Megumi Fushiguro

megumi fushiguro

summary- gumi taking care of you when you’re sick. he thinks he’s doing the bare minimum but you’re over the moon.

part 2 of @chilichopsticks request.

You woke up with a pounding headache and a sore throat, feeling absolutely miserable. Shit, you thought to yourself. Somehow you’d managed to catch a nasty cold. You rolled over onto your back, all you wanted to was to stay in bed and wallow in self-pity. But as luck would have it, your boyfriend Megumi Fushiguro walked into your room, a concerned frown etched upon his face.

"Megumi, I feel awful," you whined. "I don't think I can even move."

He approached the bed with his usual calm demeanor, placing the back on his hand on your forehead. “Damn. You’re burning up. Hold on.” He slipped out of the room and when he returned he had a cold washcloth that he puts on your head. “I’ll make you some soup and stay home with you?”

“You don’t have to do that Megumi. You’ve got stuff to do today.” you murmured, your voice weak.

He glanced at you briefly, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. "It's nothing, it’s the least I can do.” he replied. "You'd do the same for me, right?"

You nodded, unable to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “Well I at least want to come to the couch.” you say, attempting to rise from bed. “If you’re gunna stay home I don’t want to be in here all day.” Your body felt weak, and Megumi could tell, which is why he lifted you up into his strong arms and carried you into your living room, laying you on the couch and covering you up.

“If you get too close you’re gunna get sick to Gumi.” you said weakly.

“It’s fine, I’ll be careful.” he said tucking you into the blankets, making sure you were extra cozy.

Megumi was always taking care of you and as you watched him gather a bowl of steaming soup and a glass of water, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of being taken care of by such a considerate boyfriend.

"Here," he said, placing the tray on your lap. "Eat. It'll make you feel better."

You took a small sip, feeling the warmth of the soup spread through your body. Megumi sat down beside you, his gaze focused on you, a hint of concern danced in his eyes.

"Thank you, Megumi. You’re the best boyfriend.” you said, taking another small sip of soup. “I don’t know what Id do without you.”

A faint blush tinted his cheeks, and he averted his gaze awkwardly. “Just rest and get better, okay? I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Thanks baby," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine appreciation.

He turned to look at you. "You don't have to thank me. Taking care of you like this... it's what I want to do." He admitted, albeit a bit awkwardly.

You smiled again, taking his hand in yours for a moment and squeezing. “You’re so sweet. I’m so lucky, you always go above and beyond for me. You’re really the best.”

Megumi scoffed a little, “I wouldn’t say I go above and beyond. I’m just doing what any boyfriend would do.”

You shook your head. "No, Gumi. You're not just doing what any boyfriend would do. You’re doing it in your own Megumi way and it’s cute. Just take the compliment."

He didn't respond, but you could see a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was moments like these when his guarded exterior cracked, revealing the softer side that he held within. A side reserved only for you.

You continued, sincerity lacing your voice. "I really do appreciate every little thing you do, Megumi. From the soup to you just sitting here with me, you make me feel loved.”

“He shifted a bit uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on his hands. "I...I'm glad," he muttered softly.

Setting your soup down and leaning in closer, you gently cupped his cheek, guiding his eyes to meet yours. "Good. I love you, I know I say it a lot. But I do, and I appreciate you. Everything you do. You’re perfect, my perfect boyfriend.”

A faint blush dusted his cheeks, but he didn't shy away from your touch. "I’m not perfect and I don't always know the right words to say," he admitted, "But I want you to know that I'm here for you, always. I love you…a lot… so I’m just doing what I can."

"Well I think what you’re doing is perfect,” you whispered. "I’d kiss you if I wasn’t sick."

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile. “You can kiss me…” he said with a shrug, his voice low.

You chuckled leaning in to give him a soft kiss, smiling against his lips. “If you get sick don’t blame me.” You chuckled, settling into the couch. Despite being sick, today was turning out to not be so miserable.

taglist: @satorizz @withthegraceofthewind @belfiguevel @chilichopsticks @nobody289x @darlaphilia @rlvsmegumi @cassiefromhell

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The first time Satoru sees you naked he has the same expression as a 4yo going to an amusement park. Mouth agape and watering, jaw slacked almost unhinged as he blushes. You were feeling a bit insecure given his– well, past. He’s definitely fucked models and almost everyone he wanted. A reaction like that definitely threw you off- for good. ;)

“Fuck- I’ll kill anyone who has seen you like this. Ex boyfriend names right now Princess.” He gets unhinged with his compliments too.  You found that out soon enough.

“Shut up, you’re so dramatic” You scoff, rolling your eyes and trying to pretend your flustered cheeks are his delusion. “I’m serious. Gonna keep you to myself. Not let anyone see you-” Satoru realizes he’s almost getting too carried away. “Sorry- you know you’re dating a possessive motherfu-”

“Yes, I do.”

⊹ ˚. how to be human (again), ft. gojō satoru

tags. secret relationship au (the beginning), strangers to friends to lovers, gojo is a bad cook (he's trying), cw blood, inspired by the canon universe, references to geto, the system and the higher ups suck, the reader is (was) a fan of gojo, slightly angsty (the reader loses a friend on a mission and has a crisis), female terms used for the reader. | wc. 6.3K

notes. this was quite a journey and I'm not sure if anyone will read this but if you do and enjoy it thanks for reading (I personally am really enjoying writing for gojo lately), hugs and kisses <3

It's not like you've thought about it before, it's definitely not like you've stopped to think about it for more than five minutes a day or like this has been a conversation you've had more than once with some of your friends, however none of the theories you may have discussed in secret could compare in how it felt to have the great Gojo Satoru in front of you.

You take a quick glance off your lap to check on him and verify that he's certainly still focused on his phone —even if he's still wearing the blindfold, it's not like that's going to stop him from answering his messages, right?— and upon verifying that he is indeed not paying attention to you, you go back to feigning interest in the magazine you are holding in one hand: in the colorful pages showing the latest fashion trends and in the 3D red-haired girl who is almost coming out of the magazine while making the peace sign with two fingers, even though she doesn't manage to stop your thoughts from orbiting around Satoru again. 

