Sienna

runaway

pairing lord!satoru gojo x f!reader x lord!suguru geto

synopsis in a world that places your "duties" as a woman above your own agency and desires, the only possible solution you saw to escape an arranged marriage to satoru gojo was running away. perhaps on the journey you would find someone who shared more of your values and ambitions, or perhaps you might learn more about the man you rejected so rashly

content mdni!, historical au, brontë inspired, falling in love, very flirty suguru lol, mystery and horror elements, mentions of death, slow burn, arranged marriage, angst, fluff, eventual smut, multiple endings, complicated relationships, hurt and comfort, heavy pining

dividers by @enchanthings & art by @/ogata69

series masterlist ⏾ << previous chapter | next chapter >>

chapter three: under stars

wc: 4k

You shouldn't feel so nervous.

Surely Suguru had invited you to the trip as a formality. A peace offer, almost. A way to make you feel more welcome, after his sisters did everything in their power for you to feel the opposite.

Who knew young girls could be so aggravating.

You feared their judgemental looks and snarky remarks would have been the thing keeping you up at night, but… no. Right now, laying in the comfortable silken bedsheets of the Geto estate, those two were the last thing on your mind.

It was someone else that had a hold over your thoughts.

You rolled around and around and around but you still couldn't shake the images away.

Suguru's long strands, and how they had tickled your skin when you stood so close.

The way those fox like eyes of his looked into yours like they knew everything about you already. Every secret, every hidden desire, all plain for him to see.

The curve of his bicep when he offered you his arm…

Your mind went to places you didn't trust that night. Unladylike places.

You’re still half-asleep when Suguru’s voice cuts through the quiet of your room. “Good morning, mommy,” he says, and you instantly freeze, your cheeks burning.

“Wh—what did you just call me?” you manage, fumbling with the blanket.

He leans closer, that mischievous grin on his face. “Just… remembering something you said last night,” he murmurs, eyes sparkling.

Your heart skips. Of course he remembered. Your silly, flustered words—“make me a mommy”—had clearly stuck in his mind.

Even getting out of bed isn’t safe. Every time you reach for your coffee, he appears behind you, wrapping strong arms around your waist. “Morning, soft mommy,” he whispers again, pressing a kiss to your neck. You squirm, giggling, trying to push him away, but secretly loving it.

By breakfast, he’s relentless. Every bite you take comes with a teasing remark. “Do mommy’s pancakes taste as good as they did… last night?”

You sputter, nearly dropping your fork. “Suguru! Stop!”

He just laughs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Stop? But mommy likes it, doesn’t she?”

The day doesn’t let up. On a simple walk, he squeezes your hand and murmurs, “Do mommy’s feet get tired?” or, “Is mommy feeling hungry again? Maybe I should get a snack ready.”

You groan dramatically, pretending to scowl, but your heart is melting. Every little tease is wrapped in warmth, affection, and the softest devotion.

By evening, the teasing softens. Sitting on the couch, he rests his head against yours. “You know,” he whispers, “if I’m going to make you a mommy someday… I want to take the best care of you first.”

You look up at him, heart fluttering. “Maybe… someday,” you whisper back.

Suguru’s eyes soften, no smirk this time, just quiet love. “Then we’ll wait… together. But for now, mommy gets all my attention.”

And as you lean into him, wrapped in his arms, you realize that being his “mommy,” even just in words, feels like the sweetest, most cherished thing in the world. Every teasing word, every glance, every gentle touch reminds you that he adores you completely.

Everything about today—the laughter, the blushes, the warmth—makes your heart full. Because with Suguru, every playful tease is love, and every moment spent with him is everything you could ever want.

Ex‑Suguru leans against the kitchen island, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, bangs just messy enough to be infuriatingly perfect, and the bass of The Way I Are vibrates through the floor beneath his feet. You see him first, of course — he can’t not be seen — and you know he notices you, just as he always does. A week since the breakup and here you are, walking through Shoko’s crowded apartment like you own the room, the violet satin slip dress clinging impossibly to you.

Ex‑Suguru shifts his gaze, his eyes flicking quickly to the girl at his side. Bubblegum bright, giggling, leaning too close, whispering too softly in a way he thinks only you might notice. He wants to appear casual, confident. But you can see the way his jaw tightens, the subtle shift of his weight, the barely contained fire behind his honeyed eyes.

Ex‑Suguru lets a laugh escape — that laugh, the one you memorized, the one that used to make your chest ache and your knees go weak — and the girl leans in closer, trying to claim him. He doesn’t see her, not really. His attention is pinned on you, and he can’t hide the twitch in his hand as it rests near her back. He’s trying to make you jealous, and he knows it, but he won’t admit it even to himself.

