Fontaine Soon

⟶ satoru is into cougars

⟶ erm hi again. OKOK i know it's been a month but im a working woman so forgive me. ill probably update my smaus at some point .. maybe .....

cw :: fluff/crack, astoundingly short, not proofread, wife!reader

“I’m into cougars."

It's so tempting to ignore Satoru. He's draped over your tummy, looking up at you with that little grin that tells you he's about to say something stupid, arms working around your waist causing your back to arch slightly uncomfortably against the couch.

It’s so tempting to ignore him, but when his big blue eyes are staring up at you like that, you can't help but want to respond with something equally stupid.

“Go marry one then,” you murmur, returning your focus to the TV.

Satoru hums, resting his head against your abdomen, lithe fingers now tapping against your sides. “I already did.” He is hardly able to stop his face from twitching into a shit-eating grin.

And you already know where this is going. You sigh, and don't deign him with a response.

He huffs. “I said, I already did.”

“I heard you.”

He nearly whines. A grown man nearly whines, looking up at you with frustration. “I said, I already did!”

You don't want to respond. But you feel the way his fingers trace against your ticklish sides in warning.

“... Satoru, I'm one week older than you.”

He laughs, scooping you up and pressing wet kisses to your face. “That's six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds! My old lady!”

Faced with his onslaught, you’re groaning and trying to pry him off of you. Alas, his arms are wrapped around you like a vice, and with the way he's giggling and grinning you'd feel the slightest bit bad ruining his fun.

Maybe you're losing your touch.

“Musta married some other bitch before me,” you say, rolling your eyes. This is one of Satoru’s favourite bits, much to your chagrin.

He lays back down on the couch, laying you over him this time, your head against his chest and his hands pressed against your back.

“You know you're the only one for me, babe,” he grins. “My hot, older woman.”

NOOOOOOO LOOK AT HIM HES SO CUTE him when he sees me coming home from a long day of work but mustering up enough energy to plant a kiss on his jaw before i drag myself into the bedroom to change into my cozy pyjamas that he warmed in the drier for me then returning to the kitchen to see he's plated my favourite then letting him loop his arm around my bicep and being pulled into the living room to see he's queued up my favourite film and two glasses of wine ugh come home baby the kids miss u

EVERYBODY SHUT UP HE’S SMILING

he looks so comfy in that sweatshirt im going to bake him the fluffiest loaf of bread with soup and then kiss him

⟶ boyfriend texts with fiancé!satoru

⟶ baby's first standalone smau

cw:: fem!reader, slightly mean!reader, shibuya mention, I WROYE COMPLETION I MEANT COMPILATION I JUST BIT SO FAR INTO MY PILLOW

evie's mojo dojo casa house

requests are open go crazy in my inbox ;P

⟶ taglists always open

find my college au here!!

masterlist::

satoru gojo

ʚɞ taking care of injured!reader

ʚɞ napping

ʚɞ let you break my heart again

ʚɞ stealing ur spectacles

ʚɞ a love no one will understand

ʚɞ teen!satoru wants u so bad

ʚɞ satoru loves his jealous!wife

ʚɞ cougars

ʚɞ satoru's lip balm

ʚɞ "im so hungry i could eat yaga"

ʚɞ miscellaneous texts

suguru geto

ʚɞ suguru vs his wife's cravings

kento nanami

ʚɞ kento vs food courts

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

can i be in ur taglist !! ✌︎('ω')✌︎

yes and also i love u ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

⟶ waking up from a nap w satoru

cw:: fluff, slightly mean reader 😇, gn!reader

On one of those rare days when neither you nor Satoru were called out to school or a mission, you find yourselves draped over each other under a blanket. His mop of white hair rests on your chest, snoozing, while you pet his hair gently and watch the clouds drift on by.

You can't help but trace your eyes over his pretty features. Peaceful as a baby, lips slightly parted as he rests without a care. He's really cute when he doesn't speak, you muse.

Until suddenly he's blinking himself awake, licking his dry lips, and shattering every illusion of cuteness you'd foolishly constructed.

“Your tits are so comfortable to sleep on,” he grins, looking up at you with bleary eyes.

“You really know how to ruin any moment,” you smile down at him.

He giggles like a loser, dropping his head back into your chest with a great big yawn, pearly white molars blinking at you. “Ugh. I have a gross taste in my mouth.”

You hum, not at all sympathetic. “‘Cause of all that candy you ate before you fell asleep.”

“Um, no. Because I haven't kissed you in hours.”

“Wow! Harvard is calling.”

“I know right?” He grins self-assuredly, then goes wriggling up your body like a 6’5” centipede, nosing into your cheek. “Kiss.”

You roll your eyes, think about saying something snarky, then decide to just give in this time.

(Sometimes you worry you're too mean.)