You think it's strange again... you feel him, you know he's there but at the same time it's like he's not there. Sometimes you have to look up to verify that he is really still there and that it is not a trick your senses are playing on you. Being in front of Satoru feels like when the back of your neck bristles and your heart shoots up at an accelerated rate for no apparent reason, like feeling like you're being watched by something even though you know it's the middle of the night and you're really home alone. 

You could feel his cursed energy vibrating, coming in intense waves from his direction, dulling your own and in turn making you feel like a little bug. His energy wasn't rough or violent, you couldn't describe it that way no matter how intense it was, it was more like being under the sun as its rays burned your skin. You couldn't say there were any bad intentions in this one either but what you were sure of was that he was alert, as if he was always waiting for an attack, like when your feet are on the edge of a tall building and vertigo bites your spine and the soles of your feet. 

In front of you, a few inches from your crossed legs sits a small wooden table; on it are cluttered magazines and two cups of tea that were served for you at least an hour ago. You've barely taken a drink from your cup, too nervous to make an unplanned move, after all with your luck you'd most likely end up tripping over the cup and spilling everything in front of one of the people you admire the most.

There wasn't a sorcerer who didn't know Satoru and all that he was capable of, so knowing that if all goes well you will be allowed to teach at the same institution as him puts some extra weight and responsibility on your shoulders. That you will likely have the opportunity to work with him or share missions together makes your guts tangle with each other. Although you couldn't understand why the director had taken so long to arrive, you had been flipping through the same magazine for the last few inexhaustible minutes, trying to distract your eyes, controlling your impulses not to look at him again....

However, you can't help yourself and end up looking him up and down at least a tenth time. He really is tall, much taller than you remember and taller than you can tell from the pictures. Besides the fact that, sitting with one of his arms stretched out on the back of the sofa and his legs spread apart, his knees far apart from each other, make his body look bigger, this one manages to occupy almost the entire space of the sofa. His thighs spill out into the uniform making the baggy pants look full. 

Your head falls slightly to one side and you wonder what he is seeing behind that blindfold, how much he is able to see, could he really see you or were you just acting like a fool looking at him out of the corner of your eye whenever you could, could you really keep looking at him without being afraid that he is going to say something about it?

Satoru stirs, his legs close to imitate yours. You run away unnoticed to turn your eyes back to the magazine, to the model who has been the only witness to your nerves on edge for the last hour. With your heart pounding in your throat, you turn the page only to find two actors kissing passionately on the front page with the headline that their love has crossed over from the big screen to real life. 

Flustered and not sure if you're feeling guilty about nothing, you glance back at Satoru and the lopsided smile he greets you with makes you jump a little in your seat. Pools of sweat gather on the back of your neck and trickle down the small of his back. 

Did he...?

You lean over the table to grab the cup and hydrate your throat, however, your body turns to stone. 

"Did you know it's rude to stare?" He speaks after so long of silence and your grip on the porcelain trembles. "I don't think we've met before, have we?"

You improve your position against the backrest and try to regain your composure by sipping some of the cold brew before speaking. "I don't think so, no." You hate tea. 

Satoru clicks his tongue and pushes his body forward to get a better look at you as your eyes struggle to stay somewhere fixed on his body other than his lips or thighs. "I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere." 

You're so embarrassed at what you're going to say next that you think you're going to faint.

"I had asked you for a picture before." And your voice cuts off at the end, unsure about the recent confession.

If you get to work together there could be no lies between you so you decide to be honest from now on, no secrets. Then everything also served as an excuse for the way he caught you looking at him. Yes, you did meet him once in person but you were so nervous that you barely remember the details of your encounter. 

Satoru rubs his jaw with his fingers, then the smile widens pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

"Hm. At that convention a few years ago maybe?" In a stupor where you can only move your eyelids and head, you nod in his direction. "The cutie with the colored hair..." He really did have a very good memory, you think and memories of that day begin to overwhelm your head in the form of embarrassing polaroids. "You're such a fan! You were so excited," Satoru adds, laughing, as if everything he mentioned before wasn't embarrassing enough.

"I wasn't officially a sorceress yet back then..." 

"Oh." He wasn't laughing, but he had a grimace that threatened to do so at any moment. "You're justifying yourself? You're not a fan anymore then?" He almost sounded disappointed and at this point it was impossible for you to keep looking at him, so arranging your posture on the couch you adopt another position where it allows you to maintain your dignity somehow. 

"I wouldn't say I was a fan..." You try to explain but Satoru interrupts you.  

"You definitely looked like a fan to me." He was laughing now. 

"What I mean is that I've matured now." You speak quickly as if trying to make a point. "I'm not a fan, just an admirer." You clarify, trying to get him to see that between those two words there is some difference that you are seeing clearly.

"Does that mean you don't want a picture again?" 

That photo you still keep in your nightstand drawer, well hidden under books, your phone charger and one or two other bracelets you wore as a teenager haunts you even in your dreams. You had forgotten about it. 

"No..." You force yourself to answer by shaking your head. "I don't think it's necessary now that we're going to be working together." 

Which fills you with pride, by the way. You were personally recommended by the principal of your old school, being transferred as soon as you graduated to Tokyo High to work under their jurisdiction alongside the strongest, someone you've looked up to since you started attending sorcery school is something that fills your chest so much that you could barely breathe normally.

You always wanted to have the opportunity to defend the weakest, that's why even though your clan was strong and you possess a cursed strong technique, you worked and trained every day earning the recognition of special grade sorcerers, among them your former director. Being in the capital and being able to protect more people, all this shoulder to shoulder with a man you admire was like a dream come true, one that slowly turned into a nightmare. 

Over the years you realized how corrupted the system was, the bad decisions made by the council and the higher ups, making sorcerers die every day without anyone stopping to mourn or miss them because all they were good for were as tools.... 

... You don't know why suddenly the first time you interacted with Satoru comes to your memory now, the only two things in common between the two events is that you couldn't breathe and perhaps that you were both sitting next to each other in an enclosed space that seemed to close in on you. At the time you were proud of what you were doing, sure of your every decision since protecting the weakest was something you had lived for—  though now, you weren't so sure of that anymore. 

