#satoru angst

[kashimopilled]

me not even giving the day a chance by writing a Satoru’s last moments in Shinjuku x reader angsty drabble at 6 a.m. omw to work

[sleeepycupid]

Why? For no reason?

A/N: oh em gee. I’m such a liarrrrr. I thought I would make a comeback but I’m still slowly posting… sorry babes! mwah mwah -> m.list cheaterhusband!satoru x wife!reader

The grackle on the windowsill tilted its head, beady black eyes fixed on the half-empty coffee cup in Gojo Satoru’s hand. It was the third time this week the bird had shown up—same time, same perch, same unnerving stare. You’d joked that it was his conscience, watching him. He’d laughed too loudly, ruffling your hair like you were a kid instead of his wife of five years.

His phone buzzed against the marble countertop. Again. You didn’t look up from the pancakes you were flipping, syrup bottle hovering over the skillet. "Work?" you asked, and his fingers twitched before he pocketed the device without checking it. "Yeah," he said. "Always something." The lie came too easily now, wrapped in the same tired sigh he used when explaining overtime, missed dinners, the way he smelled like someone else’s perfume when he stumbled home at 2 AM.

You handed him a plate stacked with golden-brown pancakes, the edges crisp just how he liked them. His thumb brushed yours, lingering a second too long, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your hand. "Thanks," he murmured, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. They darted past you, toward the hallway where his coat hung—and the folded receipt peeking from the pocket, the one from the hotel you weren’t supposed to find.

The grackle let out a harsh, grating cry and took off, wings slicing through the morning air. You watched it go, then turned back to him, wiping your hands on your apron. "You’re leaving early again?" you asked, and this time, he didn’t answer. Just shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth, chewing mechanically, like the sweetness had turned to ash on his tongue.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Somewhere in the apartment, a clock ticked. The syrup bottle tipped over, a slow, sticky river oozing across the counter. Neither of you moved to clean it up.

The syrup reached the edge of the counter and dripped onto the floor—plink, plink, plink—like a metronome keeping time for the unraveling of your marriage. Satoru set his fork down with deliberate care, the silverware clinking against porcelain. His hands, usually so sure, trembled faintly. "I should go," he said, voice rough, as if the words were being dragged out of him. "Meeting at eight."

You nodded, fingers tightening around the spatula. The pancakes had gone cold now, their perfect crisp edges wilting under the weight of the silence. "Right," you said softly. "Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting." The words hung between you, sharp as a blade. His breath hitched—just slightly—but he didn’t rise to the bait.

He stood, chair scraping against the floor, and grabbed his coat. The receipt fluttered to the ground like a wounded bird, landing face-up. The Grand Hokke Hotel, 11 PM, Room 414. Your stomach lurched. Satoru froze, staring at it, then at you. For a moment, his mask slipped—panic, guilt, something desperate flickering in those too-blue eyes. "It’s not what it—"

"Looks like?" you finished, voice eerily calm. You bent down, picked up the receipt, and smoothed it between your fingers. The paper felt flimsy, insignificant, but the numbers seared into your skin like a brand. "Funny. You told me you were at the office that night."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His shoulders slumped, the effortless charm he wore like armor crumbling. "I didn’t—I didn’t mean for it to happen." The apology was hollow, rehearsed. You’d heard it before—not from him, but from TV dramas, from friends who’d been through this same hell. It sounded even worse in his voice.

The receipt trembled in your hand—or maybe it was your fingers shaking. The numbers blurred as your vision swam, but you didn’t cry. Not yet. Instead, you folded the paper neatly, precisely, pressing the creases with your thumbnail until they were sharp enough to cut. "Didn’t mean for it to happen," you repeated, voice eerily detached. "That’s what they always say, isn’t it?"

Satoru reached for you, his hand hovering inches from your wrist before dropping to his side. His fingers flexed, like he was grasping for something that wasn’t there anymore. "I love you," he said, the words ragged, as if torn from his throat. "That part—that part’s true."

You laughed then, a brittle, broken sound. The grackle had returned, perched on the windowsill again, its head cocked as if studying the wreckage. "Love," you echoed. "You have a funny way of showing it." The syrup had pooled around your feet, sticky and sweet, but the smell made you nauseous. You stepped around it, moving toward the sink, gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

He followed, his shadow stretching across the floor between you. "Tell me what you want me to do," he whispered. "Anything. I’ll—I’ll end it. I’ll quit my job. I’ll—"

"Stop." You turned the faucet on, letting the water run over your hands, washing away nothing at all. "Just stop." The silence that followed was worse than the lies. It was the sound of something irreparable breaking.

The water kept running, swirling down the drain in a slow spiral. You watched it, unblinking, until your reflection warped into something unrecognizable—someone else’s face, someone else’s life. Satoru’s shadow inched closer, but he didn’t touch you. The space between you throbbed like a fresh wound.

"You should go," you said finally, voice flat. "You’ll be late for your meeting." The words were a mockery, a bitter echo of the mundane routines you’d built together. Breakfasts, goodbyes, the illusion of normalcy. Satoru didn’t move. His breath came uneven, as if he were the one drowning. "There is no meeting," he admitted, the words raw. "There hasn’t been for weeks."

A humorless smile tugged at your lips. "I know." You’d known the moment you found the lipstick stain on his collar—a shade too dark, too bold to be yours. The receipts, the missed calls, the way he’d started folding his laundry himself, like he was twelve again hiding a failing grade. You’d known, and yet you’d let the grackle watch instead of you.

His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. "Her name is—" "Don’t." Your voice cracked like ice underfoot. "I don’t want to know." The details would only make it real—her laugh, her favorite perfume, whether she made him pancakes too. Some lies were better left intact.

The grackle tapped its beak against the window, a sharp, insistent rhythm. You turned your head, meeting its black, unblinking gaze. "You were right," you murmured to it. "It was his conscience after all." Satoru flinched as if struck.