Ex‑Suguru watches you, and you watch him, across the sea of people dancing, drinking, talking. There’s a moment — a stillness — where the party melts away, leaving only the two of you. You smirk, perfectly aware of the power you hold, and he’s dumb enough to notice every flicker of movement, every glance. He wants to come closer, wants to close the distance, but he’s still caught up in the pretense.

Ex‑Suguru hears your laugh, soft and teasing, drifting above the music, and it slices right through the tension. He curses under his breath, the sound swallowed by the bass, knowing that he’s falling into your trap. His hands twitch, his shoulders tense, his mind screaming that he should move now, make a claim, erase the week-old heartbreak with one step — but he doesn’t.

Ex‑Suguru feels something tighten in his chest as you slide Nanami forward subtly, weaving him through the crowd just enough for Suguru to notice. The tie catches his attention. His eyes lock on you like iron magnets, and in that moment, his carefully maintained composure begins to crack. The smirk on your lips tells him that you know exactly what he’s thinking, exactly what he wants.

Ex‑Suguru starts moving. Past the crowd, past friends who wave and laugh, past the glittering chaos of Shoko’s apartment. His steps are measured, deliberate, but every muscle hums with urgency. He doesn’t want to lose this — not to the girl at his side, not to the smug amusement shining in your eyes. He’s coming.

Ex‑Suguru cuts through the air, his gaze never leaving yours. He’s breathtaking — handsome, infuriating, unbearably so. You tilt your head, watching him approach, sipping your drink as if nothing is happening, and yet every nerve in your body is singing. You’re enjoying this — the game, the tension, the knowledge that he’s helpless against it.

Ex‑Suguru stops just short, nose almost brushing your shoulder as he breathes, as if the space between you is both torture and thrill. “You’re enjoying this,” he says, low, tight, trying to mask the desperation clawing at his chest.

Ex‑Suguru hears your soft, amused reply. “I am. Should I stop?” The smirk is sharp, teasing, dangerous. It makes him swallow, tightens the line of his jaw, and you let it. You let him suffer a little — because he started this, and it’s deliciously satisfying to watch.

Ex‑Suguru exhales sharply, almost like a sigh of frustration and relief mingled. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to regain control, trying to remember that he’s the one who left. “I wanted to talk to you,” he admits finally, the words raw, stripped of arrogance. “I—don’t play this with me. I can’t take it.”

Ex‑Suguru watches you laugh, small and wicked, a laugh that makes the ache of the week disappear and return all at once. “You’re the one who started it,” you murmur, tilting your head, letting your hair fall just so. He feels it — the thrill of your dominance in this scene, the way you hold the room, hold him, hold everything.

Ex‑Suguru swallows again, breath catching, frustrated at how easily you control him with nothing but posture, eyes, and smirk. “Okay… will you please have me back?” His voice is vulnerable now, pleading wrapped in stubbornness. “I messed up, I was trying to make you jealous. I want you. You’re mine… I’m sorry.”

Ex‑Suguru sees the tiny, devastating smile curl on your lips. You don’t need to speak. The smirk says everything — playful, cruel, teasing — letting him know he’s won the prize without giving him the words. And yet he understands.

Ex‑Suguru feels the tension shift. His eyes soften, the frustration in his jaw loosens. He’s dumb, stupidly handsome, utterly caught in the spell of your amusement and control. He knows the wall has broken, even if neither of you says it aloud.

Ex‑Suguru inhales sharply, trying to steady himself, trying to regain the arrogance that used to define him. But it’s useless. The air between you crackles, electric, charged with everything left unsaid and everything that doesn’t need saying. He’s yours again, in that wordless, cinematic way that makes the world spin just for the two of you.

Ex‑Suguru glances away briefly, letting the music and laughter of the party swallow the quiet intensity around you. He wants to speak, to close the space, but the playfulness of your cruelty — the sharp, teasing delight in your violet dress, the way you sip your drink like nothing matters — keeps him in that delicious torment.

Ex‑Suguru exhales, a breath that’s part relief, part surrender, and yet entirely captivated by you. You turn back toward the crowd, giving nothing away, letting the party continue, but he knows, irrevocably, that the game is over. The power has shifted, the teasing tension resolved in that silent, cinematic understanding: you’re back.

Ex‑Suguru lingers for a moment longer, watching you disappear into the throng of laughter, glitter, and lights. He smiles faintly, heart thudding, because he knows he’s not leaving again. Not now. Not ever. And he’d follow that violet dress into any chaos, because the truth is written in your gaze, in your smirk, in the unsaid words between you: he’s yours.

——-Art Credits: kokumoonz

Divider by @/pixopix

Synopsis: You’ve spent years convincing yourself that being Satoru Gojo’s best friend is enough.

Then he gets a girlfriend.

And suddenly, you’re forced to learn the difference between having someone’s heart and simply having a place in it.

