“ghost girl” ; satoru gojo—the absolute bane of your existence since the ninth grade was the last person you expected to see at a frat party your best friend had taken you to, but what you expected even less was to end up in his bedroom by the end of the night. . .
pairing : frat!gojo x mute!fem!reader
content warnings : reader is referred to as “angel” as a nickname multiple times, mentions of bullying, low self-esteem + worth, themes of emotional vulnerability and dependency, implied depression, angst -> fluff
word count : 5k
angel’s notes : first ever fic i have ever written ohemgee! hope some girlies like it and please lmk if i missed any tags! i’ll be working on part 2 sometime this week, yay!🧁
Tiny vanilla particles fell onto your pillow, the strong yet sweet scent tickling your nose as you sat on your bed, listening to your closest friend speak about her day as she got ready. It might seem like an odd thing to like to do—listen to someone talk for a long while—she’s even asked if you ever got bored with her, but you always reassured her with a shake of your head, smiling as she got right back to her rambling.
Maybe it was because you couldn’t speak that you loved the experience of hearing everyone else. Their voice, their tones, how you could instantly tell their mood based on how they sounded. You’d have to say your favorite emotion was excitement—that was when you could really hear their voices shake, how they would barely be able to get their words out because they couldn’t control themselves, the stuttering, the smiles you didn’t even have to see to know were there. It was beautiful to have so much emotion and happiness in your words you couldn’t contain it. That you couldn’t wait to share it.
“Why won’t you come with me?” Miya spoke, spraying one last spritz of her perfume—unknowingly causing you to sneeze. Once again.
Miya was a party girl. She was the one everyone looked at when you both walked into a room, the one who used to have her locker flooded with love letters in high school, and the one who met you when you were sobbing in the bathroom. You were surprised she’d heard the tiny little sniffles at all, but what you were even more shocked about was the way she comforted you. The way she patiently waited for you to take your notes app out and type for her to understand. You’d never thought she’d even look your way, not with the way everyone would speak about you. Poke fun since you couldn’t articulate words. Speak. A quiet ghost that haunted the school instead of a normal girl. That’s all you ever wanted. To be normal—to have lots of friends that would go out shopping with you, teachers who’d smile when you raised your hand in class and not frown. Maybe even a boyfriend, but that was wistful thinking. A boyfriend would want to hear his girlfriend say I love you to him not type it in on their phone.
“Are you daydreaming while I’m talking? I told you to tell me if you get bored!” Miya chuckled, snapping you out of your thoughts as she so always did. You never complained, you were grateful you had her to remind you, you were still here on earth and not in some far, far away land where this was all a dream…
You shook your head, slowly curling your legs to your chest while she walked over towards your shared vanity, picking up a heart shaped palette of blush before carefully dusting the pink powder over the apples of her cheeks.
“I know you don’t like going to these kinds of things, but it could be our first one!” She squealed, the noise immediately eliciting a smile from you. The smallest of things seemed to excite her and it always amazed you how she never ran out of energy—even after a long night.
“We’re college girls now! Let’s have our first party together. Pleasepleaseplease!” She looked over at you, her hair perfectly done as always. Shiny and perfect. When was she not?
You looked up at her, playfully raising an eyebrow as you stuck up one of your fingers.
She let out a little noise of faux exhaustion, exchanging the blush for lipgloss before applying it to her lips. “Well…maybe not my first party, but it’s my first college one! That counts! New year new me. Basically.”
A soft, deflated sigh left her lips as she put down the makeup in her hands, sending you a pouty look. “Please, Angel? Pleasepleaseplease? I’ll miss you too much if I go alone—and what if something happens to you!?” Miya quickly made her way to your side of the bed, flipping off the heels she’d put on mere minutes ago just to cuddle in and persuade you.
She held onto your arm, cheek against your shoulder as she spoke.
“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” She whispered, slowly looking up at you. Those eyes—those mischievous, brown eyes were the same reason you’d gotten into so much trouble back in sophomore year and yet you couldn’t say no to them. Even now.
With a hesitant sigh you nodded your head, watching the exact millisecond her eyes and smile widened. “Really? Do you mean it? Yes!—There’s just 30 minutes until it starts, but we can be fashionably late! Everyone knows you always come late to frat parties anyways, y’know? It’s how they work.”
You watched her go on, walking from your closet to hers and then back to the vanity, picking out shoes, makeup, accessories—mostly from her own closet—before dumping them all onto your bed.
“Try it on! I have a vision, Angel.”
She looked at you with expectant eyes, giggling to herself the moment you got up and dragged yourself into the bathroom, items in hand.
She was happy—it was all that mattered. All these years you thought you burdened her with the weight of being friends with the “ghost girl”. You’d never admit it, but when she approached you so many years ago, knocking against the stall you were trying to contain your tears in—you thought it was a prank. That any moment her friends would rush in and they’d take pictures, post you on social media—but it never happened. She helped you on what could’ve only been described as the worst day of your life.
“You done in there? C’mon I wanna see!” Her voice rang out even through the bathroom door, luring you out of your nostalgic thinking.
You hit the door back twice, signaling you were ready before tentatively opening it—a look of embarrassment etching your features as soon as you stepped out.
“Ohmygosh!”
Beautiful baby pink and white fabrics adorned your body, the tiered, low cut dress fitting you perfectly along with the thin cardigan she pulled from your own closet. It felt right. Comfortable. You felt…pretty. Maybe it’s because it was hers or because you were actually going out for once, whatever it was—you just couldn’t stop smiling.
“Angel, you look perfect.” Miya took your hand, pulling you in close before giving you a slow spin.
“Like a princess.” She chuckled, her voice suddenly cracking.
You made eye contact with her, watching her fan her hands at her eyes. “Look at me! You’re making me cry!” She laughed through her blurry vision, “I’m gonna mess up my makeup!”
She was…crying? Because of you?
“My baby’s all grown up.” She smiled, taking a step closer, her fingers carefully intertwining with yours.
You guess you really were her…baby. She took you in, laughing with you at every mistake you made, scolding you whenever you couldn’t stick up for yourself—and then yelling at the ones who said things to you. She was the first person to do that. To admit they care and mean it, to stick by you through every chapter of your life. She knew you better than you knew yourself.
Miya held you for a few more seconds, squeezing your hand one last time before breaking away.
“Alright…now how do we feel about makeup?”
You put up two fingers, signaling you wanted just a tiny bit.
“Ah, alright…I’ll let it slide. Just this once. Next time we’re going all out!”
…Next time?
She guided you back towards the vanity, settling you in before spinning the chair towards her. “Now what are we thinkin’? Natural? Soft Glam?”
You held up one finger, letting her know you wanted the first option before folding your hands together in your lap.
“Got it!”
Indeed, Miya did have it. Natural makeup isn’t much, but she sure did know how to make you feel beautiful. It was a nice base with some lashes, lipgloss, and a touch of blush—but you couldn’t stop looking at yourself, wiping the edges of your lips and such.
“Good?”
You immediately nodded your head, unable to hide the smile that creased your foundation ever so slightly.
“Good! I would’ve cried—again—if you hated it…” She let out a sound of relief, placing her hands on top of your shoulders as she stood behind your chair.
“Ready?”
You nodded your head once more, tilting your head back to meet her eyes.
“Alright, let’s go!” She squeaked, hastily walking over to her bed to grab her car keys, talking to you even as she moved around.
You got up out of your seat shortly after, walking towards the door while she followed pursuit.
“Remember, if you feel even the tiniest bit uncomfortable you let me know! We can go straight home—or if a dude comes up to you! You let me know! Actually, I won’t leave you. Yep—“
You stopped her with a hand to her chest, shaking your head. You didn’t want to ruin her night, she wasn’t your babysitter—she was a friend, and you’d be damned if you messed up her night all because you couldn’t handle yourself for a few hours.
There would be people, lights, loud music, and alcohol. Life could be worse.
