ersvni

[ersvni]

DON’T FORGET THE OCEAN

PAIRING: Surfer!Satoru X F!reader

CW: ANGST, summer love, fluff, angst mild comfort, strangers to lovers, bittersweet, water related accident, slow burn, longing,

SUMMARY!! You weren’t supposed to fall in love in Rio. Not with a stranger. Not with a boy who laughed like salt spray and kissed like the tide might steal him back. Satoru wasn’t from Brazil. He was just passing through—like you. But some people feel like home even when you’ve only just met. And some love stories end before they ever begin.

wc: 6.2k

You touched down in Rio de Janeiro with summer already wrapping its arms around your skin. The airplane window framed the city like a postcard—sapphire waves biting at the shoreline, the distant green folds of mountains, favelas spilling down like stories etched in concrete and red tile. Somewhere far above, the statue of Christ watched with open arms, but to you, he felt more like a warning than a welcome.

This was supposed to be a trip of distraction. A summer to forget routines and responsibilities. You arrived with five friends, a mess of tangled headphones, rolling suitcases, and group selfies, all drunk on the promise of youth and freedom. But beneath your sunglasses, your eyes felt heavy. And even as Lila wrapped her arm around your shoulder with her usual buzzed smile, something inside you whispered that this wasn’t just a vacation.

This was an escape.

You stayed in Santa Teresa—a hilltop neighborhood woven with cobblestone streets, colonial mansions turned guesthouses, and street murals that burst in color like stained glass. The hostel was bohemian in the loudest sense. Ceiling fans, open windows, thin mattresses, a roof deck with hammocks, and a bartender who mixed caipirinhas that tasted like melted limes and sugar.

That first night bled into the second. Music poured into the streets like smoke. Every corner vibrated with drums, clinking glasses, and the occasional distant shout of joy or heartbreak. Your friends dove headfirst into the rhythm of the city—hookups, bar crawls, samba lessons in alleyways, beach bonfires.

You followed. You smiled. You danced. But in truth, you were drifting—feet in the sand, mind somewhere else. Watching. Waiting. For what, you didn’t know.

It happened by accident.

You woke up early on the third morning, disoriented from too much noise and too little sleep. Your friends were still passed out, tangled in hostel sheets, and the room smelled like sunscreen, salt, and sweat. So you slipped out. No plans. Just your sandals and a linen shirt over your swimsuit, a tote bag slung over your shoulder.

You tried to get to Ipanema, but the bus you took went too far. You ended up somewhere quieter—Barra da Tijuca maybe, or some stretch of beach unnamed on your map. The tourists hadn’t arrived yet. The sand was wide, hot, and nearly empty. The wind tangled your hair and pushed the scent of ocean straight into your lungs.

And that’s when you saw him.

He stood at the edge of the surf, holding a longboard like it was an extension of his body. His skin was sun-warmed but not native, hair so white it looked unreal beneath the sun, and his eyes—when they flicked in your direction—were a blue so clear it felt like being seen all at once.

You were still staring when he noticed.

“Didn’t expect company this early,” he called, his voice rich and easy, touched with an accent you couldn’t place—maybe American, maybe not.

You blinked, flustered. “Sorry, I thought this beach was... public?”

He laughed and began walking toward you. “It is. Just quiet. Locals usually sleep in after carnival weekends.”

“You’re local?”

“God, no,” he said, grinning as he dropped the board into the sand beside him. “I’m staying in Rio for the month. Solo trip. Japan originally, but I’ve been everywhere lately.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Everywhere?”

He shrugged. “When you keep moving, no place becomes home long enough to disappoint you.”

You didn’t know why that line struck you the way it did. But it did.

“Y/N,” you offered after a beat.

“Satoru,” he replied, his hand brushing sand off the edge of his board. “Nice to meet a fellow wanderer.”

It started with small things.

He asked if you’d ever surfed before. You said no, not unless falling off a boogie board counted. He offered to show you, and you declined—until he added, “I promise I’ll laugh politely when you wipe out.”

That first lesson wasn’t a lesson at all. He let you try to stand on the board on dry land, corrected your stance with light hands on your shoulders, and when you both fell backward into the sand, laughing, you realized you hadn’t thought about anything else—not your life back home, not the things you came here to forget—in over an hour.

You sat under the sun together after that, sharing a coconut and stories that didn’t dig too deep. You told him about your friends, your job you needed a break from, your parents who worried too much. He told you he was taking a break from everything too—surf competitions, pressure, expectations.

“No one really tells you what happens after your dream becomes a job,” he said quietly, pulling a towel over his shoulders. “I used to love the ocean. Now I’m trying to fall in love with it again.”

You looked at him, watched the way he stared at the waves like they held the answer to some private riddle.

And just like that, the current began to shift.

You didn’t exchange phone numbers. He walked you back to the road, told you the best bus to take, and paused like he wasn’t sure if he should hug you or wave.

“You’ll be at the same beach tomorrow?” you asked, feeling a tug you didn’t expect.

He tilted his head, smiling. “Only if the tide’s good. And if you’re bringing better balance.”

You laughed. “No promises.”

When you turned to go, your heart pulled like a tide—out, and then sharply back in.

You didn’t tell your friends about him that night. You kept Satoru like a secret tucked into your chest, just for yourself.

And in your bunk, above the noise and late-night chatter of the hostel, you thought about the way he stood in the water—like it had chosen him. You didn’t know yet that something already had.

The next morning, you didn’t wait for your friends to wake.

The hostel room was a mess of tangled limbs and muffled snoring. Someone had left the balcony door open, letting in the sound of birds and the faint beat of drums from somewhere down the hill. You rose with the sun, slipped into your swimsuit and a linen cover-up, and let the door close behind you with a click that felt louder than it should.

You didn’t even need to think about it—your feet knew where to go. Back to the wrong beach. Back to him.

Satoru was already there.

He was waist-deep in the water, hair slicked back, his board cutting through the surface like a knife through silk. You stood barefoot at the edge of the sand, watching the way his body moved with the rhythm of the waves, unhurried and unafraid. He spotted you before you called out, paddling toward shore with a crooked smile.

“You came back,” he said, hopping off the board as the water lapped around his calves.

“I told you I might,” you replied, shielding your eyes from the glare.

“I thought you were bluffing. Tourists love promises in the sun.”

You smiled. “What if I’m not just a tourist?”

He arched an eyebrow, walking his board back up the beach. “You planning to stay in Brazil forever?”

You shrugged, settling beside him in the sand. “I didn’t say I wasn’t lost.”

He sat down next to you, arms loosely resting on his knees. “Good. I like people who admit they’re running from something. It makes them honest.”

You looked at him then, close enough to see the thin scar above his left eyebrow, the salt caught in his lashes, the faded string around his wrist—a bracelet that looked handmade, worn soft by sun and time.

“What about you?” you asked softly. “What are you running from?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the wax in his bag, began rubbing it over the board in slow circles.

“When you win too young,” he said eventually, “people stop asking if you like it. They just expect more wins.”

You tilted your head. “Surfing?”

He nodded.

“So... you’re famous or something?”

He gave a small laugh, almost shy. “Not really. In the Pacific circuit, maybe. A few sponsors. My face on an energy drink once. But the real surfers... the lifers... they’re different. They love the ocean no matter what. I started to feel like I didn’t.”

Your fingers curled into the sand.

“Is that why you came here?”

“To remember.”

A pause.

“And maybe to disappear for a little while.”

He stood and offered his hand. “Come on. Today you’re getting in the water.”

You hesitated. “What if I fall again?”

“You will,” he said, grinning. “Falling’s the point.”

The lessons were slow, patient. He had a way of touching without hesitation but never without permission—guiding your shoulders, nudging your knees, lifting your chin. The first few times you tried to stand, you crashed hard into the water. Satoru didn’t laugh. He swam beside you, helped you up, and tried again.

“Relax,” he said once, brushing wet hair out of your face. “You’re fighting it too much.”

“It’s trying to drown me,” you muttered.

“No,” he said gently, “it’s just testing you. The ocean doesn’t want obedience—it wants respect.”

You blinked at him.

“Wow,” you said. “Was that a surfboard fortune cookie quote?”

He laughed—a bright, boyish sound that caught you off guard.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s true.”

The sun climbed higher. You fell and rose again, laughing louder each time, salt stinging your eyes, heart swelling each time Satoru reached for your hand without hesitation.

When you finally caught a wave—even just for three seconds—he whooped loud enough for the lifeguards to glance over.

“You did it!” he shouted.

You tumbled off the board into the surf and came up grinning.

“Barely!”

“Doesn’t matter. You were part of it.”

You looked at him, standing in the water, the sun catching the sea around him like light caught in crystal. Your smile faded, just a little. That moment—fleeting, glittering, full—was already starting to hurt. Because you knew, even then, that nothing like this could last.

That evening, he walked you to a spot above the beach, a small rise where the cliffs met an old weather-beaten shack and a bench carved with names. He said he came here every night he stayed in Rio. To think. To watch. To listen.

You sat beside him, silent at first. The sky exploded in watercolor—pinks, golds, blues bleeding into purple. The sea caught every color like it was reflecting memory itself.

He leaned back on his palms.

“I like the silence,” he said after a while. “It’s honest.”

You glanced sideways. “Is everything with you about honesty?”

“Most things should be.”

You exhaled slowly.

“My friends think I’m here for the adventure. What they don’t know is that I wasn’t sure I’d even come until the morning we left.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been... stuck,” you confessed. “With my life. My choices. Who I am when no one’s looking.”

He nodded, like he understood more than you could explain.

“I used to be scared of that version of myself,” he said. “The one who couldn’t perform. Who didn’t win. Who just... existed. Now I think maybe he’s the one I want to know better.”

The sky turned darker. Lights began to blink on down the beach. People laughed somewhere far below. A lone gull cried out.