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound like a deflating balloon. His hands, usually so animated when he spoke, hung limp at his sides. "I'll pack a bag," he said, voice stripped of its usual lilt. "Stay at the agency for a while." The words tasted like surrender, but neither of you pointed out how flimsy that solution was. The agency was fifteen minutes away. He could come back anytime. You both knew he wouldn't.

You nodded, still gripping the edge of the counter. Your wedding ring caught the morning light, throwing a tiny prism across the backsplash. It looked garish now, like costume jewelry. "Take the black suitcase," you heard yourself say. "The one with the wheels." Domestic details felt safe, manageable. If you focused on suitcase wheels, you wouldn't have to think about how he'd packed that same bag for your honeymoon, how he'd joked about filling it with souvenirs instead of clothes.

He moved toward the bedroom like a man walking to the gallows. The grackle tapped the window again—one, two, three times—as if counting his steps. You wondered if it would follow him to his new temporary life, if it would watch him unpack his toothbrush in some sterile agency dormitory. The thought almost made you laugh. Almost.

The faucet was still running. You turned it off, the sudden silence louder than the water had been. From the bedroom, you heard drawers opening, hangers scraping against the rod. Normal sounds. Terrible sounds. You picked up the syrup bottle, now sticky and half-empty, and placed it in the sink. The pancakes sat abandoned on the counter, the butter congealing in yellow pools. You scraped them into the trash without looking at them. The plate clattered against the others in the sink, a discordant chime.

When Satoru reappeared in the doorway, suitcase in tow, he looked like a stranger. His hair was mussed from running his hands through it, his collar slightly askew. The man who never left the house without looking perfect suddenly seemed… human. Breakable. You hated it. "I'll—" he started, then stopped. Swallowed. "Call me. If you need anything."

The grackle took flight as Satoru stepped out the door, its wings beating against the thick silence left in his wake. You stood there, staring at the space where he'd been, the echo of the door clicking shut still vibrating in your bones. The apartment smelled like syrup and coffee and the faint citrus of his cologne—traces of a life that no longer fit together.

Your fingers moved first, unbidden, tracing the edge of the receipt still clutched in your palm. Room 414. An even number. He'd always hated odd numbers, said they felt incomplete. The irony burned like acid in your throat. You folded the paper again, then again, until it was a tiny, dense square, and dropped it into the half-empty syrup bottle. It sank slowly, the ink bleeding into the golden liquid.

The suitcase wheels had left faint tracks on the hardwood. You followed them, ghosting your fingertips over the grooves, all the way to the bedroom. His side of the closet stood half-empty, hangers gaping like open mouths. A single sock lay abandoned on the floor, as if even in his haste, some part of him couldn't bear to take everything. You picked it up—black, dress socks, the kind he wore with his suit—and pressed it to your nose. Laundry detergent and the faint musk of his skin. You stuffed it into your pocket before you could think better of it.

The bed was still unmade, his pillow indented from where he'd slept last night. You sat on the edge, the mattress dipping under your weight, and stared at his nightstand. The photo frame faced away from you, as if it couldn't bear to witness this either. You turned it over: your wedding day, his arms around you, both of you laughing under a shower of cherry blossoms. His thumb had smudged the glass right over your face. You wondered when he'd last looked at it.

You smiled to yourself, ironic right?

The bedroom felt empty without him, or was it always this empty and you have never realized it before? The melancholic and nostalgic feelings in your chest rose each time you looked around that home of yours. It was truly the end of a marriage.

After packing everything you needed you head out, to your new life, leaving this so called home empty. You wonder how he would react coming back and not seeing you anymore. If he would cry because you vanished.

The wedding ring long forgotten on the kitchen counter was a reminder for his choices. The fresh breeze air that kissed your face, was telling you did the right thing, as if it was applauding too. You laughed sadly again. When was the last time you laughed anyway?

[chemicalzromance]

i lowkey dont fw when writers write this like breathtakingly sobbingly pillow biting angst and the part 2 is just for it to all be a dream

im not saying i hate it i love when writers do that but it’s in every single fic/smau i see and it’s getting kinda repetitive like what happened to them groveling for reader back or realizing they lost the reader

anyways sorry for not posting in like 100 years i have a bunch of ideas i’ll get to writing soon im redoing my whole room and rewatching kubzscouts playing danganronpa so i’ve just been really busy these past few weeks but expect a fic maybe around next week or maybe this week if im feeling energized enough

[kyo-sstuff]

I'm so tired of reading fanfics where they accidentally gets pregnant and then skips a few years. I want to read about their struggles during and after pregnancy. Anyonee please gimme the title 😩😩

[aariablooms]

Angst with ex boyfriend Satoru

You opened the door and there he was.

You're barefoot, hair loose, wearing the small strapped night suit you sleep which now no one is there to see it. Thin fabric, familiar straps digging lightly into your shoulders. You'd forgotten how exposed you look like this until you see his blue eyes drop, then snap back up, guilt flashing across his face like he's touched something sacred without permission.

He looks wrecked.

Not messy-drunk or careless. Just stripped down.

Like the alcohol finally loosened the knots he's been choking on for weeks.

For a second, neither of you speaks. You can feel his attention on you anyway. How his gaze lingers, not hungry, not possessive, but aching. Like he's cataloguing everything he lost. The curve of your collarbone. The softness you used to press into his chest. The way you're holding the door half-closed, like you don't trust yourself.

"You shouldn't be here," you say finally.

Your voice is steady. You hate that it sounds like you've healed. You haven't.

He swallows. Rain drips from his hair onto the floor between you. "I know."

You wait for a joke. It doesn't come.

He looks at you again, slower this time, eyes glassy with too much truth. "You look... tired."

Something inside you tightens. "You came all the way to say this?"

He flinches, like the words physically hit. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Sorry."

