Synopsis: When a routine delivery goes awry, you find yourself stranded between two islands. Alone, dehydrated, and at the mercy of the ocean. But what you thought would be a simple rescue turns into a nightmare. You are captured by two enigmatic sirens, Satoru and Suguru, whose beauty is only matched by their danger. Held in a dark underwater cave, you must navigate fear, fascination, and uncertainty as you struggle to comprehend their motives.
Authors Note: Hiii, if you are interested in being added/unadded to the tags list just let me know, ( I will only add if your blog has an age/is over 18. Something like 18+ is fine.) Thank youu!! This is my first ever fic so sorry if it is rough in some areas. I appreciate all the support! If you have any suggestions or thoughts feel free to comment. I suggest checking out the chapter themes as they help set the tone. Also this fic is now up on ao3, my username is the same. Credits to toovaeloe for inspiring this fic and @@strangergraphics for the divder.
Fem pov
Gojo and Geto x Reader
Warnings:
Slight Injury
Chapter Theme:
Come to Me - Björk
Word Count: 1,581
You were running. Your little feet hit the ground like a racehorse getting ready to cross the finish line. Out of your bed and down the hall, your only destination being your parents' room. Your breath was ragged, cheeks wet with tears as you reached out for their door.
The dark hallway was cold, the wooden floors creaked under your heavy steps. Just as your hand was about to grasp the doorknob, you tripped, falling face-first into the white door.
A sharp pain blossomed from your forehead down your face as you lay on the ground. Woken by the loud bang against the door, your mother opened it and rushed out.
"Y/N!" she said frantically, hoisting you up against her chest.
She brushed the hair away from your forehead. "What happened?"
"I had another nightmare...and I was coming to see you," you let out tearfully.
"Oh...baby...another one...I'm sorry...let's go look at your head, okay? I'm here now."
She brought you into their bedroom, carrying you to the connected bathroom. Flipping on the light, she then sat you down on the counter. The warm orange light glazed the white tile walls in that familiar honey glow.
Your eyes squinted at the sudden brightness, which did nothing to soothe the ache in your head.
"Oh, Y/N, you've got a cut." Her voice was soft but had that motherly concern that made your eyes water.
"Here, let me clean it, 'kay."
She squatted down to get a wash rag from underneath the sink. Once she retrieved the little blue cloth, she ran it under some cool water.
"I'm going to clean off the blood. Stay still the best you can, sweetheart."
She placed the cool rag on your cut. It stung a bit, but the coolness soothed the ache that had been beating since you fell.
"Good girl...I know it's uncomfortable," your mother spoke quietly.
You looked up at her, your eyes tracing her still sleep-ridden face, mussed hair. Here recently it seemed like she held a sort of deep exhaustion in her shoulders. It was clear that the incident was weighing heavily on all three of you.
"Tomorrow I'll have your father get some night-lights for the hallway. Maybe you won't have any more accidents that way."
She said it so surely, so calm like always. She knew it was probably going to happen again. Since your parents got back, you had been plagued with bad dreams every night. Nightmares that sent you running to your parents' room.
Speaking of your father, you turned your head to peer into the bedroom. You could see the silhouette of him under the covers. He was still sleeping despite all of the commotion.
Your mother put a Band-Aid over the wound, and then kissed your forehead.
"There...I believe you're going to make it," she teased lightly.
You smiled at her and wrapped your arms around her neck. "Thanks, Momma."
"You're welcome, honey. Now let's get you back into bed."
She picked you up once more and made her way to your room.
Setting you down on your soft bed, she pulled up the blankets, tucking you in.
"I'll stay here until you can go to sleep...just close your eyes, okay."
She traced her finger over your face, the soft touch acting as a soothing balm to the remnants of fear still clinging to your psyche.
You slid into a peaceful rest, your mother's hand guiding the way.
It was a faint thing, barely perceptible in the deep sleep you were submerged in. The rustling of the bed, arms slipping underneath you, pulling you from the plush haven. The small jolts of movement that came with each step.
It wasn't until the cool breeze of the night hit your body that you awoke. You blinked slowly, your mind still muddled from the depths of slumber.
"What...?" you questioned, your voice hoarse.
"It's time to go, little thing," Satoru's voice spoke.
You squinted your eyes, forcing them to focus on his face. It was concerningly devoid of any emotion and subsequently any context.
"Wait...no...why...I'm still healing," you said, rapidly waking up as your heart began to pound and confusion overtook you. The band aid of still having a couple more days was being ripped off.
Satoru didn't answer, continuing his trek to the ocean in silence.
"Answer me, Gojo, why? I haven't tried anything again....why are we leaving!" you pleaded, gripping the skin of his shoulders.
"Don't forget who it is you're talking to, human."
The stern tone caused your heart to jump.
You looked around for Suguru but couldn't see him anywhere.
They're taking me back.
Oh God...they're really taking me back out there.
Panic rose steadily in your heart as your hands began to shake. The memories of the starving, dehydration, darkness, rashes, and uncertainty all crashed in your mind like the waves of the water Satoru was now ankle-deep in.
As Satoru moved deeper into the water, you noticed the inky black tendrils of hair floating in the deep blue sea that surrounded you. The sharp purple eyes that peered above the water, the eyes that could only belong to Suguru.
"Here, take her. I need to change back."
It was the most commanding tone you had heard Satoru use on Suguru yet.
Nevertheless, without argument, Suguru took you into his arms while Satoru dipped below the surface. In a few seconds, the shorts he had been wearing floated to the surface, his upper half following suit.
"Okay...let's go..." Satoru murmured lowly, clearly only talking to Suguru.
It was like you weren't even there. You felt akin to a prop in this scenario.
You moved your lips to speak, but before you could get a single sound out, you were moving fast through the water.
You turned your head, watching Shoko's house grow smaller and smaller until land was no longer visible. A sadness like no other began to root in your heart. A grief for what was most likely your last days on land. You watched the way the moon moved across the water with you. It would be a beautiful sight on any other night.
The trip was longer than the cave to the boat ever was, and the more minutes you spent moving, the more you realized just how far away you truly were from everyone and everything.
When Suguru finally slowed to a stop in the middle of the ocean, you knew where you were. Trauma is weird like that. Nothing about the scenery had changed. There were no markers, but you just knew. You could recognize the place that caused you torment and despair better than you could recognize almost anything else.
"Hold your breath," Suguru spoke deeply.
"Please don't take me back down there," you whispered.
With no hesitation, Suguru replied, "Hold your breath or choke."
You took in a gasp of air right as he began his descent. It had been a while since you had been down here, so the pressure on your head was just as painful as it was the first time they dragged you down here. When he rose above the water in the cave, the pungent, musky smell and overwhelming darkness hit you all at once, bringing up all the memories you had been fighting to forget.
Suguru placed you on that familiar cool rock, so far away from the soft bed in Shoko's clinic. You shivered from the cool cave and wet clothes, warring with your body's attempt at making heat.
You let out a sob as you brought your knees up to your chest. The grief bubbling up out of you like a fountain.
"This is worse than before," was the thought that kept replaying in your mind.
Of course...if a man only knows hell, then he cannot miss a heaven he could not see. But if that man was ever allowed to touch heaven, the fall back down would be worse than any time he spent chained before.
I don't know if I can make it this time.
In a hiccup of desperation, you called in a small whisper, "Gojo...?"
You looked around in the inky black until the sound of a light splash in the water below you drew your attention. Beside the rock was Satoru, his glowing blue eyes focused on you.
"What is it?" he rasped.
This was stupid, and you knew it, but you couldn't be alone right now...you just couldn't.
"Can you stay...right here...until I sleep, please?" you pleaded.
He sighed, cutting his eyes sharply to you.
"Why?"
"I'm scared."
It was a raw, nasty truth. Stripped of any confidence or pride.
"Humans are always scared," he commented.
You waited for him to dip back under the water, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
However, he didn't.
He stayed beside the rock, floating in silence, the low glow of his eyes reminding you of a night-light.
You didn't say anything, afraid that it might break this tiny grace he had shown you.
Laying your head down on the rock, you stared at the glow of his eyes. Taking one of your hands, you traced patterns on your arm, soothing yourself enough to close your eyes and attempt to sleep through this.
It took a long time. The hard plane of the rock, the cold wet clothes, the pressure headache. It was a far cry from the comfort you had experienced an hour prior.
Note: Heyyyy guys, I'm back. Sorry for such a long break, I had a lot going on and I hit writers block and just did not know how to go about this next part of the story. No worries though, I think I have it figured out so. I hope you guys like it! 𑣲⋆𑣲⋆ - S
Tropes~ One sided love, she fell first, he fell harder, forced relationship?
Synopsis~ The Honoured One crashes into the Pacific, Satoru is captured. Day and night he is tormented. The line between reality is blurred as he dreams of a girl and the stars of home. As the War ends he is sent back but home isn't quite home anymore. But there is you.
