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﹒⪩⪨﹒ rose | 21 | she/her | gemini | entp-t | occasional writer.
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the internet is a place for reading wikipedia articles and watching every movie for free. social media is an invasive species. never forget this
Satoru has been stared at all day, by a total flirt.
And you know what's the worst part? He's smiling back at her. With hearts in his eyes, too.
Yes, your handsome, blue-eyed husband with the sweet dimples and nerdy digimon collection, who was so hard to pin down for marriage since you met him in his playboy era, who you spent two years chasing until you finally stole his heart, was smiling back at this girl.
And RIGHT in front of you, too. God, you fumed about it, flaring your nostrils, shifting your weight on the floor, arms folded and upper lip curling at the sight of the flirter and flirtee.
"Well aren't you cute, wanna hold my hand?—aw, okay hold my finger little princess. Yeahhh, look at those eyes. Prettiest girl in the world aren't you?"
Said girl was completely enamored by him, chubby cheeks rosy and plump, little fist coming to grapple at his sloping nose.
Satoru giggled. You sighed loudly, hoping he'd take a hint that you were annoyed... but he didn't.
"Yeowchies, ya got my nose...! Heh, look at that smile... just like your mommy's."
And that's when Satoru turns to face you, baby girl tucked safe into his chest and bicep. A long vein runs the length of his forearm, muscles winking at you. His face is so soft, he's glowing like he never has before.
"Look at mommy, she's so maaaaaad—why's mommy mad? I think she wants a little attention, huh?"
"Satoru." you fume softly.
He grins wide, toeing over to you. The little bundle of joy dressed in a fuzzy pink bunny onesuit wiggles in his hold as he leans down low to meet her momma's lips.
"Such a jealous mommy." he teases you. "If you wanted a kiss, y'shoulda just come up and smothered me... know I don't mind."
He kisses your pout clean off your face, plush lips mapping out your face until he frees it from its frown.
@cupidstrace fluff to cleanse the angst I poured into your soul heheh. IM POSTING THIS ON 5% AAAAA
nnssndns I NEED DADJO FLUFF SO BADDDDDDDD
big fan of characters with abandonment + attachment issues so profound that they leave claw marks in everything they touch but would sooner gnaw off their own leg than admit they just want someone to stay for once. in a totally normal well adjusted and not at all projecting way of course.
THAT'S NOT MY BOYFRIEND !
You first notice it in the small things. When Gojo comes back from his week-long trip with his old friends, he’s still his loud, overbearing self—the same man who insists on hugging you from behind when you’re cooking, the same one who leaves his socks everywhere, and the same one who refuses to let you watch an episode of anything without him.
But… he’s off.
It’s the way he pauses before answering questions, like he’s searching for the right response. The way he laughs, still loud and boisterous, but a beat too late, like an echo of someone else’s joy. The way his kisses feel different—not bad, not wrong, but strange. Colder somehow, more deliberate, like he’s mimicking something he remembers instead of something he feels.
You chalk it up to exhaustion. Jet lag, maybe.
Then there are the little habits he seems to… forget.
Gojo never sleeps on his back—he always curls into you, sprawling, stealing every inch of bed space. But now? You wake up at 3 AM, and he’s lying flat, arms stiff at his sides, staring at the ceiling. Awake. Quiet. He doesn’t even blink when you whisper his name. A chill runs down your spine, but the next morning, he’s back to humming while brushing his teeth, flashing his usual cocky grin.
You let it go. You want to let it go. Until the movie night. . .
It’s nothing serious, just the two of you curled up on the couch with a blanket, half-watching some B-grade horror flick while you shovel roasted peanuts into your mouth. Gojo has his long legs thrown across your lap, whining about jump scares being predictable, reaching over to steal from your bowl like always.
You don’t even notice at first. It’s only when your hand brushes his as you both reach for another handful that you pause. Your heart lurches. . .
Gojo Satoru is deathly allergic to peanuts. He can’t even be in the same room if someone cracks open a jar of peanut butter. You’ve spent years making sure none of your takeout orders have touched nuts. He once broke out in hives just from kissing you after you ate a Snickers.
But here he is. Popping them into his mouth like candy. Chewing. Swallowing. Smiling. You freeze, staring at him, bowl trembling in your lap. “Babe?” you whisper.
He turns his head lazily, flashing that perfect grin you’ve seen a thousand times—but now it feels wrong. Like a mask pulled too tight over someone else’s face. “Yeah?”
The word is so normal. So casual. But your stomach twists because now you see it—all the little things you brushed aside. His laugh a beat too late. His kisses that feel rehearsed. The way he stares just a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to notice something.And now… The peanuts.
This isn’t your boyfriend.
This isn’t Gojo.