Well, not really…
“Angel, no way I’m leaving you alone! Are you kidding!? I know you can take care of yourself, but—“ This time you placed your hand over her mouth, sending her a look that said “I mean it.”
She upheld eye contact with you for almost 30 seconds before letting out a small sigh, wrapping her fingers around your wrist as she pulled it down.
“If that’s what you want…but I want your phone on the entire time, and your location. Just in case.”
You nodded your head, accepting her hand as it maneuvered its way into your own.
“Not forgetting anything, right?”
You shook your head, smiling.
“Then let’s party!”
Whenever you thought of a frat party, you thought of the following. Bass boosted music, lots of alcohol, couples making out, and bodies dancing against each other everywhere. (Un)safe to say—you were right. The scene was practically out of a movie. Pretty rainbow led lights that made everyone look almost angelic, smiling faces, drunken couples kissing with just as much fervor if they were to be sober—still just as in love. Friends having fun, taking pictures, drinking. High school wasn’t the best, but maybe college could be the turnaround.
Of course, you found the bright sides of a frat party.
“Holy shit!!” Miya yelled, voice barely carrying over the RnB playing. She held you with her arm around your shoulder now, guiding you and herself through the crowd towards the kitchen.
Only a few students lingered there, most of them entering only to grab a few drinks from the fridge before leaving. This was the party life you guess…and Miya knew all about it.
“Alright, sit right here. I’ll grab us a drink and then we—“
You gave her another look, furrowing your brows as you shook your head.
You pointed at yourself, put up a thumbs up, and then waved her away signaling you were just fine by yourself. You weren’t a kid—she knew that, but Miya was just worried and she had every right to be. You just couldn’t stand the fact that you would’ve been a contributing factor to a boring night.
“Promise me.” She suddenly spoke, maintaining eye contact. “Promise me you’ll call me if something happens, Angel.”
You held up your pinky finger with a small smile and she immediately hooked it with her own, squeezing tightly.
“Okay..I’ll be in the living room then, alright?”
You nodded your head, sending her off with a small wave.
Miya quickly waved back before she dispersed into the crowd, disappearing completely.
You waited a bit before finally getting up, beginning to explore the house. It was better than just sitting around after all, perhaps you’d come back with a story for her. How you walked in on a couple kissing or saw a frat boy down all 9 vodka shots in one go. Something funny like that.
With slow steps you made it out of the kitchen, carefully walking around until you noticed a back porch. The door to it was wide open, not a single soul making themself known. Fresh air would be nice, you thought—albeit, you’d just arrived but you didn’t really know what to do with yourself honestly, you came for Miya—that was it. You guess you were always that way. Subservient whenever someone asked for something, a bad trait most likely, but you liked doing things for friends. Liked making them happy with actions since you couldn’t with verbal reassurances. It filled in that gap, the gap to want to be accepted. Maybe that’s why you did it, to be useful and liked.
The cool air hit you like a brick the moment you stepped outside, the moon and a million little twinkling stars shining above you. That’s how you and Miya were. She was the bright moon, while pieces of you were scattered like the stars—burning just for her until you fizzled out and went…poof.
Best friend. She was your best friend, and you’d do anything for her. She protected you, loved you even when you thought it was impossible—your safe space. Perhaps all you needed was her. A soul sister.
“Ehem—are you out here all by yourself?”
A man’s voice pulled you away from the comfortable silence, your head slowly turning to look at him.
Oh. Oh God.
You felt your stomach drop, grip harden around your phone as you looked at his face. The same face that saw you cry back in high school, the same face that caused your tears before.
A feeling of dread overtook you completely, chest visibly rising and falling as you tried to steady your breathing. It was him. Satoru Gojo.
You could remember him anywhere, better than the day you decided you hated him for the rest of your life.
It was the middle of your freshman year when you met him. The always happy go lucky, cocky yet smart sophomore who was practically the king of his grade. He was cute. Pretty blue eyes and striking white hair that made him stand out in the best way possible. You were 14 and absolutely in love, encaptivated by his looks and personality. You were dedicated to at least getting noticed—naive and innocent you were. If only you knew.
Satoru Gojo did eventually speak to you that year, but it wasn’t for the reason you hoped for. It was during lunch time he slowly waltzed up to you, hands in his pockets, careless as ever. You longed to be like that, so carefree nothing anyone ever said could even touch you.
“Hey, ghost girl.” He had smiled, his voice—so smiley and light causing you to glance up at him. You had shyly waved, skin burning up beneath his gaze as if it was set on fire.
“Oh, you really can’t speak…huh. I thought they were calling you ghost girl because you’re just quiet. You’re actually mute, huh?”
You had nodded your head, slowly putting your sandwich back down onto your plate.
“So can ghosts get wet or do they just walk through water?”
You remember shrugging your shoulders, smiling ever so slightly—ecstatic a boy like him was even speaking to you.
“Really? You don’t know?” He giggled, suddenly looking behind your head. “Maybe we should find out.”
Right then and there you followed his gaze, but it was already too late. His friend was already there, bucket of water in hand. It hit you before you could even process it, every single student in the courtyard staring at you. You were soaked from head to toe, watery eyes blending in with the water droplets dripping from your forehead.
All you could hear was laughter and in that moment the image you had of Satoru Gojo, the pedestal you’d place him on was shattered.
“I guess ghosts can’t phase through water!” He giggled, holding his stomach as if he physically couldn’t contain himself. You’d never wanted to rip someone’s face off more. You wanted to yell at him, scream your lungs off and look insane doing it—anything but staying quiet. Anything but letting him know he won.
In the end, maybe it was worth it. You’d met Miya that day in the bathroom, spilling your guts through the notes app, letting her words comfort you as she helped wipe your tears. That was the only good thing you could confidently say came out of that horrible day. Everything else? It was just a wrecked past.
You look up at him now, the same expression on his face and suddenly you’re 14 all over again, preparing to get your clothes ruined.
“Are you alright?” He spoke, rubbing the back of his neck.
You nodded your head despite yourself, gnawing on your lower lip like a kid searching for something to teeth on.
“I saw you out here all alone…it worried me, y’know? You never see girls as pretty as you are alone unless they’re crazy.” He smiled, putting on that signature charm you’d forced yourself to forget.
Does he not recognize you? Maybe it’s too much of a compliment to tell him you remember him.
You look away from him, eyes to the floor as you fold your arms over your chest.
“Oof. Never got that response before…” He laughed, “Well, sometimes from ex-hookups, but they’re usually screaming in my face. At least I know I haven’t wronged you before, would be a shame.”
Bitch.
“I’d never treat you bad—not a face like that.”
Before you could stop yourself you pushed him—full on pushed him until his back hit the floor. You didn’t expect for him to fully fall, he was six feet something and huge—but it wasn’t your fault. Sorta.
“What the fuck? Coulda said you’re not interested?” He groaned, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you—your eyes glossed over and puffy.
“Shit…I just meant..” He trailed off, slowly getting up, dusting his jeans off. “Did I…do something?”
You couldn’t stand it anymore.
Quick fingers immediately found your phone, opening up a keyboard. You typed as if you had been saving all your stamina for this—strength in your fingertips that had never been there before.
Its me. Ghost girl. In big bold letters across the screen. You flipped it over immediately, his eyes scanning across it almost instantly. At first he was confused, but then his shoulders slowly deflated, realization settling in his eyes.
“Oh.”
You sniffled, the noise escaping you before you could stop it.
His brows furrowed, a heartbroken sort of expression crossing his features. “Oh God—please. Please let me explain.”
Was he kidding himself? What was this new act? Wasn’t this where he’d laugh in your face? Re-enact the exact moment he’d ruined the way you saw yourself. What happened to the playboy frat boy you just saw?
Was that an act too?
You stood there frozen, unable to move, feet planted to the ground. You couldn’t even look at him, it hurt too much.
That day? The one hidden in his memory? It haunted you for months—it still does. Everyone had seen it. Seen you tremble and sniffle in-front of the boy you liked, heard him laugh at your mess of a self. It was humiliating, and now you’re reliving it all over again.