Previous Part
Tw/Cw~ War, WW2, period typical attitudes, dark themes, death, Pow camp, sexism, internalized misogyny.
Author's Note~ Gojo fights for the allies.
Divider by @/saradika-graphics
Mable’s officer died in the last few months of the war. It made her a widow, giving her a natural respect. In stores her purchases are already paid for, mysteriously, by the time she makes it to the counter. Old men and little boys' trip over themselves to open doors for her. They had done it before, but now they did it with a frantic zeal. It’s disgusting really, what has Mable done but sit prettily at home?
For years you have worked in a factory but what credit do you - You stopped yourself. There was no use going down that route. You owed everything to Mable’s family.
Your aunt said your name, her accent dripping with honey. “Mable isn’t feeling well. Could you make her some chicken and dumplings?” Her cherry red lips were stretched into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. You gave her the little girl smile she liked you to wear, all gums and wide eyes. And you nodded saying, “Yes ma’am.”
You had been at the factory since four in the morning, you got off at six, took the bus and walked part of the way, only to get home at six-forty. But Mable, beautiful Mable came first. The chicken and dumplings would just be for her. Your aunt’s supper consisted of a bowl of broth and a cigarette unless there was company. There rarely was since Mable’s husband’s death. Heavy black drapery covered the windows and the furniture in the company parlor. You made your way to the kitchen, every step heavier than the last.
You made the dough for the dumplings first, rolling it out, and cutting it in thick strips. Then you made the broth. There was no actual chicken left, but you did have some bones and canned stock. You chopped celery, each movement of the knife landing with a satisfying thwack. Your feet ached and you longed for a bath. To sink into the hot water, to wash away the grime and sweat of the day.
When it was done, you put it in a bowl on a tray to carry up to Mable. Your knees ached as you went up the winding staircase to Mable’s room on the second floor. You found her curled up in bed. She sat up when you reached the edge of her bed. She blinked, the whites of her eyes were a horrible reddish colour.
“Just set it on the vanity,” she drawled out, her voice slightly hoarse.
“Alright.” You didn’t look at her. You saw the perfume bottles and makeup canisters lined up on her vanity, the vases overflowing with flowers. If I sat home all day and entertained bored soldiers, I’d have that too. But you had never been called beautiful, or graceful, or stunning, like Mable had been since girlhood. Only pretty. Pretty is common, slightly above average, comfortable. Pretty isn’t the face men think of before they die or go off to war. Pretty is the girl men marry when they can’t achieve beautiful. Pretty is in the eyes of the beholder, while beautiful will always be universal.
She says your name. Something about the way she says your name feels like boney white hands around your neck. “Why do you hate me?”
You stopped, the tray clenched in your fingers. “Why would you say that?” You don’t recognize the voice leaving your body.
She laughs, false and beautiful. “The way you look at me.” She pauses and you can hear her shifting in the sheets. “Like you want to wear my skin.”
“Not everything is about you, Mable.”
You placed the tray on the vanity with a heavy thud. You walked to the door, still not looking at perfect Mable.
That night you sank into a bath that you had made, Amelia, the maid, had already gone home, so you had to pump the water and carry it upstairs yourself. You had rinsed and wiped off the visible dirt downstairs, so the bath would just clean what that hadn’t gotten. The water was warm. It would have been wise to use cold water, but you have never been able to do that. The day the city finally got air conditioning would be a relief. But the war had paused the manufacturing of air conditioners.
The water felt good. The soap you had made a few months before scented the air like magnolias. Combined with the scent of the old house and the damp city air, it brought you back to your younger days. You could remember being a teenager, in Mable’s hand me downs, following just outside the group while Mable and Satoru Gojo mesmerized the group of teenagers.
Satoru Gojo. You thought of him, his shockingly white hair, as white as snow. You had only seen snow once, when your uncle took the family skiing up North. Eyes as blue as a clear sky. He lived in your memory like a wintery northern god. You hoped he was still alive. But if he had been captured, you hoped he had died quickly. You had heard what they had done to those captured pilots. You winced. You couldn’t believe that he was alive. He burned too brightly to live a long life. Surely Satoru Gojo was dead at the bottom of the ocean.
A few months before, somewhere in the Pacific.
It had been a day like any other, the day Satoru Gojo crashed. He had been briefed with the other pilots and he was ready to engage the enemy. He remembered Gunny, his air gunner, a buck-toothed kid from the footheels of the Tennessee mountains, swaggering over to him. “You ready to take our lady dancing?” He said grinning. His accent always reminded Satoru of peanut brittle, sweet, bumpy, with a touch of coarseness.
“She’s been getting a lot of dancing,” Gojo responds, glancing up at his girl. The Honoured One, in all her caustic beauty glared down at him. God, she was beautiful. Painted on her side was a leggy woman sitting seductively. The woman looked suspiciously like the female version of Gojo. When the ground crew showed him the painting, grinning and snickering, he had laughed. He rather liked the rendition of himself on The Honoured One.
They take flight and he can feel his blood pumping. Earth passes away as he enters the heavens. He always feels alone until they fulfill the mission, even though he knows his crew is around him. Alone on earth, alone in the sky. But when has he not been alone? Even since he was a child, he has known he was different, that he wasn’t like the others. That heaven had mandated him a separate path.
It doesn’t take long before the enemy swarms upon him. Then the first engine goes out, then his tail is shot off. He can hear Gunny, he can hear the cussing, the roar of his engine. Then he is falling and all he can think about is Lucifer falling from Heaven. How did it go? Like lightning from heaven? Why couldn’t he remember it? Why did it matter? He was going to die - he was going to die?
The water cuts into his bones. He hears screaming - no, he is screaming. Something is wrong, his legs he thinks, they must be broken. Artillery hits the water. The bastards are still shooting at them, he realizes. A few minutes later, the shooting stops. The other airmen must have chased away the enemy fighter pilots. But then water is on fire - no, it's the spilled engine oil. And he hears more screaming, except this time it's not coming from him.
Only three of them are alive. Gunny died. Gunny is dead, he thinks numbly. The kid was heading back home in June. Happy goodnatured Gunny is dead. Gunny who had never looked at him differently because of his race. Gunny who had looked up to him. Three out of ten men are alive.
The inflatable boat they rest on does little to keep the water out. But it’s better than being in the water. They can see the sharks circling, feasting on their dead crewmates. They blister in the sun, dying of thirst. Hakari breaks down sobbing and drinks the salt water, Satoru and Whit try to stop him. He died two days later. Then it was only Whit and Satoru.
He does not remember what happened in the ensuing days. Maybe he cannot or will not face it. But he does remember her - the girl who gave him the stars. She sits at the edge of the boat too, so really there is three of them still.
When the enemy navy picks them up, it almost seems like heaven had sent them. It hadn't.
For a year he is formed again. His captors molding and breaking parts of Satoru he didn’t know existed. They were going to kill him two days after the war ended for an escape attempt. But by grace he is saved by the war ending.
It takes a few months for him to get home. He is about to leave the bus, when the driver, an older soldier (probably reserves) stops him. He stands ramrod straight, raising his hand in a sharp salute. Gojo copies his motion and salutes.
The old soldier breathes in smiling. “Welcome home, airman,” he says.
Something wet presses at the corner of Gojo's eyes. He nods. The lump in his throat won't allow him to speak.
He walks the streets, passing reuniting couples and families. The city is celebrating together. He distantly thinks of his great uncle. But he moves through the city alone. He stops at a few bars, his drinks are paid for, girls grin up at him. But he doesn't care. Nothing matters. Even if Star Girl herself walked up to him he wouldn't care.
Star Girl. That was her. He recognized her moving through the crowd. He pushes through the bodies until he reaches her.
He grins down at her. He couldn't let her see the man he's become. He has to be the hero she expects him to be.
“Long time no see.”
She gapes up at him. Good. He sees it now. He won’t be alone. He’ll have her. Satoru doesn’t care if she’s married or doesn’t remember him. She’s his.
The air smells like victory or piss and heady perfume the day you see Satoru Gojo alive. You had crept out of the house alone. Your aunt was too busy consoling Mable, and Mable was too grief stricken to join the city's celebration, and your uncle was all the way up North on a business trip. So you stand alone as you face him.He’s thinner but just as handsome as he had been before.
He says your name. “It’s me, I’m Satoru, I’ve come home.”
You give him a shy smile. What are you supposed to do? You aren’t Mable, you don’t know what to do with men. Satoru smiles back, but something in his smile makes you back away. Something in his eyes changes and you see a different man standing before you.
