— i write for satoru gojo and maybe other characters if requested. all my works are f!reader, i can make gn!reader works if requested. i usually make fluff that'll give u diabetes or angst that'll probably break ur heart. i try to reach atleast 10k+ worth of word count per week. feel free to slide into my dms, i love talking to ppl!! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
— boundaries & req rules | taglist
໒ִ͡ 𓏼 𝓣he archive ♡⠀゛
— masterlist
— posting schedule (really messy, not fixed)
໒ִ͡ 𓏼 𝓢ayuki's select ♡⠀゛
— frozen in time <- maybe in another life (part 2), stay. please. , golden hour (and saltwater kisses) <- his everything , the stars you liked , fucked out, filled up , hold me when i break , morning cuddles w/ satoru
໒ִ͡ 𓏼 𝓕resh off the press ♡⠀゛
— worthy of you , yours to keep , hold me when i break , on your knees , morning cuddles w/ satoru , the way satoru holds you after a long day
thank you for stopping by my little corner of the internet — whether you came for the fluff, the angst, or just because you're as obsessed with gojo satoru as i am!! my inbox is always open, anon is on for the shy ones, and i read every single message with a heart full of love. if you've ever read something i wrote and felt something — that's everything to me. that's why i stay up way too late writing about a fictional man who has no idea i exist. now go drink some water and hug a pillow, you deserve it!! stay peak and love satoru for me !! — sayuki ‹𝟹
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Waking up early is a curse Satoru usually avoids. The world's too quiet, too still, too full of space for thoughts he'd rather not have.
Today, he doesn't mind.
You're still asleep. That much is obvious from the way you're sprawled across his chest, one leg thrown over his, hair a disaster he can feel against his chin. Your hand is fisted in his shirt like you're worried he'll escape while you're unconscious.
He won't.
He shifts, just slightly, and your grip tightens. Even in sleep, you're possessive. The thought makes him smile into the dim morning light.
Forty minutes. He's been awake for forty minutes, watching the gray turn gold through the curtains, feeling your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. He could move. Should, probably. His back is starting to complain about the angle and there's coffee to be made, emails to ignore, a whole world waiting for him to be Gojo again.
Instead he traces lazy patterns on your shoulder, feather-light, and watches your face.
You make a noise. Something soft, displeased, and your nose wrinkles like you're arguing with someone in a dream. He wants to know who. Wants to find them and fight them, probably, which is ridiculous because it's a dream and he's Gojo Satoru and he doesn't get jealous of imaginary people.
He does, though. A little.
The sun climbs higher and he keeps watching. Catalogues the way your eyelids flutter, the faint part of your lips, the absolutely unfair softness of you right now. No guard. No performance. Just... you.
He could take a photo. Should, for blackmail.
His hand stills on your shoulder and he doesn't reach for his phone.
You're starting to wake up. He can feel it in the tension creeping into your limbs, the change in your breathing, the way your forehead furrows like you're trying to remember what consciousness feels like. He should look away. Pretend he was asleep too, or bored, or literally anything other than completely absorbed in watching you exist.
He doesn't.
Your eyes crack open.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
The first thing you register is warmth. A solid chest beneath your cheek, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, arms loose around your back like you're wrapped in something too good to be true.
The second thing is the staring.
You force your eyes open and immediately want to close them again. Everything's too bright, edges blurred, and there's a shape looming over you that takes several blinks to resolve into anything human.
Satoru. Propped on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression that's half grin, half something softer.
"Morning," he says.
You squint at him. Your eyes feel gummy, your brain feels like it's wading through syrup, and you know without looking that your hair is doing something unfortunate. You probably look like roadkill.
He probably looks like he was carved by angels.
"Stop," you mumble, voice rough with sleep.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me."
"Can't help it." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering. "You're very look-at-able right now."
"I'm very what?"
"All squinty and confused. Like a cat that just got woken up from a nap." He demonstrates, squinting dramatically and wrinkling his nose. "'Where am I? Who are you? Is this reality?'"
"I don't look like that."
"You absolutely do." He drops the expression, smiling softer now. "It's cute."
You groan and try to bury your face in his chest, but he catches your chin, gentle, keeping you where he can see you. His thumb traces your jawline, and his eyes have gone serious in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing." But he doesn't look away. "Just... looking."
"For how long?"
He shrugs, all casual innocence. "Awhile."
"How long's awhile?"