Tags: Angst, jealousy, fluff, yearning, emotionally constipated reader, best friend Satoru, friends to lovers, childhood friends, suggestive content, more tags will be added…

Masterlist

1. Heartache

2. Hollow

3. Hindsight

4. Hurricane

5. Haunted

6. Harmony

7. Homecoming

Taglist is open! 🏷️

Trying to get your hot neighbour’s attention gone wrong.

(Dilf Suguru Geto, he’s really hot, mostly crack)

He was ruining your life. No actually, correction.

You were ruining your own life because of your insanely hot older neighbor who probably thought you were a public disturbance at this point.

It had only been a month since you moved into the apartment building and somehow within those thirty miserable days your entire brain chemistry had been rewired by one man.

One gigantic, broad shouldered, unfairly attractive man. You first saw him on a random Tuesday morning while running late for college, half awake and emotionally exhausted because your boyfriend at the time was currently arguing with you over the phone about how he “never made enough time for you anymore.”

Which was ironic because the moment the elevator doors opened, you immediately stopped caring about that man entirely. Because standing there was the hottest person you had ever seen laid your lustful eyes on. Tall. Like genuinely tall. Around 6’2 at least.

Massive shoulders stretching a dark fitted shirt, thick arms veined from carrying grocery bags in one hand while unlocking his apartment with the other. His raven hair was shoulder length in a wolf cut and messy, with bangs carelessly like he had bigger things to worry about than looking devastatingly attractive at eight in the morning.

And then there were the eyes.

Lord, save me. Half lidded and sharp and tired in a way that made your stomach do cartwheels.

The little wrinkles around them somehow made him even hotter. Honestly? unfair. It was so so so unfair ugh.

Beside him stood two girls around twelve years old, both loudly arguing with him while he looked completely exhausted already.

“Dad, she took my charger.”

“I borrowed it.”

“You’ve had it for three days.”

He sighed deeply like this conversation had shortened his lifespan. “I’m begging both of you to stop talking before coffee.” You nearly folded on the spot. Because not only was he hot. You glance at his hands…no ring.

He was a dad.

A really really…hot dad.

One of the girls looked up at him. “You look angry.”

“I am angry.”

“You always look angry.”

“That’s just my face.”

And then he looked up. Straight at you. Fuck. He gave you a small polite smile. “Morning.”

And damn that voice too. Of course he has a sweet, honeyed voice. Your soon to be ex boyfriend was still talking through your phone speaker.

“Hello? Are you even listening?”

And without even thinking, you went, “I think we should break up.”

“What?”

The elevator doors closed. You never emotionally recovered after that. After learning his name was Suguru, things only got worse. Because obviously the hottest man alive would have the sweetest name possible.

And the more you saw him around the apartment building, the more pathetic you became. You started timing your laundry trips. Checking your mailbox five times a day.

Taking forever to unlock your apartment if you heard footsteps nearby. You even started dressing better to take the trash out which was genuinely humiliating to admit.

Meanwhile Suguru remained painfully unaware. Always busy with his daughters. One was quieter and rolled her eyes a lot while the other talked nonstop and clung to his arm dramatically whenever they walked together.

And he was annoyingly good with them too. Patient but sarcastic. Gruff but soft underneath it. One time you saw him crouched down helping one of them tie her shoelace while listening to her rant about school drama with the most exhausted expression imaginable.

Another time you heard him outside their apartment saying, “If you two don’t stop fighting over slime, I’m throwing it off the balcony.”

You had to physically sit down afterward. Dominating mhm…Your own relationship was dying meanwhile. Not that it mattered anymore. Your boyfriend once complained because you liked older men in movies.

Little did he know you were now actively trying to seduce the giant dilf down the hallway. At first your attempts were subtle. Like smiling longer and holding eye contact.

Wearing tiny shorts during “accidental” hallway encounters. Nothing really worked. Why do all the “off limit” things in life take so much effort?

Suguru just nodded politely every single time like a normal civilized human being while you internally combusted. What a gentleman…rubbish.

Which led to your current situation.

Desperation.

And noise complaints.

The first time he knocked on your door, you nearly passed out from excitement. You opened it immediately and there he stood looking unfairly good in a black compression shirt and gray sweatpants.

Honestly you deserved compensation for this.

“Hey,” he said politely. “Sorry to bother you.”

God even his manners were hot. You leaned against the doorway casually even though your knees almost gave out. “What’s up?”

He glanced toward the loud music blasting from your apartment. “I was wondering if you could turn it down a little.”

“Oh.” You blinked innocently. “Is it loud?” His eye twitched slightly. “My daughters are trying to study.”

Right.

The daughters. You smiled sweetly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. Thanks.”

Then he left.