Gojo Satoru had everything he could ask for in the world. He had money, absolute power over the city's underground, and an ice element so strong it made him completely untouchable. But he lacks warmth, literally. That changes the night a stubborn, short-tempered fire elemental infiltrates his office on a botched assassination mission. Instead of burning him to ash, her flames give him the first real sense of warmth he has ever felt. Completely consumed by an instant obsession, Gojo uses his freezing power to capture his assassin, determined to keep her locked away as his personal source of heat, no matter how hard she fights back.
wk: 1k
cws : Kidnapping, forced confinement, age gap (20 :: 30), dark obsession, possessive behavior, yandere themes, power imbalances, mild violence, minor injuries from elemental attacks, intense psychological tension, non-consented kissing and groping, illegal auctions, suguru geto is an even bigger asshole than satoru gojo.
SecondKira: Feeling a tiny bit nervy about this cuz its lowk the first time I'll be taking fanfictions srsly since my exams just finished yippeee! If you wanna be added to the taglist jst comment ^^
The cold was not just a feeling for Satoru Gojo. It was a physical weight, a heavy, suffocating blanket that he could never seem to throw off.
He sat in the plush leather rear seat of his private sedan, staring out the tinted glass at the rain-slicked streets of Tokyo.
Outside, the city moved in a blur of neon and grey, a bustling metropolis full of noise and life. But inside the car, the air felt dead.
It always did. Satoru pulled off his black leather gloves, looking down at his pale fingers. They were perfectly formed, completely unblemished, and utterly numb.
He had spent an hour in a steaming bath before leaving his estate tonight. He had turned the temperature up until the water was hot enough to scald an ordinary human skin, watching his own flesh turn a dull red under the heat.
Yet, it had felt like nothing more than a lukewarm breeze against his skin. His ice element was a curse wrapped in absolute power.
It made him the undisputed king of the underground, an untouchable mafia boss with more money, resources, and influence than he could ever spend in a lifetime. But it also locked him in a permanent, solitary winter.
Another night, another useless meeting, Satoru thought, leaning his head back against the headrest. A sigh escaped his lips, turning into a faint mist in the chilly air of the sedan.
Everyone is always so afraid of me. They look at me like I'm a god because I can freeze a city block. But I can't even feel my own hand.
He was entirely, utterly bored. To Satoru, the sprawling business empire he ran was just a machine that kept itself turning. He signed off on contracts, ordered executions, and collected profits from a hundred different illegal operations without ever needing to look at the minor details.
He was too far above it all to care about the grunt work.
One of those highly profitable operations was the elemental trade.
In a world where ordinary humans lived alongside people born with elemental traits, those with rare abilities were treated like high-end commodities.
Fire users were the rarest of all, prized for their ability to generate massive energy out of nothing. Because their internal energy could be harnessed for weapons, manufacturing, or power, syndicates hunted them ruthlessly.
Satoru’s men ran the largest underground auction houses in the country, capturing and selling elementals to the highest bidder.
Satoru himself had never set foot in an auction house. He did not care about the logistics, nor did he care about the cargo. He only cared that the money hit his bank accounts on time to fund his lavish, empty lifestyle.
He had no idea that for the past six months, his men had been chasing a ghost.
You sat in the back of a damp, heavily reinforced transport van, your hands bound tightly behind your back in heavy iron cuffs. The metal was cold against your skin, a sharp contrast to the restless heat humming right beneath your surface.
You were a fire elemental, and you had a temper that burned twice as hot as your flames.
If these bastards think they can keep me in these chains, they are dumber than the last batch, you thought, your teeth gritting as you leaned against the vibrating wall of the van. I just need to wait for the right moment. The second they open those doors, I’m turning this entire vehicle into a pile of scrap metal.
This was the fourth time you had been caught by Gojo’s syndicate. The first three times, you had managed to melt through your restraints, incinerate your reinforced cages, and break the jaws of whatever guards tried to put their hands on you before escaping into the foggy city streets.
You hated the Gojo name with every fiber of your being. You had never seen the man, but you knew his reputation. He was the shadow over the city, the arrogant, wealthy monster whose pockets grew fatter every time you and other poor souls were hunted down like an animal. You had spent months running, constantly angry, your blood boiling at the mere mention of his frozen empire.
Satoru Gojo, you spat mentally, the name tasting like ash in your mouth. Sitting up in his fancy high rise while his dogs hunt us down for sport. I swear, if I ever get the chance, I’ll burn that crown right off his head.
But this time, things had gone differently.
The van ground to a halt, the brakes squeaking loudly. You braced yourself, pulling your internal heat into your wrists, ready to melt the iron the second the doors cracked open.
But when the back doors of the transport van swung wide, you were not dragged toward the bright stage of a crowded, smoky auction room. Instead, you were pulled into a dim, private warehouse that smelled of rust and old pallets.
Standing there was Suguru Geto.
He was the leader of the city's rival syndicate, a powerful man who controlled the docks and the slums with a terrifying gravity element. He wore a high-end tailored suit, his long dark hair tied up neatly, and he was flanked by heavily armed bodyguards.
Geto stepped forward, looking down at your bound wrists and the faint wisps of smoke rising from your skin. "You're the one who keeps breaking out of Gojo's cells," he said, his voice low and calculating. "The fire user with the short fuse."
"Uncuff me and find out how short it is," you snapped, your glare sharp enough to cut glass. If this bastard tries to put a price tag on me, I'll burn his face off first. I am not being sold again.
You tried to spark a flame to threaten him, but Geto didn't even flinch. He simply raised a hand, and a sudden, massive weight slammed down on you. The gravity element pressed against your shoulders, pinning your back to the floor and snuffing out your sparks before the heat could even build. You let out a surprised yelp at the sudden force.
Geto smiled smoothly, releasing the pressure just enough to let you breathe. "Calm down. I'm not here to sell you. In fact, I just paid a massive sum of money to Gojo's incompetent guards to intercept you before you hit the auction block tonight."
He leaned in closer, his narrow eyes cold and full of greed. "We want to hire you. Gojo thinks he is untouchable because his ice destroys any physical attack before it reaches him. But fire is his natural counter. We will pay you enough money to disappear forever, to live wherever you want without ever being hunted again, if you do one thing for us."
He reached into his jacket and dropped a glossy black security keycard onto your lap.
"Infiltrate his private office tonight. And burn Satoru Gojo to ash."
You stared down at the keycard, your heart pounding a heavy, aggressive rhythm against your ribs. The sheer absurdity of the offer made a laugh bubble up in your throat.
They wanted you to kill the king of the underground. It was a suicide mission, plain and simple. Anyone with half a brain would reject it and run.
But you didn't have a normal temper, and your hatred for Satoru Gojo outweighed your sense of survival.
A slow, vicious smile spread across your face. The heat in your core flared up so intensely that the iron cuffs around your wrists began to warp, the metal softening under the sudden, violent spike in your temperature. You didn't care about the risk. You didn't care that he was the most dangerous man in the city.
The man who had spent months making your life a living hell was finally within your reach. He was sitting in his office, completely unaware that the cargo he treated like dollar signs was coming to collect his life.
You want him dead? you thought, your eyes locking onto Geto with absolute certainty. Good. Because I'm going to make sure he burns until there's nothing left but smoke.
divider: @notsecondkira. art cred: @myuchiisu (twt)
warnings. mdni. fem reader. cowgirl (except ur lazy to do the work so gojo has to guide u down himself) unproofread :/
You loathe physical labor in all its forms. It makes no difference if it's the work that sustains the world and society or the private exertion of pleasing yourself and your boyfriend. The moment you’re expected to take charge, you lose interest—mainly because you don't possess the stamina to stay on top.
Your inner thighs are soaked. Slick with shiny arousal and already cramping. Your muscles are shuddering under the strain of pinning him down, and your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath. Beneath you, Gojo’s got white hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. He’s looking up at you with eyes that’d probably drop shards of crystal’s if ever brought to tears.
“Ok, I can’t.” You huff, deciding your spent and slumping forward until your forehead hits his bare chest. He’s still buried deep inside you, the thick head of his cock almost kissing your cervix. You feel for him, you really do, but the energy tank is empty. You don't have it in you to keep bouncing.
His fingers trail down your spine, tracing the vertebrae before digging into your ass. He lets out a whiny groan. “C’monnn, baby, giving up so soon? You did like barely five minutes of work. Don't leave me hanging.”
"Shut up," you breathe, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The scent of him swarms your every sense. "I’m too tired. My thighs burn when I go up ‘n down like that. You do it.”
“Awee, my sweet sweet baby can’t do it herself?” He coos. Mock pity dripping from every syllable. Stupid prick. “Need me to fuck her good? Help you grind that pretty pussy against my dick? Hm?”
He shifts. Slides his weight up against the headboard, spine going straight and large hands locking onto your hips like iron clamps. He doesn’t move, instead he stares down at you, eyes wide and tracking every twitch of your face with a knowing, tilted smile. You refuse to meet his eyes, mortified by the way he so crudely puts it and increasingly irritated that, despite your complaints, he still hasn’t done anything about it.
"Satoru, seriously. Shut up and just—"
"Just what?"
He drives upward. Crushing your hips down flat against his pelvis—an agonizingly deep press that buries him into you even further (if possible.) The invasion coaxes a gasp straight out of your throat.