You turned to him. “Will I see you again tomorrow?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing like the space between you was shifting.

“Yeah,” he said. “You will.”

The next morning, you woke with his voice still echoing in your ears.

“You will.”

You told your friends you had plans. Vague ones. No one pried. They were too wrapped up in their own hazy flings and hangovers to care that you kept slipping away, pulled by something they hadn’t noticed yet. And maybe you liked it that way.

You bought two cold açai bowls from a vendor on the walk. One topped with bananas and honey. The other with strawberries and coconut shavings. You didn’t even ask what Satoru liked—you just guessed.

When he saw you approaching the same beach, your usual tote on your shoulder, he jogged up barefoot through the sand and took the container from your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Banana,” he said, opening the lid. “How did you know?”

You smiled. “Guessed.”

He grinned. “Guess again tomorrow.”

You didn’t surf that day. He didn’t suggest it. Instead, he asked if you wanted to walk the length of the boardwalk that curved past the beach. You said yes.

You walked in slow rhythm, stopping to watch old men playing cards, kids doing handstands in the sand, lovers on towels whispering into one another’s necks.

He bought you coconut water in a shell and drank his with lime.

“Have you ever been in love?” you asked, surprising yourself.

He sipped slowly. “Yes. Once.”

You didn’t press. He looked at you then, like he could feel the weight of the question hanging between you.

“You?”

You hesitated. “I thought I was. He was more in love with the version of me I pretended to be.”

Satoru nodded like he understood.

“I think sometimes we get good at wearing masks,” he said. “Especially when we want to be loved more than we want to be known.”

That silence again. But now it wasn’t awkward. It was full.

Later, he took you to his rental—an apartment tucked into the hillside above the neighborhood, quiet and sun-washed, with an open rooftop lined in string lights. It was sparse: a single hammock, a speaker, two wooden chairs, and a fridge full of coconut water and beer.

“Do you bring people up here?” you asked.

“No.”

“Why me?”

He turned toward you, blue eyes softening. “Because you don’t need noise to fill silence.”

That night, you sat on the rooftop under the stars, barefoot, knees curled toward your chest. The sounds of Rio buzzed beneath you—music, car horns, laughter—and you let it all fade into the background as Satoru put on soft, instrumental music.

He didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t touch you unless it was to pass another bottle or brush a curl from your shoulder.

Instead, he asked, “If you could disappear into any moment and stay there, what would it be?”

You thought for a long time.

“This one,” you said.

He looked at you then—really looked—and didn’t say a word. Just nodded slowly.

Before you left, he picked up a small, beat-up film camera from his side bag.

“Let me take a photo of you,” he said.

You almost said no. You hated photos. You hated the way they made you feel frozen, too visible, too performed. But something about the way he said it—soft, reverent—made you nod.

You sat on the ledge, hair wind-swept, city behind you. He crouched low, adjusted the focus with steady hands.

“Don’t smile,” he said. “Just be.”

The shutter clicked.

And it felt like something permanent had been made.

walked you halfway back to your hostel. The streets were quiet now, the stars dimming as morning threatened to rise.

Outside the gate, he paused. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Maybe earlier,” you said.

He leaned down just a little—close enough to smell the salt still caught in his shirt, the clean scent of his skin.

For a moment, the kiss almost happened. It hovered there in the air between you, heavy with promise and something unnamed.

But you both pulled back. Not yet. You watched him go. His figure shrinking into the quiet street, board under one arm, camera slung across his back.

You didn’t know it then, but that photo would become the last full memory he’d leave behind.

For a while, it became a rhythm. Quiet, easy, real.

You’d wake up with the sun creeping past the hostel’s balcony curtains, your friends still wrapped in bedsheets and sleep. And somehow—without texting, without confirming—he’d already be there. At the beach. In the water. Or sitting on the edge of his board, watching the horizon like he was waiting for something only the sea could give back.

Always alone. Always with one extra açai bowl in hand, just in case.

One afternoon, instead of the beach, Satoru met you outside your hostel with two helmets in hand.

“You ride?” he asked, nodding toward a rented motorbike waiting at the curb.

“No,” you answered, pulling your sunglasses down, “but I trust you.”

That made him pause. His eyes flicked up to yours. “You shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

He smirked, fastening your helmet. “Because I don’t know where we’re going either.”

You rode through Lapa first—the arches, the staircases painted in endless mosaics, children racing with kites, street vendors yelling in three languages. Then up into Santa Teresa again, where old colonial homes spilled over the hills like quiet ghosts.

At one point, you leaned your chin into his shoulder, just to rest. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you felt his fingers tighten just a little on the handlebars.

That night, you ate grilled cheese on sweet bread from a vendor in Glória. He made you try pão de queijo until you moaned with approval. You tried to guess the story behind each of his tattoos (wrong every time). He asked you what your middle name was, then said it sounded too pretty to be real.

You ended up back on his rooftop, barefoot again, sharing a mango and the same bottle of water like it was sacred.

He told you that day had been the best he’d felt in months. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to.

The next morning, he taught you how to paddle out properly—really paddle. How to read the break in the tide. When to sit. When to chase. When to let go.

Every time your arms shook, he was there beside you, grinning like he was proud anyway.

“You’re not supposed to be this patient,” you told him.

“I don’t do this for anyone,” he replied.

You tried to ignore the way your chest tightened when he said that. But later, as the two of you floated quietly past the breakers, boards side by side in the gentle lull of the sea, he said something else that stayed even longer.

“You feel like calm water.”

You turned toward him.

“What does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. Just reached over, trailing his fingers down the length of your forearm, slow, barely there. A shiver ran under your skin. His hand stayed, resting against your wrist.

“It means I don’t want this to end.”

And you didn’t ask what “this” was. Because you didn’t want to define it yet.

You just wanted it to last.

That night, you brought a bottle of wine to his rooftop.

You drank barefoot, legs dangling off the ledge. He showed you the stars he remembered from home, even though the smog blurred most of them. You showed him the scar on your ankle from childhood. He traced it with his thumb, so lightly you almost didn’t feel it.

The wine made everything warmer. At some point, the conversation dipped quiet again, and he turned toward you.

His voice was lower now.

“Are you scared of leaving?”

You blinked. “Rio?”

“No.” A pause. “This. Us.”

You swallowed, feeling the words slip down into something that hurt.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Because I’ve never had something that felt like it could vanish before I even touched it.”

He leaned in. You didn’t kiss. Not yet.

But your foreheads touched. And your hands found each other again. His fingers slipped between yours like he belonged there.

You fell asleep like that—still fully dressed, heads tilted toward each other on the rooftop. A breeze moving softly through his hair. Your legs tangled.

When you woke in the blue haze of dawn, he was still holding your hand.

You never talked about what you were. He didn’t ask. You didn’t push. And it was almost better that way—like the minute you said it out loud, it would crumble.

But in all the ways that mattered, he was becoming the center of your summer. And you were becoming his anchor.

It was one of those days where everything felt too quiet to be real.

The hostel had emptied out—your friends were gone on some boat tour up the coast, their laughter already fading in the distance as you closed the door behind you. You hadn’t told them you weren’t going. You just didn’t show.

Some things didn’t need announcing. You found him already waiting. No words. No plans.

Just the understanding: today is just ours.

This wasn’t the tourist beach. Not the one where your hostel sat near caipirinha carts and endless volleyball matches.

No, he took you further west—down a path of cracked pavement and tall green scrub until the city fell away and there was only sand and sea and sky. A place where the water whispered instead of roared, and the only sounds were birds and breeze and breath.

He laid out his towel. You laid beside him. No music. No sunscreen. Just silence and sun.

At first you talked. A little. About everything and nothing. He told you about his hometown again, a place by the sea where the water was colder and the waves had teeth. You told him about your childhood summers and how you’d always pretended to like the beach but secretly feared the way the tide pulled.

“I get that,” he said. “The ocean’s a little like people.”

“How?”

“Some pull you under. And some carry you back to shore.”

Your chest tightened. But you didn’t speak. You rolled onto your side, your knees brushing his. He didn’t pull away.

At one point, you reached for your necklace—a small, thin thing you’d worn since you were sixteen—and fumbled with the clasp. It had twisted. He reached over instinctively.

“Let me.”

His fingers brushed the back of your neck. Light, unhurried. Not possessive. Not bold.

Just... careful.

And something in you cracked quietly open, like a shell in gentle hands.

His fingers lingered just a little too long after fixing it. And when he looked at you, his eyes didn’t hold that playful glint anymore. They held something heavier. Something warm and unsure and real.

You leaned into his touch.

You walked into the sea together later, slow steps through the gentle break. He held your wrist without thinking, guiding you forward until the water reached your waist, then your ribs. You floated beside him, half-turned to the sky, your hair fanned out like seaweed in the tide.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “Just listen to it.”

You closed your eyes and did. The rhythm of the ocean. The sound of his breath.

The closeness of your bodies—not quite touching, but tethered, somehow, by gravity or want or fate.

The ocean curled softly around you, warm and endless. You floated beside him, the salt drying on your lips, your fingertips brushing occasionally with the gentle roll of the tide. Every time your skin touched his, it was like a spark that didn’t burn—just glowed, quietly, inside your ribs.

He was watching you again. And this time, you let him.

You turned toward him slowly, your chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the sea, the hush between waves thickening into something suspended. His expression had changed. No teasing now, no amusement or flirtation. Just something raw. Vulnerable.

Like if he looked away, he might lose this moment forever.

The space between your faces narrowed. Just a breath. One inhale. One choice.

Then his hand found the side of your neck—fingertips tentative, almost afraid. As if he didn’t want to shatter whatever it was blooming between you. His thumb brushed your jaw, a motion so light it made you shiver.

You leaned in. So did he. And then—you kissed. At first, it was just a press. Lips to lips. Barely there.