And naturally, the next day you turned the music back on. Only louder this time. Oh dear Suguru, you got no idea about what’s in store for you.

The second time he came by, he looked more tired. Third time, visibly irritated. By the fourth day, you had become a genuine menace.

You were dragging furniture for absolutely no reason. Drilling random holes into a wall. Playing music so loud your own floor vibrated. And then came the knock.

No.

The bang actually!

Oh.

You swung the door open and there stood Suguru looking genuinely annoyed for the first time since you met him. His midnight hair looked messier than usual like he had been running his hands through it repeatedly. Glasses sat low on his nose and his jaw looked tight with irritation.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I know what you’re trying to do.” You blinked up at him innocently. “What?”

“We’ve had this conversation four times now.”

“Maybe I just really like music.”

“At 2 AM? NOT to mention that this loud?”

“Some artists are best appreciated at night.”

His eyes narrowed. My my…he looked hot irritated. “I don’t want to file a complaint with the landlord,” he said carefully, “but you need to turn the damn music down.”

Oh.

There it was.

Attitude! Yummy.

You looked him up and down slowly.

“Or what, daddy?”

Silence.

Utter complete silence. You saw his entire face and body freeze. You watched his eyes widen just slightly behind his glasses.

“What did you say?”

Your confidence almost abandoned your body immediately but absolutely not externally. You crossed your arms anyway.

“I said,” you repeated slowly, “or what, daddy?”

The word hit him like psychic damage. You could feel his anger radiating off from his sexy body. And for the first time since meeting him, Suguru looked directly into your eyes.

One long stare that made your stomach drop straight to hell. “Oh,” he said finally, voice lower now. “You’re one of those.”

You blinked. “One of what?”

“A fucking problem!”

Got this idea while reading this fic by @eraserbread 💚

It starts in the mating press, his hands pinning your thighs to your chest, sweat dripping from his temple as he fucks you deep, balls slapping against your ass with every brutal thrust. Your breathless moans fill the room, but Suguru’s grin is wicked, feral.

“Look at you,” he pants, leaning down to kiss your jaw, his teeth dragging across your skin. “So mad at me an hour ago, screaming in my face. Now you’re screaming my name. Tell me again how much do you hate me”?

You sob when he slaps your cheek again, your walls tightening around him in betrayal. His laugh is low, mocking, but so stupidly fond. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He switches suddenly, one arm wrapping around your throat, pulling you into a headlock as he pounds into you from the back. You claw at his arm, your vision hazy from the choke and the relentless rhythm. His lips brush your ear, voice all smoke and sweetness:

“Do you want me to stop, baby? Or do you want me to fuck you harder, like the little brat you are?”

You can’t answer, too wrecked, too full of him, and it makes him chuckle. “Don’t worry, I know. I always know.”

When he finally lets go, you collapse back, only for him to drag you up into a filthy full nelson, your legs locked against his shoulders as he uses his grip to piston into you from below. His hips crash into yours with obscene sounds, your back arched, tears streaking down your face.

“Fuck—Suguru!” you cry, nails digging into his forearms.

“That’s it, scream louder,” he snarls, his lips curving into something cruel and adoring all at once. “Let them all hear you. Let the whole damn city know you’re mine.”

Every thrust drives you closer to breaking apart, and when your body seizes around him, your voice cracking into a sobbed moan, he groans like it’s his lifeline. “God, I love you like this. Fucking ruined and mine.”

But Suguru isn’t done. He drops you, flipping you onto your stomach, pressing your face into the sheets while his fist tangles in your hair. He slams into you from behind in relentless backshots, the sound of skin on skin filthy and loud, your cries muffled in the fabric.

He yanks your head back until your spine curves, forcing you to look over your shoulder at him. His eyes are wild, his grin all teeth. “Will you be mad at me again, sweetheart?” he growls, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust.

You can’t form words, only broken pleas spilling out of you. He presses a kiss to your damp temple, almost tender despite the way he’s splitting you open. “No, you won’t,” he answers for you, his voice softer, rawer. “Because you love me. You’re mine. Always mine. Even when you hate me. Even when you fight me. Especially then.”

And as his release fills you, dripping down your thighs, he doesn’t let you go, doesn’t ease up. He keeps rocking into you like he’s engraving the truth into your body, whispering against your ear with a grin that’s as silly as it is possessive:

“You’re mine, even if you like it or not”

—————————————————————————

Art Credits: Jin Rolenrot

Based on the art attached 👅

your apartment didn’t look like the kind of place where something like this would happen. Everything was pastel, soft, princess-like. pink throw pillows stacked neatly on a cream sofa, fairy lights strung across the walls, the faint smell of vanilla candles melting on the coffee table. it was all warm and safe, and suguru sitting there, long legs spread, black hair tied loosely back looked like sin dropped into heaven.

he’s watching you with that half-lidded stare, heavy and hungry, while you fidget in your oversized pink tee. “you’re really gonna let me fuck you raw for the first time… here?” his voice dips low, like he’s tasting every word. his hand pats the cushion next to him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “in this cute little dollhouse of yours?”

you shuffle closer, nerves buzzing, but when he pulls you into his lap his hands are steady, large palms sliding under your thighs, squeezing like he owns you already.