"Hey." You feel him touch you, but not really. His cursed technique gets in the way once again, as always, protecting himself from you and the outside. The metallic smell of blood is permeating you, your hands and your uniform to a point where it's unbearable and overwhelming, your gut twists and your mouth fills with saliva threatening to make you vomit at any moment. Your eyes on the verge of popping out of their sockets carefully fixate on the calluses on your hands and the crimson liquid that stains them and gets trapped under your fingernails along with a bit of dirt. "Are you okay?" Satoru asks and that's the problem, you weren't. None of this was okay.

"Ijichi, stop the car," you say still admiring your hands, perplexed.  

"Ijichi, don't stop the car." Satoru retorts. 

"Ijichi..." Your call sounds like a warning and the man pulls over to the side of the road immediately, you hear him apologize right away along with the thousand and one reproaches that follow behind it from Satoru. 

The blood is left plastered on the door as you leave, it is left on your face as you push some of your hair away from your face. 

The desert heat manifests itself in small droplets on your forehead, limiting your vision and in an unquenchable thirst that scrapes your throat.

"I'm going to quit..." you whisper to yourself but the wind carries your words to your companion who was hurrying to your side battling with the sand in his shoes. 

"You're not going to do it." 

"You can't tell me what to do." 

Your heavy footsteps were soon leading you away from him as a stabbing pain bit into your muscles and your feet complain of the pain your shoes have been giving them all day. 

"It's just a mission gone wrong!" 

You stop suddenly and turn your body to face him. You're planted in front of him shaking with anger not just because the higher ups were going to reproach you and probably stop giving you special rank missions for months, maybe years—

"It wasn't just a mission gone wrong, someone is dead, Satoru!" a scream rips your throat as you shout the sorcerer's name, the feeling burning in your chest is not just that of a mission gone wrong, it's the death and blood of your friend on your hands.

Those spikes must have gone through that civilian, not your friend, that person who was with you since you started working for Tokyo, that person who supported and encouraged you when things weren't going so well. Just twenty hours ago you were having coffee with him in the coffee shop below your apartment and now you talk about him in the past tense. As life faded from those beautiful eyes, full of kindness, always ready to tell you that you were going to be okay they were gone.

"You need to calm your emotions or you're going to curse him." Was that really all he could say to you while you were getting wrecked in front of him? Your hands that tried so hard to stop the bleeding in your partner become fists. "This is not what he would have wanted, [Name]."

You snort, then start pacing in circles, searching for the right words other than fuck you. Suddenly you stop to face him and find yourself with that usual annoying blindfold that separates him from everyone else, that never lets you see what he was thinking, and you point an accusing finger at him.

"What do you know what he would have wanted, Satoru? You didn't know him." And you know you shouldn't keep talking, you're biting your tongue because you know you don't have to say it but if you don't that vein in your temples is going to explode. "You don't know anyone because you don't let anyone in, not even me who is supposed to be your friend." The word friend comes loaded with imaginary quotation marks and with the weight of all the years and missions you've shared together.

He says your name a second time, now sounding weak. 

"You are so busy, on your unreachable throne as the strongest that you would never think of the idea of being vulnerable and watching those you love die because you love no one." His jaw muscles are tense, showing you that you may have struck a chord. 

"That's not true. I'm trying to make this a better place, I want the sorcerers who are growing up to be better, stronger, who don't need someone like me and I understand you—" 

"You have to recognize the privilege you have, Gojo." He hated that you called him by his last name because it puts distance between you and makes you those strangers again in that meeting room while you waited for Yaga, but you have a point you wanted him to understand. "Please don't pretend you understand me, because you don't."

Tired of the conversation that seemed to be going nowhere you turn around, there is sand inside your white socks and uniform pants, with a heavy heart and head thumping you set out to get as far away from him as you can. Somewhere far away from those six eyes that always see everything and his cursed energy that seem to drown the whole desert beneath his aura. 

Satoru stops you by pulling your arm towards him, his fingers are an invisible force holding your wrist prisoner and you have no strength left to fight, the adrenaline from the fight that ended badly starts to evaporate along with the sweat on your forehead and you let him stop you, your anger replaced with a deep sadness. 

"I can't," you mutter closing your eyes, giving in to the flame of the sun toasting the top of your head. "Let me go." 

"I won't." He couldn't do it because he already saw what happened to a friend the last time he did it. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice, even if he had to fight yourself in the process. 

"I'm not going back to Jujutsu High," you say and your voice sounds steadier, swallowing the lump that ties your throat.

"I won't make you do it," Satoru snorts through his nose. "But at least come with me." 

You don't have the courage to turn and face him so you just nod, giving him permission to do as he pleases. Everything happens so fast you don't have time to process it, his big arms wrap around you in an invisible embrace, his cursed energy is vibrating all over the place and you don't stop him or try to complain the moment his arms squeeze you tightly and it only takes a couple of seconds for you to open your eyes and the hellish heat of the desert is replaced by a safe roof and four walls surrounding you. 

The thermal sensation of the air conditioning makes you shiver from the sudden change in temperature, making your skin bristle. You take a breath of air and step back finally breaking the safe space Satoru created for you and he doesn't stop you when you take space between the two of you or when your curious eyes examine the place, though the answer was obvious— an unstoppable "Where are we?" slips out of you, needing to hear a verbal confirmation that he too saw the same thing you did and that this was not an illusion. 

"My place," Satoru says so simply, hitting the bull's-eye on the idea created in your head. There are questions about teleportation you'd like to ask him but for the moment you keep quiet, admiring your friend's comfortable apartment as if it were a museum. 

You were in the middle of the kitchen and your body felt tingly and somewhat weak from the teleportation, your feet not quite sure that the ground they were walking on was real. You were surrounded by white colors and a few shades of brown coming from the 

countertop. You never imagined how Satoru would live, in fact he was so god-like that sometimes you forgot that he also ate and slept like you, yet for the money he must have had in his bank account the place seemed very... simple.

"Why do you have less stuff than me in my apartment?" The question comes in a joking tone wanting to break the ice even though you were still annoyed. "I thought you were rich," you add. 

Satoru emits a laugh that sounds more like a snort. "What makes you think I'm not," he declares arrogantly. You write him off as a smug fool, though you try hard not to roll your eyes at his attitude. "I don't need to buy so much stuff because I'm always traveling. I just come here to sleep."