He’s locked, amused by the way your pussy is gripping so tightly around him all while your supposed lack of energy. "Gotta ask me real nicely. Tell me you need me to do all the work and maybe I’ll do it. I like hearing it, y’know?”
( ✦ ) fem!reader, angst, suicide, death ⁝ REPOST from carienations◞ ao3.
your finger was the one he put a ring on.
everyone knows that you‘re the one who wears his last name like a badge; the one who shares a bed with him when the sky engulfed by darkness; the one who takes care of his laundry with overflowing care; the one who thoughtfully whipped him breakfast and dinner; the one who stay up for him at home praying he's safe and sound— the one where his vows lie.
yet, despite being the one in all sorts of things, you found yourself standing in the middle of nowhere as someone who would never be the one he devoted his love and soul to. a person who hover in-between nothing, for they have no place to root themselves to. someone who linger in the air like cigarette smoke, where its significance lasts as short as the fire that lights it up.
satoru gojo is devoted to you, as a husband. no more, no less.
it‘s his duty in which he requires to perform flawlessly beyond perfection, like he always has. especially, when it comes to pleasing the side of him whose sure nothing will ever be above the man; the honored one will always be able to choose his own path, eternally. and the path he let his feet take him in this case, is the one where he take an oath to be yours, for better or worse.
and for you, the truth of this arranged marriage with him keeps crawling behind you like a vice, religiously. as far as to dreamland, even. a place where the world was supposed to be a non-existent truth, not where the fact of life keeps strangling you breathless.
for what it's worth, the reality of it has cut through you for as long as you've breathed, with his last name weighing on your shoulder.
on some days, it feels as if it's gently reminding you of the consequence of marrying someone whose heart will always be confined behind his ribcage. as well as the price of attempting to tie your soul to another, who will never let his be in the palm of your longing hands.
for all the love you own, the realization of it has the wind stealing the air off your lungs, and it was undoubtedly the start of your nearing end.
when you found a picture of that woman in his wallet on some lonely night, no words had let itself free out of the cage that's your lips, as it's shut tight from where you had stitched it with a thread made from your infinite love. and the night breeze that day, were witnessed on how deadly was the silence, by you. a to-be-forevermore stillness from you, to the strongest one.
an anniversary present given by a wife to her husband, dedicated solely to the cursed marriage she believes he's shackled to.
she‘s a beautiful, enchanting woman, you may so for yourself. you've heard people describe her as a gentle soul with a poise demeanor; a perfect match for the man who's always searching for someone to keep him grounded, someone to keep him tethered to the reality that consistently screws him up.
gentle always followed after your name, too. but not like hers, never will be—something you compare yourself to every so often, while you let yourself drown in your reflection on the mirror—as it’s a different form of gentleness. the kind that someone who‘s, undoubtedly, be the one who satoru devoted his love and soul to.
a woman who doesn't smell like death is calling her name.
the woman in the picture is whose existence you've become sensitively aware of after the engagement happened. after all that whispers? no matter how hard you try, it lingers. it follows your every step alike the smell of cigarette, which often seeps into someone's clothes and scents like dirty ashtray. a smell that deserves to be one with the soil, from how rancid it is.
‘don't you think it's tragic? both gojo and that woman. having to end it all for his duty.’
‘perhaps. it's expected, i may say. no matter how high on the top satoru gojo is, no matter how much privilege being the strongest gave him— they always find a way to make him bend over the rules.’
‘seriously, you two are not giving the fiancee enough credit! imagine being her … a total nightmare. i would cry myself to sleep every single day, if i were her.’
even after many seasons have passed, you still find it in you of the nightmare, that is the ability to recite those words in your sleep. it‘s suffocating, truly. the truth of how your arranged marriage still chases you down, even when you‘re unconscious, is something that has you opening your eyes in startle night after night, with dread haunting all of your burning senses.
“satoru, who … is she?”
his whole body tensed. there was no name drop, no picture— nothing. only a question with no identification of who you were referring to. however, satoru understands in a heartbeat whose existence you were suggesting, as if there's no soul except hers. while you, on the other hand, can feel the way your heart drops to the ground, before it shattered as he muttered the answer.
"… a ghost of my past.”
the way that sentence left in-between his lips was more than enough to send you buried six-feet-under, if you were allowed to be truthful. his tone, a softness you've never heard before, was taunting you. it almost came across your ringing ears as a mocking on where you stand in his world. not from him. it's a calling by the universe itself.
and it sends chills right through your body, as if the grim reaper is brushing their scythe right by your pulse.
you really did take away his life, his freedom. no, worst. you've taken away their love and crushed it by existing. the sight of him—a husband who owns your heart without knowing—keeps bringing you back to the one undeniable truth: each breath you take is evidence of how satoru gojo life is no longer vivid of love, but monotone from the misery that is your marriage.
“ah. sh— she's really pretty.” your statement was pure, no malice hidden behind it. she is a beautiful human being. still, despite your own words, you can feel how the world starts crumbling into ruins under your feet.
you didn't pester him after the reality was laid upon you like a misfortune. instead, you continue acting as the lovingly doting wife you always been, all the while a void started to grow in you. a void which is all-consuming. and in the midst of your spiraling, a promise for him was made from the deepest part of your soul and heart.
even if the man can‘t hear it, you promise with your life that he'll own his life.
it wasn't surprising when the next day everything in the house was clean and tidy. a perfectness expected from you, as a housewife. no trace of you was seen in the place you arrogantly called home, for time and again.
that was one of your last acts of love for the man, who'll always be the reason for your pounding heart. soon to be halting, with all the love pouring from it. an act of sparing him from your strangling existence he was forced to have; sparing him from the longing and pain of what-if, as well as what-could-have-been, with her.
his clothes were all stacked thoughtfully in the closet. the fridge and pantry is filled with everything he loves. all of his necessities that were near empty have been stocked up, by your caring tendencies. the delicate hands of yours had also prepared his usual meal plan, for the last time. everything you've done over and over like breathing, was finally seeing an end.
and that night, for your last act of love as his wife and someone who loves him far too consuming— you‘ll give him the freedom he always yearns for. an unshackling from what he never should have to tolerate, you.
satoru, the light of my life,
the glass was held firmly on your trembling hand, as you slowly brought the rim of it towards your awaiting parting lips. your intense gaze, slightly wavering, was capturing the sight of how the liquid starts to run dry from your glass, down to your throat as it slowly flame you from the inside.
for everything we’ve shared and all the things you've done for me, i really, really thank you.
under your touch, the glass had let itself slip and shatter against the cold tiles; crashing against your shared bedroom floor, as it echoes through the silence, while your body stumbles around before eventually falling hitting the solid ground.
no matter what anyone says you‘re my favorite, and will always be.
in the emptiness of the house that was never yours to live, no one was there to watch how the froth started forming in your mouth like the beginning of an end. the sounds of your strangle breath that engulfed the room was, undeniably, aching to hear— filled with defeat, helpless, and somewhere in the back, a sense of relief.
i truly have no regrets in this life, other than holding you back from the life you dream and deserve. a life where you know nothing but laughter and endless joy, with your loved one.
your body that was uncontrollably shaking as it takes in the source of satoru‘s freedom, had finally come to a halt. one might say that it was an act of kindness from the grim reaper, for how they have seen you suffer enough with the selfless act, based on a love you never had the privilege of confessing to.
these past few months of being your wife have brought me a happiness that no one had ever given me. truly. a happiness i'm sure the maggots will be jealous of, when i'm finally erased out of this world.
a pair of bright eyes, ones which were always searching for his ocean blue eyes—the one you find yourself diving in every time— were dull and drained of color, by the end of the day, as it stares empty at the endless darkness it often greets.
i‘m sorry for all of the mess and pain i've caused you, satoru. never once in my life have the thought of hurting you ever crossed my mind. so, please … have a good life after this, will you?
on your shared bed, a letter is laid as it waits for the owner to come pick it up, and read the life-changing words written on it. your wedding ring was placed neatly, tucked in its box side-by-side with the letter on the bed. the proof of the end of the marriage was waiting for him, as well as the rightful owner of the ring, to wear it.
i love you, my light, my sirius. with the very little that i am, i hope you'll never get tired of shining your light my way, even when i've become one with the soil.
even though you'll never see the way his face bathes in sunlight, when the morning comes anymore— you‘re relieved that the end of your life is the new start of his, the freedom that you promised to him. and you're someone who always, always, keeps their words no matter how devouring it is to fulfill some words arranged.
for you, i‘m letting go.
after all, even if the world turns upside-down, you know his love and soul were never yours to keep.
for valentine's day, satoru decided that he should stop being a loser and ask to be your valentine. you, the shy girl from his class that he has a crush on. well, safe to say he did a good job! ( 8k )
notes in red ... tried proofreading this and realized i couldn’t be bothered, LMAO. i really enjoyed writing this back then, but trying to proofread it in present time actually feels daunting for whatever reasons; do excuse any mistakes, i wrote this while travelling back then, hihi. anyways, i hope you guys enjoy this one! reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3
satoru is, truly, done for.