"Long enough to notice you drool a little."
"I do not—"
"You do." He's grinning again, all teeth, and you feel your face go hot. "It's okay. I still like you."
"You suck."
"Mm." He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, and you can feel him smiling against your skin. "But you like me anyway."
You don't answer. Can't, really, not with him this close, morning — soft and unexpectedly tender. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there's something there, something he isn't saying, something that makes your chest ache in the best way.
"Go back to sleep," he says quietly.
"You just said I drool."
"And I meant it affectionately." He settles back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his side again. "Thirty more minutes. Then I'll make you coffee and you can yell at me properly."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, and you hear him take a breath like he's memorizing this too. "Now close your eyes. You're ruining my view."
"Your view of what?"
He doesn't answer. Just holds you tighter, and you feel his lips curve against your hair.
"Sleep," he says. "Or I'll tell everyone about the drooling."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
You close your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and let the warmth of him pull you back under.
Maybe you didn't hate mornings that much.
A/N. part 14 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here!
Waking up early is a curse Satoru usually avoids. The world's too quiet, too still, too full of space for thoughts he'd rather not have.
Today, he doesn't mind.
You're still asleep. That much is obvious from the way you're sprawled across his chest, one leg thrown over his, hair a disaster he can feel against his chin. Your hand is fisted in his shirt like you're worried he'll escape while you're unconscious.
He won't.
He shifts, just slightly, and your grip tightens. Even in sleep, you're possessive. The thought makes him smile into the dim morning light.
Forty minutes. He's been awake for forty minutes, watching the gray turn gold through the curtains, feeling your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. He could move. Should, probably. His back is starting to complain about the angle and there's coffee to be made, emails to ignore, a whole world waiting for him to be Gojo again.
Instead he traces lazy patterns on your shoulder, feather-light, and watches your face.
You make a noise. Something soft, displeased, and your nose wrinkles like you're arguing with someone in a dream. He wants to know who. Wants to find them and fight them, probably, which is ridiculous because it's a dream and he's Gojo Satoru and he doesn't get jealous of imaginary people.
He does, though. A little.
The sun climbs higher and he keeps watching. Catalogues the way your eyelids flutter, the faint part of your lips, the absolutely unfair softness of you right now. No guard. No performance. Just... you.
He could take a photo. Should, for blackmail.
His hand stills on your shoulder and he doesn't reach for his phone.
You're starting to wake up. He can feel it in the tension creeping into your limbs, the change in your breathing, the way your forehead furrows like you're trying to remember what consciousness feels like. He should look away. Pretend he was asleep too, or bored, or literally anything other than completely absorbed in watching you exist.
He doesn't.
Your eyes crack open.
⊹ ࣪ ˖
The first thing you register is warmth. A solid chest beneath your cheek, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat, arms loose around your back like you're wrapped in something too good to be true.
The second thing is the staring.
You force your eyes open and immediately want to close them again. Everything's too bright, edges blurred, and there's a shape looming over you that takes several blinks to resolve into anything human.
Satoru. Propped on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression that's half grin, half something softer.
"Morning," he says.
You squint at him. Your eyes feel gummy, your brain feels like it's wading through syrup, and you know without looking that your hair is doing something unfortunate. You probably look like roadkill.
He probably looks like he was carved by angels.
"Stop," you mumble, voice rough with sleep.
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me."
"Can't help it." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering. "You're very look-at-able right now."
"I'm very what?"
"All squinty and confused. Like a cat that just got woken up from a nap." He demonstrates, squinting dramatically and wrinkling his nose. "'Where am I? Who are you? Is this reality?'"
"I don't look like that."
"You absolutely do." He drops the expression, smiling softer now. "It's cute."
You groan and try to bury your face in his chest, but he catches your chin, gentle, keeping you where he can see you. His thumb traces your jawline, and his eyes have gone serious in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"What?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing." But he doesn't look away. "Just... looking."
"For how long?"
He shrugs, all casual innocence. "Awhile."
"How long's awhile?"
"Long enough to notice you drool a little."
"I do not—"
"You do." He's grinning again, all teeth, and you feel your face go hot. "It's okay. I still like you."
"You suck."
"Mm." He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, and you can feel him smiling against your skin. "But you like me anyway."
You don't answer. Can't, really, not with him this close, morning — soft and unexpectedly tender. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and there's something there, something he isn't saying, something that makes your chest ache in the best way.