“Fuck—Could we talk somewhere else? In my room, maybe?”
So you can make fun of me again with nobody watching? Just for your pleasure this time, right?
A single tear left the edge of your eye, and it was as if you’d broken him. You broke Satoru Gojo with your tears.
“Nono—please don’t cry. Just let me talk, okay? Yeah? Can we do that? I have to explain myself now, you never would have let me before, but you’re here now and—“
You looked up at him, doe eyes cutting him off as they made contact with his own.
“I…In my room? Please? I don’t want to say this while we’re—“ he paused for a second, glancing back at the party roaring back inside. “out here.”
For the first time in your life you felt bad for Satoru Gojo. He looked…desperate. It was unusual, a stark contrast from the way he had just been speaking to you moments prior.
“God, please?” He whispered, suddenly reaching out for your hand, gently squeezing it. His palm was rough against your soft skin, the pleading tone of his voice sending an unfamiliar feeling to your heart. His voice…it was full of hurt and unresolved pain. It should’ve brought you satisfaction but all you felt was worse.
He would tell you his story and that was it. Nothing else.
That was what you had come to agree to after a few minutes outside, but now as you sat on his bed he seemed more silent than anything.
His room was navy blue with carpeted floors, trophies lining the shelves along with pictures of him and his friends. He got all that so easily. Not a single struggle in his life. He was born with a silver spoon between his lips while you could barely afford steel.
He sat across from you in his gaming chair, facing you with his elbows on his knees.
“I don’t know where to begin.” He started, taking off his hat before running his fingers through the white tufts on his head.
“I’ll start with sorry.”
5 years too late.
Staring at your inexpressive face he let out a sigh of defeat, slowly leaning back into his chair. “I tried to tell you how sorry I was, how—how immature of me that was, but you ignored me. R-rightfully so, but it hurt. I mean not as much as it did hurt you—“
“Why” The stark voice of google translate—the only out loud method of communication you had interrupted his rambling, the monotone sound echoing. “Why did you do it?”
“I have no valid excuse. Blaming it on my friends is childish of me, but I truly can’t say anything else. I thought you were in on it.”
“In on it?” The automated voice spoke, the frown on your face deepening as you threatened yourself to relive the moment all over again.
“He told me it was for a skit—something in drama class. He even recorded the thing! Some bullying awareness project.”
“Turns out I really was the bully, huh?” He whispered, looking down at the floor once again, shame written all over his face.
“Yeah. You were.” With the translated sentence ringing in his ears he lifted his head up a bit, looking at you directly.
“I can’t express to you how sorry I am. How much I regret it, how long I’ve thought about it.”
You paused for a moment, fingers frozen over your phone’s keyboard. He…thought about it?
With your silence he took his que to get up, walking towards you before sitting down onto the floor below you. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know you probably hate me, but I couldn’t be able to live with myself without your forgiveness.”
Your eyes widened the moment he lowered himself beneath you while you sat atop his bed, your gaze landing on his own eyes, icy blues staring up at you through his lashes.
You didn’t know what to do and he seemed to sense it, forehead falling against your bare leg.
“Back then…I had a really big crush on you.” He confessed, sending your leg jerking against him. Shit.
He let out a small laugh, wrapping his hand around your ankle as if it was muscle memory. “I thought since you were in on it, you’d be wooed by my acting..whatever bullshit my teenager self thought.” He murmured, his lips brushing against your leg just for a moment.
It felt intimate. A word you would’ve never used to describe a moment between you and Gojo.
“I feel stupid now though. All that shit I said earlier? It’s…a lie. I don’t sleep around like that.”
You turned your phone back on, typing without another thought.
“I used to like you too.”
Maybe it needed a thought or two…
His head popped up, chin against your leg now, hand still around your ankle.
“Really?”
You nodded your head, watching a small smile curl the corner of his lips now. “I feel even stupider then.” He chuckled, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I could have had a chance back then.”
“I guess so.” The translator spoke, but in contrast to its uninterrupted words—you were yawning.
Gojo slowly let go of you, standing back up. “I-if you’re feeling tired y’could sleep here. I wouldn’t mind at all—I’ll..I’ll do anything really to make it up to you.”
You looked back at your phone, lulling the idea over in your head.
“My best friend is waiting for me.” You typed in, “I don’t want to leave her worrying about me.”
“But…I’ll be taking care of you won’t I? Unless I’m untrustworthy in her eyes.” He smirked, the unmistakable warmth in his eyes leaving you slightly confused. Did he really want you to stay?
“No clothes.”
“Take my shirt.”
“…Where will I sleep?”
“My bed.” A pause. “I-I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He seemed to have an answer for everything, a solution to every problem you found.
“Ok.”
“Yeah? Okay?” He smiled, nodding his head. “I’ll go get some blankets.”
Gojo seemed excited—elated even. You could tell from his tone, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t surprised. You were still used to that old vision of him in your head, and maybe for a little bit you’ll always see him like that…but for now? This was a start. It was good. For him.
With intentional movements you took off your shoes, placing them beside his bed before removing your jewelry, setting it down onto his bedside table.
Settling into his covers you admired his cleanliness—especially for a room in a frat house. Was he the odd one out? Even now?
*ping*
A notification from your phone caught your attention, hand quickly grabbing it before clicking on the message.
>> miya!! : hey just checking on u, u good?
>> miya!! : it’s getting late, and i might be going home with someone else. i’ll leave my car 4 u to drive back.
>> you : don’t. i’m staying here.
>> miya!!: OHHH REAAALLLYY 👀👀 ANGEL WITH WHO!?
>> you!! : i can’t kiss and tell
>> miya!! : teasing ur bff is bad luck :(( c’mon! staying over all in one night? sure he isn’t evil? how cute is he?
You smiled to yourself, chuckling at her words.
>> you!! : he’s so-so. tell u tmrw? gonna head to sleep. i luv u
>> miya!! : SLEEPING WITH HIM FIRST DAY! who knew all i had to do was bring u 2 a frat to get u out ur shell. i luv u 2 <3
>> miya!! : sure ur all good? everything handled? u can call me at 6 in the morning and i’ll get u
>> you!! : i got it haha :) see u tmrw mimi
Just as you shut off your phone the man stepped back into the room, fluffy blankets in hand. “Two is enough, yeah?”
You nodded your head, teeth poking through your lips as you tried not to smile harder.
“Gotcha. My shirts are up for grabs—whichever one you want. Won’t look. Obviously…and yeah. That’s about it.” He finished, plopping the blankets a top his mattress.
You nodded your head, pointing to his dresser.
“Want me to get you one…?”
Nodding your head once again you watched him grab some Digimon t-shirt, throwing it in your lap.
You raised a brow, holding the shirt up. Internally judging him.
“It was a birthday gift.” He grumbled, a faint pink hue dusting the tips of his ears.
Sure it was.
Eventually he turned around, eyes closed as he heard you shifting around in his bed, listening to the sound of clothes hitting the floor. It was perverse to think of you in that way.., but he couldn’t help it! He was a man after all. A very sorry, hopeful man.
“J-just let me know when you’re done.” He gulped, the shakiness in his voice causing you to laugh in your head. He was as obvious as ever.
You put your dress to the side before getting to your feet, walking over to him, and slowly placing your hand on his arm.
As soon as he looked over at you, you shot him a thumbs up—but Gojo’s eyes were everywhere but your hand. His gaze was focused on your legs, the hem of his shirt just hiding the skin above your thighs—a sight he’d pay to look at. A sensation he’d pay even more to feel.
With a snap in front of his face he actually looked up at your face, a guilty expression on his own.
“Heading to bed now then, huh?”
You nodded your head, letting your hand fall from his arm, removing your warmth from his skin.
“Alright, I’ll be here tomorrow morning.” He started, walking back towards the door. “Sweet dreams.”
You waved at him, the smallest hint of gratitude gracing your features.
He smiled at you before closing the door, leaving you alone the same way you had been before.