Silence stretches. Heavy. Loaded.

You can feel the night pulling at you, the late hour, the quiet apartment, the version of yourself that almost lets him in just because it's familiar.

Because it would be easy to fold. To let him touch you. To cry into his neck and pretend love alone could fix what broke.

You don't move.

"Are you drunk...Satoru? You questioned the obvious.

"Yes," he says, not as an announcement, but like a confession he doesn't know how to hold. "I didn't plan to come here. I just... stopped lying to myself."

Your fingers curl around the edge of the door.

"And that brings you to me?"

His laugh is weak. "It brings me to the part where you left."

It stings.

"You walked out while I was still trying to talk to you," he continues quietly. "I kept thinking...if I say the right thing, if I explain myself better, you'll stay."

You remember that night too well. His voice filling the room. Your chest feeling smaller and smaller.

"I told you I couldn't do it anymore," you say. "I told you I felt like every disagreement turned into a debate I had to survive."

"I know," he says. "I know that now."

You shake your head. "You knew then. You just didn't stop."

He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, they're wet.

"I told myself you were being dramatic," he admits. "That you were escalating things. That you were... too much."

Your breath catches despite yourself.

"And that was the moment I lost you," he continues, voice low and wrecked. "Because you weren't too much. You were just asking me to listen and I made you feel like that was a flaw."

The alcohol makes him honest in a way he never let himself be sober. No defenses. No clever reframes.

"I was such an asshole," he says. "I didn't know how to love you quietly. I thought intensity was the same thing as care."

Your eyes burn. "You made me feel like I had to leave to be heard."

"I know," he whispers. "And I hate that it took losing you for it to sink in."

He looks at you again, slower now, taking in the exposed skin around those straps of your night suit, the way your arms are wrapped around yourself. Not desire but remorse.

"I know if I come in," he says carefully, "you'll break. And I'll hold you. And we'll pretend that's enough."

Your throat tightens. He knows. He's always known.

"I don't trust this," you admit. "I don't trust that this isn't just the alcohol talking."

"It is," he says. "But it's also the first time l've stopped protecting myself from the truth."

Rain drums against the silence.

"I'm not asking you to take me back," he says.

"I'm asking you not to think you were the problem."

You don't answer.

He nods, like he expected that. Takes a step back.

The distance hurts more than closeness would have.

"I'll go," he says. "I just needed you to see me own it."

You watch him turn away, shoulders heavy, pride finally gone.

When the door closes, you rest your forehead against it, shaking. Because you're still hurt.

Because he's still hurting.

And because loving each other was never the problem, it was learning how not to destroy each other that broke you both.

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

[dionysusk]

this is an 18+ blog, age in bio please!!

imagine seeing a poster of model!satoru while you're walking home from work. it hurts to look at him since you've long been broken up, but you can't deny that you miss him. no one has ever compared to him.

he was your best friend and sweetheart up until he broke up with you in college because, in his words, "we just have different priorities." seeing a poster of him now, knowing he's definitely rich, well-known, and happy ... it hurts. god he's so pretty. maybe he broke up with you because you were in the way of his dreams. your eyes turn dull as your mind wanders ruthlessly. your face occasionally morphing into disgust and pain at every harsh thought.

you don't notice satoru on the other side of the street watching you. he saw how your eyes lit up in recognition of him in the poster, but he also saw your shoulders drop in utter sadness right after. watching you begin to walk away, he wonders if he should go after you. maybe he can fix this.

inspired by the digital art of satoru i just saw and reblogged!: https://www.tumblr.com/rezijellyfish/821046303632031744 / @rezijellyfish

[siennayaps]

Heaven Forbid

Best friend Satoru has started dating but why does it bother you so much?

Part-4 | Masterlist - Play this!

For a moment, you genuinely thought your body had forgotten how to function.

Not in the way people described heartbreak in romance movies, where everything shattered at once and the pain announced itself loudly enough to be heard. No, this was somehow worse. This was your brain refusing to catch up with reality while your body had already understood everything. Your face had gone completely numb, yet your neck felt unbearably hot. Your ears burned. Your palms immediately turned damp around your glass. Somewhere beneath your ribs, your heart had started beating so violently that you were convinced everyone standing around you could hear it. It felt ridiculous, almost embarrassing, because this wasn’t supposed to be shocking. You knew he had gone on a date. You knew there had been a girl. You had spent the entire week torturing yourself over that fact. And yet somehow, despite all the preparation, despite all the conversations with Shoko and Suguru and yourself, despite all the promises that you would handle it maturely, seeing her standing there beside him felt like being hit by a train you had watched approaching from miles away.

Because a date was one thing. A girlfriend was another. A girlfriend meant time. It meant conversations you hadn’t been part of. It meant moments you hadn’t witnessed. It meant there had been entire pieces of his life unfolding without you even knowing.

The realization lodged itself somewhere deep inside your chest and refused to move.

Girlfriend, the word kept echoing.

Girlfriend.

Your bestfriend had a girlfriend now and he absolutely did not care to share that part of his life with you, you who he claimed to be the closest to.

Your eyes drifted toward her before you could stop them. She was beautiful in the sort of effortless way that made you irrationally angry. Soft bangs framed her face perfectly, her outfit somehow managing to look elegant without trying too hard, and there was something about her posture that felt composed, traditional almost, like somebody who belonged in places that demanded respect. The worst part wasn’t even that she was gorgeous. The worst part was that she looked really good standing right next to Satoru.

And suddenly your mind was spiraling so quickly you could barely keep up.

You had spent years listening to Satoru complain about clan politics. Years listening to him rant about expectations, traditions, arranged marriages, family pressure. You knew exactly how much he hated the idea of being forced into a life somebody else chose for him. Yet looking at Utahime, your traitorous mind immediately started imagining things you had absolutely no business imagining.