“mm, look at you,” he murmurs, his nose brushing against your cheek as he drags your shirt up. “everything about this place screams innocent—fairy lights, stuffed animals, that dumb pink rug—” his teeth graze your ear, and your breath stutters, “—but you’re letting me put it in raw your first time? baby, that’s nasty as fuck.”

your whimper earns you a dark chuckle, and then he’s laying you back on the couch, pressing your wrists above your head against a plush pillow.

“You sure?” he asks once, almost gentle, eyes locking with yours. your little nod is all it takes.

the drag of his cock against your folds makes you jolt, and suguru groans, jaw tight. “shit—so wet already. you wanted this, huh? wanted me to ruin this perfect little apartment with the sound of me splitting you open.”

when he finally pushes in, slow but unrelenting, you gasp so loud it bounces off the walls. his lips curl into a grin. “that’s it, sweetheart. take it—fuck, you’re tight.” his hips press flush against yours, his breath warm against your neck as he whispers, “you feel that? that’s me, bare inside you. no rubber, no nothing. just my cock and your greedy little kitty.”

your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking in, and you pant out, “suguru—oh my god—”

“Ahh, baby. not god,” he growls against your mouth, “I love how warm you feel”

he starts moving, slow at first, then rougher, his pace shaking the couch, the fairy lights trembling above. “fucking christ—hear that? that sloppy mess? that’s all you.”

each thrust drags a cry from your throat, and he eats up every sound, biting at your lip, your jaw, your throat. “say it,” he demands, voice ragged, “say you wanted me raw, fucking you messy.”

“I—I wanted it raw,” you gasp, trembling under him.

“good girl,” he groans, fucking into you harder, sweat dripping down his temples. “you’re never going back after this. gonna keep you dripping with me every time.”

when you finally break apart on his cock, sobbing out his name, he follows, curse words spilling against your skin as he cums deep, grinding his hips to keep it all inside.

he doesn’t pull out right away. instead, he watches your stuffed bear slip off the armrest onto the floor, smirks, and kisses your swollen lips.

“cute little apartment,” he mutters, chest still heaving, “but now every corner of it knows how you sound when I fuck you raw.”

Art Credits: Void Bringer

Divider by @/pixopix

Synopsis: You’ve spent years convincing yourself that being Satoru Gojo’s best friend is enough.

Then he gets a girlfriend.

And suddenly, you’re forced to learn the difference between having someone’s heart and simply having a place in it.

Tags: Angst, jealousy, fluff, yearning, emotionally constipated reader, best friend Satoru, childhood friends, suggestive content, more tags will be added…

Masterlist

1. Heartache

2. Hollow

3. Hindsight

4. Hurricane

5. Haunted

6. Homecoming

Taglist is open! 🏷️

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

Part-2 | Masterlist

You spent the next few hours doing everything humanly possible to avoid thinking about Satoru. Unfortunately, every single thing seemed to lead back to him.

The worst part was that you felt like an absolute douchebag. Every time the ugly feeling in your chest resurfaced, every time you caught yourself wondering where he was, what he was doing, whether he was laughing or whether the date was going well, guilt immediately followed. Because what exactly gave you the right to feel this way? You had been on dates before. Plenty of them, actually. Some good, some terrible, some so painfully awkward that you had called Satoru the second you got home just to complain about them. Never once had he made you feel guilty for it. Never once had he questioned where you were going or who you were seeing. He would ask how it went, ask whether the guy was nice, whether you had fun, whether you planned on seeing him again, and then move on with his life.

There had always been an unspoken boundary between the two of you when it came to those things. Neither of you discussed details. Neither of you pried. It was respectful, comfortable, and had worked perfectly fine for years.

Which was exactly why this felt so unfair. Satoru was doing absolutely nothing wrong. You were the problem. So you tried distracting yourself.

You made dinner. You cleaned your kitchen. You folded laundry that had been sitting untouched for nearly a week.

When none of that worked, you eventually gave up and decided to watch Hail Mary, a movie you both had been looking forward to for months.

That lasted all of ten minutes. The film wasn’t even bad. In fact, from what little you managed to focus on, it was genuinely interesting. But every few scenes, some scientific explanation would pop up, and your immediate thought would be, if Satoru was here, he’d explain whatever’s happening on the screen to you in great detail.