The last thing you expected the one night you were to come out was to see your sworn enemy since high school, but you did. You also didn’t think he’d apologize so much for what he did back in ninth grade to the point he looked pathetic. But he did. You didn’t think you’d be sleeping in his bed, dreaming about him back by your feet, begging for your forgiveness. But you are.
You guess you got that funny story for Miya after all.
by thursday afternoon, everyone was sick of the mere thought of ramen.
yuuji hadn't shut up about the new place in sendai for three days straight ever since his feed blessed him with the sight of the limited edition tonkotsu ramen—he had literally saved the post, watched it around five times, and sent it to their group chat at 2am with the caption "we need to get this. like yesterday.”
nobara had woken up to seventeen notifications from him, each one a progressively more maniacal variation of "imagine the broth🤤🤤🤤🤤".
she had her own priorities. her skincare stash was running dangerously low, her essence toner was down to the dregs, and she had already vetoed any attempt by yuuji to choose the store.
as she reminded him every single time, "the one time i was open to trying new stuff, you once bought me a face wash that had the texture of a construction brick, itadori, i have not forgiven you, and i will never forgive you.
yuuji had just opened his mouth in retaliation when nobara slapped her hands together with a beaming grin, effectively shutting him up.
"okay!" she announced, eyes sparkling with the thrill of a well-planned trip. "our mission briefing: we hit the ramen spot first, then the skincare place, then—"
“i can’t.”
the sentence landed with a thud.
nobara's hands froze mid-clap. yuuji's head snapped toward megumi so fast his neck cracked—a sharp, audible pop that seemed impossibly loud in the sudden silence.
"what do you mean you can't?" nobara asked, her grin slowly morphing into something suspicious.
"we’ve been planning this for how long now? you were literally nodding along when i laid out the routes yesterday.”
megumi didn't answer right away. he just stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, zoning out at a scuff mark on the wall with his ears flushing a soft, telltale pink that crept down to his neck like watercolour.
“..i’ve got plans,” he murmured, glancing away.
“plans.” nobara repeated. “with who?”
“..my girlfriend.”
and then, in perfect, horrified unison, they both let out a collective, drawn-out—
"whaaaaaaat?"
it was impressively synchronized. almost musical.
“are you serious?” asked yuuji, his voice all high and strangled.
“like.. dead serious?”, nobara continued, her mouth hung open.
“GIRLFRIEND? SINCE WHEN?” yuuji exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
megumi sighed, already heading for the door. "i have to go. she's waiting for me at the station."
"that's crazy," yuuji continued, now pacing back and forth like a man possessed. "that's actually insane. how does megumi get a girlfriend before me? i literally found a lost puppy and returned it to its owner last week. i complimented gojo-sensei’s new sunglasses. WHERE IS MY GIRLFRIEND."
nobara winced.
“there it is.”
“what?”
“the reason.”
“what reason?”
“the reason you don’t have a girlfriend.” nobara replied sassily, crossing her arms and tilting her head with devastating precision.
"starting with the fact that you talk about ramen the way most people talk about their firstborn child. and ending with the fact that you just admitted to complimenting gojo’s fashion choices. that alone disqualifies you from romance.”
but nobara had already turned her full attention back to megumi.
and that's when she noticed it—the way his fingers curled around his phone just a little too tightly in his hand.
the phone he’d checked around four times in the last minute.
the way his thumb kept brushing over the screen.
the phone he kept locking and unlocking.
the way his lips pressed together like he was holding back a smile.
a smile.
"oh my god," nobara's voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes going wide. "someone’s excited."
“i’m not.”
"you're literally glowing. like you just came back from a week at the beach, fushiguro.”
“but i don’t glow.”
"well, you're doing it right now. your ears are literally the color of my nail polish."
megumi’s hand flew up and covered one ear.
and now, standing in the middle of his dorm room with his ears burning and his heart doing something silly in his chest, his fingers were toying with the edge of his phone case, a restless little fidget he couldn't suppress.
his gaze kept flickering toward the door, then back to the wall, then toward the door again, like his body was already pulling him in the direction of you.
yuuji finally put the pieces together, and struck with the most immature weapon in his arsenal, immediately lunging for the opening.
"mmwah! mmwah! mmwah! megumiiiiii~” he lunged forward, circling megumi like a shark, making exaggerated kissy noises that echoed off the walls. “ya going on a daaate~ with your girlfriiieeend~?” yuuji teased as he leapt around the dark haired boy from side to side. “gonna tell her she's pretty? gonna walk her home? gonna—"
“itadori, stop that." megumi's entire face went up in flames, the flush spreading from his ears, racing to his cheeks to the bridge of his nose as wildfire through dry grass.
nobara was cackling so hard she had to brace herself against the wall for support, one hand clutching her stomach while the other pointed at megumi's rapidly deteriorating composure. "HIS FACE. I'VE NEVER SEEN HIM THIS RED. NOT EVEN WHEN HE NEARLY FELL INTO THAT RIVER DURING TRAINING LAST MONTH."
"i hate both of you.." megumi managed, but his voice cracked cleanly halfway through, right on the word hate, and the flush on his face deepened impossibly further. he turned himself toward the door, shoulders hunched, ears practically gleaming like two little warning lights, with his hand already reaching for the handle when yuuji's voice rang out one last time.
"you loveee usss~," yuuji sang, still making the noises, still bouncing on his heels, and still grinning, all teeth and mischief. "you love us and you love her and you're gonna go on a cute little date and you're gonna text us all about it because you're a great friend—"
"i'm blocking you. both.”
"aannd you're gonna tell her we say hi and that we're her biggest fans already—"
the door slammed shut behind him, cutting off yuuji's voice mid-sentence, and megumi stood there in the hallway for a moment, alone, heart hammering against his ribs, ears burning, with the echo of yuuji's stupid kissy noises still rattling around in his skull, yet a tiny smile threatening to break free at the corner of his lips.
he pressed his palm against his mouth, took a breath, and started walking.
fifteen minutes across town, you were waiting at the station with two bubble teas in your hands, the condensation beading down the cups, leaving little wet rings on your fingers.
you had been there for exactly four minutes, but it felt longer because you kept checking your phone, kept glancing toward the ticket gates, and kept adjusting the grip on his drink so the straw wouldn't get squished.
your eyes caught on a familiar silhouette cutting through the crowd, all sharp angles and dark fabric. his hands were buried so deep in his pockets you could barely see his wrists, and his shoulders had that slight hunch he always wore.
and when his gaze finally found yours across the street, you felt your ribs loosen, your lungs fill, and your feet carrying you forward before your brain could catch up.
“hey, megs! what took you so long?” you questioned, your voice half muffled as you squeezed him into a hug, your arms wrapping around his waist, with the bubble teas pressing against his back.
he stiffened for a moment.
as usual.
the hug caught him off guard, yet his chin found its usual place atop your head while his arms came up to circle your shoulders, tucking you against his chest.
“don’t worry about it…” he murmured back, his voice soft, breath warm against your hair.
and even if his heart was still hammering against his ribs, if his ears were still burning, if he was still replaying yuuji's stupid kissy noises in his head—
well.
that was between him and the two bubble teas you were now pressing into his hands, one of which was his favorite flavor, which you had remembered, which you always remembered, which always made him want to kiss your forehead right there in front of everyone.
thank you for reading, please like and reblog (๑>◡<๑)ྀིྀི.
You trace your fingers over the soft curve of your lower belly, frowning at the way it sits there now, full and rounded.
That little pouch.
The one that wasn’t there when ballet ruled your life—when every meal was calculated, every extra ounce punished into nothing.
Back then your stomach was flat, almost concave after long rehearsals, ribs sharp under toned skin. Now? It’s… different. Softer.
Because of him.
Because of Megumi.
“mmmm—” you let out a quiet, frustrated sound, tugging your oversized shirt down harder as you stand in front of the mirror. The fabric still clings a little around your middle when you move. Happy weight, they call it. You know that. You’ve been in recovery long enough to understand it. But knowing doesn’t stop the old voices from whispering.
