#bittersweet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

uravitsy · 3 months

Text

‘YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL’ SATORU GOJO

ACT ONE.

summary. gojo visits your grave once a year, reflecting on the limited time he had with you while going through the stages of grief. ☆

warnings. angst, sad!gojo, fem!reader! gojo x you, grief, established relationship, some smut if you squint, bittersweet ending

a/n. this is a short story i wrote over the summer, i wanted to dabble into the idea of gojo not being able to fully process his grief without the help of his students. it is a bit sad though.

ACT TWO : ̗̀➛ ACT THREE : ̗̀➛ FINALE

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

"Does Gojo-sensei seem…different today?" Itadori asked absentmindedly, leaning back in his chair while balancing a pencil on his nose. He was doing everything else but the work he was supposed to finish before class ended. His two close friends, Megumi and Nobara, spared him a quick glance, as if debating whether to answer his ridiculous question.

"When is that nutjob ever okay?" Nobara bounced back another question, making Itadori stop balancing himself on his chair to think for once. The pencil he had on his face clattered onto the ground. "If anything, he's more extra than he was yesterday."

"Exactly," Itadori frowned, the invisible lightbulb above his head continuing to flicker as he thought long and hard about what Gojo could be upset about. He knew it was a stretch, and he himself wasn't too good at reading emotions, but he was sure something was off—from the way Gojo's smile seemed wider to the way his laughs went on for a second too long. "What do you think, Megumi?"

The black-haired boy stopped moving his pencil across the paper. His face remained stoic as the two beside him turned to look in his direction, anticipating an answer from him.

In short, Megumi did know why Gojo seemed off today, and it was all because of his vague memory of you.

He was a clueless child back then, but he felt it. He felt the love you and Gojo shared, something he had seen before between his own mother and father. It was strong, beautiful, like a song that only you and Gojo knew the lyrics to. It was a dance—a slow burn into the spotlight of a world you two created.

He admired it. He admired you and the person you helped Gojo become.

And though your memory was beautiful, it was also tragic. Megumi did mourn you since he remembered bits and pieces of you, but he was sure Gojo mourned you the most. Especially since today was the anniversary of your death. For as long as he's known Gojo, he knew that this one day out of the year was the time when he'd crack more jokes, tease him more, and laugh the loudest—all to mask his pain.

And he couldn't help but think it's because Gojo never properly grieved for you.

"He's the same as usual," Megumi lied. It wasn't their place to know, nor was it his. Everyone had their secrets and the stuff they keep to themselves. Who were they to pry into his business? "You guys should just drop it."

And with that, he went back to his assignment, ignoring the gawking stares from both of his friends.

"Well, now I'm even more curious," Itadori pouted, resting his chin on his hand as he looked out the window just in time to see Gojo's back as he skipped off campus. "He's literally leaving in the middle of the day!"

"Itadori—" Megumi started but got interrupted by his friends' loud voices.

"What?!" Nobara pushed Itadori away from the window so she could look. A sudden spark of curiosity consumed her as she cracked a mischievous grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We should follow him!" they both said at the same time as they rushed out of the classroom with such speed they left papers flying behind them.

Megumi could only sigh. His peers were likely to get in trouble and drag him into their mess somehow. It never fails. He thought for a moment about how he would benefit from following them to make sure they didn't get caught leaving school grounds without a teacher, but he came up with nothing. He figured he should take his own advice and mind his own business, let those two knuckleheads do whatever they want and suffer the consequences for it.

They could potentially run into dangerous curses, dangerous people, or dangerous people controlling dangerous curses… and then suffer grave injuries. You know what? Maybe he should follow them from a distance.

Meanwhile, the door to the flower shop gave a soft ding as Gojo opened it. His tall frame took up the space in the small shop. Gojo ducked his head as he came in, careful not to knock over the potted plants that rested on the floor and shelves in no particular order. The air was stale with an earthy smell that was oddly comforting. It was good to know that the place remained the same after a year—the only thing that stayed the same in his chaotic life.