Satoru motions inviting you to move around his apartment with him. You decide to follow him, walking down a short hallway just behind him. You watch as his fingers curl around the door handle at the end of the hallway, opening it for you and revealing the bathroom. You feel your eyes fill with a mixture of fear and insecurity, similar to the eyes of a wary deer as you enter the room. With a slight creak, Satoru closes the door behind you, leaving you disconsolate and alone along with your tangled thoughts.

The walls are lined with pristine white tiles, with a sheen that reflects the light like mirrors. You approach the sink and notice the golden faucets emerging from the white porcelain with elegance. As you face the wall-mounted mirror, your own reflection seems to show confusion and an overwhelming sense of uncertainty.

Your hair is a mess, the strands had escaped from the tight bun you usually wear when going on a mission, the scrunchie about to fall out. There is a small scar on your cheek that runs horizontally across it and barely noticeable stains from your own blood-covered fingers that got there when you try to pull your hair away from your face. 

You look down and guilt hits your bile, the innocent color of the sink had been replaced by your bloodied hands which clutched at it tightly. 

Through a glass window, a ray of light filters in, bathing the room with a faint luminosity. The sun's rays draw mysterious patterns on the tiled floor. Shadows dance in the corners, and in the midst of this overwhelming sensory experience, your mind is flooded with gloomy thoughts and unanswered questions. 

At that instant, the sound of tapping against the door startles you, bringing you back to the reality of the bathroom. 

"I'll leave some clothes outside," says Satoru, who doesn't wait for an answer before leaving and giving your thoughts space again.

You turn back to the reflection in the mirror and again to your hands, give way to the water trapped in the faucet and scrub your hands with the liquid soap resting on the ceramic, helping yourself with it to clean up the mess you had made. 

Then, you get rid of your uniform and with your foot drag it to a corner to get into the shower, from there you step under the stream of water in an almost automatic way. You barely react to the coldness of the water but after a moment you get used to it, let it run over you and clean with the help of the soap the mud stains and something else that crawl into the drain. 

You squeeze until your skin hurts, until the water carries no more dirt in the drain and you scrub until you have no more tears to drop, it is only at that moment that you turn the shower and force yourself to leave the comfort you had found in that cold wall to get out of the cubicle and dry your body with a towel you found neatly folded hanging above the toilet. 

As you open the door you find on the floor articles of clothing that you pick up and close the door again to examine. The first was a white T-shirt, large enough to reach your thighs, this was accompanied by blue shorts into which you slip, forgetting that you needed underwear. 

If it were up to you, you would stay all your life in that bathroom that smelled of coconut and oatmeal but you had to pretend to be brave. You take one last look at the image in the mirror, ignoring the fact that you still need to fix your hair and that there are dark circles under your red eyes you decide to finally leave, being seduced by a sweet smell and sounds of dishes clattering against each other you are guided to the kitchen. 

"What are you doing?" you ask confused, in front of you was a Satoru whisking something with a fork inside a bowl in an exaggerated manner, being extremely extra and loud.

"Pancakes." You stand silently admiring the technique, feeling like laughing because it looks ridiculous but not giving him the pleasure of listening to you. Satoru had changed out of his uniform into casual clothes —baggy jeans in a worn blue and a strapless T-shirt—and had ditched the blindfold, gifting you for the first time what his naked eyes looked like.  "I'm trying to cook. I usually eat canned stuff and I've been wanting to learn how to cook, at least basic stuff." Satoru commented something like that before, that he would forget to eat or buy meals on his travels that he would then bring home and forget to consume, you didn't expect him to be serious back then. Imagining him cooking was very out of character for you. 

You approach the countertop in disbelief, stepping through the door frame and then climb a stool to admire him up close. With the help of your hands you hold your jaw and soon your whole head is filled with Satoru stirring the batter, inevitably silencing your thoughts and lulling you into a sort of trance. 

Satoru stops his task to set the batter aside and focus on you, it was even worse without the blindfold, you didn't know where to hide to escape him. His blue eyes were on yours, then briefly went to your lips. 

"You said earlier that I wouldn't let you in, I want to." 

"You don't have to." You reply curtly, keeping up the mask that you don't mind losing his friendship, clinging to your anger. 

"I want to try." 

You're silent for a moment. "I'm not going back to Jujutsu High." Then you warn him. 

Satoru breaks the dueling stares to grab the bowl with white batter again which was starting to take on a fat texture, you wrinkle your nose at the strange consistency and at the tiny bubbles in it and the thought of criticizing his style of making pancakes lingers on the tip of your tongue. 

"I'm not going to force you to stay." Satoru takes a ladle and dips it into the batter, pouring a first misshapen pancake into a previously buttered pan. "But Maki is going to miss you." You roll your eyes. 

"You're not going to blackmail me."

"I'm not!" he laughingly defends himself, with a spatula poking the pancake around the edges to check if it was already browned —spoiler, it wasn't—. "But she really will." You think he's not really talking about Maki, though. 

Satoru flips the pancake which wasn't burnt or browned, it hadn't even been cooked and the spatula along with the pan are sticky from the batter. Exasperated, you get up from the stool to head over to him. 

"Come here." You don't wait for him to answer you to pull the spatula from his hands and try to save the pancake which screams in the pool of boiling butter.

"Oh, you're going to show me how it's done?" he asks half indignantly, half laughing. 

"Uh-huh." You reply, turning down the stove flame. "I'm not a teacher anyway, I don't have anyone under my care. And if I'd had a chance before I've blown it now." You return to the subject, ignoring the stove as you pay more attention to the coat of paint on the wall.  

"You were good today." Satoru says softly, it's so comforting the way he addresses you that you feel like crying but you mask it with a brief pout. 

"It's not enough to just do well. I lost more than the respect of the higher-ups today." You distract yourself by flipping the pancake over, the top showing you a burnt golden color, much more decent than what Satoru was doing.  

"Nobody's perfect, [Name]."

"You are." You reply too quickly as you victoriously scoop out the first pancake and throw another bit of batter into the pan, more butter. 

For longer than you would have liked to admit, all you hear is the bubbling of butter toasting the batter. 

"That's what you think of me?" Satoru breaks the silence and you notice out of the corner of your eye that he's folding his arms. 

"What does it matter what I think?" 

"It matters to me," he admits, looking at you for the first time. "You are my friend after all. You don't care what I think of you?" 

"Not really." You lie, taking the opportunity to flip the pancake. Even though Satoru probably knows you're doing it, his eyes widen slightly, looking you up and down. 