"Go back to sleep," he says quietly.
"You just said I drool."
"And I meant it affectionately." He settles back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his side again. "Thirty more minutes. Then I'll make you coffee and you can yell at me properly."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, and you hear him take a breath like he's memorizing this too. "Now close your eyes. You're ruining my view."
"Your view of what?"
He doesn't answer. Just holds you tighter, and you feel his lips curve against your hair.
"Sleep," he says. "Or I'll tell everyone about the drooling."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
You close your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and let the warmth of him pull you back under.
Maybe you didn't hate mornings that much.
A/N. part 14 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Am i the only one that sees how little jjk angst and fluff is made? Mostly angst. Granted, I have been writing smut lately too but I feel like all there is is pure jjk smut on here—not to mention how those posts are the only ones that do well…
Your daughter finds her father's journal after you both pass away.
Synopsis: You and Satoru's daughter finds her late father's journal after he passes away, just one year after you did.
(as a thank you to all 500 of u for supporting my silly works!! Love u all. )
Tags: Fluff, cute, kinda bittersweet so like angst with comfort. I'm sobbing, lovey dovey husband!satoru x wife!reader, established relationship (married), growing old and reminiscing, nostalgia is a bitch. Kind of canon au but he survives so canon divergence. Middle pic is someones oc but imagine its ur daughter
Spring is in full swing.
Beautiful vast yards of grass are covered in colorful flowers like a Claude Monet painting. Yuuka unlocks the front door to her childhood home nestled deep in the Tokyo mountains where the sun reaches first and the night greets last with quietness and star-covered skies.
The door swings open and dust welcomes her with a sorrowful package. Nostalgia and grief hitting her in that silent but heavy way. It's been one year since her father died and she hasn't had the courage to come back here.
Well, she hasn't really dared to visit as much either since her mother died too, two years ago.
But now, with a will that favor her and her children too much—Satoru having left her, his only daughter, his entire fortune including the house and all of his cherished antique cars—Yuuka can't hide from the place she grew up in anymore.
Her chest fills with old memories and a pressure that reminds her just how lonely it is without her parents. Yet, an undescribable warmth lingers on the surface of the abandoned house—inviting her in as if her mother was still there, waiting with arm's open at the end of the hall and her father trailing behind with his bright smile and light eyes, the same ones she has.
It's exactly how the remembers it. Wooden floorboards that started creaking somewhere along the years, a small foyer with a hanger, a dark oak console table that holds a colorful plate with keys that no longer have owners—and right next to it, frames.
Frames and frames of life.
Of her life.
And her parents' life.
She sees the first frame that she recognizes too well. Where she's on her father's shoulders at 4 years old and smiling as widely as her then-35-year-old father was.
White hair on white hair. Big toothy smiles (she was missing quite a few teeth, but that's not the point) and matching cerulean eyes. Nobody would dare to say she's not her father's twin.
Yuuka remembers you recounting the story anytime she'd ask about how you took the picture on the day of her father's birthday when you both surprised him at work with a birthday party.
The honeyed sound of her mother’s voice rings in her head and her throat starts to burn. She said she wouldn't cry as she can basically feel her dad saying from up there that his princess shouldn't cry, but she can't push back the first streak from falling down her face.
Another frame shows you and Satoru on a sunflower field. His large hands that can could cause irreversible damage to the world softly curved and gently holding his world as he cups your then 6 month bump from behind.
Then holding his world. Head dipped and snuggled into your shoulder where he was pressing fragile kisses to, Satoru made you giggle at the exact moment the picture snapped and your smiling and glowing figure was recorded forever.
His daughter remembers him boast about the picture and how much he loved it. She can see why. You look radiant in it.
The next frame is the largest one. It's importance needing to be pronounced because it's the grounds for this house and her own existence.
Your wedding portrait.
This year, Yuuka knows you would've celebrated your 60th anniversary with Satoru. But in the picture, back then, you were just 26. Young and still as beautiful as you were in your last moments.
All kind eyes and soft smiles wearing a white dress that looked made for you. A lively bouquet of flowers in your hands, with the same kind of delicate petals she'd grown to favor through the years.
Satoru was on your right.
Supposed to be looking at the camera.
But he wasn't.
He was looking at you. Unable to rip his eyes from his then-bride as you looked straight ahead onto the lens. Lips slightly parted and head lowered to you, Satoru looked like he was starstruck.
And Yuuka could see how much he loved you then.