But even that soft contact sent something crashing through you—an ache and a warmth, like your entire body had been waiting for this exact moment without ever knowing it.

His lips parted slightly, like a question. Yours answered.

He kissed you with the kind of patience that made time slow. Like he wasn’t in a hurry to claim anything—he just wanted to feel it. Savor it. Understand it.

There was no battle. No dominance. Just this shared, sacred gravity pulling your mouths together, again and again. The taste of him—salt and sun and something clean—filled your senses, and the rest of the world blurred into white noise.

The kiss deepened slowly.

One of his hands slid from your neck to your waist, anchoring you as the tide swayed you both. Your own hands lifted to his chest, fingers fisting in the wet fabric of his shirt like you were holding on for dear life—because in that moment, it felt like he might float away if you let go.

His nose brushed yours. His lips moved against yours with more surety now—still gentle, still soft, but searching. Like he was learning your shape by heart, memorizing how to fit himself into your spaces.

The ocean moved around you, steady and wide, and he kissed you like you were the only person left in it.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads touched. Both of you breathless. Your lips still tingled. So did your skin.

You opened your eyes, unsure what you’d see.

But his were already on you. Quiet. Blue. Wide open. And for a second, it felt like he wanted to say something.

He didn’t.

Instead, he just kissed your forehead—softly, slowly—as if sealing something between you. A promise. A pause. Something that couldn’t be named, only felt.

And then, he smiled.

“Still scared of the tide?” he whispered.

You smiled back. “No.”

But you would be. Just not yet.

You stayed in the water a while after that.

Not kissing. Not speaking. Just existing—drifting side by side, the sun slipping down behind the hills, the sky painted in gold and lavender. The kind of color that never shows up in photos. The kind you have to remember by feel.

When you left the water, his hand found yours without needing to look. And when you laid back down on the towel, curled into him, your head resting on his chest—you could hear his heartbeat like a drum under your ear.

Steady. Real. His lips pressed to your forehead once. That was all.

The morning didn’t feel right.

Not in the obvious way—not storm clouds or shattered glass. But in that quiet, invisible kind of way. The way the sky looked too still. The way the sun seemed too golden. The way you couldn’t quite keep your smile on your face, even as he kissed your cheek and handed you half of his papaya with honey.

He still wore that easy grin. Still looked like the same boy who kissed you in the sea the night before.

But something in his eyes… it wasn’t the same.

You sat on the rooftop ledge with your legs hanging off, a shared thermos of strong Brazilian coffee between you.

He asked you what your friends were doing today. You said you weren’t sure—you hadn’t checked your phone. He laughed, said maybe he’d finally show you how to actually surf. You rolled your eyes and promised to try.

It was all normal. But it wasn’t.

His touch was still gentle, but there was a new tension behind it. Like he was aware of the moment passing as it happened. Like he was trying to memorize it in real time.

You said his name once. Just softly.

“Satoru.”

He turned to you with a look that made your stomach pull.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” he said, teasing. Light.

But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Later, while walking down toward the beach, you told him something—something you didn’t think would matter.

You told him your return flight had been moved up a few days. That your parents wanted you home early. That your friends were booking their transport out of Rio.

“We’ll still have tomorrow,” you added quickly, seeing the flicker in his face.

He stopped walking. You didn’t mean to make it heavy. But he just stood there, silent, eyes on the water like it had called him suddenly.

“Hey,” you said gently. “It’s not goodbye yet.”

But he didn’t answer. He kissed your forehead. And then, without warning, he turned and started running—down the sand, toward the water, board under his arm.

You watched him paddle out fast, past the soft waves you were used to, past the calm shallows where the other surfers lingered. He went deeper. Farther.

You waited. At first, it was just him being dramatic. You told yourself that. But then the waves shifted.

The ocean wasn’t storming—not yet—but the rhythm had changed. The breakers were harder now, crashing sharper against the reef, pulling faster on the tide. You could see him out there, slicing across the water like it was something he needed to fight. Again and again.

Too far out. Too wild.

You walked down to the edge of the water. He caught a wave. And fell.

It didn’t look bad at first—he disappeared under the foam like always. You waited for the board to bob up. For his white hair to break the surface, laughing. But seconds passed. Then more. Your heart began to pound.

“Satoru!” you shouted, uselessly.

The ocean roared back. Then the board surfaced—without him.

You ran into the water. So did another surfer.

You don’t remember how long it took. How many minutes passed between screaming and freezing. All you remember is the sick, cold numbness in your chest as you stood waist-deep, scanning the horizon for the face you’d memorized.

Then— Someone yelling. Movement in the water. A man dragging a limp body toward the sand. And that white hair, soaked red with blood from his temple, tangled in seaweed and foam.

Satoru.

The hospital smelled like cold metal and bleach and fear. You didn’t remember the ride there.

You didn’t remember who called the ambulance, or how your legs carried you up the sand, or when your hands started shaking. You only remembered the moment they took him away from you—took him, like something stolen. Rolling him through double doors on a stretcher, wires and monitors already clinging to his body like second skin.

And how they didn’t let you follow.

You sat in plastic chairs that made your skin stick to the seat. Someone handed you a paper cup of water you didn’t drink. Your phone buzzed again and again—your friends, calling, texting, asking where you were, if it was true.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Your eyes were locked on the hallway doors at the end of the corridor, like if you stared hard enough, he’d walk through them—drenched and alive and smiling that cocky smile, already making some joke about the nurses. But the doors stayed shut.

An hour passed. Then two. A woman in scrubs finally emerged, and you stood so fast the world tilted.

“He’s stable,” she said gently. “But unconscious. There was a strong impact to the back of the skull. He swallowed a lot of water. We managed to resuscitate him on the beach… but it was close.”

Close. That word hit you like a slap.

You nodded, trying to hold your voice together. “Can I see him?”

She hesitated. “Just a few minutes. He won’t respond. But sometimes patients can hear.”

You didn’t care what he could or couldn’t do. You just needed to be near him.

The beeping was the first thing you heard. Rhythmic. Constant. Fragile.

Satoru lay there in a white bed too big for him, pale against the linens, his silver lashes damp against his cheeks. His face looked softer in the fluorescent light. Younger.

The bruising around his temple had bloomed into something dark and terrible.

But he was still breathing. You pulled a chair close and sat beside him. He didn’t move. You reached for his hand. It was cold. So you held it tighter.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for today to feel like a goodbye.”

The monitor beeped back at you. Steady. Unmoved.

“You idiot,” you said softly, brushing his hair away from his face. “You said I was calm water. But you’re the one who made everything feel like summer.”

His hand twitched faintly. Maybe. Maybe not.

Your thumb rubbed slow circles over the back of it.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered. “But don’t you dare leave me wondering what could’ve happened if we had more time.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn’t wipe it away.

“You said not to fall in love with you.”

You leaned closer, pressing your forehead to his.

“But I think it’s too late.”

The hospital room was still dark when you returned the next morning. He hadn’t moved. Same wires. Same bruises. Same deep, unmoving sleep.

You stood at the door for a long time, your suitcase still warm from the cab’s trunk. The wheels didn’t roll quietly, and the sound echoed too loud in the sterile silence. You felt clumsy, wrong. Like you were trespassing in your own goodbye. You had thirty minutes before the airport van came. You sat beside him one last time.

He looked a little better that morning. Color had returned to his lips. His chest rose more steadily. The monitors didn’t beep quite as angrily as they had the night before.

But his eyes never opened. And that silence—that awful, bone-deep silence between you—grew louder with every second.

You wanted to believe he was just asleep. That he was dreaming something vivid and sweet. Maybe about the kiss, or the papaya with honey, or the way the sun hit your shoulders when you laughed.

But you didn’t believe it. Not really.

You didn’t plan to write it. But the words came out anyway.

You borrowed a pen from the nurse’s station and scribbled onto the back of an old flyer from your backpack—a hostel event that had already passed.

The handwriting was messy. A little smudged. But true.

“Hey.

I know you might never read this. I know I might never see you again.

But thank you—for showing me that something could feel real, even if it doesn’t last forever.

You made me feel warm again.

If you wake up… I’ll be wishing I could be there.

Don’t forget the ocean. Or me.

—Y/N”

You folded it in half and slid it into his palm. Your fingers lingered there.

Then you leaned down and pressed a kiss—gentle and quiet—into his hairline. It was softer than your first kiss. It hurt more than anything.

You didn’t cry until you were in the van.

The city blurred outside the window as you left the hospital behind. And the ocean—your ocean—came into view one last time, sparkling under the summer sun like it didn’t know what it had taken. You pressed your hand to the glass. You didn’t say goodbye out loud. But inside, you whispered it.

“Come back to me. Even if I’m not there.”

The machines beeped softly. The light outside the hospital window was golden again—another warm morning that didn’t know what it had waited for.

Satoru stirred. It was slight at first. A twitch of fingers. A shift of breath. Then a quiet groan as his brow knit and his eyes fluttered open for the first time in days.

His vision blurred in and out. White walls. A ceiling fan. The sting of saline in his nose.

And then—something in his hand. Crumpled paper. His fingers clutched it without knowing why. When he finally blinked enough to see clearly, he turned his head, slowly, painfully—and saw it.

A note.

Unfolded by trembling fingers. He read it once. Then again. And again. Until his lips, chapped and dry, finally whispered:

“Y/N…”

You were back home.

Back in a bedroom that felt too clean. Too untouched. The kind of space that made you question whether the past few weeks even happened—whether the boy with the white hair and salt-kissed laugh had been real at all. Your friends had stopped asking. They assumed it was a summer thing—a fling that burned quick and bright before fading out.

But you couldn’t stop checking your email. The hospital line never rang. No number with a Brazilian country code ever appeared.

You tried to forget. But every time the wind picked up, every time you heard the ocean in a shell or passed the surfboard rentals at the beach back home—he came rushing back.

