felt too good. You were pleasantly stuck. You were curious. And you were maybe testing the waters, too.
His eyes started darting all over your face, as if searching for clues, checking if he would, could, should take it further, if you dared to look even longer. He oh-so-wanted to. Needed to.
But as those absurdly pretty blues softened, melting into something fond and undeniably sweet, your breath hitched. You completely panicked again. You broke the gaze, snapping your eyes down to your novel and bracing for the agonizing silence as a hot, deeply betraying flush spread all over your neck and hiked up all the way to your cheeks.
Then, Satoru sighed.
It wasn't from disappointment, or from being angry. After all, he so proudly said next time, didn't he? And he understood that if anything, you were even more shy than him. He found it impossibly endearing.
It was a definitive, resolute sound, and you froze. You heard his chair being pushed back. Was he leaving because you were being such a coward again?
Then, a few soft footsteps closing the short distance between your respective tables.
A tall shadow fell over your table.
You slowly lifted your eyes and he was standing right there. Up close, he was somehow even taller—not imposing though, more like inviting. And his chest was rising and falling a little too fast.
He reached out with a shaking hand, grabbed the chair across from you, and pulled it out.
The tips of his ears went brilliantly pink. He rubbed the back of his neck, burying his hands into the sleeves of his sweater, but he didn't run away. Now or never, baby. Hail Mary. He sat down. Right across from you.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, looked you right in the eyes, and let out a long, shaky exhale.
"I, uh." A pause. He cleared his throat. Pushed his glasses up again even though he'd just done that. "Caught you staring." His ears somehow got pinker. He wanted to sound more confident, but oh well... "I MEAN—I was also—I've been staring. That's not—" A beat. He ducked his head slightly, peering at you through his long lashes. "Hi. Can I sit with you?"
What. You stared at him.
"...you're already sitting."
"Yeah." He let out a breathless, cute little laugh. "Is that okay?"
You eyed the way his broad shoulders were hunched inward, how he was practically holding his breath while he waited for your permission to stay. He had actually crossed the unspoken line between you, managed to completely fumble his opening line, and was now looking at you with wide, nervous eyes.
"Yeah," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay."
He smiled. A real one, wide and slightly crooked, and it did the thing to his face that made you always bite your lip, but up close it was somehow so much worse in the best way possible. He had dimples. Of course he had dimples.
"I'm Satoru," he said.
You told him your name. His smile just grew softer at the sound of it.
He reached over and stole the little glass sugar dispenser from the center of the table, turning it over in his hands like he desperately needed something to keep his fingers occupied.
Over the past week, Satoru had been planning, deciding how he would approach you. He had asked friends, scoured Reddit, and practically checked a freaking WikiHow on how to approach a cute girl in a café when you've both been mutually staring at each other.
He hated all the cliché café-adjacent pick-up lines, but perhaps it was the gravity of your doe eyes, or perhaps he was just nervous. Either way, his mouth went on autopilot, asking with terrible casualness:
"You come here often?"
You looked at him.
He looked back, expectant, already cursing himself that his vocal cords had picked the absolute most ass question imaginable, but he tried to play it cool and you genuinely could not tell if he was joking or dead serious.
But this was the next time he had promised himself. And honestly, you had missed him over the week you spent caving at home. You thought about your café. Your corner. Your sacred table by the window that was currently occupied by a stranger who had no idea what he'd just accidentally done. Which you were currently thankful for. To Satoru. And to the stranger, too.
You picked up your coffee.
"Yeah," you said, a tiny, helpless smile finally breaking across your own face. As you decided that he meant it dead serious afterall. "Actually."
He looked unbearably pleased about this. You looked out the window so he wouldn't see just how hard you were blushing.
Then you thought about this table. This one, right here. The one that wasn’t yours, nor his.
But as Satoru stretched his long legs out and his knees accidentally bumped gently against yours under the wood and neither of you pulled away you realized that maybe, just maybe, this table might just become yours. Both of yours.