And she saw how much he loved you till his last breath.
Even when you were no longer with him.
Her father's spirit is recorded in every corner of the house.
Past the entrance hall there is an open old-fashioned kitchen to the left that is a sore sight for her knowing that three years ago she would've walked in to see you—with your weak bones and wrinkled skin—cooking and jumping at the sight of her visiting.
On the right there is a vast living room with an outdated TV you both sentimentally refused to allow your daughter to change, and a couch that has lived longer than her.
Where she spent a lot of time on. Play fighting with her dad, watching movies with friends as a teenager, screaming when she got into her dream college, crying when she announced her pregnancy to her parents.
Her life is in this house.
And far back is the master bedroom where you slept with your husband.
Yuuka's steps are hesitant as she draws near the entrace. The door creaks open with an ear-splitting screech.
She's met with the sight it always had. A comically large bed as her father was 6 feet 3 and never slept a day without her mother. Two nightstands filled with more pictures to the brim, some of her but most of them.
Polaroids glued to the wall from more than 60 years ago—from back when her parents were still dating—a walk-in closet her father hand built and designed for his wife as he knew they would have no place to keep the gifts he spoiled her with.
And a small entrance in the roof that leads up to the attic where Yuuka has rarely ever been in.
That catches her attention like a moth to a flame. She's tall enough now—being 180 and allowing her to catch some modeling gigs as a teenager—she easily pulls down the trap door and attached stairs come down as well.
Almost 60, with her kids well into adulthood, her knees hurt just a bit as she climbs the stairs. And up in the attic she's met with so much dust it's hard to breathe.
Her lungs beg for release so she cracks a window open in the roof which illuminates the space for her to finally see and not be engulfed in darkness.
Boxes stacked on top of boxes is pretty much all there is save for a few pieces of old furniture you've both replaced sometime.
There are labels named with your handwriting on every piece of cardboard.
"Wedding pictures, 2019."
"Honeymoon pictures, 2019."
"Yuuka, 2020~2040."
"Y/N L/N, 2014-2018." Of when you were dating her father, not yet married.
"Y/N Gojo, 2019-2076." In Satoru's messy handwriting. He must have made your box once you passed away.
A small smile places itself on Yuuka's lips as she eyes how much bigger the box of your belongings as Y/N Gojo is. Knowing how much Satoru loved to spoil you.
She's about to open the box from your youth when a small, new-looking box catches her eyes.
It's yellow, sealed around the edges, with a different label on the front. And as she pulls the strangely light, seemingly empty box closer to her, she notices the different handwriting.
Oh.
It's her father's box.
"Satoru Gojo, 2014-2077."
Her heart aches at the slightly faded ink.
Satoru died in 2078.
But he stopped living when you did.
So in 2077 his life ended.
He must have stayed only for her and his nephews.
Now, as she stares at the box, the memories of her father's tense smile—not at all how it used to be—in his last year cloud her mind and a sob rips free from her chest.
Hooking her shaky fingers around the sides, she tugs the tape off and opens the the box to find it almost empty—only a worn out journal in the middle.
"My angel." Is written in the middle in cleaner but still recognisable as her late-fathers handwriting.
Her mouth falls open at the sight. The spine threatens to split as she picks up the overstuffed, yellow paged pages.
For a second, she hesitates.
It's a diary after all.
She's not supposed to see this.
But she can't help it.
Gently, she peels open the wrinkled book to see the first page.
She imagines her father's voice booming through the attic as he reads.
January 14th, 2018.
Hello future me! My beautiful beautiful beautiful amazing wife (we aren't married yet but we will be) (i already bought the ring, she doesn't know yet hihi <(￣︶￣)>) said that I should not post so much about my life on facebook because it's dangerous and something about digital footprint as if i know what that's about.
Anyway, I did kind of listen to her and stopped for a while.
But then my lovely wife saw how sad I got and she bought me this journal! She even engraved out initials in the back!
Yuuka flips the diary to indeed find your initials pressed into the leather on the back.
She continues reading.
So I'm going to start writing even though it is probably not going to be as satisfying as Megumi, Yuji and Nobara (Nanami sometimes) commenting on my amazing facebook posts.
Anyway, Y/N is making cake and I can't let her whisk anything as the great husband I am so bye!
February 1st, 2018.