"I thought you were my fan." He puts a hand to his chest for added drama, gasping for air at the same time.

"Please forget that!" 

"You were eating me with your eyes thinking I didn't see you. That's workplace harassment, I could report you, you know?" 

"Shut up!" you threaten him with the spatula smeared with the mixture and a couple of drops fall to the floor. 

Little by little the plate was filling up with the pancakes that to your surprise didn't taste so bad, you shared one with Satoru before finishing cooking them and you even flattered him —they're okay, they were literally your words, it was the only praise you could give to his first attempt—, you knew he was going to get better.

From the shelf Satoru takes out two porcelain plates and places them side by side and brings them towards you, you are sitting on one of the stools. 

"Thank you."

"Are you going to stay over or do you want me to take you home?" Satoru asks before sitting down, poking at one of the fluffy pancakes. 

You take your time before answering, honey drizzling over the mountain of pancakes and making a puddle on your plate. The question bounces around in your head, reliving memories of the recent failed mission. 

"I think I want to be alone." You answer finally, focused on pinching a pancake with a fork. 

Satoru says nothing more, his gaze not falling back on you while you, on the other hand, check him with the side of your eye every five seconds. You force yourself to fill your mouth not to talk anymore because you had nothing more to say and whatever comes out of your mouth now could be dangerous. 

So you swallow and chew the words you never said, mixing them with the sweetness of honey and the burnt part of pancakes. Even though the silence is uncomfortable, there is a certain tranquility to it. 

After eating you help him wash the dishes and Satoru offers to drive you home. It was on the tip of your tongue to refuse but you were sure that it would be faster and the sooner you arrived the sooner you could throw yourself on the bed and get warm under your sheets next to your cat, so without time to lose you picked up your uniform from the bathroom and sent him your address through the gps which made you realize that you didn't live so far away. 

On the way you didn't talk much, just chattered about the irony of the weather and the heavy drops splashing against the window. You asked how his students were and he asked how your cat was, and before you could realize it Satoru was parking his car in front of the entrance. 

You accept his invitation to accompany you to the door, trotting in front of the coffee shop that had already closed, inhaling the smell of freshly brewed coffee that lingered in the air. He steps forward when you invite him into the warmth of your home. The light from the bulb chases away the shadows and draws your gray cat towards the entrance to greet you between meows, his soft fur brushes against your legs and then as if he has known him all his life he rubs against Satoru's legs and Satoru can't help but be seduced by the little animal and squats down to pet him while you smile at the scene. 

Satoru stretches out his knees again, lifting his size above you. 

"You're safe and sound," he says." You don't have to-"

Your bottom lip is quivering and you blame the raindrops you caught on your mini marathon from the car to your door, Satoru frowns and takes a step in front of you. You see his hands shaking but he forces them to keep still on either side of his legs, you can't see his eyes because they are hidden under the sunglasses but the concern on his face is more than evident. 

"Can I hug you?" Satoru doesn't say anything and just pounces on you, as if he's been waiting for you to give him permission. It's like always, you can't feel him but you're thankful he's here. "I was so scared there," you confess, forcing yourself not to cry and he realizes the fragile state you're in. "I don't want to see another friend die." Your arms tighten around his waist, lending weight to your sentence. 

"It's okay," he points out, stroking your back as if it were your cat. "I'm the strongest after all, you don't have to worry about me." 

You snort, sinking your face lightly into his unreachable chest and give him a light smack from behind that he never feels. 

Suddenly, as if something is pushing you, you fall on top of him, your face sinking into his chest and you quickly raise your head to look at him. He was smiling, a grimace that reassures you and pushes the heavy tears you had been holding out of your eyes. You hide your face in his torso again and it's so warm, you can't help but inhale as he pats your head, through it all you realize that unlike you, he's not wet. 

"It's going to be okay." 

"Satoru..." You look up at him again.

"That day, the day we met for the first time your cursed energy was all over the place... it was soft and warm and I wanted to tease you for that, I waited impatiently for you to come near me." Your heart pounding, it squeezes your chest and you think he might have noticed. "But I couldn't say anything, I'm never at a loss for words but being next to you... I could feel your purity and your good intentions, the desire inside you to help others. So I lowered my defenses and let you touch me because I wanted some of the sweet sweet smell of your energy to permeate me, I know you don't remember it because of the euphoria of your fanaticism." He lets out a chuckle. "I haven't let anyone touch me in years and you're the only one to do it again after that day."

Incredulous and short of words you stare at him, stare at him and stare at him again, blinking as if you have all the time in the world to admire him, the sound of the rain pattering against the window competing with the drum that is your heart. Your mouth opens and closes a couple of times before you realize you don't know what to say. Satoru's cheeks are painted red and you've never stopped to feel the effect being near him has on you. 

You push your body close, intoxicated from the moment until your mouth finds his. Warm air seeps out of his mouth in the form of a gasp and reaches your tongue, you have to part your mouth further to let it in and swallow his gasps. 

Tentatively you deposit a kiss on his lips and he growls, you feel his fingers squeeze the fabric of your shirt and grip your skin. Unable to hold you another second not knowing how it would feel to kiss him you join in a slow kiss, you are surprised by the way he uses his tongue to lick your upper lip and touch the tip of yours only to pull back and place a hand behind the back of your neck allowing him to taste you better. 

Your journey with Satoru had been strange. You were his admirer —c'mon, you never stopped being one— then his co-worker and finally his friend. At some point you buried your feelings because you were too busy working on getting better and stronger to earn the place to stand and fight by his side, to earn the respect of the elders, you were sure nothing was going to happen between the two of you. You convinced yourself that you were happy with his friendship and the support that being close to him gave you, it was safe and it felt real... just like this moment. 

Satoru's hands were on your back, then under your shirt directly touching your skin. His fingertips were ice cubes that bristled your flesh, traveling in a sort of massage in all directions as you continued a slow dance, drowning out your mewls with rain and each other's lips. 

When Satoru finally breaks away your lips were slightly swollen, red, the same color as his. There was a dreamy look on your face that you hid by closing your eyelids and biting your lower lip, when you opened them you found that he was still there, hiding behind those sunglasses not really knowing what he was thinking but it was real, he really was here. At least you were sure that had really happened. 