And the note… the one you left behind? You didn’t know if he ever read it.

It arrived three weeks later. Plain. No return address. But it smelled faintly of sunscreen and sea salt.

Inside: a polaroid.

Taken by a nurse, maybe. It was blurry—but unmistakable. Satoru, half-sitting in a hospital bed. Bruised but smiling. One eye bandaged. A peace sign lifted toward the camera.

In his lap: your note. And beneath the photo, in the corner of the envelope—barely legible scrawl:

“You didn’t forget the ocean.and I didn’t forget you.”

Your hands shook. And for the first time in weeks, you smiled.

[ersvni]

gojo x touch-avoidant!reader (fluff)

You’re not sure when the fixation began. All you knew was that it was slowly beginning to manifest as a growing itch, eventually gnawing at your mind with an unbearable intensity. Unfortunately for you, you were reserved by nature. Affection didn’t come to you naturally— in both giving and receiving. You’d shy away from your boyfriend, freezing at the briefest bit of contact.  

Sometimes, all you could do was ask the question— why was Satoru even with you in the first place?

Your boyfriend was always loud with his affection, dramatic proclamations of love spilling from his lips every day whilst remaining conscious of your boundaries. Satoru made sure to look you in the eye before initiating anything, the deep blue twinkling regardless of whether you rejected his advances or not. He gave you time. He gave you space.

But now you don't want either. 

“Doin’ okay, sweetcheeks?” Satoru’s voice brought you out of your thoughts as you watched him cook breakfast. Your head rested in your hand, legs swinging from where you sat on the countertop. He was facing you now, sunlight dancing over his fair lashes. Your boyfriend was simply stunning. 

Your throat dried up— as it usually did when you felt vulnerable. You nodded, but the lie felt wrong. You shrugged, then shook your head with a sigh. 

Satoru doesn’t push you to elaborate. He merely watched with those glinting eyes, sizzling pan set down onto the stove. The lopsided grin he usually gave you melted into one that was much softer. He didn’t want to scare his pretty girl off.

His lack of response prompted you, urged you to fill the silence. 

“I kinda… want a kiss,” you begin, clammy fingers twisting into your hoodie,”but I don’t know how to tell you that.”

“You just did, my pretty,” Satoru coos out softly, trying not to let the glee on his face show.  His closed-off girlfriend wanted some loving, and he was more than happy to provide. He leans in closer— not enough to touch you, but enough so that the warmth of his body could soothe your frazzled nerves. 

Oh, he could have just jumped in delight when he felt your warm fingers circle around his wrist. One tug of his arm turns into two, until he’s snuggled up between your parted legs. 

The kiss didn’t come right away. A tender palm rubbed at your knee, massaging the bare skin in slow circles. 

For once, you didn’t flinch. Yes, the touch is foreign. Your heart lurched in your chest and your skin prickled with an uncomfortable heat. But you looked at Satoru, eyes boring into his as you silently pleaded for more. The taller man could sense the uncertainty, the way you questioned whether you were deserving of his touch. He saw it all. 

Your insecurity was uncalled for in his eyes. Satoru swore he’d never seen a being so divine before, and he was the lucky recipient of your love— regardless of whether or not you were able to reciprocate. If anything, he was the one that felt unworthy of even an ounce of your attention. 

Satoru wanted to use his words, but he felt as if they weren’t adequate enough to convey his undying devotion to you. Instead, his safe palms slid up your arms, gently coaxing the sleeves from out of your clenched hands. To be seen is to be loved, and your boyfriend saw the way you held all your tension in your body. He saw the way your shoulders remained stiff, the tight chest… He wanted to alleviate that, so he proceeded to cup each side of your face before leaning in for a lingering peck. 

Not on your lips, though. 

One soft kiss to your cheek.

Another one landed on your furrowed brow, easing the stress you held there.

Your two eyelids.

The tip of your nose. 

Finally, the corner of your lips. 

...

You’ve never felt lighter. 

Your boyfriend could tell you didn’t want to push for a proper kiss, but he was fine with that. Perfectly fine. He would happily wait until you wanted all of him, even if it took another day, another year, or perhaps— an entire infinity. ༄.°

[ersvni]

☆ the look of love

• satoru gojo 𝓈𝓊𝓂. he won't look away from your eyes and you think there might be something wrong with him. wc. 630

it was really subtle at first.

satoru could hold anyone's gaze if he so much as looked in their direction, the crystal blue irises capturing any passersby attention within a moment. you, not being immune to his charms, falls victim to this often, finding it difficult to look away when speaking to him. and satoru being satoru, often likes to use this knowledge to his advantage, finding an excuse to stare at your face and admire the eyes staring back at him through his teasing.

leaning in toward your face, a slightly provocative smile playing at satoru's lips, noticing the way you seem to almost shy away from him. "what is it, too irresistible to look away?" he questions playfully, curling a strand of your hair around his finger. "don't worry, i don't mind. you can stare all you'd like."

you scoff, ignoring the warmth that fills your face and the terrible flutter in your stomach. "irritable, more like." you reply, gently pressing your palm against his face and pushing him away, finally breaking eye contact. "you're such an idiot, satoru."

but then it's a week later and you'd quickly noticed his gaze lingering on yours for a moment too long during conversations, and sometimes you swore you'd seen his eyes drop down to your lips before quickly flicking back up to your eyes with an innocent smile, as if he hadn't done anything at all.

"you're staring again." you point out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"why? does it bother you?" is satoru's response, and he's suddenly much closer than he initially was, tilting his head at you with that same smile that tends to curl at his pink lips. especially when he feels the heat radiating off of your face and the pretty shade of color that follows.

you sputter breathlessly, eyes widening in surprise but you're unable to think of any lengthy words except for a pathetic— "no?" you murmur hopelessly, your bottom eyelashes fanning your cheeks as he moves even closer. "no?" he repeats teasingly and he's just so impossibly close, it's hard to think of anything but him. he knows this.

"did you know your pupils dilate when you look at someone you love?" satoru asks cheekily, tapping your cheek with the tip of his index finger.

oh.

the lasting glances, which really couldn't be considered glances because really, he was unabashedly staring at her all the time, were all because he was trying to see if her pupils dilate when she looks at him.

"do you?"

your lips part as you try to find your words and you embarrassedly hit his chest, resting your fist there, where you can feel his heart beating almost ten times faster than your own with the aversion of your gaze. "you can't just ask me that."

satoru grins and brushes his thumb across your cheek, smoothing your skin out and pinching it. "do you like like me then?" he questions, the tips of his white hair tickling your forehead, your eyes meeting his striking blue ones.

and how have you never noticed the size of his pupils until now? looking straight into his eyes in front of your own, the pupils enlarged and ever so slightly darker, enveloping the gorgeous light blue azure. not to mention his gaze, ever so sickly longing, never strays away from you. you've never been one to have a strong resolve when it comes to satoru.

"and if i do?" you whisper.

satoru taps his chin as if to think really hard about his answer. "there's a few things i can think of, but i suppose i'll just have to settle for a kiss..." he drawls, his other hand gently resting on your waist to pull your body in further. "or two."

[ersvni]

can mutuals DM you?

Mutuals can throw me into a ceiling fan

[ersvni]

gojo treating your injuries :) feeling a little soft but still horny today

cw: blood and injury, sorcerer! reader

wincing as his fingers touch you, gojo sends you a little pout. the cut is deep, deeper than he originally anticipated.

"shit" he mutters under his breath, "don't worry we'll figure it out. just take deep breaths okay." you can't tell if he's reassuring you or himself.

he unwraps the black blind fold off his face, applying pressure to the wound. you can feel heat brush your face as you catch his baby blue eyes watching you carefully.

"hopefully this'll help, shoko'll be able to work her magic once we get back to campus. where's ijichi when you need him." he tries laughing to lighten the mood, but you have a hard time doing the same.

"hurts doesn't it?" he frowns while you nod. if it were anyone else he'd be making fun of them for being weak. but this is you, and a part of him feels guilty for not being able to protect you better.

"i'm sorry, baby," he places a small kiss on your forehead in the mean time, hoping that the bleeding will ease up soon. "next time i promise you won't get even the tinyest little scratch."

[ersvni]

can’t stop thinking about the exact moment you find out satoru has his infinity off around you.

it comes to light after a clumsy accident. you happen to spill your drink onto him. and instead of it doing what you expect it to — it actually soaks through his shirt. not bouncing off. not deflecting. it touches him.

the room goes absolutely silent. no one dares to even breathe. and satoru — he just looks down and wipes it clean with a tissue like it’s nothing. but it isn’t nothing.

bc in that moment, the truth rings out louder than any words: gojo satoru has let you in. which means he’s falling. and he is falling hard.

everyone knows it. everyone hears about it. so much so it reaches the ears of his clan and the elders — that the strongest is slipping. and all bc of one woman.

[ersvni]

satoru fights like a god but he also fucks like one too bc your nighttime activities with him tend to have a very consistent outcome — broken beds. but the real challenge isn’t the furniture replacement — it’s the morning after when your little daughter waddles into your room, blinking at what used to be a functional bed.

“papa? why is the bed broken again?”

and there you are, covering your face with a hand while standing next to your husband who’s shirtless, grinning sheepishly. he’s trying to come up with yet another explanation that will not mentally scar your little one.

“uh… it must’ve been the earthquake last night, sweetie”, he says.