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( 1,5k )
main ingredients ... NSFW ◞ prince!satoru gojo, noble!fem reader, forbidden love, angst, yearning, mutual pining, jealousy, fluff, back and forth narrative (flashback), miscommunication, suggestive, pov alternating, heavy emotions, emotional & physical abuse, infidelity, suicidal tendencies, jjk characters cameo, featuring. prince!suguru geto. other tags in individual chapters ◞ repost & rewritten. ( ✦ ) more works ◞ playlist ◞ ao3.
notes in red ... when i say that everything is intentional, i really mean it. ANYWAYS, i hope everyone enjoys the prologue! i wasn't satisfied with the previous one, so having the chance to rewrite this makes me happy. support me by leaving comments and reblogs! <3
series m.list ‹ prologue › chapter one: shattered glass
with all truthfulness, she's as corrupted as the rotten apple that spoils her companions.
the lady used to beam as if the moonlight glitters across her face, all the while it leaves dusts of her sparks for another soul to trace; crawling behind all possible trails in which her feet took her, in wish that she'll continue to glow even when her world is engulfed with darkness.
her pair of eyes once shone brighter than the chandelier that glimmered on the floor of the estate, scattered around as it lit up the whole place— drowning everything in its range with a beauty only those who aren't fortunate are able to appreciate. and the scenery painted by it was more than enough to steal the air of our commoner lungs.
she was a moon incarnation in its purest form, we might argue.
in a similar manner to how the light of it set the place as if it's being bathed by glitters, our lady was once someone that radiant brilliantly, it pierces right through those who rest their gaze on her. all before the sparks in her eyes were wring dry, the colors that decorated her skin were drained out of her face, to her fingertips.
our lady life was as monotone as the love she received from her dearest ones; it was colorless in a way that had us painting colors to her skin. under the sole reason for her to seemingly look alive, even though we understand very well that the lady who stands before us is no different than a rotting corpse.
the lady is wrapped by the similar silence which engulfed her imaginary grave.
a grave that she dug with her own pair of hands, to bury her flesh and bones which are begging to function as it is supposed to, to fulfill its purpose in this earth. her bone dry figure was buried deep in the endless void she recognized as home—she acknowledged it as a place to return—for someone who realized their existence isn't as significant as they believe.
what a gut-wrenching view it was to watch her decomposing in front of us, with no power in the world to ease the striking ache that she let linger like a haze in-between her heart, as she hoped it might diminish her whole being in the long run. a crime the lady believes no one will bat their eyes at, since her presence is worth little to nothing of her dearest times.
in all honesty, who will the authority questioned, if the one suspect soul is no longer attached to the body?
poor the lady, truly. for someone who has a lot to live on, the lady is only a step away from becoming one with the soil. and what a shame it is, that not even the helping hand of her loved ones can save her from doom. well, she has no expectancy that they'll ever pull her from this hollowness she has drowned herself to, for as long as she can remember.
with that being said, down the line, amidst what our foolish mind believed is her nearing end, a piece of broken glass had let itself fall onto the pitch black like a pin drop in a deadly silence. it shatters the once still twilight in a mannerisms where the sun would break through the night into a day enveloped by lightness.
the first prince, the honored one; satoru gojo, happened.
someone our lady is well aware should be anyone but the beholder of her evergiving heart. it once again beat to life when the haze surrounding it evaporates into the thin air, where he had breathed in— the core of her which had been long thrown into the oblivion had found its purpose in pounding again, when she felt his beneath her palms.
our lady is not as corrupted as she was before anymore. the same pair of hands that dig a whole resting place for her, despite the very truth in which her heart is still pumping out blood throughout her body, had carved a way out of the imaginary grave she willingly buried herself onto. all because someone had fixed a cog in the wheel.
her eyes, for a second time, reflected those of moonlight as if she's the moon itself. she's flourishing right before where we stand, like a breakthrough no soul had expected her to be capable of. not after everything we've seen. and for what seems eternity, our lady has finally comprehend how it feels to breathe again, with no fingers laced around her neck.