"This thing that just happened," you say, trying to catch your breath. "It won't change my mind about quitting, I hope you know that." 

Satoru snorts a chuckle. 

"We can try a second time." You allow him to move closer to you again, his head cocked to the side taking hold of your lips, sinking his teeth into these. "Or a third." He gives them a little lick. "Or all night, I'm very persistent." 

You join in a shy giggle you both share. Satoru fixes his back and withdraws his hands out of your shirt and you almost miss them immediately, these are now on your face, cradling your cheeks and carving away the tears that managed to spill. 

"I care about you." 

"I know." You sob, your cheeks burning. 

"And I'll be there tomorrow for you and to face any punishment with you," he speaks sweetly, pausing briefly. "You know they don't have to mess with me, though. I'd destroy them in a second for you." Ah, there was the Satoru you knew. 

He leans in once more to kiss you and you think you could get used to this. 

"Should I leave?" he murmurs against your lips. 

"Stay," you say, your knees trembling from the closeness. "I too... I like you too." 

"Oh, I never said I liked you." Satoru smiles mischievously. You shoot him a dagger-filled glare along with a frown that gradually relaxes. 

"Thank you for being here," you sigh. 

"Thanks for letting me do it."

I still can't believe I wrote so much for something that isn't smut, sobs. But I've realized how much fun it is to write different genres and I can't stop. I was going to say something else but totally forgot lolol maybe I'll edit this later.

dear mother — stsg x fem!reader

synopsis : you’ve finally enrolled into jujutsu tech, sad thing is, you’re totally clueless.

includes / cw : emotionally abusive mother

a /n : ch1 of my “all mine” series!!!

"i'm ogawa [name]. i'm from sendai japan. please take care of me."

you bow politely. smiling at the tiny class of three as you rise, posture nervous and stiff.

"if i knew there was someone new i would've thrown a welcome party!" a white haired boy who's eyes are protected by circular black glasses exclaims excitedly, a smile big on his lips. you admit you're a bit intimidated. the idea of a party for you seems a bit over the top, though.

a boy on his left scoffs almost affectionately, the soft look he sends to his counterpart familiar to you. you always looked at the street cats like that, your mother as well (you try not to think about it). he has a bang over his left eye, you wonder if someone has ever tried to tuck it behind his ear.

"there's no need for a party. my arrival can't be that exciting," you chuckle shyly.

they all analyze you. so you settle with looking at your shuffling shoes.

"she speaks so formally." the gojo boy leans over with a hand cupped around his mouth as he whispers to his best friend, causing you to look up. it's a bit silly that he's acting as if he's whispering a secret even though everyone can hear him.

his friend eyes you apologetically.

there's another girl, the only one who seems actually interested as she stares you down. you flinch as you catch her gaze. her hair is short, in a brown bob that frames her face perfectly. her bangs are tucked behind her ear and there's a mole you catch on her face that convinces you she's model worthy.

other than your mother you've never thought a woman was so pretty.

"so new girl, what's your cursed technique."

new girl.. but i swore i said my name. did i not?

ignoring the white haired boy's lack of manners was easy, since you weren't all that aware he was being rude.

"i actually... don't know."

all three students chorused at the same time.

"hah?"

scouted? me? when you heard such a thing, you were confused and honestly, really surprised. you weren't talented by any means. outside of studying you didn't have much going on. not only that, but your mother kept you in the house a lot. so to hear of someone from jujutsu tech finding you worthy enough to attend had you blinking, astonished.

you were aware of what jujutsu was, cursed techniques and all of that jazz, but your knowledge was still limited beyond that. your mom was adamant on you not attending for reasons she refused to tell. obviously you didn't push. you never liked seeing her with a temper.

the man who recommended you was named yaga masamichi. he'd taken note of the significant amount of cursed energy you possessed when passing by you on your way to school. your family weren't jujutsu sorcerers from what you were aware of — you honestly weren't even sure that there were jujutsu sorcerers or people like you until now. but you'd never put it past your mom to hide something like that from you.

she always kept jujutsu related talk under wraps, only giving you little information to quell your curiosity.

you didn't even know what your cursed technique was. or if you even had one. even though you tried to understand why she does what she does, it still felt very lonely — seeing such heinous creatures and having to pretend they didn't exist for your own safety.

if it weren't for the fact that you instinctively learned to control your cursed energy output, you could've been in serious danger.

and although it was painful to go through such things alone — not being able to confide in a single person — you understood why your mother did it. all she wanted to do was keep you safe.

and even if you followed all of her rules of no jujutsu to a T, you couldn't help the sensation of excitement and relief knowing that there were so many other people out there just like you. a school of them, even.

you wanted badly to be upset with your mother, the fact that she knew about all of this and kept it from you. but even the thought of being angry at her when all she wanted was to protect you had you pushing down those foolish feelings.

other than secretive, your mother was also very stubborn. a trait that you always admired until this very moment.

she argued that you didn't belong into a school that was practically a death trap for young teens. always listening to your mother like an obedient puppy, you looked down at the floor, preparing for the inevitable rejection, expression sad as you shuffled your shoes alongside your mothers that were planted firm on the ground — you resisted the urge to distance yourself from her.

your eyes drifted to the shoes that were yaga's hoping no one would question your silence (they never did).

your mother wasn't a bad person. never that. but sometimes you couldn't help but get upset at the decisions she made in your stead. you wouldn't say that she didn't consider you, but sometimes it kinda felt that way.

"i get where you're coming from. jujutsu tech is a dangerous place and i hate to bring such young talented kids into such risks. but you have to understand your daughters side," he gestured towards you, your mothers eyes dropping to your head that perked up before they glared back at yaga.

"how do you think she feels knowing she has the opportunity to branch out and gain knowledge about these abilities. do you think she wants to stay ignorant because you do?"

your ears rang as the last sentence was spoken.

"do you think she wants to stay ignorant because you do?"

it resonated with you in a way you couldn't comprehend. all you could do was clutch your chest as a foreign feeling of relief left your choked up throat in a bated breath. the exhale feeling as if you were being freed from something. being seen.

"[name], my sweet darling baby," she caressed the top of your head. it was instinct to lean into her touch, even though at the moment you couldn't sort out how you felt towards her.

she's protecting you. the words whisper in your ear, like a disease that is incurable, like a predator that sinks its fangs and refuses to let go.

