letters from heaven — g. satoru
"i think i'm in love with you" + "wait, don't pull away... not yet." + oblivious pining
synopsis. love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries. that was satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens.
wc. 2.4k
— for the lovely @hanrinz 🎀 | event masterlist ✉️
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
If you had asked Gojo Satoru what love tasted like two years ago, he would have answered with a lump in his throat.
Like curses, he would have told you. Like death and destruction. Fire and ash.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Satoru was surrounded by love from his very conception.
Wrapped in silk blankets and bathed in warm milk when he was born into this world—it was as if the nurses thought he had been spoonfed ambrosia by the gods themselves.
He knew what it was like to have his entire clan at his feet with their foreheads pressed to the floor; to be dressed in the finest cloth and only by the most nimble hands; to get anything and everything he ever wanted without question.
He was above everyone and had the eyes to prove it. He knew love like it was his only purpose.
Satoru was always a head in the clouds kind of guy. He understood his place in the world better than anyone else. That he was special. Gifted. Born with a blessing that only happens once in a millennium.
He hated the righteous above all. The ones who wanted to change the world that was promised to him from the moment he took his first breath. It was insulting; an act of defiance against the gods. Against him.
That is why he hated Geto Suguru—someone who wanted to change the world.
Satoru believed that he was too down to earth. It irritated him. But he never stopped being surrounded by love and never stopped loving, either.
For some reason, there was a strange comfort in standing alongside another.
Perhaps it was that Suguru had never once bowed down before him—the fact that he had gotten the chance to memorize every inch of his beautiful face. Or maybe it was the tender way he had spoken his name, so soft and filled with adoration.
For the first time in his life, he felt like he was more than just his eyes.
Satoru adored and despised every part of Geto Suguru. He always would, even in death.
He thought that secret would die with him. That there was no one else worthy of standing by his side. He never thought he was capable of loving another again.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
(He was about to learn that love would loom over him wherever he went. It would chase him relentlessly, even if it were to the ends of the earth.
After all, Gojo Satoru was born to be enveloped in silk and sugar and everything wonderful in the world.)
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Love tastes like chocolate ganache topped with fresh strawberries.
That was Satoru's first thought when he accidentally blew your cake shop into smithereens with a misfired blast of energy.
There was nothing particularly spectacular about you. There you were: horrified, head in your hands, crying over the phone to what he presumed to be your parents. He'd never seen someone doused in flour like you before, as if you had been plucked straight out of a cartoon.
Yet he remembers that his breath was stolen from him the way books described it.
Your very existence felt like it was built up from cubes of sugar. He was embarrassed that it was his first impression while you glared horribly at him.
The lawsuit came in the mail a few days later.
He paid, of course, without argument. And he tried to get your number afterwards because he really wanted to try that cake you were decorating before he blasted your shop to pieces.
You slapped him across the face and he let you. He even released his technique just so you could.
To your dismay, he kept showing up at the shop after it had been rebuilt. But he was a paying customer, and who were you to deny him a slice of butterscotch pie?
Still, he laughed at your ever-growing irritation with his presence. How he would preorder cakes days in advance just so you could anticipate his arrival. The way he would drop an extra five thousand yen on the counter and tell you to keep the change.
"Don't make me get a restraining order," you had once threatened him while he browsed the cupcake selection for the day.
"You wouldn't," he sang. And you didn't, because he knew your type.
You were the opposite of the one he loved most in the world. You wanted to make as little of a splash as you could—to bake pies and frost cakes with buttercream roses and wipe down your counters until they sparkled.
You knew your place in the world just as much as he knew his. And it seemed to be right behind the counter with a scowl on your face because of another poor attempt at flirting.
You didn't want to change the world. You just wanted to live in it, flour and all.
He found comfort in that, too.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Satoru became your midday companion when business slowed down. The sound of the bell strung to your front entrance brought you comfort when you were stressed about your little shop.
A part of you knew that this man was no ordinary human being. His eyes shimmered bluer than the sky when he would look at you with affection, nearly making your knees buckle beneath you on more than one occasion.
"What do you do at work?" You asked him curiously one afternoon as he sat on a stool watching you mindlessly pipe frosting.
"...Nothing important," he panicked, the thought of scaring you away when you had just started opening up to him too much for him to handle.
"Nothing important," you hummed, repeating his words until your eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
"I am," he admitted shamelessly.
You looked at him in confusion, not missing the way he avoided making eye contact by burrowing his head into his arms. Through the glass of your display case, you could see his shoulders bunch up in distress.
You decided to drop it. It wasn't important.
"Here," you said softly, reaching around the glass separating you to place a dessert in front of him. "Don't worry about it."
Satoru gazed at the plate before him. Chocolate ganache and strawberries layered between sponge cake.
"This is for me?" He asked, poking at it with the fork as a grin split his cheeks.
"Just for you," you smiled. "As an apology for slapping you."
"I deserved it. I blew up your shop."
Your smile only deepened. "Sometimes things need to be destroyed to be rebuilt even better."
The strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer of his time was reduced to a puddle at your next words,
"I met you, after all. Didn't I?"
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Love tastes like champagne-raspberry truffles and cappuccino chocolates.
On the day he planned to confess, you unconvincingly glared at him as he approached you with his hands behind his back.
You pursed your lips, expecting him to demand you make him something out of season. Outlandish requests were not new from him, but you always managed to whip up something that had fruits imported from South America, or using that expensive hojicha he insisted you take off his hands.
Instead, he held out a box of lavish chocolates he bought in Belgium.