You could practically hear him already. Some long-winded explanation about astrophysics that would start with a simple answer and somehow spiral into a forty-minute lecture that only he would find reasonable.

You paused the movie. Then resumed it. Then paused it again. Then rewind because you had completely missed what happened.

At one point you realized you had been staring at the same scene for nearly five minutes while thinking about absolutely nothing except the fact that you had originally wanted to watch it with him.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, dropping your head against the couch cushion. Everything was about Satoru. The movie. The silence. The evening. The fact that he wasn’t here. The fact that he was somewhere else. With someone else. Before your thoughts could continue spiraling, you grabbed your phone and called the first person who came to mind.

Shoko answered on the third ring.

“What?”

“Wow. So warm.”

“What do you want?”

“Can I come over?”

A brief pause. Then, “Sure.”

Twenty minutes later, you found yourself pulling on the nearest hoodie you could find, which unfortunately happened to belong to Satoru. You didn’t even realize it until it was already over your head. The familiar scent hit you almost immediately and for a second you considered changing into something else.

You didn’t. Mostly because that felt pathetic. Although, if you were being honest, pretty much everything about tonight felt pathetic.

You stared at yourself in the mirror while shoving your feet into your ugliest pair of Crocs and suddenly found yourself wondering how long it would take before you had to stop doing this. Stop stealing his hoodies. Stop treating his apartment like an extension of your own. Stop assuming there would always be room for you in every corner of his life.

Because if this date went well, eventually you’d meet her. That was how these things worked in relationships. She’d become his girlfriend. She’d meet your friends.

You’d smile. Shake her hand. Pretend your heart wasn’t actively trying to claw its way out of your chest. The thought alone made you feel sick.

By the time Shoko opened her apartment door, your mood had somehow worsened. She took one look at you and raised an eyebrow.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You look really happy.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped inside.

“Yeah, I know.”

Shoko continued staring. “What, are you on your period?”

“Nah. I think it’s close, though.”

“Hm.” The apartment was surprisingly clean. Suspiciously clean for Shoko to be honest. You glanced around before looking at her.

“Your place looks surprisingly nice today. What miracle happened?”

Shoko immediately pointed toward the door. “Are you here to slander me?” Ignoring her entirely, you headed straight for the fridge.

“Where’s the Diet Coke?”

“Ran out.”

“Shamefull.”

You settled for water instead, filling a glass before dropping onto the couch. For a few moments neither of you spoke. Shoko watched. You avoided eye contact. Eventually she sighed.

“So.”

“So?”

“What are you here for?”

You scoffed. “I can’t just visit my friend?”

“Be so fr rn.”

You took a long sip of water. Shoko crossed her arms.

“Where’s your other half?”

You groaned immediately. “Can you stop calling him that?”

“I didn’t say his name.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Okay then. Where is he?” For a moment, the room fell quiet. Then you looked down at your glass.

“Satoru’s on a date.”

The reaction was immediate. Shoko’s eyes widened. Then she let out a slow breath.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Which is why you look like shit.” Your mouth dropped open.

“Are you serious?” She looked genuinely offended.

“Are you serious?”

“Shoko.”

“No. Seriously. Come on.” You looked away immediately. Because suddenly the floor seemed incredibly interesting. Shoko, unfortunately, wasn’t letting you escape.

“Can we drop the act already?”

“What act?”

“The one where you’re pretending you don’t know what’s wrong.” You frowned.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” She stared directly into your eyes. And then, with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever, she said, “Go tell your best friend you’re in love with him.”

The words hit you so hard that for a second you genuinely forgot how to breathe.

“What?”

“Tell him.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re in love with him.” You laughed. The sound came out strained. Almost desperate.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Baby, you’re wearing his hoodie while having an emotional breakdown because he’s on one date.”

“That is not what’s happening.”

“That is exactly what’s happening.” You buried your face in your hands.

“This is insane.” You stayed quiet. Because part of you hated how easily she said it. Like it was obvious. Like everyone knew except you.

“He is literally out on a date right now,” you finally muttered. “I’m not gonna ruin that.” Shoko stared at you. Then laughed.

“Oh wow.”

“What?”

“No, nothing.”

“Shoko, I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

Silence settled between you. For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Then eventually you sighed. A tired, exhausted sound. “I don’t know what to do, it feels weird”.

Shoko’s expression softened slightly. “There’s nothing weird about this.”

“It feels weird.”

“Only because you’re emotionally constipated.”

You glared at her.

“What about him? He’s never said anything.” Your voice dropped quieter. More vulnerable. “What if this is just me?”

Shoko didn’t answer immediately. You continued.

“What if I tell him and he doesn’t feel the same for me? What if I ruin everything? What if I lose my best friend because I got confused and decided to say something stupid?”