"mommy wants you to stay home with her. please consider it. it's so dangerous out there, and i really don't want you to get hurt," she cooed. it made you feel sick and you hated not knowing why. even though her words were meant to console you, they only made you want to run.

your eyes were glued to the dirty mat that you and your mother refused to clean, maybe because it was the most familiar thing in this constant changing house. there were five pairs of shoes, you, yaga, and mother and two unworn pairs off to the side, both meant for other occasions, better ones. ones that don't include the ringing of your ears and the well of your tears as they collect on your lashes. maybe it's an occasion where you're at a nice dinner with your mom, a rare treat whenever she deemed herself in the mood.

the bigger pair of shoes shifted. yaga.

"miss ogawa. i don't mean to overstep, but have you considered you're babying your 15 year old child? maybe you need to consider that she can make her own-"

"don't you dare tell me how to parent my own damn child." her voice is dripping with venom, the venom that seeps through you and whispers in your ear.

i just want to protect you.

your mothers anger was never a calm one, it was loud and furious, voice bouncing off the walls as she tried restraining herself from getting violent. so hearing her talk to the man in such a familiar tone had you quivering in her hold.

your mother, never under the assumption that she could ever be the reason you were upset, deduced that your shivers were caused by yaga.

so she glares, long and hard, and her lips move to form the words you were dreading, "my daughter is not attending your shit school. get out of my house.”

...

other than the sound of life beyond the door, there only laid cold, anxious silence.

you were afraid to look up, your mother's shirt being your only anchor. but from the resigned sigh that left yaga's lips, you were well aware of the expression he was making — one of anger, and disappointment. realizing that seeking you out was a waste of his time.

or so you assumed.

for he could only look at you in pity, acknowledging how painful a relationship like this must be for you, and in longing, hoping foolishly that he could lend a helping hand.

a rough calloused hand entered your vision, a piece of ripped paper in the grip of his fingers.

yaga gestured it towards you patiently, a look of sorrow marring his usually calm expression. "if there's a change, please call this number."

your mom ripped it from his grasp right before you could touch it. she crumpled it in her hand. "there won't be a change. now get the fuck out of my house."

you could only stare in horror at your mothers fist that held the only thing that could possibly change the trajectory of your life. even as yaga bowed and turned around, even as the door slammed shut behind him. even as mother soothed you with quiet coos meant for a baby, even as she turned towards the kitchen to start on dinner, even as she sat you down and commented on your silence. even as she watched you absentmindedly pick on your food, even as she started to become agitated at your lack of response, and even as she treaded up the stairs to her bedroom. your eyes stayed glued to that one hand.

you blinked, eyes dry and mouth parched as you suddenly remembered that you weren't at the front door anymore while your mother cradled you in her arms.

your eyes drift to the front door, and you approach it slowly. you don't know why you stand there or why your hand touched the door knob.

maybe it's because you're hopeful that the man is behind this door. waiting patiently for you to open it, prepared with the words of acceptance. maybe something amongst it that helps you figure out what the hell to do.

"a school of them." you whispered, the only thing capable of leaving your dry mouth.

there was a school of them. proof that you really weren't alone in this cursed world. how could you possibly go back to the difficult life of acting as if everything was normal when it wasn't? blue auras were around everybody, and the grotesque creatures festered from the negative feelings surrounding those people. and there were those out there who knew how to get rid of those things for the sake of others.

knowing all of this, you couldn't stand by and not lend a hand, not learn to control the one thing that's burdened you your entire life. but..

you looked up the stairs, seeing just the top of your mothers door.

what would she do? she needed you. you both took care of each other, you couldn't leave her behind.

but you needed this. you wanted to figure all of this out. control theses abilities and hopefully get to know people who were just like you. and... you could always come back.

yeah.

who said you had to stay? you would go, go to jujutsu high, reach your goals, and return to your mother.

because even though you may make friends with those of similar backgrounds to you, your mother was a constant in your life, never changing. you couldn't abandon her. you wouldn't.

so with this new resolve in your heart, you snuck up to her room. she kept her door creaked for unknown reasons, maybe to keep an eye on you, but you ignored that and thanked its convenience for this very moment.

she was asleep. snoring.

you treaded carefully over to the bed, eyes focused on the bags growing under her lashes. the sight made your lips twitch into a small frown. you delicately tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. listening to her steady breathing as she dreamt the night away.

"wait for me, mother.”

you turned away and grabbed the piece of paper off of her nightstand, leaving the room with a sense of urgency.

you dialed yaga's number after locking your bedroom door, pacing around in circles as the phone rung. the ringing resonated in your ears like a ticking clock. you didn't really have time. if he wouldn't answer now you'd never get your chance.

your mom was an early bird and you could already feel yourself getting drowsy.

"i mean. who even calls this late. he might be asleep..." you whisper defeatedly and pull the phone away from your ear to hang up, but it lights up with his icon and you jump in excitement.

"miss. ogawa?"

"masamichi-san. it's [name]."

Dear mother,

I've departed, something I'm sure you noticed. As much as I wanted to obey you, I couldn't just abandon the opportunity that could help change my life for the better. I know you were trying to protect me, and I know that it's dangerous. But I can't live knowing that my life could be different. I can't just sit by and watch this spark of light dim, let my world go dark again. I'm not like you, mother. I will not stay ignorant. Wait for me, please.

I lov-

a loud shrewd rip echoes through the quiet house. your mother's eyes are dull, face empty as she starts furiously ripping the paper to shreds.

she suddenly screams out in anger, tears of frustration bubbling and blurring her vision. she grips her hair in agony as she starts chanting curses.

"dammit dammit, dammit!! i told her it was dangerous. i told her. damn her!! good for nothing daughter... not listening to a fucking word i say!!"

your mom stomps angrily out of her room, not caring for the small pieces of paper she tramples over.