the student athlete who's one of this university's pride is beyond help, to be precise. he's doomed in any way possible to exist in this dimension he's in. how come? well, this six-foot-three basketball player has yet managed to ask the prettiest girl he ever laid his eyes on, for a date. and valentine's day is tomorrow, which means he only has little to no time on the clock, waiting for him.
oh, no, that's a bit of a stretch. because times never wait for anything or anyone, so it's either he throws away this sense of pride that's lingering in the air or he's doomed for life due to his inability in asking you out. that's right, you.
you, who somehow managed to tug the frosted-haired man's heart and attention, letting it shift to hover around your world. except, you have yet to find out about that truth— because satoru gojo is actually a loser in disguise of a rising star, student athlete.
he has act, at the very least, more than a hundred different scenario of him asking you to watch his match, which will be held tomorrow. to the mirror in his dorm. satoru is at loss of words from how his tongue would twist the moment it reaches the line of spending time with you. he's a student who major in communication, so how come having a conversation with you feels this impossible?
if he, who supposedly is a master at the matter, is unable to ask permission in becoming your valentine … what does it make of him?
what word could, perchance, wrapped this whole thing with a pretty ribbon more secure than the word "loser"? because that word can't suffice this shamefulness he's facing in his incompetency at saying a few words arranged, dedicated for you.
ah, right, there's that one word. failure.
satoru is a failure, if he still can't find it in him to ask for a day spent with you. he's a man who arguably near perfect, so if he by the end of this class still choosing the pride of not wanting to look desperate— he may be referred as "good-for-nothing". it is the title he willingly bear due to how such a bum he is when it comes to you.
then again, it's you. in satoru's defense, anyone should be feeling a little miserable, for even having the thought of wanting to hold your hand during valentine. you're the most enchanting, delicate, woman he has ever come across in his life. and having the honor of breathing your air should've been enough. however, satoru is undoubtedly greedy for a simple brush of your skin against his.
he's more than miserable, he acknowledges it.
you're far divine for this world, he would argue with the mirror. it's a blessing for this earth to have you take a step on it, he swears on his life. every soul should be grateful that you even cast a glance in their way or pay them a little attention. it's a stroke of luck, he might add.
which is why, how is he supposed to not feel his pride crumbling, desperation creeping in, and words scattering around, when you're the target of his attention? it drags him off the cliff at how he keeps hopping between the line of a loser and a failure. you just, exceptionally, drive him crazy!
"suguru, give me a pat on the back," he whispers at the dark-haired man sitting beside him. satoru's gaze is locked at you, surrounded by your friend group at the table far to his right, chattering about one topic to another. "give me some courage to even utter a single word to her," the man added.
suguru, who has been scrolling away at his phone let out a sigh at the absurdity of his best friend. it's just too much for him to bear; the scene of satoru being stupidly down-bad, he lost his way in talking. he was a smooth-talker, all sweet nothing with other girls before the cerulean-eyed man fallen deep into your world. satoru is beyond saving, in his opinion, at the very least.
"you speak as if you're heading to war."
"i might as well."
he was not given the chance to answer. suguru was just about to add another sentence, yet he was three steps behind the man whose fingers were now fidgeting one another. it's almost uncanny how the proud student athlete is now reduced into a soon-to-be-good-for-nothing of a man.
"just talk to her like any other day. weren't you in the same group with her semester one?" suguru asked, his eyebrows raised questioningly.
"yeah, but i haven't liked her at that time! it's a whole different interaction now," satoru grumbled, still watching at how the edge of your eyes would crinkle from how your lips is being painted with a subtle, yet undeniably charming of a smile. "i'm not viewing her as a classmate anymore, you know? it's another side of the world. she's a woman now, to me."
"oh … i get it. still though, didn't you practice everyday? that line of asking to be her valentine?" suguru gaze drifted towards where you and your friends were sitting before his mind struck with an idea, his head turned to satoru. "why don't you ask shoko? they're in the same friend group. i don't see why you can't do that."
the one suguru talked with waves his hand at his face, brushing off the words absent-mindedly, "who do you think gave me the courage to even think about having a date with her?" satoru responded, his tone filled with exasperation. "on second thought, it's a little weird seeing her hanging around with shoko, utahime, and yuki. don't you think they're far off from each other? in personality?"
suguru hummed softly as an answer. somehow agreeing, but at the same time he feels it's just bound to happens. "opposites attract one another, satoru. can't you see? they balanced each other's character." the man let his eyes roam around the group of friends before adding one more thing, "we're the opposite, if you have yet to noticed."
"nah, i know that from a long ago. it's just a little strange looking at their combination—" satoru's words halted the second he saw you letting out a laugh. it's faint, due to the distance between you two, but he can still catch the joy from your laugh lingering in the air before wrapping his heart in a warm blanket of content. "—hah … she really is a hot chocolate in winter season."
both satoru and suguru sat in silence, then. due to many different reasons.
for the blue-eyed man, it's due to his wish to relish in the warmness you let him savor even from some radius. for suguru, on the other hand, is quiet due to how it just hits him now; satoru attraction towards you is far more than a simple infatuation. the man's adoration, or perhaps love, is clearly transcending even the night sky.
all these days, he assumed it was just a lighthearted crush. an excitement that'll only last for a short time— turns out, he's been assuming wrong. satoru is so deep rooted in your world, and you don't even seem to notice the man. it's comically ironic and endearing all at the same time, how this fact unfolds right before his eyes, once for all.
"you'll be fine. nobody is going to boo you if you get rejected, no one would dare to do so. just walk over to her and pop the question," suguru assured. his hand which was holding the phone now raised to pat the back of his loser of a friend. "with the exception of me."
"oh, shut up." satoru let out a low huff at suguru words. his attention is now stolen by the lecturer's arrival to their class. his fidgeting has stopped, although his gaze still wanders back to you.
satoru gojo can't seem to save himself from repeatedly getting lost in you, and everything that sculpted you into the person you are, truly. it's a habit as natural as breathing, it's a routine as repetitive as spraying perfume all over his body; far too engraved in his every fiber.
in today's design graphic class, you got an assignment to make a chosen product a poster, and it's something you've done more than your fingers managed to keep in track. so, like any other day, you'd type away the information on the matter to your to-do-list.
however, no matter how forcefully you try to shrug it off, there's a sense of uneasiness in today's class that keeps on finding its path towards where you are; it's clinging to every trace of you it may grasp, for a while. at first you assumed it was just another day of feeling too exposed to the world— but, now, you're sure it's something more than that.
you feel as if you're being watched.
to be fair, you always do. as someone who's deeply self-conscious, ignoring the slightest change of an emotion becomes something difficult to find in yourself. which is why ignoring the feeling of something about to happen is one of many things which goes beyond your mind, as you don't exactly have the hold to how your inner-self reacts to it.
it's without doubt, that you're a person who's sensitively aware of your surroundings, yet dull at the same time. which is quite the reason behind why you jolted from your seat, when the six-foot-three man greeted you. the man, satoru gojo, your classmate.
"ah, sorry, i didn't intend on startling you—" he quickly spoke to you, oh so gently, as if he's beyond afraid you might slip away from him. satoru seems to glance past you towards your friend group, before collecting himself and clearing his throat, a few times. "—can i have some of your time?"
oh … um, what?
his question truly catches you off-guard. you found yourself blinking a few times, trying to see whether all of this is a reality or an illusion your mind created to throw you off. and being true to yourself, you wished it's the latter. because oh, you have little to no clue at how you should act nor respond if you're to engage in a conversation with him, from out of the blue. or with anyone, really.
"we can talk here, if that's what you feel most comfortable," satoru assured. the way he attentively considered your space, as well as carefully making a move from the hesitancy at how you drifted afar from the dialog, had your breath choke on the back of your throat. he makes it seems like he senses your inside turmoil, and it's untangling your flawless composure in real-time.
it could be self-conclusion, it could be due to how you view it from your perspective. nonetheless, what has you positive satoru is doing this intentionally, are the matter-of-fact at how he examines you as if you're worth pouring his time for. for someone like you, it was almost overwhelming, truthfully. if he were to do another similar gesture, you're convinced you might unravel here and there.
"um, i— sure …?" your fingers mindlessly find each other and start fidgeting. your pair of eyes satoru loves to dive in and wander to look at anything but him, avoiding eye-contact. he learned by watching you from a mile that when you start jiggling your foot, it means you're a second away from detaching with your surroundings.
satoru pressed his lips shut into a thin line. he's mentally patting himself in the back before popping the question the man has practiced longer than his dribbles, shoots, and everything there is related to basketball. you're making him beyond flustered, greater than any victory might capable do. "can i … be your valentine?" he finally asked.
and uh-oh. if only the man understands how your brain stops functioning, the second his question left in-between his lips. it was unexpected, coming from him. you two barely interact with one another, yet he decided to ask if he can be your valentine? well, each other's valentine, to be precise. still, it has you left frozen in your seat as confusion starts to invade your emotions.