Guess who is engaged? Guess who said "I do!"? My wife!!!!!!! My fiancee. I am getting married. I feel like a little kid who got his favorite candy. I was so nervous like it took me back to when Yaga would catch me Shoko and Suguru doing something wrong.
Y/N is really happy with her ring and I gotta admit, I nailed it.
Can't wait to see her in a white dress and then make a family. Love my wife so much.
June 26th, 2018.
When did my little kids become so big ಥ_ಥ? We won against the Kyoto sister school today since well, long story short we got attacked a few days ago blah bla blah so we decided on a match of baseball! And I knew I trained the kids well because we absolutely destroyed Kyoto! Am I not just great?
Still at work right now, have my diary locked in my secret drawer with candies. Miss my wife so much (´;︵;`). I wonder if she'll let me sleep on her in the bathtub again today. She said she couldn’t breathe because I'm too heavy. I am not heavy! I work hard for these muscles, I'm jacked and she knows it. (个_个) Can't wait to go home.
July 4th, 2018.
Nobara is at it again with her shopping shenanigans, Yuji just called me saying he physically can't handle carrying her bags anymore. I told him to man up and carry them. My sweet Y/N has never carried a single bag, paid for anything or opened a single door in my presence. Maybe I should just make a robot that opens and does things for her when I'm not around.
Or I should just quit my job and be with her 24/7!
She's been so stressed lately with so many wedding preparations. I mean I help, and I try to relieve her stress with my amazing methods but it doesn't seem to be working. She's been forgetting to eat her meals and I'm worried. I think she's putting too much pressure on herself. I don't want her to change anything about herself for the wedding. I'd marry her tomorrow if it meant i could have her now.
But she wants a ceremony, says it's every little girl's dream. So i comply. I'll try making her something tonight. Or just pick up the macarons she likes. Yeah.
July 21st, 2018.
My wife has just brushed me off because she says she has to go try on wedding dresses! Am I the asshole if I don't want a ceremony anymore? Just give me my wifeeeeee! This is crucifying. Painful. My heart hurts.
Also, she banned me from coming with her. I want to see the dresses too... Why does Utahime get to go but I don't? I'm tired of this. I'm bored. Maybe I should ask Nanami for help. I do need to get my suit... and my shoes... and get a haircut—it's kind of early for that... Y/N gets a little feral when I cut my hair and I don't think she wants a baby at our wedding.
Oh i could start thinking of baby names!
Yuuka's face scrunches up at her father's words.
August 17th, 2018.
I am actually not as committed to this, but at the same time I am yk? Anyway, today we got a wedding cake sample taster thingy! We got it from Nanami's girlfriend, she has a bakery. It was a huge cake with each slice a different flavor, it was amazing. Me and Y/N saw the gates of heaven. I'm glad we agreed that Chocolate and cookies and cream mouse is going to be our cake, its our wedding and we eat what we want to! It's amazing getting married to your soulmate like Y/N is so amazing we had the same opinions on every single slice. Like the lemon tart was awful, well, not literally. But for a wedding cake? I felt a shiver go down my wife's spine.
Anyway, I do want the ceremony again. For now, as my precious angel gets ready for the big day, I'm planning the honeymoon. It's going to be epic. Thinking of Italy, greece, or maybe a retreat in the moutains. She likes quiet places. Said we should have a house up high.
Maybe I should make her a house as a wedding gift! Ooh~ Can i get that done in 4 months..?
October 7th, 2018.
Told the wifey I was out for a business trip—and I am! Sorta. Me and Nanami are looking for land (i am paying for his "overtime" →_→ but he's been really helpful so...). Feeling a bit bad for lying to Y/N... Will prob tell her the truth after the house is built. I've found out it will be done earliest (unfurnished, but I'll leave her to decorate it) by March.
And feeling really bad because I'm away from her! Just one more day and I'll be home! Wedding soon!
November 19th, 2018.
T minus 5 days till our wedding!!!! I'm getting married! Wonder what Suguru is thinking of it. Wish he were here. As my best man.
November 23rd, 2018.
It's tomorrow.
Tomorrow I marry the love of my life. The woman that has held me through the good and bad without needing vows. Speaking of vows, I'm nervous to say them. Needed a lot of help from Shoko to put my love for Y/N into words. I wonder how she feels because she's Y/N's maid of honor as her bsf passed away not long ago. I guess me and my wifey have lost a lot together. We are still together tho. Perfect for each other.