“there was an earthquake!?” she asks, eyes big and wide.

satoru nods with mock seriousness. “yeah, a small one” he says, and then adds — “very localized” — before he looks at you. “just here in this room”

[ersvni]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ─── BOUND BY VOWS, TORN BY DESIRE ─── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

pairing ── satoru gojo x reader

teaser ── your kingdoms have been at war for what seems the longest time, ancient ancestors dating back bloodlines never ceasing in their feud. but now, with the upcoming of a new age, and a desperate need for heirs with an old, dying king on the throne, you are forced to resolve and seal the peace by marrying prince satoru, of an opposing nation.

content ── fluff, slow burn, heavy angst, eventual smut, royal!au, forced proximity, arranged marriage, one bed troupe, mommy issues, jealousy, historic!au, language, mention of drinking, kissing

count ── 5k

author’s note ── thank you to everyone who voted for this series!! this is going to be a multi part story, and i hope to continue if it does well, also i think i’m going to make more series’ down the line because this was fun :)

in two days you were to marry prince satoru.

it was at the crux of the two kingdoms' warring, and father was weak and desperate in those times.

your mother had grown unusually cruel, even more so than usual, her voice sharp and reprimanding, put under pressure by the ongoing conflict that never seemed to be getting better.

you were heartbroken when they told you, but not surprised. you had hoped you would get to choose your own partner to spend the rest of your life with, but it seems cruel fate had other plans.

you had tried to reason with your mother to get out of it, that there were other ways to resolve a war other than sending off your daughter to be married to an unknown man from another kingdom, but she was having none of it.

it was really a matter of convenience. a way to set up a peace treaty, arrange a marriage, and combine two impossibly rich kingdoms? you had known your parents long enough to know they never loved in the way they were supposed to, always king and queen before mother and father, and that they’d take this opportunity in a heartbeat, no matter the cost.

you hadn’t however, known how soon everything would progress, until days later when you received an invitation in the mail, unsigned, and enclosed in a thick brown envelope, complete with the royal seal stamped pristinely on the front.

we hereby invite you to the royal marriage of… it read in rich gold lettering, looping cursive filling the page. little illustrations litter the margins, and a single grainy folded-up picture flutters out upon its opening.

when you unfurl it, it reveals the man you were to marry.

prince satoru gojo, in all his glory, wearing a pristine white and gold suit, a coy smile curving his lips, and soft, cloudy white hair fluffed up, a sword at his hip and azure blue eyes boring into yours.

for a second all you can do is stare, taken aback by his beauty.

you had heard of how gorgeous the prince was, being the talk of almost every woman in the kingdom for his good looks and charm, but you had never seen him up until now.

he was drop-dead ravishing. the kind of beauty one saw only in dreams.

“i see you’ve received the invitation.”

your mother’s calculated voice.

you quickly wheel around, her eyes fixed on you coolly. “we’ve gotten word to head to the gojo clan estate now. they will receive you there.”

“but..” you start, hoping against hope that maybe you could get through to her, and beg her not to send you off.

“please don’t disappoint us.” she eyes you disdainfully. “this arrangement means a lot for our kingdom, and it’d do you well to start thinking about what’s best for your disciples rather than your own wants.”

you stare at her. was she calling you selfish for not wanting to wed a man you had never met?

suddenly, the heavy hoofbeats of a horse-drawn carriage breaks the silent tension stretching between you two, a graceful steady gait of horses coming toward you causing you to quickly turn back to your mom, eyes pleading.

“please.. don’t make me.”

in your wildest dreams, her eyes soften and she looks at you with something different then, something resembling love, before scooping you up into her arms and kissing you on the forehead like a mother would, calling you her precious only daughter, and promising to never send you off, and what was she thinking, before calling off the wedding completely.

but instead, she stares at you, detached as if you were nothing more than a pawn in her intricate chessboard of royalty, your worth determined only by what you could provide for the kingdom.

the carriage comes to a halt in front of you, horses snorting and whinnying as you stare back at the face that looks so much like your own, only lacking the empathy you had always longed for.

“get in the carriage.” she says simply.

and realizing she’s not going to change her mind, you study her face for the last time, as if committing it to memory, that same stony unchanging expression that had been with you all through your childhood, before opening the door, and looking ahead, eyes hollow.

maybe this new husband wouldn’t be that bad, after all.

after a few hours of the carriage lurching and bumping along cobblestone trodden pathways, your head craning to look out from the slightly drawn curtains, you make it.

and just as you imagined, prince satoru's estate is big.

in fact, big didn’t even begin to describe it, with towering iron-wrought gates, and a winding driveway all leading up to a fairy-tale like palace.

statues of noble figures stand tall, outlined against its magnificence, and the castle itself is a rich ivory color, accented with shimmers of golden turrets reaching up into the sky, their tips brushing the clouds themselves.

quickly, you are ushered out, the carriage door held open for you by the coachman, and before you get a chance to take in the elegant grounds of the estate, royal servants are already waiting to greet you, all polite smiles as they advise you to follow them inside.

on the way, they tell you that you were to be properly welcomed to the gojo clan before tomorrow's highly anticipated ceremony, in the form of meeting the king and queen in charge, along with your husband to-be.

you take the chance to glance around, taking in all your surroundings, everything ancient and wooden, with small adornings of mythological figures decorating the walls along with paintings dating back to centuries-old wars, history written all across the panelling prominently.

finally, the royal attendants come to a stop in front of a long-winding corridor, leading all the way down toward an ornate wooden door, its magnificent size amongst the others causing it to stand out notably.

"this is master gojo's suite, and where you will be staying with him for the rest of your time here." says the servant nearest to you, beginning to back up slowly, the others in tow. "the king has asked that you meet with him beforehand, so you two can become acquainted. we shall leave you to it."

and with a final bow of his head, he's gone, leaving you to stand in front of the intimidating mahogany door, its broad outline almost menacing in the dimness of the passageway.

as you make your way to it, you push on it hesitantly, only to be met with resistance as it groans in protest, unwilling to budge.

you try the door handle. locked.

you look up again. you know this is the right door. so why isn't it..?

it opens so suddenly, you with all your weight resting on its frame can't stop yourself. you immediately topple over, letting out a soft oof! of surprise as you crash into something warm yet solid, your body pressing hard against it.

budging.

regaining yourself, you can't help but feel the flexing muscle under your palms, looking down to see a man's chest, his quick exhale of breath making you retract immediately.

and looking up, you're met with the sight of none other than soft white hair and blue eyes coming to blink hazily at you.

a vaguely familiar smirk curving his lips as he sets sights on you.

the man in the picture.

your husband to-be.

satoru.

"hello wifey.." he drawls out, tone almost mocking as he stares down at you, dressed in traditional heavy white robes. "i take it you're excited for the marriage?"

pointedly, his eyes fix on where your other hand is dangerously close to gripping his... lower half, so to speak.

flustered, you instantly step back, face blushing immensely. "m-my apologies my lord, i didn't mean to be so forward. i was sent here to meet you before the meeting, and.."

you notice his teasing grin seems to drop for a moment, eyes searching the halls for signs of life. once he knows you two are the only ones, his expression hardens, blue eyes becoming unreadable.

you were alone together.

"lets get one thing straight, princess. you're here to fulfill your role, nothing more, nothing less. i don't care for pleasantries. there's no reason for us to pretend we're anything other than strangers bound by a marriage of convenience."

you try to back away, eyes wide as you make a small involuntary noise in the back of your throat, but he doesn’t let you, coming closer.

"we'll carry out the duties expected of us, and that's all." he continues. "do what is necessary, but don't make the mistake of thinking i'm interested in anything beyond that."

you bristle slightly at his words. "oh, you think i want this? you think i want to be married to you? in a foreign enemy kingdom i don’t even know? because i don't! but there's no way of getting out of it, so why can't you at least afford to be nice?"

he scoffs. "nice? you and your kingdom have ruined my life! you've robbed me of any chance i had at making my own life choices, and i'm supposed to be "nice?"

"why are you acting like i made this marriage? it's not my fault! that's the whole point of an arranged marriage, it's arranged for you!" you don't even realize you're raising your voice until your words begin to echo off the vast walls, bouncing around you tersely. "and if i had, i certainly wouldn't have picked an asshole such as yourself.”

he steps closer, tilting his head at you. “careful what you say about your husband, sweetheart. or you just might get yourself in trouble.”

you know you should stop before you escalate things, but you can’t help it, jutting your lip out at him in a mocking pout. “yeah? make me then.”

in a heartbeat, he has you pinned against the wall behind you, one thigh holding up your weight as the warmth of his bulky frame surrounds you, cerulean blue eyes raking across your face steadily.

you let out a small gasp of surprise, but quickly recover, eyes narrowing on him fiercely.

he leans ever so slightly closer, crowding your space completely as his loud, sultry patchouli cologne surrounds you, alluring and familiar all at once.

his breath ghosting over your lips, is warm and cinnamon-y, as he stares down at you, eyes lidded and just daring you to defy him again.

"excuse me, mister and mistress gojo? your presence is requested now."

immediately, satoru jumps back as if stung, eyes lingering on you a moment longer, before stalking away in temporary surrender.

you push off the wall, feeling the servant's eyes on you questioningly, but not bothering to indulge him, simply brushing yourself off before rapidly following suit.

“your majesties, it is truly an honor to meet you both.” you take a small curtsy to the king and queen you were standing before, lifting your dress to show respect.

satoru rolls his eyes subtly, shifting beside you.

his father shoots him a look, all graying hair and wise crinkling eyes. “the pleasure is all mine, my dear. it’s nice to meet someone with proper mannerisms and respect for the crown.”

you smile. “yes, well i was raised in a kingdom, after all.”

beside him, satoru’s mother, the queen, grants you a kind smile, long white hair flowing around her mirroring her son's. “that you were.” she agrees. “which is why we are so honored to have you here at our own, and to finally resolve the peace that has been fleeting for so long. you have no idea how much this marriage means to both us and the kingdom.”

satoru sighs.

instantly, the queen’s eyes bore into him. “i’m sure you’ve been acquainted with your husband, prince satoru. he is just as pleased as the rest of us for this opportunity you and your kingdom have bestowed upon us, it was rather benevolent of them, and we are eternally in their debt.”

you get the feeling that they've been having disagreements with the arranged marriage, judging by their body language, and instantly the air grows thicker, more tense.

before the situation can progress however, the queen clears her throat, smiling politely at you. "why, it's been a long day, and i'm sure you're tired, sweetheart."

her attention turns toward her son, her voice holding a warning to it that you can't ignore. "satoru. walk with her to your rooms please, and accommodate her."

he nods, and doesn't even wait to see if you're following before retreating hastily, leaving you to chase after him.

finally, you find yourself back in front of the long-winding hallway leading to his─your─ bedroom, and he pauses, as if remembering something.