"Satoru!" an elderly woman looked up from her newspaper at the sound of the doorbell, thick circle glasses making her eyes appear large and almost fish-like. "Good to see you! How have you been?"

"Mrs. Yamada," Gojo bowed respectfully to the elder, to which the lady playfully pinched and pulled his cheeks. "Missed you too!"

"You silly boy, you know you can visit anytime and not just once a year, you know (Y/N) would've loved that, hm?" Mrs. Yamada made her way behind the counter, already grabbing and wrapping up a single flower. A flower that was your favorite, the same kind you'd always get whenever you would come into this small flower shop.

Gojo never understood why you didn't let him buy a whole bouquet of the flowers you loved. "Then I'd have to take care of all of them," you'd say, your laugh like a sweet melody in his ears that he constantly wanted to replay. "When it's just one, I feel like it lasts longer, you know? I seem to appreciate it more."

The memory made him frown slightly. If you allowed it, he would've bought the whole damn store for you, and you wouldn't just be stuck with a single flower. He didn't get it. He didn't get you. Even after all these years, he was still trying to figure you out.

"Ah, she used to come in every Sunday morning to say hello," Mrs. Yamada smiled warmly. "Always ready to hound me for something sweet to eat. (Y/N) had a nose like a hound and a stomach like a sumo wrestler." The brown wrapping paper crinkled against the elder's fingertips as she folded it around the flower. "Oh, how I miss her."

"Come now, Mrs. Yamada," Gojo leaned against the counter, tapping the wood with excitement. "She'd want us to smile, to celebrate her life, right?! Then that's exactly what we'll do."

"Satoru…"

Gojo waved his hands dismissively. "The usual price for the flowers, right?"

"Yes," Mrs. Yamada rang him up at the cash register before sliding the flower across the counter toward him. But before Gojo could grab it, she pulled it away. "I wanted to tell you before I closed up shop for the day, but… I will be retiring next month."

Gojo's smile fell then.

"I am getting too old, and ever since my husband's passing, I find it quite hard to manage this all on my own, no matter how much I love to do so," she patted the counter lightly, eyes glazed over in a daze as if recalling a memory. "I will be closing the shop and moving to America to stay with my daughter."

"Then are you going to sell the building?"

Gojo found himself asking before he could even think about what to say.

"I'll buy it."

Even in death, you were expensive. How was that possible? Gojo found himself using his savings to buy a whole flower shop that you weren't even here to see. But did that matter to him? Of course not. You were worth every penny—and the shop, to him, was nothing more than a shiny penny that he could buy for your sake. All because you loved it and would visit it often. Gojo couldn't let it close down; it was too valuable for the sake of the memories it held.

So now he owned a flower shop. What the hell was he going to do with a flower shop? He didn't know a damn thing about flowers.

"(Y/N)…" Gojo whispered your name as he pushed open the metal graveyard gate, the bolt making a loud creaking noise that echoed into the summer breeze.

It didn't take Gojo long to find your headstone. After all these years, he knew this cemetery like the back of his hand; at this point, it was like a second home to him. The only place where he could truly let the mask fall as he mourned for you.

In the years you've been gone, he had a long time to think—to wonder why you of all people had to be taken away from him. It made him question, curse, and cry to a higher power above if there was one. Would they be listening? Did they hear him? Did they understand the pain he was put through? And if everything was a part of the higher power's plan, then why was (Y/N) written in with such a tragic story? Why did her life become a song of such somber music?

It wasn't fair. And to Gojo, he would never make sense of it, no matter how hard he tried.

"Ah, it's a beautiful day, (Y/N)." Gojo smiled warmly at your headstone before sitting on the smooth tile, rummaging through his bag to pull out a rag so he could wipe the dust that was on top of your engraved name. "Though I bet you're complaining about how hot it is. I know, it is a little toasty, but a beautiful day nonetheless."