I can't wait to see her tomorrow. I am going to cry I'm saying it now. Recording it for wifey to see it someday. I know myself. She also said she knows I'll cry. I will. Can't wait. I probably won't be able to sleep tonight. I hope Y/N doesn't feel my heartbeat going insane.
I'm getting married!!
February 1st, 2019.
Help, I forgot to update for a while. Today is our one year engagement anniversary. Was on my honeymoon... if you need a reminder, Satoru, check your camera hihi. Anyway, my lovely baby is having a baby! We're pregnant! Well, she is. I don't get why people say that. I'm rethinking that idea of making her a robot that helps around since I'm still working. Either way, Y/N is so so so pretty with her two month bump, we'll know the gender next week. I am soooooo excited. But i know we are having a girl so i guess it's no fun.
I'm not going to tell her i saw it with my six eyes... but i knew way before too! I knew it was a girl since day one!
Can't wait till she finds out. My wife. Yep im a husband, almost father. She looked mesmerizing, like nothing i could have ever imagined on our wedding btw. Yes, i cried. And im still the manliest man and strongest man she knows. I love you so much, Y/N.
February 30th, 2019.
Hi Satoru's diary, it's your wife. You ran out after i muttered the words "I lowkey would go insane for some doritos and vanilla ice cream right now." And left this for me to find on your desk while i napped. I'm sure you didn't want me to find out about this, i haven't read anything i promise. Maybe the first line on page one before starting to sob. Your daughter is making me really moody. I hope you're already thinking of baby names.
I love you so much, Satoru. You have no no no idea at all. You're the light in my day, the reason behind my smiles, the motive behind the stars in my eyes. You're my everything and I'm so glad I married someone so perfect as you. We have had our arguments and downs, but look at us! 6 months away from being parents! Who would've thought? 2012 me would've been screaming crying and throwing up over the fact that I'm having a baby with my senior crush!! Okay cutie I think I hear ur footsteps, love you so much bye bye. Kisses, love.
-your wife.
August 8th, 2019.
Baby Yuuka is here! Welcome to the world my little princess, you are already so loved. Uncle Nanami is currently holding you with the softest look on his face, it's actually scary. His wife wants a go at holding you too but I'm pretty sure I can see the cogs in his head turning and I'm pretty sure he wants one now too. Slow down, Nanamin, you've been married for three months (we made Yuuka on our honeymoon).
Your mother looks gorgeous. Tired? Yes. But so bright. I'm giving your aunt five minutes until I kick everyone out so your mom can sleep and I can take care of you.
You are a NICU baby in case you didn't know, Stressed the living life out of me and your mom when you came out half-dead. The world went quiet when you were in intensive care. We weren't well. It was the scariest thing in the world.
I almost lost my wife. We have agreed to not have any more children. But I'm certain that you will be more than enough for us. Why am I already starting to cry at the thought of you leaving for college and getting married?! You're barely a day old!
Anyway, thank you to my wife for giving me the best gift in the world. I love you, Y/N.
December 7th, 2019.
Yuuka's little babbles are the cutest thing ever help my heart is melting. It's my birthday! I'm 30... thirty and flirty! (Only with my wife.). Y/N got me a vintage record player! And all of my favorite songs! Mornings have just updated, will blast Mine by Bazzi and sing my soul out to my dearest tomorrow!!!
Sweetheart is tired, her milk ducts keep getting clogged, Yuuka is a pretty fussy baby. I try to stay up and massage her tense shoulders, she passes out in the tub while I wash her hair. It's so cute. I remember when I used to be the one falling asleep on her. Well, now the perks of being the strongest come in handy!
January 3rd, 2020.
First Christmas with a baby and first New Year done! Apparently...Nanami is having a baby too... what a Christmas present... I got a Christmas present like that too... Is he copying me..? Me and Y/N are dropping off the little princess at her grandparents to go and visit our friends. Been a while, need to update Suguru about how my daughter is crawling.
January 14th, 2020.
Was looking at the calendar today and I was like"I feel like today is something important." And it is! Been journaling for two years now! ( ◜‿◝ ) Re-read my entries and found out my darling wrote one! She's so adorable l love her so much I'm going to explode.
Yuuka is a clingy adorable baby, her mom calls her a velcro baby. I secretly hope her first words are dada and i sometimes teach her how to say it, hopefully Y/N doesn't see this oups. Anyway, speaking of my wife. She looks so good I just want to—
Modern-day Yuuka slams the book closed before her eyes catch the next words. With tears running down her cheeks, she decides she's invaded her father's privacy enough.