Future things. Things that made you feel sick. She looked like somebody who could become Mrs. Gojo. You never got to know “what” type of girls he was into but looking at the girl in front of your sight seemed to be an answer enough.

She looked like somebody his clan would approve of. Some who looked like she had manners, unlike you who was pretty tomboyish and reckless.

And before you could stop yourself, before logic could intervene, your brain painted picture after picture until nausea climbed up your throat.

Did you even know him?

Had you spent years loving a version of him that existed only inside your head? Because if he liked women like her, then what exactly had you been doing all this time?

The questions came so quickly they became impossible to answer. You barely registered the conversation that followed.

Utahime was speaking to you.

You knew that much.

You knew you shook her hand. You knew she smiled. You knew she hugged you briefly and that her perfume lingered long after she stepped away, expensive, elegant, and different then what you smell like.

You knew you asked her questions. You knew she answered them. You knew at some point you answered some of hers.

But if somebody had held a gun to your head afterward and asked you to repeat a single sentence from that conversation, you wouldn’t have been able to do it. You remembered nothing.

Nothing except Satoru standing beside her. Nothing except the way he looked happy. Nothing except the awful metallic taste that had settled across your tongue.

Eventually, somehow, your eyes found him again. You forced your lips upward. Forced your voice steady and be the person you wished you were.

“Wow,” you said softly, looking between them. “She’s really pretty.” The smile on your face felt stretched too tight. “You hit the jackpot, huh?” His grin widened. It burned to notice that as well.

“I’m happy for you guys.”

The lie tasted worse than the alcohol. “I hope you enjoy the night. I’ll catch up with you later.”

You vaguely motioned with your thumb behind you, towards the restroom. “Just gotta…”

You didn’t even finish the sentence, you simply nodded, turned and walked away. Then the second you were out of sight, you were moving so quickly it was practically running.

Coward.

You caught sight of Suguru and Shoko watching you from across the room. The concern on their faces made shame twist painfully inside your stomach, but you couldn’t deal with that right now. Couldn’t deal with pity. Couldn’t deal with concern. Couldn’t deal with being perceived at all.

You lifted your drink, finished it in one desperate swallow. Immediately regretted it. Coughed, winced and pushed your way into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind you. Your hands landed against the sink. Your head dropped forward. Suddenly it felt impossible to breathe. The room tilted, your chest rose and fell too quickly. Every thought crashed into the next one until they became impossible to separate.

You had been trying so hard to be put together, act like the way a best friend is supposed to but what could you do when you have fallen for your best friend and not dating anybody else for a long time only seemed to emphasise that this was not infatuation but love. That was the cruelest part.

You had been so close to convincing yourself that this could work. That you could be his friend. That you could be mature. That you could support him. That eventually things would settle and life would continue.

But standing there, listening to him introduce his girlfriend, all you could think about was the fact that he hadn’t told you.

Not beforehand, not even over text or call. You had found out alongside everyone else. Just another friend in the crowd. Just another person being introduced to someone new he was close with.

The realization hurt in a way you couldn’t even explain. Your eyes burned, your heart burned, your throat burned. Everything burned.

At some point tears started falling. You didn’t even notice when it happened. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the mascara irritating your eyes. Maybe it was the heartbreak. Maybe it was all three.

You didn’t know.

All you knew was that everything hurt. And somehow, despite all of it, despite the humiliation and jealousy and grief clawing through your chest, one thought remained stubbornly alive.

You would not let him see. Absolutely not. You would die before you let him see what he did to you. So what if your heart was breaking? So what if you’ll spend the next week crying? So what if you ghosted him after tonight?

Those were problems for future you. Present you was going to walk out of this bathroom with perfect makeup and her dignity intact. You were going to smile. You were going to drink with your friends. And if it killed you, Satoru Gojo was never going to know.

After several minutes, you finally straightened, fixed your makeup, blotted your eyes, adjusted your hair and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Fantastic!

Heartbroken but fantastic. With one final breath, you stepped back into the party. The first thing you noticed was Satoru. Your eyes found him automatically. Like they always did. Difference is that usually you both would keep glancing at each other in parties from random corners. That’s if you could ever be away from each other which of course was rare.

Every time you looked his way, there they were. Together. Talking and laughing. Standing close. Utahime touching his ear. Satoru leaning down to hear something she said. Every tiny interaction felt insignificant and devastating at the same time.

You found yourself staring far longer than you should have, burning holes through both of them from across the room, wondering if this was what torture felt like.

The worst part is that he never came over. Not once. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, maybe he was distracted, maybe he was happy and expected you to actually act like his best friend and not how you actually were acting up.

So when you finally reached the kitchen to make yourself another drink, you were already halfway through convincing yourself that you didn’t care.

That was when you heard a coarse voice.

“That one’s terrible.”

You looked up. And immediately wished you hadn’t. Because leaning against the refrigerator was Sukuna.

Somehow even taller than you remembered from last summer. Black Henley stretched across broad shoulders. Dark tattoos disappearing beneath rolled sleeves. The kind of face that looked permanently amused by everybody else’s poor decisions.

His gaze slid toward the bottle in your hand.

Then toward you.

Then back again.

A smirk appeared.

“Want me to make the lady an actual drink?” You blinked.

“What, you don’t trust my bartending skills?”

“Fair.” The smirk widened.

He stepped closer, not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough that his presence became impossible to ignore.

“You were drinking bourbon earlier.” He tilted his head. Your eyebrows lifted.

“How do you know that?”

“Your lips smell like it”

You literally gasped and could not come up with something to fire back. His gaze flickered toward your glass. Then back toward you. Your eyes widened and Sukuna laughed softly.

“Relax. That’s not nearly as creepy as it sounded.”

“It sounded pretty creepy.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was rare for you to laugh at moments like this. You hated even more that it felt good. For the first time all evening, somebody was looking at you. What if Sukuna is actually someone Satoru hates with all his guts? We’ll think about that later because tonight is about getting drunk and making badddd bad decisions.