"… me? why me?"
of course, you would feel bewildered. it's unprecedented. and everyone that has the privilege of knowing you is deeply aware, at how at this moment, your mind is flooding with scenarios as to why the popular student athlete is asking you, rather than other people who—in your opinion—suits better to stand by his side.
what if he lands on you due to a dare? or a silly joke? worse, just for fun?
the man didn't let you immerse in those negative thoughts longer than a minute, though. when satoru catches how the sparkles in your eyes fades and your gaze reformed into one of discomfort, alongside ghosts of worse-possibilities-imagine crawling inside, he immediately takes one step closer as if he's trying to show you that he's being genuine. in his own silly, fumbling way.
"i was thinking of giving you a ticket to my match tomorrow, then uh …" the man paused for a beat, his hand squeezed into a fist before resting on the back of his neck as he rubs it nervously. "go … on a date? with me?" he continued, tone lower than he intended to. it, adorably, became a whisper instead of solid words spoken; something that's expected from him, out of all people.
"oh."
satoru fingers went to fiddled with the collar of his shirt, looking at you with gleaming hope. "shoko, utahime, and yuki will be there, too." his gaze shifts away towards the ceiling for a minute, before landing back on you. and it almost, almost, feel as if his blue-sky eyes crashes onto you, from how consuming it holds your stare. "you won't be alone there," he assured.
you blink once. the information is known to you, since they had asked some days ago, on whether you wanted to come and see the basketball match between their school to a long-time rival or not. but, hearing it from satoru's mouth somehow relaxed you, even by a bit. your shoulders slumped as the tension built up now slowly but surely uncoil.
for a beat there, you wonder if he had bewitched you; satoru makes it too easy for you to let your guard down, even if it's only for temporary. although he's carefully breaking down your well-crafted walls, this is the first time ever that someone has the courage to ask you out on a date, which is why you're still unsure on how to act on the matter.
and no, it isn't because you're unattractive. you're as beautiful as your other friends, standing side-by-side with them only has you beaming even more. it's due to how much of a closed-off person you are. it's hard for you to open up and take risks, for what seems out of reach from where you're standing— something people can guess about you, with only one look at your way.
so, it's a little baffling for you to even comprehend why he's asking you in the first place.
but … the way he's paying attention to the little things that matter to you, has the proposal being embraced tenderly by your heart, in your own way. his consideration of those invisible stuff, has your heart warming and open itself without throwing another second, as if his existence is already ingrained to your beating heart.
however, doubt is still lingering in the thin air. you don't know the man enough to say yes at the moment, in this place where a few people may peer about. which is why after a few minutes of silence from you, accompanied by overly repeated assurances in your head, you gave him a response that's not what satoru expected, but isn't exactly unwelcome.
"can i, think about it first …? i'll let you know if i, um, decide to go."
your head is slightly bowed, unable to look at him straight in the eyes as his gaze strikes right through you. satoru's icy-blue eyes are as vibrant as the day outside this classroom— it's bright enough to light up the whole place from how much it resembles an angelic, sunny day. and for you? it might as well be a scorching sun because it shines far too bright, for a girl who rather hides beneath the trees.
"yes, of course! i mean—" the man clears his throat a couple times, cheeks tainted with rosy pink at how his voice went an octave higher from excitement. "… yes, no pressure at all. take as much time as you need. no rushing, no nothing. we will go at your pace."
everyone around that's watching couldn't help but snicker at the view of satoru being an open mess for them to gobble at; it's a rare occurrence to see the proud man reduced to a loverboy who can't get a hold of themselves. and you, whose corner lips tilted upward into the faintest, but heart-warming smile, has satoru losing his composure even more like a yarn being untangled.
"okay, then. are you done, gojo? we girls have a place to go to, if you don't mind." yuki slipped through the conversation between you and the man. she had a good laugh seeing you two interact with one another, just a minute before stepping into the whole scene of whatever is happening among you two, since she can't quite name it yet. it's still a gray area to meddle about.
"oh … yeah, for sure. i have a practice with the team, too, so … uh, see you all tomorrow?" he replied. satoru look over his shoulder at suguru who's waiting for him a few steps back. "suguru is waiting as well, i should probably get going. or really get going. same thing."
his face turned to you again, gaze trailing over you as he tries to utter even a single word. "i'll talk to you later? um, uh, have fun with your friends and take care. you three— whatever," he cast a uninterested look towards the women behind you, before sprinting away while utahime tries to throw him her plastic water bottle.
"hey, give us some respect! be grateful we allowed you to speak with her, you narcissist!"
satoru answer came in the form of a mocking facial expression as he leaves the classroom with suguru following behind, laughing at how the air shifted within a second from warmness to chaotic.
well, truthfully, satoru would take hits from utahime's water bottle any other day if it means he finds the courage to speak with you, and is welcome to breathe your air.
the man has really whisked away his pride of not wanting to look desperate, standing in front of you. the man is too far gone to even care about his pride, after having your gaze locked on him even if it only lasts a minute.
he'll be miserable all his life, for you. unashamedly.
you've been staring at your ceiling for approximately two hours now.
it's predicted, of course. however, you didn't think you would actually ponder about the matter this … intently. you're sure it's due to one reason only: you thought you're going to reject his proposal as easy as a child's play.
now it's a matter that has you contemplating your very existence from how it's taking up the spaces inside your head— worse, it sneaks into the gaps of your ribcage. your whole being is infiltrated by whether you should accept him as your valentine, or drown in this foreign emotions which starts to loom over you.
a part of you, in the corner of your soul no one has managed to touch, is tingling with an excitement you can't quite catch, yet.
you roll over in your bed one more time. with your face buried on the fluffy pillow, you let out a scream louder than you thought you can muster about. for a moment there, your surroundings disintegrate into the night breeze. only you, your inner turmoil, and the plushies of yours exist in the stillness at this time of the day.
turning down satoru would stings a little.
accepting his offer, on the other hand, will tug the frightened side of you.
plus, you've never gone on a date with anyone before. if you screw things up, you understand better than anyone how your ability in mingling with other people would reduce back to zero. and preferably, rationally— rejecting satoru is the better path.
building this courage of interacting with someone else took quite a while, you don't wish for anything to crumble this years of dedication and sanity whisked away. and truthfully, if yuki didn't go out of her way to invite you for lunch, you would've never made a close friend. only casual, talk once in a while type of friendship. the present you is credited to the three women who patiently guide you in becoming a more brave person.
earlier, you've asked them about their opinion on the issue mentioned. and they, ever so supportive, encourage you to accept satoru's heartfelt wish in becoming your valentine. the three close friends of yours said it'll be a nice experience for you— which you somewhat agrees. it's the truth which can't be denied; you'll learn something new if you decided to say yes.
you groaned into the covered white bundle, head lifting slightly from the pillow before your gaze fell to the plushies facing you. a feeling of shame washes you for a beat, your mind imagining scenes of the plushies coming to life and mocking your current state.
"this is no fun," you grumble to the serenity of your room. a hint of blush paint your cheeks. even in the darkness of your safe place, hints of it can be seen with a keen pair of eyes.
should you let him be your valentine?
once again, you stare at the plushies. "… what do you all think? should i—" your voice screeches at the end, while your already tomatoes face now turned into an even vibrant red. “—should i accept him?”
no sounds filled the room, then. besides the sound of your quicken heartbeats that noise starts to form a rhythm. your heart is pounding against the ribcage as its way of showing your inner turmoil with no words spoken to the crackling air. it's the only thing keeping you sane in this moment of uncertainty, as you are still deciding which path you should walk into before the time of this day runs out.
thump-thump.
thump-thump.
thump-thump.