There's a whole thousand of pages to read, history of more than 60 years in them.
But what lies inside are secrets between you and Satoru.
Moment's she's not supposed to remember and that's fine.
Her chest is still tight with longing and ache.
She's never missed her parents so much.
The clean smell of fresh linen and softener her mother always eluded.
The feeling of her feet dangling in the air when her father would pick her up in a hug.
Or the comforting taste of mom's kikufiku she'd mastered because her husband adored it.
It's all so beautiful.
The love you both shared.
A love so deep it birthed her.
A love so deep it raised a child.
A child who years to go back to simpler times.
She understands now when you both acted like cringy teenagers even in your forties.
And she used to be embarrassed about it.
About her parents being so in love.
But now, a mother herself.
She understands it so much.
And she's so happy you are together now.
As much as she misses you both.
Yuuka is happy you're both reunited.
Watching over her.
Back to my roots (fluff). Hi <3
This was in my drafts alr written but im waiting on the poll results for my next clear out. Looks like suguru and scarjo(mylove) are coming back!!
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the time i went to jail but it wasn’t even really my fault
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a/n: every time i make these i’m convinced i’m the funniest person ever it’s so embarrassing 😭 posting smaus now at noon CT 🙂↕️❤️thank you for reading, i love you (. .*)β
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the way satoru holds you after a long day ૮◞ ◟𑁬∘˙˚
The door closes behind you with a click that feels louder than it should, echoing in the quiet apartment. Twelve hours. Twelve hours of meetings that could have been emails, a commute that smelled like wet umbrellas and someone else's regret, and the particular hell of pretending to be a functional adult while your brain felt like lukewarm oatmeal.
You don't even bother with your shoes. You kick them somewhere in the general direction of the mat and let your bag slide off your shoulder to the floor with a heavy thud that probably wakes up the neighbors.
"That's a safety hazard," a voice drawls from the living room, lazy and warm and immediately, unfairly comforting. "I'm going to trip over that and die, and then you'll have to explain to everyone why the strongest sorcerer in history was taken out by a woman's handbag. The scandal."
Satoru is sprawled across the couch like he owns it, which, technically, he half-does. He's got one arm draped over the back, the other holding his phone above his face, and he's wearing that stupid blindfold even though he's indoors, at night, with absolutely nowhere to be. He looks like a cat who has claimed the sunniest spot in the house and will defend it with casual, devastating violence.
You don't answer. You don't have words left in you. You just stand there in the entryway, your coat still on, staring at him with what must be a truly pathetic expression because his head tilts, just slightly, like he's actually looking at you even though the blindfold is in the way.
"Oh," he says, and his voice changes. "Oh, baby. Come here."
The walk to the couch takes approximately seven years. When you reach him, you don't ask. You don't negotiate. You simply collapse on top of him, aiming for his chest and hitting somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach.
"Oof." His phone clatters to the carpet. "You're crushing my flawless physique. Do you know how many people would pay actual, substantial money to be in your position right now? And you're using it like a discount memory foam mattress. No appreciation for art."
You make a sound. It's not a word. It's barely even human. You press your face into his shirt and breathe him in — cedar and something warmer, something that makes your eyes sting with how badly you want to close them.
"That bad, huh?" His arm comes around your back, long and easy, settling you more securely against him. His other hand finds your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that contradicts every annoying, theatrical thing he's ever said. "Tell me."
You shake your head, just barely. Too tired to explain. Too tired to relive it.
"Words are hard," he murmurs, understanding. "That's okay. I can talk enough for both of us. It's a gift, really. A burden I bear with incredible humility."
A huff of air escapes you — not quite a laugh, but close. Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt and fists in it, anchoring yourself.
"Let's see," he continues, his voice dropping to something low and intimate, his hand still moving through your hair. "You had to smile at people who didn't deserve it. Someone was condescending. Probably a man. Probably with a bad tie. You wanted to set him on fire but you didn't because you're civilized and I'm not there to do it for you."
Your nose wrinkles against his chest. He feels you smile.
"Bad tie?" you whisper, your voice rough.
"The worst. Clip-on. Probably novelty. Neon color or something."
"Not neon colors."
"Worse?"
You nod, just slightly. Your eyes are closed now. His heartbeat is steady under your cheek, a rhythm you could fall into.