The door creaks open and Megumi steps in, hair still damp from the shower, wearing a black hoodie you stole from him last week. His eyes find you immediately, sharp and quiet like always, reading you in his way that makes your chest feel tight.
“You’ve been in here a while,” he says softly, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t push. He never does. Just walks over and stops behind you, arms sliding around your waist.
You lean back into his chest anyway, even as your stomach twists. “I gained weight, Megumi.”
The words slip out before you can swallow them. His hands pause for a second on your hips, then continue, warm palms spreading over the front of your shirt. One of them settles right over that soft pouch you’ve been hating, cupping it gently.
“I know,” he murmurs against your hair, voice low and straight forward.
Your breath catches. “You… know?”
“Mm.” He presses a slow kiss to the side of your neck, breath warm on your skin. “You’ve been eating more. Sleeping better. Smiling more. It’s not a bad thing.”
You mewl softly, a pathetic little sound as you try to suck your stomach in under his hand. It doesn’t work. The softness stays, warm and real against his palm. “But look at it. This stupid ugly fat… I used to be so much smaller. Ballet made sure of that. I was good at it.. Now I just feel—”
“Soft?” he finishes quietly, squeezing the flesh under his fingers with just enough pressure to make you shiver. Not mocking but more like appreciating. “Yeah. You do.”
Your face burns. You squirm a little in his hold, but he doesn’t let you pull away. Instead he turns you around to face him, green eyes dark and serious in the dim light of your room.
“Stop,” he says, thumb brushing your cheek. “Don’t do that.”
“But I—”
“No.” His hand slides back down, under your shirt this time, skin on skin. His fingers trace slow circles over the curve of your belly, dipping into the gentle dip of your navel, then lower to where the pouch sits heaviest. “This? It’s because you’re happy. With me. You think I don’t notice how relaxed you get when we’re together? How you actually finish your plates now instead of pushing food around?”
You whimper, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, embarrassed at how his touch makes heat bloom low in your stomach despite everything. His hand stays there, warm and possessive, like he likes the way you fill his palm now.
“I used to count everything,” you mumble into his hoodie. “Calories. Steps. How flat I could keep this stupid stomach. And now… i hate it.”
Megumi hums, a quiet “mmm” against your temple as he pulls you closer. His other arm wraps fully around your back, holding you tight while his fingers keep stroking that spot you’ve been poking and prodding at for days.
“You shouldn’t,” he whispers. “I like you soft. I like feeling this when you sit in my lap. I like how warm you are. How real.” He squeezes again, gentler this time, and you let out a shaky breath that sounds way too close to a moan.
“Feels weird,” you admit, voice small. “I don’t know if I like it.”
“I love it.” His lips brush your ear. “It makes me happy.”
You mewl again, softer this time, arms wrapping around his neck as the insecurity cracks a little under his steady hands. His fingers never stop moving his slow, soothing strokes over your stomach as he’s memorizing the new shape of you.
“Still hate it sometimes,” you whisper.
“I know.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then lower until his mouth hovers near your jaw. “But don’t hide it from me..”
Your eyes sting with tears but you smile anyway, burying your face in his neck as he keeps holding you. His hand stays right there on your soft belly, protective and warm, like it’s exactly where it belongs.
And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe him.
summary: malnourishment mentioned briefly, both reader and zuko are fire nation, childhood friends, sickness mentioned, set in book 2, zuko as lee.
a/n: most Zuko fics I see on tumblr are adult!Zuko and while I do appreciate all of them I’ve been missing angsty teen Zuzu :(
Zuko had learnt many things since the two of you decided to split up from Iroh on your travels.
Firslty, Zuko learnt that despite the both of you being raised in the same academies and sifting through hours of etiquette classes, you definelty knew how to complain and whine about the earth kingdom heat. Very unsophisticated in his opinion.
Secondly, Zuko realised how hard food was to come by in the desert. This, in turn, would lead to his grumbling stomach and malnutrition being ignored as he subsocinsoily worried about how much you had eaten. Of course, he’d never say so explicitly.
And thirdly, Zuko realised that even thought you complained and nagged and whined, he would’ve definetely lost his mind in that desert by himself.
Today, you’d found it harder to complain with your head rested against his shoulder due to the sheer emptiness in your stomach.
Every now and then, you’d find the energy to hum something and attempt to keep either of you entertained, but you’d soon give up when you remembered how dry your mouth was.
“You’re not feeling sick again are you?” Zuko asked, his voice slightly raspy from his equal dryness.
His question refereed to a few weeeks go, when you were still travelling with Iroh and the sheer heat of escaping Azula had caused you to come down with a horrible fever, which left you bedridden for days.
Zuko hated how helpless he’d felt then, and he was prepared to keep an eye out for you this time. Even if neither of you wanted to admit it, he saw you as his responsibility.
“..’m fine,” you rasped back, cheek pressed into his shoulder and eyes half lidded as he manoeuvred the ostrich horse through the desert. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t feeling great.”
A part of him doesn’t believe you, but he simply lets out a grunt as a response and steers forward.
He made sure even through the heat, that he could feel your arm around his waist.
Neither of you had a plan, but both of you had a goal. Zuko was still persistent on capturing the avatar, even when you two were deserted like this. Your goal was to support him, as you’d always tried to do.
However, recently you’ve started to feel your opinions shifting. Was this worth it? You’d both given up a lot when you separated from Iroh, there was a lot at stake to travel through the barren earth kingdom with barely any supplies.
So, as you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead and wrapped your arms tighter around him, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh.
Glancing past him, you look into the horizon and feel a slight wave of relief knowing a town was coming up.
Hopefully when you reached this place, you’d be able to take a much needed break.
Hopefully.
a/n: lemme know if you spot any spelling mistakes, likes and reblogs are appreciated!
summary: malnourishment mentioned briefly, both reader and zuko are fire nation, childhood friends, sickness mentioned, set in book 2, zuko as lee.
a/n: most Zuko fics I see on tumblr are adult!Zuko and while I do appreciate all of them I’ve been missing angsty teen Zuzu :(
Zuko had learnt many things since the two of you decided to split up from Iroh on your travels.
Firslty, Zuko learnt that despite the both of you being raised in the same academies and sifting through hours of etiquette classes, you definelty knew how to complain and whine about the earth kingdom heat. Very unsophisticated in his opinion.
Secondly, Zuko realised how hard food was to come by in the desert. This, in turn, would lead to his grumbling stomach and malnutrition being ignored as he subsocinsoily worried about how much you had eaten. Of course, he’d never say so explicitly.
And thirdly, Zuko realised that even thought you complained and nagged and whined, he would’ve definetely lost his mind in that desert by himself.
Today, you’d found it harder to complain with your head rested against his shoulder due to the sheer emptiness in your stomach.
Every now and then, you’d find the energy to hum something and attempt to keep either of you entertained, but you’d soon give up when you remembered how dry your mouth was.
“You’re not feeling sick again are you?” Zuko asked, his voice slightly raspy from his equal dryness.
His question refereed to a few weeeks go, when you were still travelling with Iroh and the sheer heat of escaping Azula had caused you to come down with a horrible fever, which left you bedridden for days.
Zuko hated how helpless he’d felt then, and he was prepared to keep an eye out for you this time. Even if neither of you wanted to admit it, he saw you as his responsibility.
“..’m fine,” you rasped back, cheek pressed into his shoulder and eyes half lidded as he manoeuvred the ostrich horse through the desert. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t feeling great.”
A part of him doesn’t believe you, but he simply lets out a grunt as a response and steers forward.
He made sure even through the heat, that he could feel your arm around his waist.
Neither of you had a plan, but both of you had a goal. Zuko was still persistent on capturing the avatar, even when you two were deserted like this. Your goal was to support him, as you’d always tried to do.
However, recently you’ve started to feel your opinions shifting. Was this worth it? You’d both given up a lot when you separated from Iroh, there was a lot at stake to travel through the barren earth kingdom with barely any supplies.