"… he's a nice guy. it won't hurt to give this a chance … right?"
your hand, trembling with suspense, stretches out to grasp your phone rested afar on the night table with a feeling of hesitation. understandably so. yet, amidst all of these new waves of emotions you've never experienced first-hand before, a profound fever of excitement is following from behind. albeit its existence as faint as the soft rustling of your sheets beneath you.
a breathy huff left in-between your lips while your fingers carefully arranged words for satoru to read. "just this one time," you heard yourself whispering.
you: i'll see you tomorrow
you: good luck for your match
23.45 PM
"stop grinning like an idiot," suguru exasperated.
who is the man referring to? well, it's quite obvious who. there's no other soul which can make him rubbing his forehead as a way to soothe the headache, whilst a deep sigh is let free from his mouth like the satoru gojo can.
no, don't get him wrong. the man is thrilled that satoru proposal to you is accepted with open arms. that six-foot-three man efforts didn't go through the drain, so of course suguru is happy on behalf of the man success. after many seconds whisked away of him listening to satoru practicing his lines to the mirror, he is beyond pleased he won't be going through a phase where satoru is whining and moody from being rejected.
only it costs suguru his hearing sense.
as expected, satoru is all smiley and a total bundle of joy from the message you sent his way last night. hell, the man won't stop peering over his phone while engaging himself in a conversation with the other teammates.
it's a once in a lifetime type of scene, if anyone is brave enough to say it out loud. satoru is a proud man. he loves to taunt everyone—in his own way—at how he is the carrier of the team, which in all truthfulness is the reality, and how his head would be held up high all the time is a side of him everyone is more used to. one that they secretly admire, due to every reason he has the ability and is able to prove his words.
for them, it is justified that satoru acts the way he is.
so, the scenery displayed for them is pretty … odd. bizarre would probably be the word most of them used to describe how satoru is acting right now. it is just way freakier than they thought it would be.
the rumor spreads fast like wildfire. whispers of hot, burning revelation that the rising star, student athlete of the university went ahead of his way to carve a path to your heart is a sensation people absolutely went feral for. it's not everyday they got to see the man make a first move, no. it's a rare occurrence.
most of the time, satoru would receive tons of attention from students across the university, from a variety of majors. whenever satoru has a match, or just practice actually, oceans of human gather to cheers the man on with beverages or snacks in hand to further riled satoru into the "zone". of course they came and gave their support to other athlete on the team— after all, the university basketball team is packed with gorgeous men.
there's suguru geto, the team's small forward who people say is more popular with the girls than satoru. ryomen sukuna, point forward of the team who somehow bestowed upon the title as, 'mr. steal your girl'. and oh, right, choso kamo, the shooting guard is quite well-known among the girls for his awkward, yet gentle personality as well.
everyone has their own charms, for sure. but satoru gojo's appeal is by far the only one who attained even the bits of all souls love. he's the type of man that has someone wanting to build a family with, a fan of the man says. whether it's an opinion or a matter=of-fact buzz from people around him is still undecided. all that matters is that the satoru gojo is loved by many kinds of people.
back to the main topic.
you, who's able to tear down satoru's wall became a huge topic overnight. apparently someone in the same class as you recorded the whole exchange between you and satoru, before posting it on the internet for people to see. it alarms satoru last night— because for all he understand, you aren't that comfortable with the whole 'turned-into-a-huge-deal' matter. he learned of the fact from shoko, ever the so big-hearted.
he was shaking in his boots at the thought that you might despise him for bringing in that much attention to you, something you didn't ask for. however, when satoru frantically messaged you this morning like a kid throwing a rampage, you replied with something that's very you and, well, logical. he should've never underestimated you and he ought to learn for the better.
you: it's alright
you: you're a well-known person, it's bound to happen. i already prepared myself for this possibility
you: i'm fine, no need to worry
07.30 AM
satoru was half pleased knowing you're doing well and half pissed you told him, "no need to worry." as if there's a single fiber circulating in him with a drop of nonchalance in it. the man is too far gone for you, and you have yet to notice the truth is a trait of yours that's both endearing and maddening.
"gojo!"
the wide-grinning man startled. the sudden yell of his name causes his phone to slip from his hand slightly, and god, satoru let out a roaring scream due to the action. "hey! be mindful, can you?" his eyes narrow at sukuna, before sighing out of exasperation. when, truly, it should be his teammates who're annoyed. not the other way around.
"are you fucking with me? the match is about to start, idiot—" sukuna was just taking one step closer near satoru before stopped by choso's voice. "the coach is waiting."
and ever the self-centered man he is, satoru's eyebrows lifted with his chest puffed in a mannerism of a man overly confident enough to be tripped by himself in near future. everyone in the room can guarantee it. "why didn't anyone tell me since, i don't know, a minute ago?"
dear god … if they're not a second away from the match, sukuna would've strangled him.
"satoru, you're the one who's at fault," suguru commented. the way he gazes at satoru makes it seem as if being in a conversation with that idiotic blue-eyed man reduces his life span. suguru pinched the bridge of her nose. "just … put down your phone and let's went ahead to the court."
"oh, right." satoru placed his phone down, then. the man stood up from where he was sitting, the stupid grin still in-tact to his face. "i have someone to impress in the crowd, gotta make sure i look presentable. let's win this match, my wing men."
satoru threaded a hand through his white locks as he walked out of the locker room, leaving behind his other teammates as if he didn't just utter the most disgusting words arranged to ever be spoken into the day breeze.
"i ought to strangle him," sukuna whispers, eyes twitching out of agitation.
it's currently the second half of the game.
and as expected, your university team is leading. truly a powerhouse in flesh, you heard someone muttering about. well, in all fairness, the basketball team consists of athletes that have been known for their immense talent. each of the players already built up a reputation among those who loves basketball— one which is recognized by anyone who has watched them.
you sat alongside the three women who, excitedly, helped you prepare for today's occasion. shoko, utahime, and yuki all went to your place early in the morning for whatever reason they have for themselves. it was a chaotic mess of you being dressed up by them. even shoko who doesn't talk much fusses over you. for a moment there, you became a doll for them to prettify.
not a single word of protest left in-between your pouty lips that greets them this morning, which truly surprised both them and yourself. it caught them off guard as they expected you to, at the very least, wished for them to not extensively meddle about the whole ordeal. you've always been a person who's adamant of one personal space.
so, when you opened the door with puckered lips that screamed hassled and flustered, the three of your friends couldn't help but feel as if they just took a step into the other side of your world. and funny enough, when they were doing mix and match with your clothes utahime mumbled something along the lines of, "you're way … too compliant right now. it's quite odd to look at." and that got shoko's and yuki's attention.
utahime isn't wrong, of course. the sight of you letting them do whatever they desire with fashioning you is one of those rare moments where you would let down your guard, then let them roam freely as they start to dive deeper into what makes you the person you are. undoubtedly, the time when you unlatch the key to the door of your world is their favorite shared memories with you.
"gojo is the one who scored the most, huh?" utahime hummed. she takes a slow sip to her soda in a cup, while her free hand focuses on the screen of her phone— observing the basketball match on live-stream for a better view and gripping on how the game is unfolding down there.
you've never been to a basketball or any sports event whatsoever in your life. since for the longest time, whenever someone asked you to come watch these tournaments, you would politely turned them down. being in a crowded place where people are either screaming, yelling, or standing and throwing curses at one team is far from your ideal life. it's beyond the comfort zone you've keep secured round the clock.
tainting it with these chaotic athletic events would only bring you an unnecessary headache. dealing with the aftermath is above and beyond fun. for you, it's exceptionally draining. the matter discussed takes way too much space and time from your life. so, logically, you'd rather avoid it, choosing the warmness of your room than the buzzing arena.
if isn't due to satoru's request, you would be whisking away your time on the couch; snuggle up beneath the blanket, tv on display as you lose yourself in your comfort show world, accompanied by the snacks in your lap that change daily on rotation.
an amused snickers left yuki's mouth at utahime's in actuality words. "i bet he's trying harder than usual to impress our pretty baby here," she chatted, her gaze drift towards your way for a beat, then back onto the match a few distance underneath where they're sitting on the bleachers. "he has always been a good player, after all. just probably feels he need to leave an impression to her."
you blushed at her words. suddenly your mind decides to rewind back to yesterday's event when satoru approaches you. that gesture of his alone has colored you into a ripe tomato— yuki's observation on satoru right now is a little unappreciated, since it has you avoid eye-contact with her. whether it's the truth or not.
"he definitely is," shoko mumbled. her fingers rolled around the stick of lollipop she has, before popping them back in her mouth. the brown-haired woman peered at satoru, head tilted to the side as she took in the sight of the man who dribbled past the opponent in front of him. "gojo eyes keep searching the bleachers," she added.
"oh? i didn't notice," yuki responded. as she folded her hands in her lap, the corners of her mouth quirked up when she caught satoru's act that shoko just mentioned. "ah, yeah. he just did it."
it is so obvious for anyone who knows of you and satoru history, one which just starts writing itself, that the reason behind satoru's frequent survey at the bleachers is because he's searching for you; trying to catch the pair of eyes he would love to have a glimpse at right now, in the middle of the game as a way to boost his energy.
the man danced around the court, trying to avoid the challengers who were trying to steal his ball by passing it to another teammate of his. satoru ran fast towards the basket of the opposite team, pivoting his body around to get a hold of the thrown ball headed his way. and when the ball was in his hand, he went his way to do a side-step jump shot which has the team make a basket, earning two points.
"they already secured the victory." utahime turns off her phone after swiping close the live-stream page. she leaned back in her chair, eyes gleamed with astonish at how easy the student athletes paved their way to triumph.
"of course. we're a powerhouse for a reason," yuki said.
you chuckled softly at yuki's words. it's a statement in its own way. the sentence yuki just spoke into the air with dusts of success can be translated as in how glory always trails behind the student athletes steps, securing them their win. of course, all of it is also due to their efforts and focus on aiming for one thing only; accomplishment.