Wiping the concrete clean, Gojo made sure it was spotless with all the cleaning supplies he brought. He had to make up for the year he was away; that's why he always deep-cleaned your headstone since he knew he wouldn't be back until next year. He wanted you to watch the seasons go by with a pretty headstone, one that sparkled whenever the sun cast its rays on it.

"Hm?" Gojo tilted his head as if to hear your unspoken question again. "Oh! I'm doing good. Still teaching. You'd love these lot of kids, though. They have such great potential and are such a reckless bunch who enjoy escaping off campus to follow me here."

"Crap! He's onto us." Gojo heard Nobara's voice from the bushes behind him.

"Do you think he knows?" Itadori asked in his typically clueless fashion.

"He knows, dumbass." Megumi sighed before emerging from the bushes with twiddledee and twiddledumb trailing behind him. Their bantering stopped once they saw Gojo sitting by your headstone, the air suddenly becoming still as they made their way closer.

"Gojo-sensei, we can explain—!"

"Don't even," the white-haired man laughed before gesturing toward the headstone. "(Y/N), meet my students. Students, meet (Y/N)!"

"Ah! Nice to meet you!" Itadori bowed in respect, and so did Megumi.

"Why are we bowing to a dead—" Grabbing ahold of Nobara's hand, Itadori forcibly pulled her down so she could bow as well.

"Oh, you kids are in so much trouble," Gojo said with a gleeful smile. "I'm already thinking of all the ways to punish you."

"In my defense," Megumi started, "I tried to stop them."

"Yetttttt you're still here." Tilting his head, Gojo looked at his students playfully. "I hope you all enjoyed this field trip, but let's head back to campus, yeah? And get ice cream along the way!"

"Oh! Ice cream!" Itadori and Nobara spun around in a dance as they made their way toward the entrance of the cemetery, the pair just finding it best not to question who you were or what you were to Gojo. They could finally sense what Itadori was talking about that morning. He was different today, and it was clear he was sad. "La la la la la!"

"Let's go, Megumi. Do you still prefer chocolate?" Gojo turned to walk away but stopped in his tracks when he noticed Megumi staring at your grave with an expression he couldn't read. "Megumi?"

"Gojo-sensei…" His student turned to look at him. "I just want you to know that it's okay to be sad, to grieve for her."

Gojo chuckled, tucking his hand in his pocket as a breeze cut through the air, its chilled warmth wrapping around the pair. "Who's to say I don't? I grieve her every day."

URAVITSY 2024

491 notes · View notes

cinnamon-galaxies · 19 days

Text

Unspoken Feelings

Pairings: Alastor x gn!Reader

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader, tension, lots of tension, unspoken feelings, hurt but also comfort?, Alastor is bad at feelings, inner conflict, suppressed feelings, does the ending count as (light) angst?, bittersweet ending, I'm bad at tagging

Summary: Loving you is hard, but being with you is harder. And being with Alastor is dangerous.

Wordcount: 1.9k

A/N: This one is very short compared to my other fic but full of (heartbreaking) tension.

*****

{Masterlist}

───*✱*.｡:｡*✱*.:｡.*✧*.:｡*✰*｡:.*✧*.｡:.*✱*｡: ｡.*✱*───

You sat at the grand piano in the dimly lit lounge of the hotel. Your fingers glided gracefully across the keys, seamlessly transitioning between the notes with a captivating elegance. With closed eyes you surrendered to the enchanting melody, completely entranced by its spell. Your soft voice sang along, a subtle sound that harmonized with heartbreaking lyrics of the ballad that had such a special place in your heart, reminding you of bittersweet moments and cherished dreams.

Alastor sat not far from you in an armchair with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His crimson eyes remained fixed on you, captivated by your fervent performance that fully caught his attention. Though he heard you play before he had never witnessed such a fiery passion put into the music that came from your fingers. Your singing voice was enchanting, echoed from the high ceiling like a siren’s song casting a spell on every person who could hear you. It was as though you were revealing a concealed message and opening your heart to whatever you had in mind.