similar to the first set of air she inhaled when she was born to this earth, mirroring the wail she first voice out when a loving hand brushes her skin, alike the curling she did against the warmness that blanketed her— she's as alive as she was when first being brought out to this world, alongside a fresh set of life intentions.
at the same time, the lady has become the first prince salvation, in ways his mind will never be able to convey in words. as a few arranged words are too measly for him; to the man whose life relies on the actions of his and people around him, action is a language that is far more sacred than words alone. the solid proof of someone's devotion, he might have said.
well, his highness is the epitome of a candle burning in daylight.
he's someone whose love overflows in-between the gaps of his ribcage, spilling through the space of his body like a waterfall, as he lingers for something or someone to patch up the holes on him instead of his hands alone.
the calloused palms of the first prince are one of the many things he desperately tries to wash ashore, years on end, as it is evidence of the times where he's brought face-to-face with devastation and how it consumes him; endless attempts of plastering the scattered parts of him back to where it belongs, with no souls around to lend a hand.
all for the two reasons he has spent his whole life knowing: a broken piece is always meant to be kept locked in a drawer, where no curious gaze may take sight. a facade is meant to withstand the catastrophe of oneself, unyielding from crumbling.
ones in which he believes he's trapped in for an eternity, that he starts to feel as if his fingertips are bound to his flesh by a tangled, invisible string, of something close to fear of being vulnerable and despair of the small chance he might be seen.
in his world, everyone's a glass in their own respective way. one could be polished to withstand everything to come its way, one could be dusty from being left untouched, one could be full of scratches from being treated roughly, and one could be broken pieces glued together of what once was flawless. and the first prince is, unfortunately, the embodiment of a broken one.
despite the truth of it being picked up and glued with detailed attention, to mirror how pristine it was before the shattering— a broken glass is never meant to withhold a delicate substance, for the possibility that it might seeps through the cracks where it were failed to be cured, from how fragile it is to one's touch.
because his life purpose isn't finding an heirloom of its descendant—meeting someone who understands a part of you that you had grown tired of explaining—he's fated for a life of infinite drinking of loneliness, from a golden cup meant for someone of his status.
satoru gojo isn't destined for the one luxury he craves and yearns, for as long as he learned how to breathe; a companion, who's his and his only.
perhaps being scattered into pieces is far worse than living as a rotten corpse.
a life where you're set for doomed and an infinite measure of fixing yourself, because no soul is willing to do so, is truly a nightmare disguised as maturing. a person can only pick themselves up so many times in life, before they're fractured beyond one's saving, after all.
the prince shall learn of it the hard way. whether it's metaphorically or factually.
our lady and his highness shall face the consequences of falling in love with someone they should be anything but; a person they should've never let their life be tangled with. and we shall let the two poor souls engulf their-self in the affection they both desired all their life, with every fiber in their being.
in the end, what power do people of our humble standing have when their hearts collide in parallel as fiercely as the massive stars in the sky, creating a black, never-ending hole? a merge of the two extraordinary hearts isn't something we have authority to put an end to. the stars have spoken for them, it's beyond the limits of our reach to meddle about.
for it's the truth: the life of the two pitiful nobles were orchestrated far before they bloomed inside their mother's womb and it's, undeniably, their destiny.
they ought to let the scroll of fate—of their life—find its end to each other; letting every word written on the paper to continue the left-waited story be unveiled, to find the ending they've begged on their knees for. and perhaps, the universe would bless them this time. in ways only humans who've spent their entire life whispering prayers to the stars, are capable of understanding.
context: you and satoru are childhood friends who grew up together, bonded over your love for manga, digimon, and all things nerdy. Until college came around and suguru convinced him to join a frat, blooming into the campus hearthrob while leaving you and your 10 year crush in the shadows of his past.
Pop Dat Thang blasts through the speakers of the Sigma Chi frat as clusters of sweaty college students drunkenly sway in a heated mass of bodies. You stand awkwardly off to the side, overly aware of your looming presence in the lighthearted atmosphere of the room and much too sober to be enjoying yourself.