“time remaining is only a minute on the clock,” you mumble, threading a hand to your soft locks.
no one truly needs to pay attention to the seconds that went away, as the winner is already determined, it's true. however, everyone can't help but follow how these student athletes are in their 'zone', and lost in their own world— it's a sight to behold.
and as time runs for their life, disappearing and emerging more with the world, your university athletes keep on passing the ball to another. because even though they've secured their spot to bring home success, the love of the sport keeps them aflame.
shouting from the bleachers roar throughout the arena, everyone is burning hot watching these players fighting for their dignity and pride as an athlete. all with only seconds left, ticking on the clock.
“pass the ball!? oh my god, why did geto hog the ball for too long?!” yuki screams, far too loud. she pointed at suguru who seems like he catches on yuki's words, since he glares her way. "why is he staring? focus on the game!"
“oooh … that doesn't look nice," utahime grimaces at the sight of a player tripping over themselves.
your fingers fiddled with one another, somehow feeling a little stressed at the sight of how down in the arena, everyone is becoming more aggressive. “oh, sukuna lost the ball."
“why didn't he pass it to gojo?! jeez, did something happen in the locker room?!”
“get it, get it, get it— yes, good pass! oh, wow, choso get the ball again! gotta love that man.”
"athletes really are scary," shoko muttered. her hazy pair of eyes blinked, taking in the scenery at how this heated last seconds has everyone standing up. with her lollipop in hand, she gestured at the crowds using the candy's stick. "would you look at that ... most of them root for our team. they have good taste."
as the time on the clock tick-tocking closer to one, whenever a player has the ball on their hand, they would pass the ball to their teammates hastily in order to keep the opponents from making a basket.
five.
"gojo, get that stupid ball!"
four.
"sheesh, did you see how sukuna dodged that player in number six? he's nasty."
three.
"in all realness, the winner is already set. why are we screaming our lungs off?"
two.
"choso is saving the day once again, huh? that man singlehandedly saved the team by staying calculative."
one.
a buzzing sound echoes all over the arena, then. it echoes in a high-pitched noise, signaling the end of today's game as it marks the final score when the clock hits one. each of the athletes who were running across the court, trying to steal the ball from one another, has now stopped in their tracks.
everyone standing on the "battleground" looked over at the scoreboard as they tried to catch their breaths after the intense game— while the winner relishes in their team victory, the losing finalist can only let out a defeated sigh.
satoru gojo, on the other hand, didn't just win a match alongside his teammates on this valentine's day. because in a distance away from where he was standing, when his gaze finally set on the pair of eyes he has been searching for the entire game, the man can feel how his heart skips a beat at the sight of you.
you, who stand at the bleachers among countless other supporters with a small, delighted smile painted on your lips has satoru tripping over himself. with your hands that are far smaller than his, you clapped throughout the whole session of winner announcement and roars of blaring scream.
and truly, the sight of you is all what matters. since from the likes of it, the rising star has just earned a victory right through the door of your heart.
a tiramisu cafe.
satoru brings you to a cafe, specialized in making tiramisu.
"i heard you like tiramisu," he whisper. the man's warmth breathing kisses your skin, ever so sweetly, as he brings his lips close to your ear. one of his hand hold onto the sleeve of your cardigan, gently tugging you closer. "shoko was the one who told me, in case you wanted to know."
you blink a few times, nodding in a slight flustered demeanor. shoko being the one to revealed that side of you to satoru is quite expected, considering how she was the one who has been telling satoru to just go for you and ask to be your valentine.
after the celebration of their university team's success ended, satoru immediately rushes off to wash clean the sweat that lingers to his skin from his body. the man had to make sure he was prepared for his date with you. satoru had one thing in mind when he was choosing his clothes; it has to be a comfortable, yet striking outfit that doesn't scream desperate for compliments.
the man cleared off his throat, "… so, uh, are you— what flavor are you, um, planning on choosing?"satoru takes a step right when the last word left his mouth, creating a distance between you two shortly after realizing he had been too close, and meddling in your personal space.
huft .. get a hold of yourself, satoru chant repeatedly inside.
you let out a soft, low chuckle at his act. his consideration of what you prefer and how it impacts you keeps turning into a mess of a red carnation, as you're still not used to the gesture. it's beyond appreciated by you, though, whenever someone makes sure you're feeling safe and comfortable being around them. always.
"i think i'm going to choose strawberry cheesecake … i never had that one," you replied to him. the two of you move forward after another customer finishes ordering with satoru hand still holding onto your cardigan.
at your answer, satoru nodded. he made a mental note of the flavor to make sure he didn't mess up. a precaution. "okay, i got you."
when the customer standing before them walk away after paying, satoru is in front of the cashier in an instant. he repeated the name of what you wanted and another flavor for himself. of course, as the thoughtful man he is, satoru didn't forget to order a mineral water in case your throat gets itchy in need of hydration. it's what sweet does to you.
both of you settled on a table in the corner of the cafe. it was satoru who chose the spot, taking in deliberation to how the tables are packed with people in the center. you are never that fond of attention, after all.
the order he placed came in less than no time. well, it is tiramisu that has been prepared and chilled. it's not surprising how people come in, taste their dessert, and leave not that long after they finish bit by bit of their tiramisu. this cafe isn't one that is suited for hanging out too long, is what you can only assume.
"how's … your tiramisu?" you started off the conversation, after a few minutes of silence. and did it catch satoru off guard. he was planning on asking you the exact same question after trying his tiramisu. not a single fiber in his was prepared for you to be the one speaking first.
clearing his throat, satoru flashes a smile towards your way. "the matcha taste in this isn't that strong, though i think it's still good." with his eyebrows, the man gestured to your tiramisu plated in front of you, "how's yours? is it to your liking?"
you nodded slightly, heartbeat racing rapidly at the smile laced upon his lips. "um, yeah … i can tell they use a quality cream cheese," you paused for a minute, glancing away for a second as another wave of embarrassment washes over you from how intently he's watching you. "the strawberries taste premium, too. it's pretty sweet," you continued.
"really? well, i suppose from how red and juice the strawberries look, it has to be premium." he let out a soft humming, nodding his head as he inspected your cheesecake. "does it lean more on tiramisu or cheesecake, texture wise?"
"i've never eaten this variant before, so i can't really compare this to other, uh … store? but this one is more on the cheesecake side. it's soft and cheesy like?" your head tilted slightly, lashes batted as you look straight to his pair of cerulean eyes.
satoru blink a few times. the way your lashes fluttered as you try to explain your view on how the tiramisu taste got his brain short-circuiting. the man's brows knitted together as he tried to muster up a reply. "oh. that's— that's cool."
and man, did the way he answered bummed him.
maybe it's due to how you're always closed-off, that you developed a trait of being an observant person. growing up, you can easily tell from people mannerisms about what they're feeling at a certain moment. you've always been perceptive, right into other people soul. and it is pretty clear to see that satoru is disappointed at his reply to you.
which is totally understandable, from your side. ever since the beginning—when he proposed the idea of being your valentine—although the man is confident in his shoes, he has the sparkles of someone that wanted to impress his crush. or maybe you read too many romance stories.
either way, satoru demeanor truly screams one that wished for you to have a great day. so, with all the courage you have in you, you try to brighten up his mood.
"… i have so much fun today," you muttered. your gaze drifted anywhere but him for a beat there, as the whole room suddenly feels too hot for your liking. "thank you for the ticket, um, for the basketball match, as well as this cafe … date."
oh, that has satoru's hearts bursting with adoration. it did a back-flip inside his ribcage, causing the man to tremble slightly for a minute, before blinking his way through to keep himself from doing an actual routine inside the cafe. "i— i, it's good. i mean, you know, that you enjoyed today …"
the two flustered mess of a person stayed silent, then. it's one that's serene and has them filled with content. and even though they're not saying anything else to each other, since they decided that the floor or wall is far better than looking at one another, they both understand the air surrounding them has shifted into something more.
it seems everything that has happened today left a certain impact on both of you. and you're sure that your quicken heartbeat, yet toasty in a way, is trying to tell that today's event overflowed the space in-between your ribcage with a sense of belonging. way different than what one might feel aimed at a friend.
"… you did great at today's game. i'll make sure to watch more. in the future."
may every deities that are listening to the sentence left your lips help the man. because satoru truly can't handle another sweet nothing to be uttered from you, for him and only him to hear.
god, you really have him agreeing that good love feels as if its butterflies suffocating one side. it is beyond him that you're sitting close to him. satoru really shouldn't be allowed to be near you, at all. breathing the same air as you should, genuinely, be forbidden for his own sake. the man is serious, on all certain levels.
well, the words arranged you just let free from your lips conclude one more thing for satoru; he really just won a match and strike opened the door to your heart in a single day.
lucky bastard, he is. no one can argue with that, he's sure of it.