He closed his eyes while he let himself get bewitched by your spell, fully succumbing to your beautiful performance. Were you even aware that he was watching you? Listened to you singing and playing like a muse? He didn’t know it but also he didn’t care as long as you kept playing and filled the hole in his heart with the sound of your song, as a clenching feeling tugged on his stomach, clouded by a pang of longing. He knew exactly what he felt right now. How he felt about you, but expressing those emotions was a different story. He wasn’t good at feelings, let alone at admitting them. It was hard to even admit them to himself, just to begin with. He found himself caught up in denial for far too long and had blamed it on his mind playing tricks on him – he even preferred to diagnose himself as mentally ill than to just accept the fact that he had grown fond of you. Way too fond.

That he started longing for you.

Loved you.

Love.

He let out a dismissive laugh that was far too quiet for you to hear over the sound of the piano.

Love was a feeling he had never felt before. At least not in this way. He had loved his mother unconditionally. She had been the closest and dearest person to him that ever existed in his whole lifetime. And there were other people who were close to him and who he cared about. A lot. But nothing like this could be compared to what he felt in your presence. What feelings you evoke deep inside of him as he looked you in the eyes, felt your lingering gaze on him, listened to you talk and laugh with all your heart. The way his thoughts about you occupied his every breath and kept him awake at night because otherwise if he closed his eyes all he could see was your beautiful face haunting his mind like a tormenting ghost. Oh sweet hells, he even dreamed about you. Was this really the love people were so obsessed with and that was considered the most beautiful thing in the world? There was no way he could comprehend this; no matter how hard he tried. You possessed his every thought and made him question his sanity. It was an uncomfortable feeling that tugged on him, almost completely tore him apart. He hated it. But yet he didn’t want to miss it.

He opened his eyes again, watching your graceful silhouette moving in front of the grand piano and couldn’t help himself but smile contendly, his eyes glowing with sparks of joy. Though no matter how many feelings of happiness tingled in his guts, he felt heartbroken at the same time. Your relationship has always been complicated. You danced around each other, both too far to take the leap. There was so much on you that Alastor admired. Your view on life and your admiration for the smaller things. The way you animatedly gestured around while you told him a story and how your eyes sparkled with anticipation whenever you were about to do the things you adored the most. He admired your creativity and your talent, the passion you put into your music when you played one of your instruments and used your powerful voice to sing along. The way you danced with him as if you were a graceful swan. He also admired your strength and independence, your self-confidence, your stubbornness, your abnormal sense of humor and psychotic tendencies that always reminded him that you were in hell for a reason. He admired the way you weren’t afraid to show off your insanity, even implemented some of your sickest fantasies on hell’s worst spawns. He admired you.

Alastor took a sip of his whiskey. His thoughts made him sound like a fool – an immature and cheesy teenager – whenever he tried to unravel the clot that every oh so normal person considered love.

By now he was aware that he himself had become a victim of this cruel but also beautiful torture. But no matter how confident he was of his actions his own demons held him back to fully committing to you and the feelings he harbored in his chest, carefully tucked away in a heart shaped box. He was everything but a saint. He’d never be enough for you because he knew that he would never change. All he could give you was sorrow and pain and if there was one thing he didn’t want you to bear, it was you suffering from his incapabilities of being the lover you deserved.

The song came to an end and that was when Alastor noticed that he had swallowed his whole drink within the shortest amount of time. Not good, as he already felt the effects of the alcohol starting to cloud his senses.

Through the corner of his eye he saw you move and when he turned his face towards you, you caught him by surprise as he met your gaze. Time stood still for a short moment, his heart pounded in his chest as he returned your startled gaze. You obviously hadn’t been aware of his presence until now.