Midterms had just ended and your friends had finally convinced you to come out and drink with them, and while you weren't necessarily against partying, you knew frat parties on your college campus meant one thing for certain. Satoru Gojo would be there.
So, you avoided them to the best of your abilities while still trying to maintain a somewhat active social life. But today was a special occasion, and one party couldn't hurt. I mean with midterms over, practically the entire school was out partying, what were the odds that out of everyone here, satoru would somehow spot you.
Apparently, the odds were pretty good. Because not even an hour into the party Satoru's gaze somehow landed on you across the room, snuggled into the corner looking like an absolutely pathetic loser. Your friends had all dispersed amongst the crowd to join the party games and whatever other weird stuff kids do when they're desperate to destress from college life, leaving you to fend for yourself in the frankly overstimulating environment.
As Satoru made his way over you felt your ten years of friendship and one-sided crushing on him flash before your eyes. Despite how close you and satoru were as kids, you guys had grown apart since entering college, separated into different worlds of the social hierarchy. While you weren't a total loser and had a respectable friendgroup, Satoru's admission into the Sigma Chi frat skyrocketed his popularity. Plus, girls these days love the whole whimpy nerd with a sleeper build look.
"Hey! I didn't think I'd see you here. It's been awhile, huh?" Satoru laughed out, slinking a casual (painfully casual) arm around your shoulders.
It's been awhile?? He has GOT to be kidding. Is he really that oblivious to his total abandonment of you the moment he started gaining an ounce of attention from females who weren't bound to him by physics books and a shared passion for Digimon World: Next Order.
You couldn't help but scoff at that. Bitterness over his total lack of awareness for your feelings seeped into your tongue as you bit back, "Wonder why that is."
You watched his smile drop right off his stupidly smug face, confusion clouding his eyes as he slowly retracted his arm, throwing his hands up in surrender, "Woah there, did I do something? We haven't really been hanging out so I don't really see how I possibly could have messed up anytime recently.." he began muttering to himself, recalling all of your past interactions to figure out where he went wrong.
Stupid stupid Satoru. So painfully stupid and still so painfully consisderate of your feeling while being totally oblivious to how he makes you feel. How could he possibly seem to care so much while being totally absent from your life for the past six months.
Suddenly, every last ounce of post-midterm enthusiasm to party evaporated from your body and all you wanted to was to go back to your dorm and rot in self-pity.
"It's nothing Satoru...really," you sighed. "Listen, I've gotta head out now, I have a uh...early morning meeting tomorrow. I'll catch you later." you surrendered, already backing up in retreat.
"A meeting...? But the midterms are over? The semester just ended..?" Satoru's eyes shot up. He took a step forward trying to bridge the gap, but you weren't going to let that happen.
"ahaha... yeah mini courses and all that. Gotta get ahead! Ya know, hard at work for that engineering degree and all that.." you awkwardly tumbled out desperately grappling for an excuse. "Anyways, catch you later alligator!" and with that desperate end, you abruptly turned around and all but ran out the frat door, cutting him off before he could pry his way any more into your flimsily built walls.
As your figure disappeared into the crowd Satoru was left behind in the corner of the frat rethinking the past few months of his life.
When had you guys grown so distant and how had he never noticed before?? No no, that couldn't be right, you guys were best friend, he was supposed to know everything about you. So why is it that he couldn't seem to name a single thing about you from the past year.
Before the guilt and shallowness could fester any more, a group of sorority girls drunkenly stumbled over, convincing him to join a round of beer pong in a slur of giggles and heat. But not before he made a promise to himself. Satoru Gojo was going to fix your guys' relationship whether you liked it or not. And while he was at it, he was going to figure out why you've been acting weird lately too.
a/n: hey guys! I really hope you enjoyed reading. This is actually my first work so any feedback or criticisms are welcomed! Like, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more and my requests are open!