You would never understand how someone like Nanami ended up being friends with Sukuna. A story for another time it seems.

Then, from somewhere across the apartment, Haibara’s voice exploded through the room.

“EVERYBODY GET OVER HERE!”

Followed immediately by Yuki aggressively drumming against a table.

“TRUTH OR DARE!”

The entire apartment erupted into noise and people cheering. You groaned. Sukuna looked toward the crowd and then back at you.

“You going?” You considered it.

“Honestly? Don’t feel like it”. But your gaze drifted toward the growing circle. When did so many people get here? You eyes flicked towards Satoru. Toward Utahime settling down beside him.

And after a moment, you sighed.

“Yeah, you know what? Let’s do it.”

Sukuna pushed himself off the refrigerator. The smirk returning.

“Now we’re talking.” You raised an eyebrow. His gaze lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary. You smiled and reached for Shoko’s cigarette, craving another puff.

Eventually, after enough arguing, bribing, and Yuki threatening everyone to participate, the entire group finally found themselves gathered in the living room for the game.

The coffee table had been shoved to the side to make room, cushions and blankets scattered haphazardly across the floor. Somebody had stolen half the throw pillows from Suguru’s bedroom, and nobody seemed particularly concerned about returning them. The room felt warm from the amount of people crammed into it, music still drifting softly from the speakers in the background while glasses clinked and conversations overlapped.

You found yourself settling down beside Sukuna almost without thinking about it. He dropped heavily onto the floor cushion beside yours, pulling the sleeves of his henley up his arms, stretching his long legs out in front of him and immediately claiming far more space than any one human being should legally be allowed to occupy. Being close to him felt oddly natural. He handed you your drink without asking, stealing a sip from it as he leaned back against the foot of the couch.

Across from you, Yuki and Choso were completely lost in their own world. Neither of them seemed particularly interested in the game yet. Every few minutes Yuki would lean over and whisper something into Choso’s ear that immediately made his expression soften. Then Choso would murmur something back and she’d grin like she just heard the funniest joke ever. At one point Yuki dissolved into laughter so hard she nearly dropped her drink into Nanami’s lap.

Meanwhile, Shoko had somehow managed to become self-appointed game master despite nobody voting for her, making a new stupid rule.

Haibara looked delighted. “What is it?”

Shoko took a thoughtful sip of her drink. “If somebody refuses a truth or a dare, we get to post whatever we want from their phone.”

The room exploded into madness.

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s illegal.

“Says who?”

“Says every government.”

“Pretty nice rule,” Sukuna commented.

“Terrible rule,” Nanami corrected.

“Excellent rule,” Haibara argued.

While everybody argued, Suguru sat comfortably on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, looking entirely at peace despite hosting a gathering that was rapidly spiraling out of control. Nanami had somehow ended up helping him manage everyone despite never volunteering for the position. Together, they were doing a decent job making sure Utahime didn’t feel left out.

Whenever a conversation drifted too far into old memories only the rest of you understood, Suguru would gently steer it back.

“Utahime, have we ever told you about Satoru’s first year haircut?” Immediately half the room started laughing.

“No.”

“Oh my God.”

“You have to.”

Utahime looked intrigued. Satoru looked alarmed. And before he could stop anyone, the story was already being told. Unfortunately, you knew every single one of them. You were usually the one telling them.

The disastrous haircut. The time Satoru got lost three streets away from campus. The time he ran out of his dorm in a towel when a false fire alarm once went off. The stories about him when he was drunk.

Every single one had you rolling your eyes because you’d heard them a hundred times before.

Still, everybody laughed, especially Utahime. And every time she laughed, Satoru smiled. The sight made something unpleasant twist in your stomach.

So you just looked away in jealousy. Unfortunately, that only brought your attention elsewhere.

To Sukuna.

And, more specifically, to the fact that Satoru absolutely hated his guts. That much had always been obvious.

The two of them had spent years taking shots at each other whenever they occupied the same room. Sukuna was the kind of person who naturally commanded attention without trying. He was enormous, intimidating, sharp-tongued, and entirely too confident for his own good. He was one of the football team’s star players, and people always tended to part instinctively when he walked into a room.

Satoru, meanwhile, somehow managed to attract attention simply by existing. Put the two of them together and it usually took less than ten minutes before somebody started an argument.

You’d never paid much attention to it before. Tonight, however, it was impossible not to notice. Because every time Sukuna leaned toward you to make a comment, every time he handed you a drink, every time the two of you exchanged a joke, you could practically feel somebody staring.

The feeling became so persistent that eventually you glanced up. And there he was. Looking directly at the two of you. The second your eyes met, Satoru immediately turned away.

Almost comically fast.

Suddenly very interested in whatever Utahime was saying. He nodded and smiled . Acted as if he’d been paying attention the entire time.

What a joke.

You nearly laughed into your drink. A second later, Haibara clapped his hands together loudly enough to startle half the room.

“Alright!”

Every conversation stopped. Haibara rubbed his hands together with the excitement of a man about to commit several crimes.

“Let’s start.” The grin on his face should have been everybody’s first warning.

Choso had somehow acquired three different snack bowls and was passing them around whenever someone reached for something. Yuki had stolen half of his popcorn already and was unapologetically eating from his bowl despite having her own sitting right in front of her.

The bottle spun for the first time!

Everybody leaned forward. It landed on Shoko. The room immediately erupted.

“Oh, this is going to be terrible.” Haibara grinned “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Suguru snorted “Coward.”

“Shut up.”

Haibara thought for a moment before snapping his fingers. “What’s the last thing that got you in serious trouble?”

Shoko opened her mouth. Then sighed.

“I punched a cop once.”

The silence lasted exactly half a second. Then the room exploded. Nanami nearly dropped his drink “What Shoko-?!”