"Monsters," he says softly. "Actual villains. The world is cruel to put you in a building with fluorescent lighting for eight hours. You should be somewhere with natural light and excellent company. Specifically me. I'm the excellent company."
"You're okay," you mumble.
"Okay!?" He sounds personally offended, but his hand keeps stroking your hair, so you know he's not actually wounded. "I'm devastating. I'm the gold standard. People write songs about men like me."
"Do they?"
"They will. When I'm gone they'll realize what they lost." He shifts beneath you, adjusting his position without dislodging you, lifting one leg so you can settle more fully against him. "You're still wearing your coat." He tugs at the sleeve gently. "I'm not gonna bite, you know. Unless you're into that. No judgement."
"Too tired to take it off."
"Allow me."
He sits up just enough to peel your coat off your shoulders, maneuvering it down your arms with surprising care. You let him move you around, too exhausted to protest. He tosses the coat somewhere — you hear it hit a chair — and then he's pulling you back down, arranging you against him with an attention to detail that would be ridiculous if it didn't feel so good.
"Better?" he asks.
You hum, which he seems to accept as a yes. Your head finds the crook of his shoulder. Your arm drapes across his stomach. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, he's solid and warm and real in a way that makes the whole terrible day feel like it happened to someone else, in another life.
"You know," he says, and his voice has dropped to something almost whispered, "there was a time when I thought this kind of thing was beneath me. Domestic bliss. Cuddling on couches. Being someone's furniture."
"You're not furniture."
"I'm excellent furniture. Top tier. Custom-made. Very expensive."
You huff out a breath that might be a laugh. Your fingers curl against his side, finding the hem of his shirt and slipping underneath to touch skin. He inhales, sharp and surprised.
"Cold," he hisses.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Be warm." But his arm tightens around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, so quick you might have imagined it. "You're freezing. Why are you freezing? Was the heating broken at work? Was it? I'll kill someone. Just say the word."
"Not broken. Just... tired."
"I know." His hand returns to your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone with unbearable tenderness. "I know, baby. I've got you."
The word baby shouldn't make your chest ache like this. He's said it a thousand times, teasing, theatrical, throwing it around like confetti. But right now, in the dark quiet of the apartment, with his heartbeat under your ear and his thumb brushing your skin, it feels like something he's keeping safe just for you.
"Sleepy?" he asks.
"Mm."
"Don't fight it on my account. I'm very comfortable. I'm enjoying this. You're like a weighted blanket, but cuter. And more opinionated."
"Mm, not... opinionated right now."
"No?" You can hear the smile in his voice. "What are you right now?"
You think about it. Your eyes are closed. His hand has moved back to your hair, stroking slow and hypnotic. "Yours," you whisper, and the word slips out before you can catch it, too honest, too bare.
He goes still for a moment. Just a moment. Then his arms tighten around you, almost fierce, and you feel his lips press against your forehead.
"Yeah," he says, and his voice is rough in a way you've never heard before. "Yeah, you are."
Another kiss, this one lingering at your temple. Then another, at the edge of your eyebrow. Each one is deliberate, unhurried, like he's mapping something sacred, like he's trying to memorize the shape of you in the dark.
"You're not fair," you murmur.
"Never claimed to be."
His lips find your forehead again, right at the hairline, and stay there. You can feel his breath, warm and even. The arm around your back pulls you closer, until there isn't space for anything between you, not even the bad day you've been carrying. It can't survive here, pressed up against him. It dissolves like sugar in rain.
"Sleep," he whispers against your skin, and his voice is so soft it barely disturbs the air. "I've got you. I'm right here."
You want to say something. You want to tell him he's insufferable, that you don't need him, that you're fine on your own. But your eyes are closing, your body is sinking into him, and the last thing you feel is his mouth pressing one final, lingering kiss to your forehead as the world goes soft and dark around the edges.
"Dream of me," he murmurs, so quiet you almost don't hear it. "Obviously."
You don't need to dream of him. He's already there — in your chest, in your bones, in the quiet spaces you didn't know you were saving for him. You close your eyes, and the world fades, but he doesn't. He's the last thing you feel, the last thing you hold onto as sleep pulls you under.
A/N. not proofread, hope you enjoyed sweetheart! ♡ currently planning to make a reversed version soon ♪(´▽｀)
series. part 15 of "Satoru as Your Boyfriend" series!! all parts will be found here! (can be read as a oneshot)