The realization sinks into your bones like ice water. The thing sitting beside you isn’t him.
And the worst part? It knows you know.
Because as you watch, his smile doesn’t falter. Doesn’t slip. It just widens—slow, deliberate, stretching far too wide as his hand dips into the bowl again, crunching down on another peanut without breaking eye contact.
SERIES M.LIST | NEXT »
꒰五条悟꒱ ·𝓛𝓞𝓥𝓔 IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL.
𝓟RECIS. two souls from feuding houses meet beneath stars and jasmine—satoru, who sees through all lies, and you, his only truth. you marry in secret, believing love can conquer centuries of hatred. but blood begets blood: brothers fall, vengeance spirals, and desperate, they plan one final escape. a sleeping potion, a message that never arrives, a tomb where promises are kept in ways never intended. some loves burn too bright for this world.
nia's notes: i thank God for year 10 revision. . highkey sobbed but thugged it out, happy new year !!
venice, in the year of our lord 1595, exists between earth and water, between the sacred and the profane. it is a city built on the impossible—rising from lagoon mud like lazarus from the tomb, held aloft by wooden stakes driven deep into the darkness below. the grand canal runs through its heart like a severed vein, carrying commerce and corpses in equal measure. at night, when the torches reflect off the black water, the city doubles itself—one venice reaching toward heaven, one drowning in its own reflection.
the doge rules from his golden palace, but everyone knows the real power lies with the old families. families whose names are written in the libro d'oro in letters that might as well be blood. families who have spent generations weaving webs of influence so complex that even the spiders would marvel.
among these ancient houses, none shines brighter—or casts a darker shadow—than the gojos.
they say the gojo line descends from the first doge, from the man who made a pact with the sea itself. they say every generation produces one child with eyes like broken sky, eyes that can see through lies the way sunlight pierces water.
the current bearer of this divine burden is satoru gojo, seventeen years old and already legendary. his hair is white as communion bread, white as surrender, white as the bone beneath skin. his eyes are the blue of the madonna's robes in the mosaics of san marco—infinite, impossible, holy. when he looks at you, you feel seen in ways the confessional cannot match. when he smiles, angels and demons alike take notice.
he is beautiful the way a sword is beautiful. the way storms are beautiful. the way the morning star must have been beautiful before the fall.
against this celestial power stands your family—merchants who clawed their way from the counting house to the council chamber in two generations. new money trying desperately to become old blood. your grandfather made his fortune in spice and silk, trading with the east when trade meant risking everything to pirates and plague. your father took that fortune and bought titles, palazzo, a place among the nobility that the old families will never quite acknowledge.
the gojos look at your family and see pretenders. arrivistes. judases who sold their souls for silver and call it sanctification. your family looks at the gojos and sees everything they can never be—ancient, untouchable, woven into the fabric of venetian power so deeply that removing them would unravel the whole tapestry.
the hatred between your houses is older than you are. it was born the night your grandfather made his first fortune and dared to dream of nobility. it grew the day the gojos blocked your family's appointment to the council of ten. it became bloodshed when a business deal went wrong, when accusations of sabotage led to duels, when pride met pride and both refused to bend.
now, thirty years later, the feud is simply part of venice's architecture. like the bridge of sighs. like the flooded crypts beneath san marco. some things are too old to question, too deep to fix.
this is the world into which fate will throw two souls like dice.
the past week wasn’t easy considering the fact that gojo was overseas on a mission.
you exchanged your morning texts and a call at night every day.
so that’s why you’re in your pretty nightgown, laying on your tummy as you waited for the incoming call.
he’s five minutes late.
he's usually on the dot.
confused, you open your phone to shoot him a message.
you
hey babe, is everything alright?
your mind kept trailing towards nasty thoughts you didn’t want to believe. you trusted him. he has never given you a reason not to.
just then, your phone vibrated with a message.
my love <3
no. not at all.
your eyebrows furrowed in worry, thumbs hovering over the keyboard ready to ask why before an image popped up.
it was one of his dick, fully hard and leaking.
oh wow.
you didn't even know why you were questioning his loyalty when he was jerking his dick off to you miles hundreds of miles away.
my love <3
i need you so bad, pretty.
i’m losing my fucking mind.
your boyfriend had no shame and neither did you with the way you were zooming in on the picture, taking a real good close look at the vein that traveled from the tip down, the one you loved so much.
you wasted no time in snapping a picture of yourself, teasing him with lifting the nightgown just enough to expose your laced panties underneath.
the read receipt appeared and so did an incoming call.
“baby, fuck oh my god. why’re you wearing that when i’m not there?” he started. you could tell he was out of breath, the phone was badly shaking and the wet noises of his hand stroking his cock was louder than his voice.
