#sat

He loves you to pieces, can’t get enough of you, loves to feed you, and watch you eat, lives to hold you in his arms or lift you off your feet. He’s the type to come home with multiple bags in his hands and say, “Got you a little gift, baby girl, you deserve it.”

All you did was go to work.

He praises you and adores to hear you say ‘thank you Toru.’ Makes his heart swoon, he’ll clutch his chest and fain pain, “You’re killin me here sweets.”

Or he’ll drop everything, even if he’s cooking, and come and wrap you in his arms, “Fuckin love you baby girl.”

But he just can’t stop calling out to you that way

“Fuck, come ‘ere baby girl, sit in my lap.”

“There she is! The one the only, the light of my fuckin life— baby girl! Missed you sooo much!”

“You look gorgeous baby girl! Spin for me?”

“Who made you upset, huh? Whose ass am I beating baby girl?”

“Thaaats is baby girl, take me so fuck- fuckin well sweets.”

“Already- hah- shit- already fucked stupid baby girl? Where’s that brain at?”

“If you want it, just swipe the card. I told you, I’ll give you aaaanything you want baby girl. Say the word and it’s yours.”

a/n: This might be too cringy for some (because of a certain Netflix movie that’s done irreversible damage), but I think it would be so endearing for him to call you that.

Crocodile : Sit down...

Me :

It starts with you brushing your fingers through Satoru’s hair one lazy Sunday afternoon, the two of you curled up on the floor in his living room, the TV humming something neither of you is really watching.

"You know," you murmur, tugging a pale strand. "Your hair’s getting long."

He tilts his head smugly, "You like it, though."

You smirk. “I like being able to see your face more.”

“Are you saying I’m hot or something?”

“I’m saying you’re annoying,” you say, laughing as he tries to trap you under him with a dramatic groan. You duck, slip from his arms, and ruffle his hair before you pause. "Let me cut it."

Satoru blinks. “Like... you cut it?”

You raise your brows. “You trust me?”

He grins, reckless. “Dangerously.”

The kitchen scissors aren't ideal. Neither is the towel haphazardly thrown over his shoulders or the way Satoru keeps turning his head to talk.

“Sit still,” you mumble, biting your lip in focus.

“You’re so serious. It’s cute,” he says, the tip of his nose scrunching up as you grip a section of hair near the front.

Snip. The moment the chunk falls to the floor, you freeze.

“Oh no.”

“What? What?!” Satoru reaches up, feeling the too-short piece now sticking out like a tuft of cloud above his forehead. His eyes wide. “Babe. You didn’t.”

You grimace. “I might have... underestimated the angle.”

There’s a pause. Then Satoru bursts out laughing.

Later, when it’s done and his hair is far shorter than you meant—cropped around his ears, exposing the back of his neck—you stare at him with a strange twist in your chest.

He’s sitting on the bathroom counter now, legs swinging slightly, head tilted while examining his new cut in the mirror. It makes him look younger. Familiar.

“It’s like…” you trail off. “When I first met you.”

His reflection turns to look at you. “Back in high school?”

You nod, suddenly warm at the memory. “Your hair was short then, too. And you were loud. Annoying. A little too full of yourself.”

Satoru grins. “So nothing’s changed?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile softens as you meet his gaze in the mirror. “Except now I like you.”

He hops off the counter and comes closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“You mean you love me,” he murmurs.

You sigh. “Even with a patchy haircut? You look like a dandelion who got caught in a weed-whacker.”

He pecks your lips, smug. “Still hot, though.”

You groan, but your hand finds his again, fingers lacing with his like they did when you were sixteen—awkward and new, but somehow already meant to be.