So, as you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead and wrapped your arms tighter around him, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh.
Glancing past him, you look into the horizon and feel a slight wave of relief knowing a town was coming up.
Hopefully when you reached this place, you’d be able to take a much needed break.
Hopefully.
a/n: lemme know if you spot any spelling mistakes, likes and reblogs are appreciated!
Boyfriend!yuuji x mentally ill!reader that struggles
Non sorcerer au. Its mentioned that yuuji dyes his hair pink.
A loud knock can be heard at your door, followed by a quiet “baby? I wanna come in.” when the boy hears no reply from you he slowly opens the door, first peeking only his head in.
When he sees you sitting on your bed he opens the door a tad bit wider before slowly walking in, closing the door behind himself. “Hey my love..how are you doing?” he tries to soften his voice so he might not startle you too much.
“Hey yuuji. i am doing fine..” you mumble, yet, he doesnt buy it. You notice his scrutinizing gaze. The way his eyes move over your face.
“You sure? You look a bit sick..” he mumbles as he walks up to your bed, taking a seat. He was aware that you havent been feeling well, even though you never verbally expressed it.
He noticed the way you started having less energy, staying in bed most of your times. Usually, you were even too weak to use your phone, even if it was for something like sending a message or calling someone.
You didnt reply and just shrugged as you held your knees against your chest, to which he replies by placing his hand on yours, moving his thumb in a soothing motion over your knuckles. “Your hair looks a bit tangled.” he states in a matter-of-fact tone - not accusing, just concerned.
“My arms hurt.” you mumble quietly, looking away. He smiles softly and runs a hand through his faded pink hair before he replies with a soft spoken “want me to help you?”
You turn to look at him, your gaze softening. Yuuji often helped you. Whether it was by helping you get ready, eat some food, or even if it was just by staying in bed with you while stroking your hair - supporting you in the ways you felt comfortable with.
When you nod yuuji softly opens your nightstand drawer, getting out your wooden hairbrush. You turn around rather slowly, yet yuuji stays patient.
His hands move the hairbrush methodically over your hair, trying not to tug on it too much. And when he finds a big knot? Then he puts the brush away and starts trying to untangle the knot with his fingers before he resumes brushing.
It takes him a while to get done with it but when he is? He puts the brush back to where he got it from and helps you turn around before hugging you tightly. He held you against his chest as you shook, his chin resting on your head.
“Please dont cry baby..its okay..i dont mind helping you..” he mumbles as he tries to shush you, rubbing his hand over your back. “Shhh dont worry, please..” he whispers.
He didnt mind your crying so much. Yet what he did mind was you thinking youre a bother to him for being taken care of. And he was determined on showing you that he didnt mind, even if it was by just sitting here with you to comfort you.
• This is a sfw blog which will only ever stem to slightly suggestive ,, requests including 18+ will be ignored sorry ˃̣̣̣̣̣̣︿˂̣̣̣̣̣̣
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you are a racist, zionist, ableist, homophobe, transphobe, or intend to spread any hate on my blog!
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plagarize my work, share my work without credit, and especially feed any of what I write to AI.
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(As previously mentioned) nsfw, incest/faux incest, explicit gore or major descriptions of injury, pedophelia, minors in nsfw situations, piss, racism, and male reader most of the time!
you notice it again when there’s only one dumpling left in the container.
you’re both sitting on the floor of his room, backs against the bed. the tv is on but neither of you are really watching it. you reach for the last piece at the same time.
megumi’s hand pauses mid air.
“you take it,” he says immediately, pulling his hand back like he never wanted it in the first place.
you narrow your eyes. “you grabbed it first.”
“i’m not that hungry.”
he says it so flat. so calm. like he didn’t skip lunch because he was out handling something that left him coming back with dirt on his sleeves.
you hold the dumpling up to his face “open.”
he blinks at you. “what?”
“open your mouth.”
“i’m not five.”
“and yet you’re acting like it.”
he sighs quietly, that small breath he does when he’s too tired to argue. “just eat it.”
“no.”
“you’re hungry.”
“so are you.”
he looks away first. that’s how you know you’re right.
this is how it always goes.
megumi’s not loud, not dramatic. if there’s a small inconvenience to take, he’ll take it without thinking. if there’s a bigger one, he’ll still take it if it means you’re okay.
you’ve seen it in tiny ways.
when you’re both walking and it starts raining, he angles the umbrella more toward you, letting his own shoulder get soaked.
on the train, he’ll stand even when there’s one seat left. you’ll tug his sleeve and tell him to sit. he’ll shake his head and say, “i’m fine,” even when the ride is forty minutes long and he barely slept the night before.
if it’s cold, he gives you his jacket. if it’s hot, he’ll switch spots so you’re in the shade. if there’s only enough food for one, somehow you’re the one eating.
it's games.
you're competitive in a very embarrassing way. if you're about to lose, you start bargaining, accusing, dramatic sighing.
last week you were playing cards and you were losing badly.
suddenly he made the worst move possible. you blinked, "why would you play that?"
he shrugged. "felt like it." megumi didn't even try to sell it.
you won. you were happy for like three seconds before it hit you. "did you lose on purpose?"
"no."
"megumi."
"..it's just a game."
"so?"
"you looked like you really wanted to win."
you just stare at him across the table.
he always gives you the better side of the bed. the side closer to the wall because you once said you sleep better that way.
and it drives you insane.
you lower the dumpling and cross your arms. “why do you always do that?”
“do what?”
“this.” you gesture between you. “pretend you don’t need anything.”
his eyebrows pinch a little. not annoyed. more confused. “i don’t pretend.”
“megumi.”
he goes quiet.
you soften your voice. “you put yourself in uncomfortable situations so i’m comfortable. you always do.”
he shrugs. “that’s normal.”
“no, it’s not.”
he looks at you like you just said something strange. “if there’s only enough for one, you should eat.”
“why?”
“because i want you to.”
that’s it. simple. like that explains everything.
you drop your head back against the bed and let out a slow breath. “sometimes i want you to put yourself first.”
he’s quiet for a second.
“i do,” he says.
you sit up. “when?”
“when it matters.”
you stare at him. “it matters now.”
he watches you carefully. you can tell he’s thinking, trying to understand why this is such a big deal to you.
megumi fushiguro doesn’t talk about his childhood much, but when he does, it’s always about you.
the two of you met when you were six. you were the loud new neighbor who climbed the fence between your houses and offered him half of your strawberry pocky. he was the quiet boy with messy dark hair who stared at you like you were an alien. he took the pocky anyway. from then on, you were inseparable.
you were the one who dragged him to the park after school, even when he insisted he wanted to read. you’d push him on the swings until he cracked the tiniest smile. he was the one who quietly held your hand when you were scared of the thunder, never making fun of you for it. he’d let you sleep over during storms, sharing his bed while you clutched his sleeve.
“you’re not scared, right?” you’d whisper.
“no,” he’d lie, even though his heart was racing.
there was the summer you both tried to catch fireflies in jars. you laughed so hard you tripped and scraped your knee. megumi, only eight years old, looked like the world was ending. he ran inside and came back with bandages, carefully placing one over your knee with clumsy fingers.
“don’t cry,” he mumbled, his ears red. “i’ll protect you next time.”
you still have that same bandage box at home, the one with little cartoon dogs on it.
years later, you’re both older now. megumi is taller, quieter, more guarded. but sometimes, when the light hits him just right, you still see that same little boy who shared his pocky with you.
one quiet evening, you’re sitting on the rooftop of the dorms together, legs dangling over the edge. the city lights sparkle below like fireflies.
“remember when we tried to run away?” you ask, smiling.
megumi huffs a small laugh. “you packed three bags of candy and one pair of socks. we made it two blocks before gojo found us.”
you lean your head on his shoulder. “you were going to protect me from everything back then.”
he stays silent for a moment. then his hand finds yours, fingers threading together the same way they did when you were kids hiding from thunder.