[SERIES SYNOPSIS] — mid semester shoko is tired of your excuses to stay inside all the time. she takes you out and you meet gojo satoru. a 6ft, cocky, masculine, sexy... ANNOYING! man. gosh he's so infuriating you have the urge to tear down that huge ego of his.
his ego not his pants. right?
[TAGS AND WARNINGS] — slow burn, fratjo, cocky gojo, lean/buff gojo, f!reader, he’s annoyingly hot, reader isn’t a pushover, college au, non-curse au, plot w explicit smut, football, he's lowk mean, narcissism, eventual smut, little angst, community dihjo, rival plot, family issues, manipulation, toxicity, naoya, he belittles reader a lot, etc etc.
ep1 || pilot • coming soon
ep2 || TBA
ep3 || ???
ep4 || ???
ep5 || ???
series oneshots • coming soon!
[EXTRA NOTES] — harro angels, it's been like forever but i want to start writing again so be ready for ch1 soon. it might take me months to finish a chapter because i have a job and college🥹 forgive me for my absence but i'll write whenever i can <2.
also every chapter is named after a song, or so ill try. whenever it is labeled after a song ill put the song in the "||" thats between ep and the episode name.
streamer!jo mid-sentence, leaning back in his chair, headset slightly crooked, the soft click of the door barely registers over the sound of his stream when you walk in. he stops, just for a second. his eyes flick over you. your tight, soft pajamas, the way they hug you just right, the faint scent that follows you in. his whole expression shifts into something quieter.
“hey,” you hum softly, walking over like it’s nothing.
the chat explodes and he doesn’t even glance at it.
voidking99: BROOOOO WHO IS THAT
satorusimp420: HE GOT A GIRL??????
angelmilk: she’s so pretty what 😭
gojosleft_toe3: WHY IS SHE IN HIS LAP LIKE THAT IM SICK
“oh my fuck,” he says instantly, voice lower now, already reaching for you.
you don’t question it—you never do. you just step between his legs and sit in his lap like it’s your spot, because it is. his arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you close, one hand settling at your waist, the other resting along your thigh.
“you look so gooooood,” he murmurs, nuzzling lightly into your shoulder for a second before straightening again, like he just remembered he’s live.
his hand doesn’t move though. it drifts. slowly. absentmindedly. down your thigh, fingers brushing soft circles like he’s not even thinking about it. then back up, resting at your waist again.
the twitch chat is going insane.
you notice quickly
you’re already leaning forward slightly, eyes scanning the stream, curious. “what are they saying?”
“nothing important,” he mutters quickly, tightening his hold on you just a little.
too late.
you squint, reading out loud, confused, “I usually skip this part…?” your face still contempt, you tilt your head, genuinely puzzled. “what does that mean?” and then you shift. just a little. trying to get closer to the screen. but it makes you press back into him.
torus breath catches, just barely but enough.
you’re still focused on the chat, completely oblivious, squirming slightly again to get comfortable. “wait, there’s more—”
his arm tightens around your waist. not rough, just firm.
grounding.
his other hand stills on your thigh, fingers pressing in just a little like he’s trying to anchor himself. “hey,” he says suddenly, sharper now—directed at the screen.
the chat floods faster.
softgirlcult: she’s literally clueless this is insane
domainexpansionTHIS: “i usually skip this part” LMAOOOOOO
gojoswifeREAL: GIRL DONT READ THAT OUT LOUD
blueeyeaddickt: HE TENSED UP DID YALL SEE THAT
he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening slightly before he leans forward, voice dropping into something more commanding.
“alright, that’s enough,” he says, tone lazy. “don’t read that stuff,” he murmurs, voice softer now.
you blink, looking back at him. “I was just asking—”
“don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, softer now, eyes locked on yours. way too focused, way too intense. his arms tighten around you again, pulling you flush against him, chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he leans back into his chair.
chat? forgotten.
game? paused.
and satoru? completely, helplessly distracted by you.
megumislostdad: stream is over guys pack it up
sukunaIRL: move chat i’m watching this
KING.naoyazenin: embarrassing. stand up bro
LimitlessGojo banned KING.naoyazenin
satoru doesn’t realize just how tall he is. . . "( – ⌓ – )
tall boyfriend perks are really good.
he reaches everything. top shelves, high cabinets, that one lightbulb you swore you’d get to later— done in seconds, no stool needed.
he doubles as your personal ladder and your built-in heater. you’re basically wrapped in a walking blanket 24/7.
but the cons?
he takes up space without meaning to, and the fact he already loves manspreading whenever doesn’t help at all.
it’s as if everything has gotten smaller. that’s the only logical explanation. because there’s no way one man should be able to take up this much space.