"we're going to have to share a bed."

your heart skips a beat, breath catching in your throat as he opens the door to reveal a mahogany bed, draped with quilted covers and over-extravagant silk pillows slightly rumpled by sleep. you had forgotten that as a married couple, it would be custom for you two to sleep together, just the thought of being in such a close, intimate space with him causing your pulse to race, whether with anger or.. something else, you can’t tell.

"no we're not." you move toward the bed, grabbing spare pillows and blankets to make your own on the plush carpet, vowing to stay as far as possible from that stuck-up prince.

you hear him sigh from where he's leaning against the doorway watching you.

footsteps pad across the floor toward you, before coming to a stop. "listen. i know this isn't ideal, but it is part of our arrangement to sleep in the same bed, as a married couple."

you gaze up at him coolly. "i'm sleeping here."

he runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "this is part of what is expected of us, and we need to fulfill our duties as a royal couple. just.. get on the bed, and face the other direction, if you must."

you ignore him, tucking yourself into the blankets you had set up with a small yawn, turning to face away from him pointedly.

all is silent for a single, peaceful moment, but then, two unfairly muscular arms are wrapping around your frame, and lifting, scooping you up into him as with a squeal, you kick, trying to get away.

one of your feet makes contact with his side, and he lets out a low grunt before throwing you roughly onto his stupidly huge bed.

"keep fighting all you want, sweetheart. i can do this all night."

for some reason, his words come off more provocative than anything, and you can't help the fact that the stern sultry purr of his coupled with it tinges your cheeks pink ever so subtly.

"i'll tell you one thing about this arranged marriage. as my wife, you are going to listen, and you are going to obey what i tell you, okay? i will not put up with attitude and immaturity.”

your cheeks warm at being scolded like a child, and all you can do is scoff in disbelief before turning over, resigned to your spot on the bed, vowing to stay as far away from him as possible.

you scoot all the way to the edge, squeezing your eyes shut angrily as tears of frustration prick at you.

just who was he to boss you around?

a few terse minutes tick by, with both of you silent, facing away from each other, the only sound being satoru's soft puffs of breath, sleep eluding you further.

you’re trying your best not to let your skin make contact with his in the slightest, but it’s proving difficult with the way his weight makes the bed dip in the middle, trying to draw you toward himself.

this was going to be a looong night.

you figure you eventually fall asleep at some point, because when you open your eyes again, sunlight is peeking through the windows, and something hard and hot is pressed stiffly against your back, insistent with its prodding.

you reach down, half-asleep, to move it away, but your hand connects with something pulsing and.. large. you trail your hand further up, eyes scrunching in confusion only to feel a small shudder under your palm, someone breathing fast and loud right next to you.

satoru.

you instantly scramble away, eyes wide, in your haste falling off and hitting the floor with a low thud.

this wakes him up, half-lidded eyes opening to take in your tangled form on the ground. “what are you doing?”

“y-you..!” you sputter out, frozen as you stare at him in disbelief.

he follows your gaze to his pants, a straining bulge printed on the front clearly.

his cheeks warm, and he looks down, mumbling under his breath. "mornin' wood.."

before you can bring yourself to speak however, two sharp knocks against the door break the awkward silence, followed by the voice of a servant outside.

"madame and master, it’s time to prepare you both for the wedding ceremony."

“ow!”

you scrunch your eyes tightly, pain washing over you in waves.

the stylist pauses, taking in your expression sympathetically before resuming to tug at your poor hair, putting it up into an intricate updo, a plaited bun with face-framing hairs and bangs, hot curlers and bobbypins attacking you left and right.

"just sit still, dear." one pushes your head back, while another tilts your face to the side to furiously blend foundation on your cheeks.

this day would only come once, in your lifetime at least, and being a royal wedding, of course, everything had to be perfect.

you and satoru were being relied on as human peace treaties to prove to the world that for the first time, your kingdoms were united, marking the official end of the war.

which is why, not only were appearances important, but also your actions towards satoru had to be convincing enough for the clan to wholeheartedly believe you two were in love, and effectively stop the fighting at hand.

so today was more important than ever that you look fully and maddeningly in love with satoru gojo.

you sigh to yourself, but suddenly your thoughts are cut off by the proud voice of your main stylist taking a step back to admire her handiwork.

"perfect. absolutely perfect." the rest nod in agreement, and with a few last touches, you're ready.

and as you all head to where the ceremony would be held, to describe how you're feeling right now as overwhelmed would be an understatement.

currently, there's about two thousand people waiting for you, all elegantly dressed, their heads held high with self-importance.

even the palace is decorated for the occasion, banners and emblems of the gojo clan stamp hanging proudly over the room, while decorative flowers in vases cover every available surface.

you shift your feet nervously, waiting for your signal to walk the aisle, praying that you wouldn't trip or embarrass yourself, fidgeting with your dress anxiously.

the wedding dress in question, was a classic take on a vintage ball gown look, with a too tight-fitting cream-colored corset billowing out dramatically from the waist into a poofy, tulle skirt, and currently it was killing you as you tried to take deep breaths, its taut stiffness practically constricting your lungs.

to make matters worse, it pushed your breasts obnoxiously up, and showed off your outline far too much to be comfortable, contouring every curve distinctively.

before you can try and pull it down however for what seems the hundredth time, the renowned quality of a simple elegant instrumental begins playing, signifying your entrance, and time seems to stop.

your heels click softly on the marbled stone, each step seeming to magnify in the large room spread out before you.

highly prestigious people, who had dismissed you before as nothing but a simple child princess living in her daddy’s kingdom were now all craning their heads to get a better look at you, hushed gasps and chatter sweeping through the crowd as you pass.

slowly, you begin to make your way down the dramatically decorated aisle, and as you get closer to the altar, you spot satoru, leaning slightly, cerulean eyes focused solely on you.

he’s dressed elegantly, in a frilly suit that matches the color of his eyes, all extravagant buttons and poofy sleeves, with crisscrossing gold lace, and a white overspilling cravat on the front.

he tilts his head as if to study the dress you're in, intense blue gaze raking up and down to ravish your clearly outlined figure.

your cheeks flush, his effect on you instantaneous as unbearable though he is.

slowly, you come to stand at your spot beside him, nervous as you look around at the crowd.

what happens next, you hadn't been expecting at all.

as one, they get up, and shower you both in applause, claps as precise and unified as their owners, the sound heard all the way around the entire palace, as they all give a standing ovation to their new king and queen of a new era.

the blush creeps up your neck, and you look around at your new subjects, all of them cheering for you.

after a minute or so of this, they begin to gradually quiet, sitting back down while both you and satoru turn to face each other.

the royal priest clears his throat for attention, and begins his long winding speech, garbled words slurring together as you stare at satoru.

he was so beautiful, breathtakingly so. his white hair is fluffed up, showing his high cheekbones, and he even has a bit of makeup on him, contour and powder.

in fact you’re staring at him so intensely, so swept up in him, you don’t even realize the priest is talking to you until he’s raising an eyebrow at you expectantly, the crowd hushed.

“huh?” you hear yourself say, embarrassment pinking your cheeks.

he clears his throat, speaking a little louder. “do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better..”

when you glance back at satoru, he’s looking at the priest, but there’s a curve to his mouth, amusement glinting in his eyes.

insufferable.

you take a second to let your eyes roam the audience, and happen to land on a particular face, one you hadn’t seen before.

she's wearing a knee-length navy blue dress, one that highlights her chubby figure and pudgy stomach, and a hat which covers most of her face. her head, though covered, is bowed low, as if in shame, which stands out to you as most of the audience is gazing up, at you and satoru, heads perked for a better look.

before you have time to further analyze however, you’re snapped back to the priest who is finishing up his speech.

“..till death do thy part. do you pledge your faithfulness and devotion, and promise to be thy loving wife, forevermore?”

your head starts to spin, the weight of his words sinking into you fully. you were to be with this man, whom you hadn’t even met before yesterday, for the rest of your life. all your hopes and dreams outside of the kingdom may as well come crashing down on your head once you were to speak those forsaken words.

after today, you would be queen, alongside your husband, the king.

at the very thought of being so responsible, the words stick in your throat, face paling. you have the urge to say no, to call the whole thing off, to truly disappoint your parents and disgrace satoru’s family for eternity, because this was your life. your life, and nobody got to take that from you.

you force a smile. “i do.”

the ring-bearer comes up to you, a ring on a fluffed pillow for you to take, its band gold and cool in your palm as you pick it up, a baby blue gem encrusted with the gojo symbol across it staring back.

you had never chose, nor seen this ring in your life.

he turns to satoru. “and do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to..”

you turn to satoru, expecting to see that same playful smirk, but something else has replaced it, more open and raw.

maybe he was feeling the implications too?

“..promise to be thy loving husband, forevermore?”

he swallows, pauses for a second too long, before speaking, the words cool and strangely detached. “i do.”

his ring comes, silver and chiseled with symbols of royalty, all sleek metal and polished, shining pristinely in the light. it has diamonds encrusted all over it, each worth more than a house, along with his precious initials, s.g, carved into it.

he takes it without looking at it.