"I love you,"

"mother."

gojo satoru was born with six eyes — a special cursed technique that allowed for an extremely precise manipulation of cursed energy, down to an atomic level. it also blessed him with a beautiful pair of ocean blue eyes that were practically glowing. you’d never seen eyes so pretty.

the drawback to this gift? the skull-splitting migraines that came with the excessive information constantly being processed by his darting eyes.

as a child, the pain was manageable. gojo didn’t have much of a hold on the technique so his weaker state meant that the migraines were subdued as less information was being absorbed. however, as he grew older and more powerful, he would find himself bed ridden for at least twenty four hours if he did not take some sort of measure to protect his eyes.

his go to method was the sunglasses, almost 100% tinted — no other person would be able to clearly see out of them, if they could see anything at all. his sight, on the other hand, so impressive that he could distinguish people and the objects around them through the levels of cursed energy radiated.

still, accidents happened. whether it be him breaking his glasses, or forgetting them as young children do, he quickly learned the drawbacks to his technique. no normal medicine could relieve the pain and no sorcerer was strong enough to either.

gojo satoru met you at fifteen years old on his first day at tokyo jujutsu high. you wore a uniform similar to shoko's but your skirt was closer to the floor than it was to your thigh. your hair was longer than most female sorcerers and tied into a plait that hung against your back. in all honesty, you appeared quite plain to him. nothing particularly stood out. not even your cursed energy was particularly strong.

but you were gorgeous. completely and utterly gorgeous. his glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he analysed you from afar and it wasn't till a slap on the shoulder from geto that he snapped out of it.

within six months of knowing one another, the two of you were dating. you picked up on his habit to forgo his glasses around you pretty quickly and you definitely didn't miss the increasing amount of discomfort that would cause him.

"why do you do that?" you asked him one time.

the two of you were on a date in the park. a picnic blanket had been laid out and satoru had bought basically every single pastry and sweet at the bakery next to the park. you'd barely managed to make it through half till the both of you had given up and opted for cloud watching, giggling as he joked that one cloud in particularly looked very similar to nanami's 'emo' haircut.

satoru turned to his side to look at you questioningly, his head resting on his hand, "do what?"

"take off your glasses," you gestured to the folded pair of black glasses by his head. "i don't have to be a doctor to realise that you're in a lot of pain right now." the longer you lay there, the less satoru was actually looking up at the sky, instead just listening to you as you pointed out shapes and animals.

you knew the toll six eyes could take on his body.

he kept his eyes screwed shut when he wasn't looking at you to ease the the pain from the intense light that was too overpowering for his splitting headache. he winced when a kid screamed too loudly or ran too close and his fingers would push against the sides of his head frustratedly. as if he thought hard enough, the pain would just go away.

his lips tilted up into a lopsided grin, "but i see you."

you twisted so that your body was parallel to his. there was a faint blush on your cheeks now but you didn't look away from his eyes. how could you? "you always see me."

"not with those stupid glasses," satoru frowned, and you think it was the most serious you had seen him since you met. "seeing you and seeing your energy are two very different things."

"you're hurting yourself," you pointed out, placing one of your hands onto his cheek to gently stroke your thumb against his skin. his shoulders relaxed slightly and he leant into your touch like it was magic. like you were some drug that numbed the pain, replacing it with a special serotonin only you could give him.

"worth it." satoru kissed your palm.

that was his only response. worth it. and he stuck to it even a decade later.

"old habits die hard, i guess," satoru tried to laugh at his poorly made joke, but only a few shakey breaths came out. you'd been home thirty minutes and he'd already been sick twice. he'd curled himself up in your shared bed not long after the second time and that was where he was when you began scolding him for his carelessness.

"you are twenty eight," you rant exasperatedly, juxtaposing your voice that is no louder than a gentle whisper, "you have three first years to be looking after right now, but no, someone wanted to go out for dinner and someone didn't want to wear their glasses, and someone-"

satoru's much larger hand squeezed yours, "don't be cruel. i do this for you, my love." his blindfold was now on (you had made him put it on as soon as you had gotten home) but you know him well enough to know he was staring up at you with those lovesick eyes that made you weak at the knees.

"i just worry," your tone eased. you had no issue looking after your husband, you never had. it wasn't his fault that he got the migraines per se. yes, he could definitely be doing more to mitigate the severity, but he was stubborn. that had never changed. "i've seen you fight special grades. i hate seeing a stupid headache hurt you so much."

"lay with me."

"you're sweaty and sick." you scrunched up your nose, eyes flicking to the en suite you'd just cleaned and back to the cold flannel on his forehead as his body temperature fluctuated.

he shook his head, placing his index finger over his lips. "shhh, i'm passed that stage. pretty please? i need you."

gojo satoru was irresponsible at the best of times. he'd been raised to believe he was invincible and had been spoiled to always get what he had wanted. there was no telling him what to do when he'd already decided an hour ago exactly what he wanted to do.

but there was something about being needed by gojo satoru. you could never say no to him. so whether it be due to his own decision to stare into the eyes of his wife during a romantic night out, or an extensive fight against a cursed spirit, you would always be there to clean up and make sure he was wrapped up in bed all cosy.

and you would always lift up the covers and climb in once there was no more that you could do but simply act as a pillow for your husband as he tried to sleep off the throbbing pain.

um so my previous post on this topic blew up and i’m so so grateful so i thought i’d expand a little on this hc for anyone that was interested. rambled a bit towards the end but i hope you still like it!! love you lots xxx

FOREIGNER’S GOD // SATORU.

tags + gojou remains a sorcerer. amnesiac!f!reader. worldbuilding. sci-fi ( i'm trying ). dystopian on the side. heavy drama. explicit smut. canon-typical violence. excessive use of drugs. prostitution. gang/mafia violence. gun violence. insecurities. past wounds / injuries / scars. original characters will be presented. ( chapters will be labeled respectively in the future ).

xoxo, hunter + the plot is originally from roman holiday ( which is highly inspired by GANGSTA. ), i just tinkered a li’l bit of information. i know it’s supposed to be tora’s series, but it’s originally a gojou series like… around early 2021? i’ve also found it easier to maneuver with gojou as the main character instead. so, yeah! <3 if anyone wants to be notified, feel free to join the taglist by sending an ask or replying under this post!

He has been made to conquer the universe, no one steals from him. And the world did. Imagine the wrath of the king, imagine the fury beneath. Because the monsters would tremble and the ground would shake if they do not give you back to him.

EPISODE 01: THE TWILIGHT OF A GOD.

EPISODE 02: OCEAN EYES.

STAY TUNED . . .

by 8kh — do not repost, edit, or plagiarize.