“baaabe,” you whine, shoving at his shoulder. “move.”
a sleepy hum is your only response. one long arm tightens around your waist, dragging you back against him like you haven’t just spent the last five minutes trying to wiggle free.
“you’re warm,” he mumbles into your hair, voice thick with sleep. “stay.”
“i’m gonna fall off the bed. you’re literally on my side.”
this is your life— losing every nightly battle for mattress territory, practically kicked out of your bed simply because he can’t keep his limbs to himself.
a frustrated groan slips out before you give up, finally managing to slip out from his hold. he shifts, reaching instinctively for you, but you’re already gone, padding out of the bedroom and collapsing onto the couch.
it lasts exactly ten minutes.
you wake up once more to something heavy pressing into your back.
“…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
behind you, half-folded onto a couch that is very much not built for a grown man his size, satoru has somehow wedged himself in, arms wrapped tightly around you.
“you left,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your shoulder without opening his eyes.
“because you took over the entire bed.”
“mm.. sorry.”
“and now you’re taking up the entire couch as well.”
he hums again, clearly unconcerned, and pulls you even closer— if that’s somehow possible.
you try to twist around to glare at him, but his grip only tightens, his legs tangling with yours until escape is officially impossible.
“mooove.”
“don’t wanna,” he shoots back, a lazy grin tugging at his lips even in the dark.
A loud knock jolts you from your focus, your stationery practically shakes from the force. You murmur to yourself, “What now?” Irritation evident in your voice as you push yourself out of your seat at your desk and head towards your dorm door.
You’re met with a very groggy, very out-of-it Satoru.
“Satoru? What are you doing here — why have you got gauze in your mouth?”
He pushed past you with a groan and flopped down onto your bed as if he owned it. “Just got my wisdom teeth removed, sweets.” His words were slurred, almost incoherent. You stared at him, pondering why on earth your fuck buddy was coming to your dorm out of all places after just having his teeth extracted.
“Aren't you going to cuddle me?”
You snorted at his garbled words, the idea being so foreign that the only reasonable reaction was to laugh. “Satoru, we never cuddle after you visit, we high five and one of us leaves after getting dressed.” The white-haired man’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at your words, “But… why would I not want to cuddle my girlfriend?”
Hold on, girlfriend?
How many painkillers was this guy on?
You moved closer to him, sitting at the edge of the bed and rubbing your hand up and down his shin. “We aren’t dating, Toru. We just hook up sometimes, remember?” You tried to sound as kind as possible, lowering your voice so as not to embarrass him. Satoru however just shook his head, drool slipping from the sides of his mouth as he sat up.
“Nuh uh, we are dating because I’m sooo in love with you, pretty girl.” He tried to smirk but his cotton-stuffed mouth prevented that, instead, he ended up looking a tiny bit lopsided.
You froze, eyes wide, mouth agape at his confession. “You don’t mean that, you’re practically high from how many meds you’re on.” You tried to get up but he grabbed your hand and pulled you back onto the bed with him. “No, I love you.” He repeated in a sing-song voice, nuzzling his head into your hand.
“My girlfriend, let me love you...” You felt him starting to fall limp against your hand, eyes wavering as he fought a drug-induced sleep. You signed, leaning closer in to press a soft kiss to his damp forehead. “We can talk about whatever that was tomorrow, Toru.”
“Let me love you… don’t you give up, nah-nah-nah…”
“You listen to Justin Bieber?”
“Suguru played it in the car, told me to serenade you…”