Alastors smile widened in amusement at your dumbfounded expression but he didn’t laugh. Instead, his voice was calm and smooth as he said, “That was quite the performance, my dear.”

You forced yourself to smile, trying hard to hide your embarrassment in front of him – unsuccessfully. What a cute sight, Alastor thought but shook off the thought as soon as it entered his mind.

“Thank you, Alastor,” you responded to him, your voice much more confident than your startled body language expressed. A wave of reassurance overcame you and you calmed down, recovering from the surprise of your unexpected listener. “It’s always nice to have a captive audience. Even though I would’ve preferred to be aware of it,” you then added with a soft voice, a genuine smile forming on your lips.

Alastor chuckled softly. “Well, consider me captivated, indeed.”

The room became silent for a moment as you and Alastor exchanged glances, the air heavy with unspoken words. There was a moment of silent understanding between you, a shared acknowledgement of the unspoken feelings that lingered beneath the surface. Alastor knew he had to say something, to break the tension between you, but the words caught in his throat, unable to be spoken out loud. It was one of those moments when he should have risen from his seat and approached you, embracing your delicate presence and pulling you in a tender kiss. It was what he had dreamed about for weeks, one of those perfect moments that needed no words but mere actions to confess your feelings for each other. There was no doubt that you felt the same for him. Alastor knew that you returned his feelings (at least in some similar way). You had to. Otherwise you would have acted differently in his presence, less nervous, less attentive in his personal needs, less affectionate. You would’ve maintained less eye contact with him, not lingering your gaze longer on him than necessary and not secretly stealing glances. Yes, he knew about it but not only because he could feel it when he was watched, but also because people had told him. Not only Charlie had tried to confront him about the supposed ‘tension’ between the both of you, but also Angel couldn’t help but joke loudly about it. Alastor was told how much you smiled in his presence, how much more vivid you behaved in his presence, that subtle tries of yours to catch his attention without raising suspicion. Well, your attempt to remain inconspicuous seemed to have failed – at least in the eyes of the other residents. If no one had told Alastor about it and he wouldn’t have spent time actively paying attention to your changes in behavior around him, he would have never noticed. Never guessed it. You were truly bad at concealing your feelings. Did you even try?

Normally Alastor would’ve laughed at this thought. But in this moment there was nothing to laugh about as the tension between you burned with a subtle passion, drawing the both of you to each other in an unspoken longing.

You loved him at least as much as he loved you.

You wanted him at least as much as he wanted you.

And you needed him at least as much as he needed you.

At least that’s what Rosie had told him when he had spent a whole afternoon conversing with her about that peculiar demoness that made him feel things he never thought possible. But yet, Alastor remained in his armchair, returning your loving expression with unveiled eyes. His breath was heavy and his heart pounded in his chest like a drum on a battlefield.

Oh, how much he wanted to touch you.

To get close to you.

To hug you.

To kiss you.

To make him his. For the rest of eternity.

But he knew his inner demons would show you no mercy. That he would just hurt you to a point of no return. And that was something he was determined not to allow under any circumstances. Something he would never forgive himself for. And he would hurt you. He knew that.

Alastor felt a lump building in his throat and held his breath as it was too painful to continue breathing with that pressure clenching his chest.

The both of you stood there for a moment longer, staring at each other but remained in your unmoved state, silently confessing to each other without a spoken word.

Without making a sound Alastor stood up, his hand wrapped tightly around his empty whiskey glass, knuckles whitening under the pressure. He offered you a small, toothless smile before turning around to leave. His heart was heavy from unspoken desires and the pain of his decision tore his heart into shreds as he left you alone. The door swung close behind him and Alastor couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss wash over him. He knew that loving you was hard. And being without you was even harder.

Cruel.

But it was for the best.

He could never love you the way he wanted to – the way you deserved it. And if protecting you meant tearing himself apart in the most gruesome ways possible, so it should be.

*****

277 notes · View notes