The fears sounded ridiculous once spoken aloud. But somehow they felt even worse now. “What if I completely destroy the most important friendship I’ve ever had?”

Shoko sighed. “You think way too much.”

“Nevermind.”

“But I get it.”

You looked at her. And for once, she wasn’t teasing. “If you’re not ready, don’t tell him yet.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Really.”

Then she shrugged. “Maybe wait. See how things go.” The answer should have comforted you. Instead it made your stomach feel twisted.

Because there was only one problem with waiting. “What if it goes well?” The words escaped before you could stop them.

“What if the date goes really well, Shoko?”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Then suddenly your phone lit up. An Instagram notification. Your heart immediately lurched. Satoru had posted a story. You opened it before you could stop yourself. And immediately wished you hadn’t. It wasn’t anything over the top.

No pictures together. No faces. No romantic caption either. Just a photo from the restaurant.

Your staple restaurant. The place you and Satoru practically lived in. The place that knew your usual orders before you even sat down.

His food sat on the table. And across from him, partially visible in the corner of the frame, was a woman’s hand.

Elegant and pretty with short manicured nails. Long fingers wrapped around a drink. Nothing more.

Yet somehow it felt like a punch to the stomach. You stared at it. Far longer than you should have.

“He just posted?” Shoko asked. You silently handed her the phone. She glanced at it. Then looked back at you. “He’s literally just out.”

“Yeah.”

You swallowed. Suddenly feeling exhausted.

“Yeah. I know.”

You stood and looked back to see that Shoko was frowning. “You leaving already?”

“I think so.”

“You can stay here.”

For a moment, the offer sounded tempting. Then you shook your head.

“No.” Because as comforting as Shoko’s apartment was, all you really wanted was your own bed. Your own space. Your own thoughts. Even if those thoughts were currently ruining your life.

So twenty minutes later, you found yourself walking home through the cool night air, hands buried deep inside the sleeves of Satoru’s hoodie, completely aware that his apartment was only ten minutes away.

Eleven o’clock on Friday nights had always belonged to Satoru.

You realized that sometime around midnight when you were lying in bed staring at the ceiling, your phone resting face down on the mattress beside you. It wasn’t some official arrangement the two of you had made. Nobody had ever sat down and declared Friday nights sacred. It had simply happened over the years. Sometimes you ordered pizza. Sometimes it was takeout from that noodle place both of you loved. Sometimes one of you would show up at the other’s apartment carrying snacks and demanding a movie marathon. There had been entire Friday nights spent doing absolutely nothing except existing in the same room together, each occupied with your own thing while occasionally exchanging commentary about whatever ridiculous thought crossed your minds.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Satoru was on a date. And somehow that simple fact managed to make your apartment feel emptier than it actually was.

The thing that bothered you most was the silence.

Normally, if Satoru went anywhere interesting, your phone would be unusable within twenty minutes. He texted like he breathed. Constantly. Endlessly. You knew every minor inconvenience that happened during his day because he insisted on documenting all of them. He sent photos of food. Photos of random animals he encountered on the street. Photos of clouds that looked funny. There were entire conversations saved in your messages that consisted of nothing except him complaining about basketball practice or showing you memes at three in the morning.

Tonight there was nothing.

No texts.

No random texts, no complaints, no photos either. And that silence felt louder than anything else. Because if Satoru wasn’t texting you, then he was occupied.

And if he was occupied, then that probably meant the date was going well. The realization sat heavily in your chest. Of course it was going well. Satoru has always been a real charmer.

He was funny. Kind. Smart. Ridiculously attractive. Any girl would be lucky to have him. The thought alone made you want to punch a wall.

Eventually, exhausted by your own thoughts, you buried yourself beneath your blankets and forced yourself to sleep because surely there wasn’t a single problem in existence that couldn’t be made slightly more tolerable after a decent nap.

Unfortunately, when you woke up the next morning, the problem was still there. And there was still no text from Satoru.

You stared at your phone for a long moment while your coffee brewed.

Nothing.

No good morning. No update. No stupid meme. Complete silence. The rational part of your brain immediately came up with explanations.

Maybe he slept late. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he woke up late in her bed... That last possibility made your stomach turn.

Because eventually, wasn’t this exactly what was supposed to happen? He was allowed to fall in love, find a partner.

It was normal.

Nobody wanted their boyfriend texting his female best friend twenty-four hours a day. Nobody wanted to compete with a friendship that had existed for years.

Eventually there would be boundaries. Eventually there would be distance. Eventually you would stop being the first person he texted every morning And perhaps the most painful part was realizing that nobody was actually doing anything wrong.

This wasn’t betrayal. This wasn’t abandonment. This was life. This was what growing up looked like. You just hated it.

The thought lingered with you while you made breakfast. Two fried eggs, coffee, your vitamins lined up beside the plate. You forced yourself to eat despite having little appetite. Then you got dressed.