“i still want to,” he says quietly. “protect you. even if i’m not very good at saying it.”
your heart feels too big for your chest. you squeeze his hand.
“you’ve always been good at it, megumi. even when you were just a shy little boy who didn’t know how to smile.”
he doesn’t reply, but the way he leans his head against yours says everything.
the city lights blur below you, but up here, it’s just the two of you—the same two kids who once shared pocky and promised to face the world together.
I know i dont have a following but im hoping some bigger creators in the fandom will spread the word...came accross this blog who is blatantly using gen ai to make jjk x oc? x reader? art and they dont seem to take criticism about it. gen ai has NO place in our spaces!!!!
tw: ooc, jjk0 spoilers. jjk manga spoilers, canon divergence, fem!reader, why is there gojo angst in my Megumi fanfiction, ooc, character death mentioned, suguru geto was is reader’s parental figure (they are strictly platonic), you guys are not gonna like this
thank you to @mbrc2008 for the request <3
previous part..
“[Name], what are you doing?” Seven-year-old Megumi’s shadow loomed over you as he watched your tiny figure crouched down on the floor.
“Look at the ants.” You stuck a finger out at the ground, watching the ants go round in round in an endless circle. “It’s like they’re possessed or something.”
“What’s your deal with bugs anyways…?”
“They’re just cool to me..”
The first thing people say you need to do when someone is in mourning is to be present. Showing up for them is all it’ll take to help them feel better, they say.
That’s what you and Megumi had been for each other, his sister for him, your dad father figure for you. Everything could be natural between the two of you. You had been friends for who knows how long, so you wouldn’t have to shy away from him, right?
Even with a person like that by your side at all times, you still felt like you couldn’t tell him everything. You told yourself that it was too protective him, but deep down you knew that it was fear. Fear that you’d lose him if he saw that side of you. The dark, depressing side that nobody liked seeing.
He’d never admit it, you were sure he’d take the secret to the grave. You saw the way Gojo looked at you. A type of sadness in his eyes that only came with grief.
But you weren’t dead. You only carried the burden of sharing the same laugh, same soft tone, same caring personality- as someone far from dead. Someone who still hasn’t been allowed to rest after their death, one that was supposed to be peaceful, one that was supposed to bring relief after being let go from the jujutsu world.
Basically everyone knew about you. They were all convinced that the daughter of a special grade sorcerer gone rogue would turn out just the same.
You had heard the whispers. How he was a traitor. The higher ups were practically waiting for you to slip up, and the moment you did, they’d take the chance to execute you.
No one would say it to your face, but you knew that they were just waiting for you to end up just like him.
You knew everyone saw you that way, even Gojo. He reassured you that the people around you would prevent the event happening all over again, but the way his voice cracked told you he was only trying to convince himself.
Megumi never saw you that way. Not with you. Never with you.
Megumi saw you in every single way you thought he couldn’t. You never caught on to his silly little antics, but everyone else saw through him so easily, because he’d never every treat anybody nearly as well as he treated you. The most they’d get is a pat on the back.
You grew up together for godsake. He knew what kept you up at night, what pissed you off, and even small things that would make you happy, even if it was just for a short while. He knew you better than you knew yourself.
He was confident enough to say that he’d immediately know if someone else was in your body. It was absurd, sure, but everyone, including yourself, knew he had a connection to your soul in a way.
You placed a hand on his shoulder, him glancing up to look at you briefly. You could tell he was tired with the culling games going on, and especially since his sister was… well.
“You okay?” You offered him a soft smile, hand squeezing his shoulder, knowing it comforted him in a way. The purple worm coiled around your arm, head making its way to rest on your shoulder as it let out a shrill squeak.
You were convinced it was about his sister. Anyone would be distraught if your sister went from being safe to the brink of death in a matter of seconds. You already had your speech ready, ready to tell him that everything would be okay, and everyone would be safe and sound.
“Don’t die on me, okay?”
A beat of silence is what it took for you to fully comprehend what he said. “What?” Your hand slipped off his shoulder, trailing down his arm.
“You’re… going to split up with us tomorrow.” His eyes never left yours.
He was right. You and yuta had both agreed to eliminate high level threats from the game and acquire more points, once again, for your friends’ survival. He knew that you’d throw yourself into danger if it meant that everyone else would make it out alive, even if it meant you wouldn’t make it.
“Hey. We’ll be fine. Yuta and I haven’t been fighting for second place for the past two years for nothing, y’know.”
‘We’.
He wasn’t worried about yuta. Yuta was strategic with the way he fought. Yuta wouldn’t let anyone touch him unless he wanted them to.
You were different. You were so destructive that no one left your battles unscathed. The only problem was thag your body would act first before your brain could get a chance to react. What was the word?
Reckless.
“Promise me you’ll put yourself first.”
“Megumi, you know I-”
“[Name].”
You released a shaky sigh. “I… I promise.”
You left early the next morning, swinging your weapon around in your hands. Yuji patted you on the back, yapping his head about ‘how cool you were’. Your giggle rang through Megumi’s ear, almost sending him into a trance.
You sent him a wave as you left, and he raised his right hand in response. Yuji smirked at the redness dusting Megumi’s ears, nudging him in the shoulder playfully. Everyone and their mother heard the loud thud of Yuji hitting the ground.
Megumi felt a wave of relief wash over him when he heard that yuji had successfully added a rule to the culling games. At that point, he hadn’t heard from you for several days. He had to mutter that you were fine to himself under his breath because something in the back of his head was telling him that something was wrong.
“You think [Name]’s alright?” Megumi whispered to his best friend, earning a groan from him.
“Oh my gosh, she’s probably fine. Did you forget the story of how she beat the shit out of yuta right before he left for Africa? Let me tell you Fushiguro, she’s scary. I swear I felt her cursed energy spike when we first saw him.” Yuji winced.
Yuta’s ears perked up. “You know she sat behind Itadori the entire time he was asleep after I pretended to execute him? Staring at me. I think she was waiting for me to fall asleep so she could… y’know.” He shuddered at the mere thought.
Megumi took their word for it, but he couldn’t shake the weird feeling he had blooming in his chest.
He felt a tap on his shoulder a few hours later, forcing him to look up. He let out the breath he was holding for the last few days when he noticed you walking towards them, finally regrouping with the to prepare for the final battle.
He inspected all your injuries. Just a few cuts, bruises and scratches here and there, not anything too severe, though. His jaw did in fact hit the floor when you told him you were thrown across a city during your battle, landing you a nasty multicolored bruise on your ribcage.
You and yuji decided to accompany megumi to visit the hospital where his sister was staying. The three of you walked side by side, with Megumi in the middle. Though your other side felt empty. Colder. Your group had always been four.
Someone was missing.
You and felt Megumi’s eyes on you for a while now, so you finally decided to speak up.
“Something on your mind, Megs?” You hummed, hands behind your back.
“Hey, can I ask you something strange?” His steps slowed, Yuji’s gaze flickering back at forth between you two. You paused a few steps ahead, spinning around with a grin to face him. The soda in Yuji’s hand tightened.
“What, you wanna confess your love for me?” You chirped.
“Hell nah.”
His eyelashes fluttered. “You see, something’s been on my mind for quite a while now. I gotta know. I’ve been thinking about this ever since you rejoined the group.”
You snorted, waiting for him to say something stupid like how you weren’t wearing your uniform anymore. The sleeves were practically torn apart during your fight, so naturally, you had changed out of it for both comfort and convenience.
“You’re…” the hesitation was evident in his voice.
“You’re not [name], are you?”
… huh?
Yuji could only stare as your face fell, that is, if it was even your face. By ‘your’ reaction, he could tell what megumi was saying was somehow correct. You looked the same, you sounded the same and you most definitely acted the same.
His soda had fallen to the ground. You stood in silence for so long, a small line of ants had made their way towards the pool of sugar.
Your face twisted into an uncharacteristically wide smile. “I thought… I thought I imitated her perfectly.”