Nervousness replaced the confidence that was permanently etched into his every feature, and your expression melted into something mellower than the warmth simmering in the pit of Satoru's tummy.
He had been pining for you for months. There was something about your company that made him feel whole again—more whole than he had been in all the time since Geto Suguru left this earth.
You laughed as if it were a joke, using your palm to hide how you flushed slightly.
"Satoru..." You quirked a brow. "What's this?"
The way you said his name stuck arrows through his heart. You could act like you hated him all you wanted, but the way you smiled at him when he wasn't being a prick was enough for him to feel comforted.
"Chocolates from Europe," he straightened up, trying to shake off his nerves.
"Why?"
Why? His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth and he sucked on it in anxious thought, suddenly unsure of the right thing to say even though he had practiced all night.
Wasn't it obvious that he liked you?
You took the box from his hands and placed it down on the counter. Then you rounded it, picked up your spatula, and continued folding your meringue.
Satoru's silence made you glance back up, scrutinizing his downcast, troubled expression. You huffed through your nose with an exasperated little shake of the head.
"Save some nice things for yourself, too."
He was surprised when you reappeared in front of him. His eyes trailed from your sneakers, up your dirty apron to your smiling face.
Chocolate was melting between your fingers.
His grunts of protest were muffled as you stuck the treat against his lips, forcing it into his mouth. He glared at you, but ate it anyway.
Sugar coated his tongue and eased his nerves. You only laughed at his fluster.
He pinched your cheek.
You didn't know that Satoru already had everything else he ever needed. The only thing left was standing right in front of him.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Love is easy to taste when it's on your lips.
At least, that was the thought driving Satoru insane.
He didn't know when such an obsessive idea started plaguing him, or how to remedy it. For the first time in his life, he felt like a boy with a silly, childish crush.
Worst of all, you seemed none the wiser. All his attempts to make a move on you fell flat—though, he wasn't very good at following through with them in the first place.
It culminated in his final attempt to rid the terrible thought from his mind: he was going to avoid you at all costs until it blew over.
If he could just have the time to get over you, to move on from his feelings, he could probably act with some normalcy around you again. It was tiresome to tread on eggshells around you, even if you were blissfully unaware of it.
You, however, did not take his avoidance very well. He did not see that coming.
Satoru's phone rang at 3:24 am, well past your store hours. In fact, you were supposed to be waking up in another hour and a half to get all your prep done.
"Hello?" Your timid voice crackled through the static of his phone and he jolted upright, fisting his blanket in anticipation. "Satoru? Are you up?"
He swallowed thickly, mouth moving to formulate an answer with a strange amount of effort. "Yeah," he said, voice hoarse from sleep.
The other end of the line was silent for another moment before there was a loud crash, and he could make out the distinct clatter of metal bowls hitting tile.
He could imagine you standing there in defeat, surrounded by dirty dishes and drowning in work, trying to catch up for the next morning.
The thought was enough for him to rip out of his sheets, a flurry of limbs as he got dressed to find you.
"Hang on," he told you over the phone, then hung up.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
You had not anticipated that Satoru's very obvious avoidance would take such a toll on you.
You'd let it escalate until you were overwhelmed with emotion, unfocused at work, and not able to untangle the feelings you had for him.
And now he was standing in your shop again, helping you pick up everything you had clumsily scattered across the ground.
Whipped cream and icing spilled on the floor, painting the tile an array of pastel colours. You grimaced at the mess, thinking maybe you should just close the shop for the day and take a vacation.
Satoru was dutifully wiping up cream as if he were being paid to do it. But he wasn't—he was just too kind to you. Too generous. You desperately wished he would get mad at you for waking him in the middle of the night.
Instead, he only seemed concentrated and slightly concerned.
"That's enough," you told him quietly, standing up to discard the towels you used. "I'll clean up the rest tomorrow."
Satoru stood up with you, trying to decipher the doomstruck expression on your face.
"I'll come by tomorrow to help."
You shook your head. "It's okay, you've done so much already. Thank you."
Everything about him had grown so familiar, so warm. You missed him more than you cared to admit, and that scared you. In the three weeks since you had last seen him, it finally came crashing down on you.
You liked Satoru.
The thought was heady and overwhelming in your mind. You stumbled a bit and he caught you by the shoulders.
"Woah there," he chuckled lightly, finally able to make out the look in your eyes.
"Sato—" your lip wobbled and he stopped it with his thumb. Then, he used his fingers to clean up the icing decorating your face.
"I got you."
He snorted softly at your dazed expression, drawing away from you. Your hands shot up to grasp at him, keeping him in your bubble.
"Please don't pull away."
Satoru stilled, letting you drag him back into your personal space. "M'not going anywhere."
You weakly punched him in the chest, fist remaining there for a moment before you let it fall limp. Glaring at him, you sniffled.
"You're avoiding me."
"I was," he admitted.
"What happened?"
"I realized that I liked you a lot more than I thought."
Silence hugged your bodies, heavy and stiff. You blinked at him in surprise, having trouble processing his words.
"H-Huh?"
"I like you," he said again, more adamant. More confident.
"Oh," you breathed. Heat enveloped Satoru's heart at how relieved you sounded. "That makes me..."
Your face morphed from relief to realization. Realization of the situation, of how close your bodies were.
"Really happy," you concluded, squeezing your eyes shut as his hands adjusted to cup your face a little more intimately.
He kissed the apple of your cheek, making sure not to skip over the spot where icing lingered.
The thought entered his mind: I am exactly where I need to be.
Gojo Satoru was born to be loved. It tastes like maple buttercream. And it's spilled all over the floor, stained on his hands and knees. Between his fingers. Melting on his tongue.