Normally you didn’t care that much. University wasn’t a fashion show for you. Most days you grabbed the first thing available and called it a day. Today was different. Today, despite everything, some stubborn part of you wanted to look nice.

You hated that too. So you picked a top that complimented your figure, threw on a pair of baggy jeans, pulled your hair into a messy bun, slipped into your favorite shoes, and headed for campus.

The entire way there, you kept telling yourself not to think about him. The entire way there, you failed.

By the time you reached your locker, your eyes were already drifting every few seconds. Because usually he was there. Usually Satoru would walk with you before class.

Usually he would find some excuse to steal your coffee and still call it disgusting knowing that it would always be bitter. Usually there would be a conversation. Today there wasn’t any of it.

Maybe he did wake up late beside somebody else.

The thought hit so violently that you physically flinched. Immediately disgusted with yourself. Immediately shoving the image away. You put your AirPods in. Went to walk towards your class. Focused on your notes. Focused on literally anything except the constant ache sitting somewhere beneath your ribs.

It worked until lunch. Because the moment you stepped outside, there he was.

Satoru.

Standing exactly where he always stood. Like nothing had changed. Like the last twenty-four hours hadn’t completely wrecked your emotional stability.

Your stomach betrayed you instantly. He looked tired. Not exhausted. Just slightly off.

His hair was messier than usual. A pair of sunglasses rested on top of his head. He wore a white shirt beneath a grey sweater, loose blue jeans hanging comfortably from his frame.

And for some reason, today you noticed everything. Which felt incredibly unfair.

“Hey,” he said.

You hated how relieved you felt hearing his voice.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“Good.” A lie.

“What about you?”

Something shifted across his expression. Not quite a smile. Not quite anything else.

“Good. Pretty good.”

You nodded.

He nodded.

The conversation suddenly felt awkward in a way it never had before. “Wanna grab lunch?” he asked.

“Sure.”

And just like that, the two of you started walking. For a few moments neither of you spoke. Then, because apparently self-destruction was your favorite hobby, you asked the question anyway.

“So.”

Satoru glanced over.

“So?”

“How was the date?” The effect was immediate. A faint blush crept across his cheeks. His hand moved to the back of his neck.

And suddenly your heart sank straight into your stomach. Because that wasn’t the reaction of somebody who had a terrible time.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It was good.”

Oh

“I’d say it went pretty well.” The smile you forced onto your face felt painful. “Oh. That’s awesome.” You could practically hear your heart breaking.

“Yeah.”

“What did you guys do?” He looked away briefly.

“We had dinner. Got ice cream after. Walked around for a bit and all you know…His smile softened. Then came the final blow.

“We’ll probably go out again.”

Here we go. .

Suddenly it wasn’t just one date. It wasn’t just a possibility. It was becoming something. Something real. Something permanent. Something that might eventually take your place.

“That’s amazing.” Your voice sounded strange when you heard it out loud.

“I’m happy for you, Satoru.” You weren’t sure if he believed you. You barely believed yourself. The silence stretched. And if you stayed any longer, you were going to cry.

Right there in the middle of campus. In front of him. So before your emotions could completely betray you, you adjusted your bag and forced another smile.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“I completely forgot. I have somewhere to be.”

Confusion immediately crossed his face.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Weren’t we getting lunch?”

“Rain check.” You took a step backward. Then another. Every instinct screaming at you to leave. To get away. To breathe. “See you later, okay?”

He looked like he wanted to say something. But you didn’t give him the chance. You turned. And walked away as fast as you possibly could. By the time you reached the next building, your vision was blurring.

You hated it all. You hated this. Hated yourself. You hated that some stupid date had reduced you to this pathetic version of yourself that was full of envy. Most of all, you hated how badly it hurt.

Because for the first time in your life, you genuinely felt like you were losing him. And over the next two days, you did everything possible to avoid him. You went to class. Went home. Ignored his texts & calls. Ignored every notification that carried his name.

You built a routine around avoiding Satoru Gojo. A devastating, miserable routine. Because every time you saw him, you felt like saying something you couldn’t take back. And every time you imagined him with her, something ugly twisted inside your chest.

Sometimes, in your worst moments, you found yourself hoping she would break his heart. The thought horrified you every single time.

Because you loved him. Maybe not in the way Shoko insisted. Maybe not in the way romance novels described. But enough that you should want him to be happy.

Instead, you found yourself staring at your unanswered messages one evening, guilt pooling heavily in your stomach, when suddenly your phone began ringing again.

Satoru.

For the twenty-third time.

You almost ignored it.

Almost.

Then another notification appeared. Not a call but a text. And for the first time in two days, you considered looking at what he had to say.

Toru: Stop avoiding me. We need to talk.

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