Megumi felt his soul crush. He had felt like he had control of his life for once, but that mindset came crumbling down when he realized you weren’t you. He had awaited patiently for your return, and what he got wasn’t that at all.
He couldn’t have anything, could he? First his parents, then his sister, then gojo getting sealed, now you. The one person he thought he’d never lose.
“Allow a rule… allowing entry and exit across colony borders.”
Yuji felt his breath catch in his throat. “The fuck?”
“Who the hell are you?” It sounded more like a demand than a question. Whoever was in your body, he swore on his life he would get them out fast.
“I’m Yorozu. Maybe people of the past would know of me.”
She went on and on about how she wanted to fight sukuna, but Megumi could only focus on the fact that somebody else was using your body as a vessel. Your skin.
How could she have even?..
He snapped out of it, watching you flutter off into the distance. It was sick. She had made use of your memories to impersonate you.
“Enchain.”
Shit.
Everything happens too fast. One second Yuji was there, Sukuna the next. Everything around him seemed to blur as Sukuna ripped off his own finger.
He raised two fists. “With this treasure, I summon-”
Megumi had never been quick enough, especially against someone like Sukuna. Sukuna had gotten ahold of him, and something had been shoved down his throat, and he had swallowed it unwillingly.
Before he knew it, his body didn’t belong to him anymore. It’s not like he had the will to fight back.
Soulmates, am I right? Both you of you had your lives ripped away from you, on the same day even.
Yorozu had ended up fighting Sukuna with your and her cursed technique combined. Both of you were both prisoners in your own mind, and you could only witness the fight within your head. The sight of you fighting him made your stomach churn. You would never willingly hurt him.
No one had ever used your technique better than you. Some would even say you were the best of your clan in history.
She hadn’t fought for 1000 years. She was never going to win, leading to her death. You were just a kid caught in the crossfire of it all.
Sukuna could’ve gone after Tsumiki. That was the easy way out. But no, he had to chase after you. He liked the challenge, and he knew it would hurt Megumi way more.
Sure, Tsumiki dying would still kill him inside, but she was in a coma. She’d only survive if someone was there protecting her.
You were not. You were fully capable of defending yourself. The thought of you fighting to survive, only to die hurt him in unimaginable ways.
Two kids died that day. One physically, one mentally.
[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything!
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.
Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.
It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.
"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."
"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.
This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?
But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.
Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.
You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.
It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.
Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.
You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.
And Megumi knew.
He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.
Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.
The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.
It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.
Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.
The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.
"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.
The dust settled, heavy and silent.
Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.
The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.
But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.
The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.
You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.
"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."
Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.
"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."
The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.
Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."
The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.
By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.
"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.
The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.
Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.
You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.
A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.
Click.
You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.
The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.
But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.
The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.
"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.
"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"
"Stop."
The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.
He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.
"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"
Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"
"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.
You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.
Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.
He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.
"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"
"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."
"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.
"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"
You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.
"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."
The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.
You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.
But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.
The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.
Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.
"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."
You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.
"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."
You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.
"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."
He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.
"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."
The dam broke.
You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.
You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.
Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.
Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.
You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.
"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."
The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.
You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.
"Okay."
Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.
Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.
The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.
Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.
When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.
The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.
When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.
Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.
But he didn't lie down on his side.
Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.
You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"
"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."
You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.
You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.
The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.
He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.
"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.
"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.
You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.
It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.
You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.
"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.
Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.
He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.
"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."
He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"
It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.
The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.
You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.
But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.
You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.
"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"
The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.
Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.
He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.
"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.
"And [Name]?"
You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"
─★⸝⸝🐇‧₊ !! “But if it’s forever, it’s even better. I knew you in another life, you had that same look in your eyes. I love you, don’t act so surprised..”
You broke into a run the moment the traffic light flickered green. You and your two friends had somehow all collectively left your houses late that morning, so now, your usual no sense of urgency personality had diminished and was now running for your dear life.
”[Name], stop running so damn fast! We can’t keep up!”
You let out an irritated groan. “God, I was running too slow, now I’m running too fast, what the hell do you want from me, huh?”
The puddles on the ground splashed under your feet, somehow soaking the entire lower half of your body. You muttered ‘sorry’ for the nth time that day for accidentally splashing strangers that just so happened to get in your path.
Your school had a strange rule that whoever couldn’t make it past the gate in time before it closed, even by the millisecond, you would be locked out for the day. You three certainly were not ruining your attendance rate any further, you had skipped school to hang out enough times.
You caught sight of the gate. 8:21. The gates would close at 8:25.
You giggled when you made it past the red light while Nobara and Maki were left behind, waiting for the light to turn green again. Nobara mumbled a soft ‘bitch…’, while maki just blatantly flipped you off from across the street.
You still had your head turned back as you walked towards the gate, sticking your tongue out in their direction. You really should’ve been looking where you were going, cause someone bumped into you, hard.
Your umbrella slipped from your fingers, hitting the ground with a soft thud. Well, there goes your plan to keep the upper half of your body dry.
Your feet had almost slipped out from under you, but you caught onto the light pole that was conveniently standing behind you. You sighed in relief, glad that you had saved yourself from the embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going and-” You crouched down to pick up your umbrella, wincing when you grabbed onto the wet handle with slight disgust.
The person who had bumped into you bent down at the exact same time to help you pick up your umbrella, fingers brushing yours when they reached down. Your gaze flickered up for just a second, your eyes catching his, and he was already looking at you, seemingly for a while if you had to be honest.
His eyes seemed to carry the weight of the stars themselves, cool and unwavering. His dark messy hair fell over his eyes that seemed natural and unnatural at the same time.
His cold demeanor wasn’t the scariest part no — it was how familiar the boy was. An unexplainable sense of disbelief settled in your chest, like you couldn’t believe you had forgotten him, even if you had never even seen him before.
“[Name]!”
The sound of your name being called brought you back down to earth. Your blinking seemed to stutter for a second, head snapping towards your two best friends.
You both got back to your feet, what you assumed to be his group of friends following close behind him.
His pink haired friend, who was definitely leaning into his personal space, frowned.
“Fushiguro, what the hell was that, man?”
“Nothing.”
The one with the tired eyes (and who maki was suspiciously ogling at) gave him a push. “We’re going to be late because of your damn flirting.”
“I was not flirting!” He clicked his teeth. “She just…”
Even as you began to walk towards the school gates, your eyes remained locked on him. His friends were dragging him down the street, the way to the all-boys sister school of your own.
“Are you okay?” Nobara clung on to your arm, already leading you away.
“Yeah…”
You were too far now, so you weren’t able to catch the final part of his sentence.
“She just seemed so familiar.”
“Fushiguro.” You made yourself comfortable in the spot beside him. You were honestly concerned, because the poor boy was staring directly into the setting sun.
He gave you a hum of acknowledgment, his own special way of affection, basically. You placed a hand on his daintily, like you were afraid he’d break any moment.
“A lot on your mind?”
“…yeah.”
You felt your heart shatter just a tiny bit. You could feel the hope slowly draining out of his body by the day.
“We got this, you know that right? Your sister will be just fine.”
The moment you uttered the word ‘sister’, he exhaled a shaky breath. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
He tilted his head up to catch his tears, though he’d never admit it. You rested a hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. It didn’t matter if that would calm him or cause a complete meltdown, it just mattered that you were there for him, right?
“What would I do without you?…” His eyes wandered off into the sunset again, jaw clenched tight.
You gave his hand a squeeze, engulfed in a different kind of warmth. “You have nothing to worry about, megs. I’ll always find my way back to you, I promise.”
“Thanks, [n/n].”
It was a good thing you weren’t the type of person to break your promises. You would probably find him in every single lifetime anyways, your soul was just stubborn like that. It found the one, and now it won’t look for another.
Wherever he went, you wouldn’t be far to follow.
a/n: reader and Megumi are MY max mayfield and lucas sinclair okay 😕💔
izzy806
germansingergirl
jacobvanloon