“just missed you.” even in the dark you saw his face turning pink.
he threw his head back, letting out a groan.
“wait ngh.. show me your pretty body again.”
he ordered and you obliged, angling the camera to full capture your body into view.
“oh my god.” he whimpered.
he fucking whimpered.
satoru made the phone go down, cock fully in view. it was twitching like it had its own heartbeat.
his hand was leaking with his release, continuing going at it. he squeezed himself time to time, making more cum ooze out.
“need you so bad please.. touch yourself for me.”
“already am..”
your panties were long gone, gown pulled up to your tummy and fingers plummeting in and out of you.
they didn’t curl as deliciously as his.
he moaned again, picking up his stroke pace.
“put your thumb on your clit baby, yeah just like that rub it.”
your body arched at the sudden sensation of your bundle of nerves getting abused.
“feels good toru!”
“i know i know.. shit, wanna be there with you so goddamn bad.”
his body was overheating.
that was the effect you had on him.
“think im gonna.. think im cumin’” you cried, not slowing down.
“me too darling, let’s finish together, yeah?”
with one final pump and curl, your orgasms hit the both of you.
“hah.. taste yourself.. cmon tell me how that pussy tastes like.”
you brought your middle and ring fingers up to your mouth, licking away at the juices.
“sweet..”
a chuckle erupted from his throat as he tugged back his boxers after cleaning himself with the tissues provided by the hotel.
“course you do. you’re such a sweet girl. gonna ruin you when i come back tomorrow.”
“yeah yeah..”
-
tags : @cupidtoji @kyrsse @amooorette @nootnoos @simscollectoratdawn @artbligh @lisabelhyhn @ssrist @sovaintilla @luvleixo @vanillaapples @ilymooongo @vegasbabyyyy @satoruyearner @chosos-prettyprincess @liliavhg @thinkshespretty
teen! satoru knows he should be wary. this has happened to him before—someone asks one thing about his favorite interest and next thing he knows, he’s been going on a ten minute ramble about digimon.
you don’t really say anything as he talks, just sit there watching him with your phone in your hand, but you barely glance at it. it kind of makes him nervous. are you recording him? maybe you’re gonna laugh at him later with your friends. even at the humiliating thought, satoru can’t seem to stop himself. he wants friends so badly, and you approached him. he can’t help giving you the benefit of the doubt. he’s so trusting. or desperate, maybe?
Anonymous asked:
PLEASE MORE OLD SATORU ANGST AND MY LIFE IS YOURS ILL EVEN SELL MY KIDNEY (no pressure btw)
ohimsummer answered:
— angst, character death (you 😽), old! satoru
based off this post
after you pass, if satoru isn’t going through the motions and letting the day slip by him, he goes to visit your grave. he always has a bouquet of flowers to place there, an arrangement of your favorite kind and favorite color. he stares at your tombstone for a while, tracing your name engraved as if this is not real. as if you will pop up next to him any second now and when he turns back to look, it will be a different name with a different date.
sometimes your kids accompany him to pay their respects. they wrap an arm around satoru in a hug and both of them shed tears at your memory again, choking out ‘i miss you’s before breaking down into full-fledged sobs and wishing you were there to comfort them again. the thought of you being gone now forever is a pain that will take them ages to get used to, if they ever grow used to it all. this is not some temporary thing; they will never experience your smile again, your touch again, your laughter, your kindness, they won’t ever get to have a conversation with you ever again. hear an ‘i love you’ from you ever again.
when satoru comes alone, he likes to kneel or sit next to your final resting place. sometimes it hurts his knees and puts an ache in his legs when he finally has to get up again, but he doesn’t mind. he just wants to sit comfortably next to you. he imagines your spirit is kneeling beside him with a head on his shoulders. he wishes it were real, that you were alive again and he could press another kiss to the crown of your head.
he talks a lot during these solitary visits. tells you what’s happened recently, even if it is as mundane as seeing a dragonfly out in your still-thriving garden (that he refuses to let die with you). he tells you what he ate, how he slept, if he got sick or not recently because these are things you would care about if you were still here. his well-being. satoru tells you how that show you two started has finally ended, and spends twenty minutes describing how so that you don’t miss a single detail.
he tells you how the kids are doing, how the grandkids are doing. how your oldest got a promotion at their current job, and how they cried when he told them you would have been so proud. how your grandkids are getting older, they’re walking now, and he wishes you were there to see it. he hopes you can see it, wherever you are beyond the grave. satoru talks and he talks and he talks until his throat runs dry, and then he sits in silence until it is time to leave.
he rests his head against your gravestone for a minute before he does, brows furrowing as he fights back tears. and then he whispers a bunch of ‘i love you’s again, hoping that you hear, hoping that you didn’t forget.