“then by the power vested in me, i now pronounce you man and wife.” he turns toward satoru. "you may now kiss the bride."

your mouth goes dry, and for a second, all you can do is gape at satoru while the priest's words register in your head.

shit. how could you have forgotten you would be expected to kiss him? it was a wedding after all.

satoru's mouth curves up as he leans in slightly toward your ear, his hair brushing you. “c’mon princess, kiss your husband for the audience, yeah?”

you blush, and oblivious to all the people and the priest standing less than a foot away, he goes on, “although, don't be too good of a kisser, or i might get used to..."

before he can continue, you grab his face in your hands, pressing your lips hard against his, if just to make him shut up, and he pauses, taken aback, before slowly his hand creeps up to cup your cheeks gingerly, hesitantly leaning in to it.

the crowd all cheers around you, but you can’t even hear them anymore, all of it fading around you.

he's your first kiss.

he tastes like cinnamon and clove, like something spicy and reckless, his tongue already coming to meet yours in a brash tangle.

as quickly as he had been on you however, he draws away, wiping his mouth with that same lopsided smirk tilting his lips upward, leaving you practically dizzy.

and as the rest of the ceremony drones on, you can't help yourself from wanting more.

it wasn't enough to leave you satisfied, and now that you've gotten a taste, you fear you might not ever get enough.

after the wedding ceremony, there was to be a reception where only the most prestigious and important of people would attend.

it was held in the palace ballroom, lavishly decorated for the occasion with crystal chandeliers, and silk draped tables filled with shiny silverware, everything overly classy and elegant.

when you enter beside satoru, they're already serving flutes of champagne, people milling about amiably and making pleasant conversation.

and if you thought you were popular before as a princess, you had no idea the kind of attention being a hot topic like you were now would bring.

before you're even two steps inside, there's already people surrounding you to congratulate you on your marriage, kiss you on the cheek in greeting, and welcome you as newfound queen to the throne.

after a few minutes of this, with no sign of the crowd of people easing up, you begin to get nervous.

there's just no way you can see to get out of it, and as you start to feel claustrophobic, your body being pushed and jostled by all these people wanting to meet, you feel a warm hand on the small of your back, guiding you away from the crowd.

satoru.

“i think it’s time for a dance.” he says before grabbing your warm, gloved hands in his, and twirling you out to the center of the dance floor, where a few couples were already swaying to a slow tune.

satoru takes his hands, placing them on either side of your waist, just above your hips, a lazy smirk curling his mouth up as his touch seems casual, natural almost.

it seems almost genuine, the way he flirts with you in the public eye only to blatantly disregard you in private.

well, two could play at that game.

you wrap your arms around his neck, and draw yourself closer, lips hovering above his, your front rubbing against him dangerously.

he inhales sharply, eyes flickering with heat for a second but before you get the chance to revel in the fact you could draw a reaction from him, he starts spinning you.

you gasp as he whirls you around, before starting to glide back and forth with you across the dance floor, a smug grin on his face as you try and keep up.

luckily for you, as royalty you were expected to know how to dance, and your parents had enrolled you in private lessons weekly, your feet falling into familiar steps as you swept along the floor with him.

he takes notice, hands gripping your waist tighter as he sways with you, quickening the pace. “who taught you to dance, princess?”

you can't tell if he's teasing, or being genuine so rather than answer, you glance down, pretending to focus on your steps as you try to ignore the fluttering in your chest.

and finally with one last dramatic twirl, your hands tracing delicate arcs in the air, the music crescendoes and satoru catches you in a perfect dip, your head tilting back with a flourish.

instantly, cheering erupts, the room absolutely filled with clapping and whistling as your chest heaves up and down, still in his arms.

you had been so caught up you hadn't even realized everyone had stopped to watch you two, and with your finish, you were now the center of attention.

and as you seat yourself in a chair across from satoru, the formal banquet about to begin, you finally answer his question, seemingly out of nowhere, making him come to a start as he looks at you.

"my mother put me in dance classes from a young age." you smile bitterly as the memory washes over you. "you know it's funny, she was always the most beautiful dancer in the ballroom at my kingdom, but she wouldn't teach me. said i was "too slow", "had two left feet", "didn't pick up quickly", and i was nothing like her. she had someone else instruct me, and every day i would go and practice as much as i could, in hopes of getting better and pleasing her."

"did you?" satoru presses.

you sigh sadly. "i did, but it was never enough for her. nothing was. i remember thinking when i was younger, that maybe there was something wrong with me, and that's why she couldn't love me. why anyone couldn't love me, really. i've always felt like just a mere decoration in my palace, just another step on my mother's agenda."

what he says next surprises you. "i get what you mean. ever since i was little, my parents have been telling me, "you're going to be king" "one day you're going to overtake the throne" and "think of your future kingdom", when all I ever wanted was to be a child."

he draws nearer to you. "but, that gets taken from you once you're born into a monarchy, right?"

you nod. "that, and everything else down to your way of life, your interests, your dreams.." you break off, eyes flickering down to his lips for a moment. "..your husband."

the conversation between you becomes more intimate as he leans in too, lips above yours, and just as you start to close the distance..

the distinct sound of a fork clinking against a glass.

the royal toasts were starting.

it was from satoru's father, the king, his wise, crinkled smile looking around at all his subjects. "hello everyone. we thank you for coming out tonight to celebrate the birth of a new age, as my son and the daughter of a rival kingdom have come together in marriage, forever binding our palaces as one. this marks the start to a new era."

he pauses, letting the people around break out into clapping, some cheering, before going on.

"as you are aware, i will be stepping back from my role as king, knowing our future is in capable hands, by your new king and queen.."

at that, he lifts a glass toward your table, winking solemnly.

"to satoru, my successor, my pride, and the future of this kingdom. may your reign be long, your rule wise, and may you bring many heirs to this kingdom."

wait.

heirs?

you turn to look at satoru, his face paling.

"to the future, to the kingdom, and to the continuation of our legacy!"

"long live the king!"

[ersvni]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂���𝐒 & 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ✶ 𝐒. 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: ❝you never liked the sound of your name, until satoru emerged into your life with a sense of comfort and familiarity. he was determined to have you appreciate your own self worth that was hidden underneath years of self inflicted crestfallen thoughts. he would stop at nothing to create a magnificent new way to utter your own name.❞

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: satoru gojo x female reader, pure adorable fluff, doubt to comfort, satoru reassuring you in the best way, pet name (sweetheart), crappy dialogue?, a bit of selfship coded/self indulgent fic, sfw, etc. wc: 646.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: please note, this is a repost of my own fic from my old blog @/celestialgojo. i've had this cute concept in my notes app for months now & finally decided to write it! figured it was time to repost since my blog is multifandom again lol. pls don't forget to like, comment, & reblog if you enjoyed! satoru gojo art by @/jrm_93 on pinterest. blue hearts dividers by @/thecutestgrotto.

The instantaneous moment when Satoru Gojo inevitably realized that he had fallen hopelessly in love with you was the same exact moment when you let a radiant smile curve its way onto your mouth at the mere sound of your sweet name falling from in between his lips.

A sound you had come to utterly despise for your whole life, yet hearing it fall from the safety of his lips had your heart palpitating profusely inside of your chest. His infectious and sweet melodious sounding voice left no room for malicious intentionsーonly pure captivating adoration that had entranced you in the most unimaginably magnificent way possible.

So why was the core of your nervous system unraveling at its very seams when your name spilled from his lips? Why was your beating heart knocking rapidly against your sternum as though it desired so desperately to escape from the confines of your ribcage? Was it on the run from somethingーor someone who would hold it in his warm embrace where it would be protected for eternity?

You never liked your name, until Satoru emerged into your life with a sense of comfort and familiarity. He was determined to have you appreciate your own self worth that was hidden underneath years of self inflicted crestfallen thoughts. He would stop at nothing to create an exceedingly remarkable new way to utter your own name.

"Will you marry me, sweetheart?" A peaceful silence engulfed the atmosphere around you following Satoru's question. Yet it seemed as though the only sound that could be heard for miles was your heart beating in synchronized rhythm with Satoru's.

His cerulean eyes were the only thing you could immerse yourself in. He made your whole being feel at peace with just a mere glance. It was as though watching the sun break through the grey clouds after living what felt like lifetimes in complete darkness. You lost yourself within the oceanic hurricane that was Satoru Gojo.

You never imagined finding yourself in this situationーSatoru Gojo down on one knee, asking for your hand in marriage. You felt as though you were going to die from the overwhelming emotion building up in your chest.

Perhaps, you thought, Satoru was an angelーor the devil in disguiseーwho was sent to take you away from this world. It would be a life well lived, you tried to reason with yourself, if the last thing you laid your eyes on was the man who you loved with your whole being.

You never truly considered yourself to be someone who was worthy of something as transcendent as unconditional love. No one had ever cherished you enough to extend such a thing. You had come to the conclusion that arguably it was just a myth created to give falsified hope to those who may never find something to live for.

Satoru, on the other hand, did not show a hint of hesitation in exposing his true feelings for you. He dived head first into loving you wholeheartedly; his impulsive desires taking control and all he could do was sit back and watch it all unfold before his very eyes.

"I will love you endlessly and without fail, if only you grant me the extraordinary honor of becoming mine forever."

His words of hopeless devotion brought tears to your eyes and made your heart somersault inside of your chest. The world seemed to tilt on its axis and you silently prayed to the heavens above that this wasn't another cruel illusion that your mind had created to shatter you like a piece of broken glass.

"Yes, I'll marry you, Satoru."

The words spilled from your mouth in a rush, as though this significant moment in time would disappear without a trace, but you knew in your heart of hearts that your name would forevermore be protected on the edge of his lips.

© honeymoonfleur 2025 all rights reserved. please do not steal, copy, edit, repost, translate, modify, mimick, repurpose, plagiarize, reuse, replicate, claim as your own, cross post on other social media platforms, copy or feed into AI, recommend or mention on other social media sites/apps, mention or recommend me or my work(s) outside of tumblr app/website, or write any inspired stories from any of my work(s). i do not authorize it in any way, shape, or form. thank you so much for supporting me and my writing!

