Shes So Pretty She Still Looks Like An Angel While Im Doing The Most Depraved And Ungodly Things To Her

she’s so pretty she still looks like an angel while i’m doing the most depraved and ungodly things to her

gn!reader - 18+, MDNI (fluff but minors still shoo)

suguru waters your plants for you.

you didn’t notice at first - you always just figured you weren’t good at keeping them, that flowers always wilted and succulents managed to die when they were doomed to your care.

when he came into your life, it wasn’t even particularly salient - sure, the bouquets of daisies lasted longer, the ivy growing in the corner more green than it was before.

for him, it was easy, an action without a second thought. he cared for them as he cared for you. you, the one he needed to remind to drink water; you, the one he needed to remind to take your meds every morning; you, the one he needed to remind how much he loved you.

(if he could bring the rain inside to nourish your bones, he would; if he could bring the sun inside to warm your skin, he would)

when he opens the cupboard, grabbing a mason jar before filling it with water at your kitchen sink, you barely notice. when he walks to the pothos hanging from your ceiling and gently, carefully pours the water into it, it finally catches your attention.

“w-what are you doing?”

his hand doesn’t shake despite the weight of the glass in it. “watering your plants?” it’s almost rhetorical, obvious - of course he would do this? he’s not even sure what you’re really asking.

“why?”

sprinkling the last bit of water onto the soil, he places the empty jar into the sink. “because you care about them.”

again, it’s obvious.

but did you care about them? he remembers the tears that threatened to spill over your lashes when you were forced to throw away a dead monstera; he remembers the way you mourned the loss of an orchid your mother had given you; he remembers the way you honor the fallen petals from the rose bushes outside.

of course you care about them.

(he remembers, even if you don’t)

in your silence, he continues. “the jade in the bedroom probably needs to be repotted soon, and i think the aloe in the office is about to start flowering.”

he kept track of the way they grow.

“i didn’t even notice.”

he smiles.

“thank you, suguru.” and you smile back, bright like the sun.

he takes care of them, just as he takes care of you.

a/n: inspired by the pothos i had to throw away bc i managed to kill it after being told they can survive anything :'/

tiny little man to put in your pocket

wtf WTF wdym jjk ends in 5 chapters 🧍‍♀️

Been thinking a lot lately about how Satoru doesn’t really cook.

Growing up the way he did, everyone was pulling from every direction, unloading immense responsibility on him because of the Six Eyes. So normalcy wasn’t in the cards for him.

From a young age, his schedule was packed from dusk to dawn with all kinds of tasks embedded on him. And so, dinner was simply a time of day for him more than anything else. He was served a mediocre dish, then he had to return to his responsibilities.

And then he moved to Tokyo, and was finally blessed with some newfound freedom. But he didn’t want to waste this spare time learning how to cook, especially when Jujutsu Tech served him perfectly okay meals three times a day. Who was he to not take advantage of such privilege?

Any interest of developing some culinary skills was also smothered by his insane sweet tooth. Something he’d picked up as a way to help him, quickly evolved into never ending munching — forget proper food.

Sadly for him, the number of responsibilities didn’t decrease as he entered adulthood — rather the opposite. And now, as he was technically a grown up, there was a lot less tolerance for nonsense. People expected things from him now.

Yet again, cooking dinner was deprioritised. He also didn’t see a reason to devote time to cook when it was so much easier to just have it delivered right on his doorstep. He had the means to support such an expensive luxury, so why not?

Sitting down by the dining table after a long day of duties, a warm meal welcoming him with delightful smells never even became something he missed, seeing as he didn’t know what it was he had sacrificed for choosing the easy path.

Then you came creeping into his life.

You in general, had been a surprise to say the least. After everything, pursuing anything romantic wasn’t something that had been on his list of priorities either. But once he met you, he couldn’t not try to make you his.

Everything escalated pretty quickly, and it was fairly early on that you decided you wanted to cook for him for the first time.

“I got some insane pasta cravings. You down for that tonight?” You had your phone resting between your shoulder and your cheek while you scanned the grocery isles for what you needed.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he answered on the other end of the line. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his comment, a tiny bit confused by what he meant. “Well, duh. I’m not making two separate pasta dishes.”

“Oh,” a moment of silence from your boyfriend as the reality set in. “Yeah, no, of course. Just habit I guess,” smearing on with his usual, charismatic voice to play off his little slip.

Because poor Satoru had only assumed you would be ordering in, since it was all he really knew. The concept of prepping and cooking a dish from scratch hadn’t even crossed his mind.

A few hours later, the same usual comfort that came from your company, welcomed him along with an assortment of the most delicious smells once he arrived at your apartment.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you smiled, rushing to give him a small peck on the lips when he joined you in the kitchen before quickly hopping back to putting the finishing touches on dinner.

A small sensation of worry filled you, because this was the first time you had witnessed Satoru completely silent. Taking the time to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was alright, you saw his eyes just taking in the scenery of the set table and the somewhat messy kitchen.

“Just take a seat, Satoru,” you chuckled nervously, nodding in the direction of what had become his designated chair. “It’s almost ready.”

You saw a weak nod before he slowly shuffled over to the table and sat down. He swallowed the small lump in his throat when you put the casserole on the table in front of him.

“Dinner is served. But it’s hot, so just, be careful.”

When he didn’t move a muscle, you tried to act as if things were normal and served yourself first, hoping he would eventually tell you whatever it was that had gotten into him.

“Satoru?”

Your soft voice of concern snapped him back to reality, his familiar smile finding its way back to his expression — though he wasn’t truly himself quite yet.

“Looks absolutely delicious!” He gushed and finally filled his plate.

You continued to eye him with some suspicion as he started to dig in. Something you couldn’t put your finger on, washed over him when he took the first bite. Then another, and another, and another — then he was suddenly ogling you with the widest eyes you could remember seeing on him.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

You pursed your lips to choke back the exaggerated laugh that was about to burst out at his statement, that you were convinced had to be a lie.

“Is that so?” You teased, carefully stepping deeper into the topic to see if he was actually being truthful.

“Babe, this-“ he cut himself off, awe overtaking him. “Where did you learn this?”

You shrugged casually. “I’ve just picked up a few things over the years, I guess.”

“What else can you make?”

“Uhm, I don’t know,” you stuttered, a little taken aback by his surprising enthusiasm to what you considered to just be a simple pasta dish. “Several things.”

“Could you please cook for me tomorrow? And whenever you have the time?”

“Of course,” you smiled, shoulders resting when he now seemed to be totally fine, finishing his first portion only to take yet another huge serving.

Because to Satoru, it was more than just dinner.

Dinner and eating had always just been yet another task he did simply because he knew he had to eat. Never had there been any deeper meaning to it — but you showed him it could definitely be more.

To him, it also became a sign of devotion. You were willing to put in the time and the work to make him something nice, then you would get to enjoy it together. No one had really done that for him before.

Finally it was Satoru's turn to enjoy the domesticity of something as mundane as a home cooked dinner.

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