(But not enough to stop.)

He grins against your lips when you lean in for a kiss, his eyes slipping closed and his hand working into your hair to tug you closer. Your hands lazily drape over his shoulders, the only sounds in the room being the gentle spin of the fan and the sound of you two locking lips.

It’s moments like these when you remember just how much you like your Satoru. Moments he's doing and not saying.

He pulls away, but not without leaving a final peck on your lips. “See? Now my mouth is all better.”

You're not convinced, twirling his hair between your fingers and asking, “Is it?”

“No,” he groans, sitting up. “Gonna go get something to eat. Be right back.”

You huff, watching him go. “Eat something healthy, babe.”

“I'd rather be shot.”



⟶ satoru x baking hobbyist!reader (college au) part:: 2/?

⟶ masterlist can be found here

cw:: silly fluffy crack ;P, ignore typos, plot crawls along, fem!reader

tags:: @candy-s72 @loveyislost @cottonlemonade @sorenflyinn

he's so cute i think this calls for a new tag

choso is so expressive with his hands

⟶ the 4 times teen!satoru tried to break down the walls to your heart, and the 1 time he did.

cw:: fem!reader, not proofread due to lazy xP, reader dgaf, fluff/crack, 2.1k words, i can't write long works, mild blood/injury (nosebleed, broken ankle)

Satoru Gojo has no shortage of confidence. Quips that have men clapping him on the shoulder, flirts that have girls weak in the knees. He is a boy who exudes cockiness, but for some reason that he just can't understand, it all melts away in your presence, giving way to trembling hands and a red face.

You are several grades below him. Grade Three, specifically. And it's not like you're model pretty. Sure, his eyes are always fixed on your legs or your neck or your eyes or your lips or your hair, but he's definitely prettier, he's certain.

You're not even nice to him. A biting remark here, a blatant dismissal there, and he finds himself wailing into his pillow, a half-sympathetic Suguru watching on in mild pity.

“Just start small. Say you like her hair. Or her shoes,” he says, looking down at Satoru, who's sprawled out on his dorm room floor.

Satoru sniffles, lifting his head. “You really think it'll work?”

“Dunno. But it's worth a try.”

“I like your shoes, Y/N!”

You look up from your flip-phone in surprise. Paired together on a mission, the two of you had, up until now, been sitting in silence on a train. You follow his line of sight to your new converse, laced up tight. Perfectly clean and perfectly you.

“Thanks. My mom just sent them for me,” you mumble, looking the exact opposite way of him. God forbid he sees the way your cheeks tinge very slightly pink. You'd hate for him to know the effect even a passing compliment from him clearly has on you.

He grins in self-satisfaction. He knew it was a good idea to trust Suguru! And now, like clockwork, you'll be falling at his feet in three… two… one…

“There’s seaweed in your teeth.”

Stupid Suguru!

Satoru blushes furiously, turns the other way, and starts furiously sucking at his teeth to remove the offending plant. Suguru had pawned off his seaweed snack to him earlier, and now he has to reap the consequences. Another romantic failure, and this time it wasn’t even his fault.

Still red, eyes pricking with embarrassed tears, he looks back over at you. But, much to his dismay, you've returned your attention to your phone, tapping away.

He'll get ‘em next time.

”Holy shit, Gojo!”

But not this time, apparently.

His eyes widen as he sees you staggering back, and he jogs up to lean over you.

“You okay…?”

Stupid question. Because you look up at him, blood pouring from your nose, a devastating mixture of humiliation and resentment and raw pain glinting in your eyes, as you wipe your bloodied nose on your white shirt and drag your bloodied hand over your skirt.

“No, I’m not fucking okay! You always do this, stupid!” You throw one more scornful look over your shoulder, before marching back towards the school, blood still streaming down your pretty face.

For a split second, he's torn between giving you space and running after you. He picks the latter, naturally, and is quickly stumbling after you with all the grace of a newborn fawn, yelling for you to wait, just a second!

You don't, of course, and it takes him catching up to you and slowing to match the pace of your furious stomps for him to be within your earshot.

“Come on, you know I didn't mean to—”

“You literally always do this. You beg me to come train with you, for reasons beyond my understanding considering you’re, like, three grades above me, and then every time it ends with me having to take myself to the stupid nurse’s office ‘cause you can't control yourself ever, so just leave me alone.”

He frowns, guilt tearing at his heart. “Y/N, please, just let me say sorry—”

At that, you whirl around, facing him dead on. Red mars your lower face, still steadily dripping down and collecting on your well-bitten lips, and it takes a world of strength for Satoru to tear his eyes away from your mouth and up to your own gaze boring into him.

He almost hopes for a second you won't speak. Hopes you'll just turn around and continue walking in silence, not looking at him over your shoulder but at least letting him stay with you.