Utahime looked horrified. Yuki was laughing so hard she folded in half.

“You WHAT?”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“It was absolutely your fault.”

“He won’t let me take my drink inside WHICH btw I payed so much extra for, what if I bought it from a different bar? What a loser.”

“That’s not a legal defense.”

“I wasn’t arrested.”

“You should’ve been.”

The argument continued for several minutes before the bottle was spun again. This time it landed directly on Nanami. The cheering was immediate.

Nanami looked like a man being led to his execution. Shoko asked “Truth or dare?”

He hesitated. “Alright, dare”, The room absolutely lost its mind.

“HE PICKED DARE.”

“Write that down.”

“Who cloned Nanami”

Satoru immediately leaned over and whispered something into Yuki’s ear. Yuki’s face lit up.

“Oh, you’re evil.”

Nanami looked concerned. “What?”

Nobody answered him. Shoko simply held out her hand.

“Phone.”

“No.”

“Phone.”

“No.”

Suguru was already laughing. Nanami reluctantly surrendered it. Two minutes later, Yuki handed his phone back to him “Post it” had.

Nanami’s eyes shot up “I’m not gonna post that I’m gay”. The room was in tears. Haibara was rolling on the floor. Yuki couldn’t breathe. You and Satoru had tears in his eyes.

Meanwhile Nanami had buried his face in his hands. “I’m all for supporting everyone but that’s a lie, the uni kids are gonna have a field day tomorrow”.

“Don’t cry about it,” Haibara managed between laughs. “You can delete it in twenty-four hours.”

“I hate all of you.”

“No you don’t.”

“I absolutely do.”

The game only got worse from there. The bottle landed on Choso next, who picked dare. Shoko immediately sat forward. The grin on her face was dangerous.

“Oh, I’ve got one.”

“No,” Choso said immediately.

“I haven’t even said anything.

“No.”

“Ask it.”

Shoko pointed dramatically.

“Tell us the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done because of Yuki.” The room exploded again with multiple rumours they heard about the couple.

Choso froze and Yuki immediately covered her face.

“Noooooo”

“Yes.”

After several minutes of relentless bullying, Choso finally sighed.

“There was a week.” The room leaned forward.

“Oh no.”

“There was a week where she was busy.”

“And?”

“We had just started dating and I missed talking to her.” The room immediately started hooting which Choso tried his best to ignored.

“So I made a second account on a game we both play just so I could run into her online without seeming to be clingy.”

The room completely lost control. Yuki looked ready to launch herself into the sun.

You: “You did NOT.”

“I did.”

“That’s so adorable Choso” you said.

“It- it’s - pathetic okay”

“It’s adorable.”

“It is a little adorable,” Suguru admitted.

Yuki buried her face in Choso’s shoulder while everyone continued making fun of them. By the time the bottle landed on Suguru, everybody was already drunk enough to be a problem.

“Truth.”

“Omg look at this mf, he was just teasing me about picking truth.”

“Shoko your moustache is showing.” Shoko threw a pillow in his direction. Haibara immediately pointed at him. “Most embarrassing date.”

Suguru sighed so deeply it seemed rehearsed.

“No omfg I don’t wanna think about it.”

“Yes.”

“Ughhhhh”

“Spilllll Sugu chan.” Satoru teased knowing that’s what you call Suguru. The room chanted until he surrendered.

“Ok fine fine .” He twirled a strand of hair around his finger. “I was laughing during a date once.”

The room waited.

“And?”

“And I accidentally farted.”

The silence lasted exactly one second. Then the apartment nearly came down. You couldn’t breathe. Neither could Sukuna. Shoko had fallen sideways on the couch. Even Utahime was wiping tears from her eyes.

Suguru looked deeply offended.

“You asked.”

“What happened next?”

“I went to the restroom but turned the other way and left.” The room erupted again.

“You LEFT someone on a date”.

“I panicked okay?”

“You ghosted her?”

“Immediately.”

“Why are we hearing about this for the first time.” Satoru snorted. The laughter continued long after the bottle spun again.

Then it stopped. Because the neck of the bottle slowly rotated.

Past Suguru, past Yuki, past Haibara and landed directly on you.

The room erupted. “Oh no.”

“There she is.”

“You’re gonna pick Truth as usual?”

You set your drink down.

Sat up and grinned.

Nanami already looked concerned. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

The room cheered. “Dare,” you repeated loudly. “I demand a dare.” Haibara immediately leaned toward Nanami and whispered something. Nanami’s expression changed instantly. “No.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Coward.”

Nanami sighed. Haibara got impatient. So naturally he shouted it himself.

“Kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

The apartment went silent. Your face immediately warmed. Across the room, your eyes found Satoru’s. For the briefest second, something flashed across his face.

Then he looked down.

But not before you caught the faint redness creeping across his ears. What? Did he think you were going to pick him? The thought alone almost made something coil in your belly.

You took another drink instead. Then stood. The room watched your every movement. You slowly wandered around the circle, pretending to think.

“Hmmm.”

Haibara looked excited. Yuki looked invested. Nanami looked stressed. Shoko looked like she was watching premium entertainment.

You glanced toward a few strangers.

Nopeeeee

Not them!

Then your gaze drifted back toward Satoru. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something. Like he was waiting.

Expecting.

Across the room, Suguru’s eyes widened slightly. The second he realized you were looking at him, he shook his head.

Immediately.

The expression was so obvious it was almost funny. He silently wanted to say “Not me” since he knows Satoru might take his head for this.

That was definitely a don’t. So your gaze moved on. And landed on Sukuna, not that he wasn’t your immediate option.

The room collectively forgot how to breathe. You crossed the circle from the centre, step by step.

The grin on Haibara’s face kept growing. Shoko whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Holy fuck.”

Then you reached Sukuna. And sat down on his lap. The reaction was immediate.

