Hidden Inventory GC: In Hai We Stan!
⟡ft. satoru, suguru, nanami, shoko, utahime, & haibara
note: not my best but i wanted to keep up the Sunday post😭😓 neeways, you are suguru’s gf while nanami is in love with you
warnings: suggestive, cursing, f!reader
I BLOCK MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS || MDNI
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Geto: I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile in this world
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Gojo: liar
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In the gloomy-grey autumn of 2007, their legs dangle off the edge of a parapet.
Suguru Getou has a cigarette wedged between his pearly whites, lighter flickering with his thumb.
“Those are gonna kill you before a curse gets to, y’know,” Satoru Gojo mumbles, humming in disapproval. He nudges the brunette, who scoffs, bringing the flame to the tip of his tobacco. Gojo chokes at the wispy smoke Getou exhales.
“I’d much prefer it that way.”
(This is Satoru’s cosmic trajectory. The choosing. The loving. The loving despite.)
Despite being the “strongest”, there are some things that Gojo allows to hurt him. (Whether his heart knows it or not is a different story altogether.) He knows deep down that something is going to go wrong. That this will not end well. He chooses to live this story anyway. This trajectory, with this man with the piercing black eyes. He will always choose the heartbreak. Like he chooses the cigarettes that are bad for him, the second-hand smoke.
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he’s been having dreams. almost every other night. fragments, broken into ragged puzzle pieces, sharp-edged and piercing. he is never granted enough time to finish the picture, to step back and observe from a distance. no matter how many times he tries his hand at assembling it, he’s always too involved, always in between, always under or above. and the shards he arranges time and time again stay the same - eyelashes darker than night, deep breaths, soft lips. hair falling around his face like a curtain, nails digging into strong arms, the sweet pressure of warm hands pressing down on his hips. they flash before his closed eyes like a strobe light and the more he wants to look away the harder he stares right into it.
every time the tension winds around his lungs, the hunger settles in his bones - a deficit, a negative space, never replenished, never full.
it’s never enough.
with a broken gasp, satoru once again rips himself away from his eternally recurring dream, a strangely familiar feeling immediately wringing out his chest like a citrus fruit. he hisses at the brightness of his phone screen that he taps awake alongside him, not to check the time - but the date.
it takes him a moment to process the question he is asking himself. but the answer is redundant, he was already aware. it’s been months.
he knows he shouldn’t. but he needs to.
he needs him.
calling the first number that appears when he clicks on ’favourites’, he holds his breath until the ringing tone stops and he hears his name whispered back to him.
“are you alright?” suguru’s voice is undistorted, not a single trace of sleep hanging on to his words despite the late hour.
“meet me in the suite.”
suguru doesnt miss a beat. he never does.
“i’ll be there.”
satoru has heard these words a million times before, but the way he says them, the gentleness that creeps into every single syllable - it pulls the ribbon around his ribcage even tighter.
he’s ready in no time, stepping out of the tall building he lives in and into stormy night air.
looking up from his phone after he orders himself a car, a woman on a blinding billboard across the street looks back at him. with her long blonde hair blowing in the wind and an intricately designed glass bottle in her hand, her expression desperately tries to convey that the fragrance she disperses across her neck must simply be heavenly. curved letters span across the whole scene, spelling out the name of the wannabe love potion: l’amour de ma vie.
a car appears at the end of the road, speeding towards him - and satoru scoffs.
what a bullshit concept.
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