[ersvni]

new green and pink theme!! :p

[ersvni]

Satoru Gojo Loves to Kiss You where Your Moles are.

one on your cheek? mwah. with the dramatic sound and everything.

he always did this to the point that you can't hide a single mole from him.

even in public? he's still kissing one that's on your forehead, especially the one close to the lines of your lips. Satoru doesn't want to miss a chance.

he doesn't care if you get irritated during his 'hourly kissing my future wife's every mole'.

"satoru." you whisper, a slight hint of annoyance coating your words. "Please stop?" "no, baby. i still haven't kissed all of it yet."

[ersvni]

Bathing Alone? Not with Satoru!

He never leaves you alone, even if you're taking a bath. and before this happened, he took notes of the times you decided to take one, taking mental notes and planning what he's gonna do once he gets the perfect opportunity.

and the so-called perfect opportunity happens just this night after you got home after a girl's night out.

"satoru?" you softly called out as you hang your coat on the coat hanger, only to receive no answer. you huff, thinking that he's just munching on some secret stash of mochies. typical.

"I'm going to take a bath, 'toru." you say, completely unaware of what's about to come.

you take off all your accessories. then you do too with your heels.

you then head towards the bathroom. you unexpectedly get welcomed by the sight of the rose petals coating the surface of the bathtub, the scented vanilla lit candle making the atmosphere hot, but not as much as the white-haired man inside the porcelain tub.

you open your mouth to excuse yourself, only to be cut off. "come in." he says, his eyes still resting closed.

"satoru, what-"

"just come here." he turns his head to look at you.

you nod, hesitantly sinking in the lukewarm waters, fully bare.

"why do you look flustered?" he raises a brow, his tone teasing.

"no i am not!" you defend the last remaining dignity left in you. "this is so humiliating!"

"oh what now? you act like i still yet have not seen you like this before." he playfully remarks, a giggle leaving his lips.

he pulls you closer, pressing you onto him, his warmth engulfing you.

"see? nothing bad happened." he brushes off a stray hair off your face.

"satoru, just shut up and enjoy the bath!" you scold.

"alright, alright." he rolls his eyes, poking your sides then earning a glare.

[ersvni]

Satoru Gojo Won't Let You Speak.

And no, not in a bad way. it's in the way of even before you manage to let out a single syllable, his lips always finds a way to steal a peck from you.

Whether he just came back from work, the so-called special goodnight kisses, the good morning kisses, the while you're cooking kisses. basically, you always get smooches from all activities you do everyday.

"sato-" smooch. "let me speak-" you mumble against his unpredictable lips.

and then after a few moments of assault, "yes, my love? what do you wanna say?" he questions, that innocent looking, yet smug expression plastered on his face.

[ersvni]

Satoru Gojo Loves to Kiss You where Your Moles are.

one on your cheek? mwah. with the dramatic sound and everything.

he always did this to the point that you can't hide a single mole from him.

even in public? he's still kissing one that's on your forehead, especially the one close to the lines of your lips. Satoru doesn't want to miss a chance.

he doesn't care if you get irritated during his 'hourly kissing my future wife's every mole'.

"satoru." you whisper, a slight hint of annoyance coating your words. "Please stop?" "no, baby. i still haven't kissed all of it yet."

[ersvni]

Drunk Nerdjo

[ersvni]

Nerd!Satoru who knows, theoretically, how to make a person cum.

He's seen many books explaining on what each gland, nerves, and muscles do. How each muscle reacts to each stimuli on average. How some peoples' skene's glands may be more efficient then others. How to tilt his fingers just right to poke, caress, stimulate, the G-spot just so to leave someone shaky.

Well, theoretically, of course.

Poor little virgin who barely understands how any of it actually works. The second you slide your underwear down those beautiful fuckin' legs of yours, Nerd!Satoru's brain blanks out. Everything he's ever learned? Out the window.

He stares. Just stands there, eyes stuck to the pretty, soaked pussy of yours. Forgets all about how to speak. Tongue suddenly numb. Fingertips tingling. Heart hammering in his throat as he tries and fails to swallow his spit.

"You okay, 'toru?"

God, your voice. Enough to make his cock leak in his boxers. He nods. Way too fast, way too eager. God, did he fuck it up? You're gonna hate him now, won't you? Throw him out of the room before he even gets a chance to so much as breathe near your sweet cunt.

Surprisingly, he manages to move. Not how you expect, though. Drops to his knees in front of your spread thighs, licking his lips as he gently strokes your thighs. "G-God, sweetheart. Your pussy is so pretty. C-can I touch?" Of course you let him. He's never been more grateful in his fucking life.

Thumbs gently prying apart your labia. His brain reminds him every god damn name - Prepuce, clitoris, labia majora, labia minora - and, after hearing your shaky whimper when the cold air hits your clit, his eyes light up. "That feel good, darling?" His only response is a moan, yet he's thriving. Middle finger sloowly swooping up and down your pretty folds, drawing little hearts whenever his digit bumps into your clit. The gentle way your thighs clench drives him insane, so he does it again, and again, and again-

"Can I taste, pretty? Just a taste, I promise-" The second he sees you nod, he's diving in. Eyes fluttering shut, glasses being pushed closer to his face as he laps at your drooling hole.

Oh, this is what heaven feels like.

His tongue is desperate, his nose pushing against your clit as he, bless his soul, tries his best to tongue-fuck you. His hands oh so shakily grab and knead the back of your thighs, pulling you closer, closer, closer to his face. The tangy flavour of your delicious cunt floods his senses, and he's forced to remind himself how to make a person cum. Right. Clit. Get a hold of yourself, Satoru.

So he moves. Up, gently sucking and licking and stimulating your clit, while a single finger sneaks up your thigh. Up. Up. Up.

A hand in his hair tells him that he sucked right. Or maybe it was because he'd pushed his digit inside, gently caressing your G-spot. He can hear your breaths turn shaky. How your pretty lil' hole spasms around his fingers.

He pulls away, looking up at you through those stupid, fogged up glasses and his pretty, snowy lashes. "Does that feel good? Does it? Please, pretty, is this good?" You can barely fucking breathe with how he bullies your G-spot, eyes watery, thighs quivering pathetically on his shoulders.

He taps your thigh. Softly. Just enough to get your attention as he pauses his fingers. "Baby? Is it good?" And you nod. God, you nod. Tug on his strands of hair which now stick in every direction, a pretty pout on your lips. "Keep going, 'toru. It's so fucking good!"

So he does. Eyes feral, staring up at your blissed out face as his tongue flickers your clit. Side to side. Left to right. Up, down- And he can feel the tightening around his fingers. So pretty, one hand covering your mouth as your moans grow loud, loud, louder.

"Oh, that's it, sweets. Gonna make you cum? Yeah? Oh, you love it, don't you? Mhmm? Looking so pretty for me, sweetheart."

God, won't he shut his damn mouth? After a rude yank to his hair, pulling his face closer to your cunt, he somehow, finally, shuts up. Tears brimming his eyes as he gets suffocated - not that he's complaining; it's great, he's willing to die here - between your amazing fuckin' thighs. Closer, closer, you can almost taste the orgasm brewing deep in your tummy, a heated glare that shuts off your brain and makes you forget whatever your name is.

He feels your hand tighten in his hair. Fingers flicker against your g-spot rapidly, and then you're crashing. Waves upon waves of tides that can't seem to let you do anything aside moan. Shaky. Thighs shaking as Satoru's eyes fall shut.

A beat.

Two.

"Did you just cum in your pants, 'toru?"

He doesn't even answer. Looks away, face warm as he sheds his clothes and tosses them aside.

"W-well.... Since I've already made you cum on my fingers..." A shaky laugh. "How 'bout you try it on my cock?"

[ersvni]

one thing about satoru, his eyes are terrifying at night.

especially when his infinity is turned on. his eyes are glowing.

one night you got into an argument with satoru, leading you facing the other way in bed and he strictly put himself in infinity so you couldn’t touch him as a punishment. you weren’t going to anyway.

while you were facing the other way in bed, the blanket pulled over the both of your bodies, you close your eyes, attempting to sleep.

…until you feel lasers poking at your back.

you turn to the side a bit, getting that instinct that something’s watching you.

it’s satoru.

his eyes blown wide, staring at you, bright blue glowing.

“satoru, stop staring at me. it’s creepy.”

“what? i can’t stare at my spouse now? jeez. can a man do anything in life anymore?” he huffs, looking to the side in pretend frustration.

“no, you can’t. not at night.”

“fine. goodnight.”

you mumble a goodnight back, turning back to face the other way.

you close your eyes again, trying to sleep.

you feel piercing through the back of your head.

you swiftly turn around again, brows furrowed at satoru.

“i said stop staring at me!” you said, angry.

“i’m not! i’m staring at a spider crawling on your pillow.”

“oh please. if there were a spider crawling on my pillow you’d be the first to scream.” you scoff, turning back around.

minutes go by.

whipping your head around, “satoru, you’re being a freak right now!”

his eyes are still, big and glowing blue, absolutely freakishly terrifying. “i’m not even doing anything!”

“at least turn off that stupid infinity so you’re not as scary!”

“wow. so you’re saying i’m scary and ugly and hideous now and that i belong under the bed because i’m a monster. what affection.” he turns around the other way.

you sigh, finally finding your peace, turning back around, closing your eyes.

you relax…

…before slowly grabbing another pillow, turning and wacking him straight in the face. because again, he was staring at you with those big blue creepy ass eyes!

“owww!!! i just wanted to look at you!” his voice mumbled under the pillow.

@wizzperrrs on tumblr don’t translate or copy yk the deal