Gasps.

Swearing.

Somebody choked.

Even Sukuna looked stunned. He barked out a surprised laugh.

“Oh,” he muttered. “D’you need something?”

Because for the first time all night, you could practically feel Satoru’s stare burning into the back of your head.

Good

Let him feel it.

As you sat on Sukuna’s lap, your leather skirt rode slightly higher on your thigh, exposing more skin than you normally would have been comfortable with. Sukuna noticed immediately and, without making a big deal out of it, rested one of his large hands there, shielding you from the room’s curious eyes.

You leaned forward slightly and asked, “Can I kiss you?” A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Hot girls don’t ask stupid questions.”

You chuckled softly at that. His hand lifted, his thumb brushing against your lower lip for a brief moment before you closed the distance between you.

The room seemed to fall away.

For a second, all the noise, laughter, and conversations faded into the background. The kiss was warm and impulsive, driven more by adrenaline than anything else. Your fingers found their way into his hair while one hand rested against his arm. Sukuna’s hand slid into your hair as well, keeping you close as the moment stretched longer than anyone had expected.

Around you, the room had gone completely silent. Nobody seemed willing to interrupt. Nobody even seemed willing to breathe.

Then a sharp voice cut through the air.

“Are you fucking done?” The spell shattered instantly.

You pulled back, blinking as reality came rushing in. Your hair was a mess, your thoughts hazy from the drinks, and suddenly you became aware of every single person in the room staring directly at you.

Satoru was on his feet. His jaw was clenched. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. And there was something burning behind those blue eyes that made the entire room hold its breath.

For the first time all night, nobody had a joke to make. The silence felt almost violent.

You could still feel everybody staring, waiting to see who would speak first. The music was still playing somewhere in the background, but it sounded distant now, drowned beneath the tension stretching across the room.

You stared up at Satoru.

“Why?” you snapped. “Something bothering you?”

His jaw tightened.

“You were supposed to kiss,” he shot back. “Not fucking make out with them.”

The confusion on your face was genuine for a moment. “Yeah? And why the fuck do you care?”

Several people visibly winced. Haibara lowered his drink. Nanami closed his eyes.

You pointed toward Satoru.

“Is your turn going on? No? Then go sit your ass back down.”

The room collectively forgot how to breathe. Satoru stared at you for a long moment before laughing once, a short, humorless sound.

“You’ve completely lost your mind, you’ve changed so much Y/N”.

“Oh, have I?”

“You’re drunk.”

“No shit.”

“Get off his lap.”

The command hit the room like a brick. You blinked and then laughed. A sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, really? And what are you gonna do about it, Satoru?”

For a second he simply looked at you. Not angry but completely unable to believe what he was seeing. The disappointment on his face somehow irritated you more than the yelling.

Around the room, everyone had gone statue-still. Nobody wanted to interrupt you two. Nobody wanted to get involved.

Because at some point the argument had stopped being about the game. And everybody knew it!

Satoru dragged a hand down his face.

“For fuck’s sake.” Then he looked directly at you. “If you’re that desperate, go get a room.”

The words landed hard. The room erupted immediately.

“SATURU”

“Oh my God.”

“Bro.”

“Absolutely not.”

You laughed again. Cold this time.

“Yeah? I probably will.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. “I’ll do it after this game.”

The look on Satoru’s face darkened immediately. Haibara made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a man witnessing a train wreck in real time.

“Holy shit.”

Meanwhile, neither you nor Satoru had looked away from each other. The room had disappeared. The people had disappeared. There was only the two of you and years worth of frustration neither of you knew how to talk about.

Finally, Suguru stood.

Clapping his hands together. “Alright everyone!” Nobody listened. “We’ve got food.”

Still nobody listened. “We made food.”

Nothing.

“Guys.”

Nothing.

Suguru looked moments away from developing a stress-induced migraine. “Shoko give me a cigarette”. Beside him, Choso immediately caught on to the emergency.

“Right. Food- guys there are dumplings.”

Still nothing.

Yuki yelled “Aight party’s overrrr, get out everyone”.

The argument kept rolling forward like a runaway train. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks and now this- what- what is up with you Y/N,” Satoru said.

You laughed.

“Awwwww, you wanted to talk to me. Wow Satoru do you even remember who I am.”

“I do, what kinda question even is that?.”

“You’ve spent that entire time attached to somebody else’s side, years of friendship has gone down the drain in a span of weeks. What a fucking joke Toru”.

Satoru looks really hurt. Utahime looked horrified. The poor woman looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Satoru’s eyes flashed. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“No, apparently I don’t.”

The tension snapped tighter. Around the room, people were actively looking for escape routes. Yuki had quietly grabbed Choso’s sleeve. Shoko was staring between you two screaming to stop fighting like children.

Nanami had both hands pressed against his forehead. “These two assholes are unbelievable,” he muttered. Meanwhile Utahime cautiously stepped forward.

“Satoru—”

Utahime’s hand landed on Satoru’s chest, trying to calm him down. Trying to stop whatever this was from getting worse. Unfortunately, that only seemed to make you feel worse.

And something in your chest burned again. You looked at her. Then away. Then back at Satoru.

“Oh yeah,” you said quietly. “Of course.”

The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. The room immediately got quieter. Which shouldn’t have been possible.

But somehow it did. Satoru’s expression changed. For the first time all evening, he looked less angry and more tired. Which only made you angrier. You grabbed your bag.

“I’m done, I’m leaving.”

The announcement finally snapped everyone back to reality.

“Hey—”

“Wait.”

“Maybe don’t—”

You ignored all of them. You were already moving. Already heading toward the door. Already wanting to get as far away from this room as possible.

Behind you, chairs shifted. Movement, footsteps.

Sukuna.

You didn’t need to look back to know he’d stood up. Didn’t need to see him to know he was about to follow. The room noticed too.

And before he could take more than a step— A hand landed on his arm. It wasn’t forceful or aggressive. Just firm.

Sukuna stopped. Slowly looked down. Satoru stood there beside him. Their eyes met. Neither said a word. They didn’t need to. The look Satoru gave him was enough.

Don’t follow her. Sukuna’s jaw tightened, irritation flickering on his face. Satoru’s hand remained exactly where it was. And somewhere down the hallway, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment.

For the first time all night, everyone in the room was thinking the exact same thing. Whatever was going on between you and Satoru had just become impossible to ignore. And none of them had any idea what would happen next.

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[siennayaps]

30 days to get in your pants | G. Satoru x Reader

🌠 Bonus Chapter: Visions of Gideon Masterlist

10/2026

Cold silver watches from the skyscraper glass, another boardroom meeting that I cannot surpass.

My pulse spikes again or is it just the mention of your name? Every empire I inherited still burns the same.

They clap when I speak, they praise every plan, call me a successor, call me a powerful man.

But all I can hear through the echoing din. Is your soft little laugh crawling under my skin.

No, this cannot be reality. This agony was not designed for me.

I traded my soul for authority and gold, Now every expensive room only feels cold.

Poison sits pretty inside of my chest, rotting my heartbeat, denying me rest.

I sign new contracts with trembling hands, While visions of you undo all my plans.

Your small frame. Those big beautiful eyes. The mole on your neck I memorized every time.

Your stomach beneath my wandering palms, your shoulder against me when life caused alarms.

The curve of your thighs. The warmth of your feet. The sound of your breathing half-asleep beside me.

I just wanna stay there forever instead, with my face in your lap and your fingers in my head.

Not here in these meetings with polished-up lies, where everybody smiles while something inside dies.

Father says I’ve come of age now. That I should have children somehow.

That I should find a nice rich wife, continue the bloodline, continue this life.

But what the fuck does he know about love? About ruining your soul for one person enough?

What does he know about shaking apart. Every single night from a shattered heart?

Everything hurts. Everything’s blue. Every damn road in this city leads back to you.

There are women around me lining up in gold, perfect last names, pretty and rouge.

They laugh at my jokes, they reach for my hand, their fathers already discussing demands.

And still —

I hover over your socials at four in the morning, like some pathetic ghost ignoring the warning.

You posted your coffee. You changed your hair. You smiled in a picture and I wasn’t there.

And him.

That fucking ex.

Is he still around? Does he still know your sound? Of your crying voice? Your sleepy replies?

Did he hold you gentler than I did at night? Was he better somehow? Tell me honestly now.

Did he love you better? Did he deserve you more? Was I just another disaster you survived before?

Because I cannot imagine a life where you’re gone. I swear to God something inside me went wrong.

That day was not how this story should end. You were my lover. My home. My best friend.

We were supposed to survive this. You were supposed to stay.

You were supposed to scream at me, cry at me, hate me — but stay.

And I know. I know. I know what I did. I played with your trust. I buried us both in my arrogance and lust.

Maybe you’re right not to answer my calls. Maybe I deserve every second this all mauls.

I loathe myself. God, I loathe myself sick. Every mirror reflects back a fraud and a prick.

What could I even offer you now? A broken man bowing to boardrooms somehow?

A man who had everything handed with ease. Yet still lost the only thing that let him breathe?

But those eyes. Fuck. Those eyes of yours still follow me home, still haunt every hallway no matter where I roam.

My voice cracked today mid-presentation speech. Numbers behind me. Markets in reach.

Everyone stared while my throat suddenly burned, because all I could think was whether you’d returned…

Home safely tonight. Whether you’re eating alright. Whether you still get nervous in rooms full of light.

Whether your hands still fidget when anxious or shy. Whether you still look at the moon every night.

And how badly did I hurt you? Tell me true. Is it beyond repair now, just like me too?

Will you ever forgive me? Will you answer again? Will I ever hear your voice say my name?

Will you laugh with me someday? Will you hold me once more? Or am I condemned to stand outside your door.

For the rest of my life with my heart in my hands, begging a ghost to still understand?

I don’t sleep anymore. I can’t. Every dream drags me back to your face, back to that look of betrayal and pain.

And every single night you leave me again, a million new ways, a million old ends.

I wake up choking. Sweating. Alone. Clawing through sheets in a king-sized home.

How could you do this to me? You loved me too, didn’t you?

Tell me that wasn’t fake. Tell me my touch still lingers somewhere in your veins.

Tell me you felt it whenever I kissed your skin. Tell me I wasn’t the only one ruined within.

Because you cannot convince me it meant nothing at all. Not the trembling.

Not the late-night calls. Not your heartbeat racing underneath my hand. Not the way you looked at me like I could still be a man worth loving.

So call me back.

Please.

Scream at me. Hate me. Hit me. Ruin me properly. But don’t leave me wandering endlessly.

The assistants keep talking. The shareholders grin. Someone pours champagne while I’m rotting within.

Another deal closes. Another award won. Another fake smile underneath the sun.

And still my mind returns to your bedroom light, Your socks on my floor from that Okinawa night.

The smell of your perfume still trapped in my coat. The final voicemail dying inside my throat.

I swear I’ll find you again. In this life or another. As strangers. As lovers. As nobody to each other.

I don’t care. I’ll crawl through every lifetime God creates for me.

I’ll beg destiny itself down on my knees. Because this cannot be all we were meant to be.

So tell me —

Is my pulse spiking again? Or is it your ghost underneath my skin?

Is this hope waking up? Or something far more grim?

Will any prayer answer me? Will any heaven let you in? Will your hands ever touch my face again?

Or will I spend the rest of my life As Satoru Gojo

Loved by the world, And abandoned by the only person who ever truly saw him?

Are y’all liking the bonus chapters?

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Voting ended onJun 23

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