Alas, he is not such a lucky man.

“I don't need you to say sorry,” you mutter, before turning on your heel and marching back into the building, leaving him standing alone on the smooth stone pathway.

He wipes flour from his eyes, sneezing once, twice, thrice.

You sigh. “I thought you said you were good at baking. You called yourself ‘wifey material’.” You’re not faring much better than him, wiping egg from your cheek with a frown.

“Hey! Even a perfect clock is wrong twice a day.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

He sighs, casting his eyes over what used to be the kitchen. Several bags of flour were tipped over, so much egg where egg should not be, milk steadily dripping onto the tiled floor. The two of you look like toddlers who'd broken into the pantry, covered head to toe in staple ingredients.

“Well if I can't cook… and you can't cook… who's going to make us sweet treats?” he laments.

You imperceptibly sigh, almost feeling bad for him. “We can go to the store, if you want,” you murmur, uprighting the carton of milk. You avoid making eye contact with the incredulous look he’s giving you, but can you blame him? It's been months of knowing you, and this is the first time you've proposed hanging out together without him asking first.

His eyes light up, sparkling with glee. “Sure! The store! I’ll pay!”

“Okay. Sure.” You unloop the apron from around your neck, taking his too, and hang them up. “Let's go.”

The walk to the store is pleasant. You can't help but admire the koi fish swimming through the clear-water streams, and Satoru can't help but admire you.

The warmer weather has pushed your white shirt cuffs up your arms, and unbuttoned your top button, and he can't help but trail his eyes over the few square inches of your exposed skin. So soft, and so pretty.

“Pardon?” You’re looking at him now, pushing your glasses up to your forehead and leaving tiny indents on your nose. He’d kill to kiss them away.

“Do you mean to be saying all this out loud?” And now the sun-driven flush on your cheeks climbs higher, teasing the fat under your eyes, sinking lower and falling beneath your jawline, and oh how he’d love to be the one who makes you blush, and be the only man privy to your flusteredness—

Snap! Snap! Snap!

Your rapid clicks before his face grounds him again, and with a squeak he realises how long he's been carelessly speaking his private thoughts aloud. He pouts and swats your hand away, redirecting his gaze to the right, looking away from you.

“What? Wasn’t talking about you. Just… Uh…”

In his embarrassment, he fails to notice the way you're fanning yourself, desperately trying to bring your heated cheeks to a regular temperature.

“Just… reciting poetry…”

“You may enter now.”

The nurse is barely able to finish her sentence before Satoru bursts through the doors of the ward. You’ve sat up in bed, a tiny little scowl marring your perfect features, eyes stubbornly refusing to even glance at the cast around your ankle.

“You scared me!” he whines, dropping into the plastic chair beside your bed and dragging his hands down his face. “I thought I lost you, Y/N!”

“It’s just a broken ankle,” you mutter, swatting half-heartedly at him.

“I mean, honestly, tripping down the stairs? What a lame way to die!” he laments, batting his stupidly long eyelashes at you. It takes everything in you not to snigger.

“What's a good way to die?”

“Oh, you know, getting struck by lightning, killed by a wild rhino, after killing five billion curses… But—” he pouts at you for distracting him, “—that’s not the point! You need to be more careful!”

“Aw.” You smile ever so slightly, your eyes crinkling when you look at him. “Well, you can sign my cast.”

“Really?” He immediately drops his pout, his eyes sparkling as he fumbles for the marker you're offering him. He shoots up and out of his chair, stumbling towards the end of the bed, and giggles like a schoolboy. “The first one?”

“Sure,” you hum, watching the way he delicately cradles your ankle in his hand.

He squeals, and immediately starts doodling his name along your cast. He can't help but draw hearts around his words, but you can't bring yourself to say anything when he looks so pleased with himself.

He pulls away, petting your ankle before he sets it gently back on the bed.

“Tech is sooo boring without you. All techniques, missions that!” He sits down on the bed next to you, as you gently push yourself into a sitting position, careful not to aggravate your foot.

“Yeah? Anything fun happen in the last two days?” You ask, poking his shoulder.

“Nooo…” he sighs. “Everyone loves me too much. No variety.”

“You’re in love with yourself.”

“Well, who isn't?”

You snort. “Right.”

He grins at you. The breeze from the open window gently tousles your hair, your features bare from makeup and freshly washed. You glow under the sun, and he sighs, smiling.

“Hey, when you're back—” he starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“Alright, that's enough.” The nurse enters the room, armed with a syringe. “She needs to rest.”

He sighs once more, shoulders deflating, then stands from the bed. “See you.”

You wave. “Later.”

It came as a surprise to few that you made Grade 1 so quickly. A meteoric rise in skill, resultant of over a year of hard work, practice day in, day out. You’ve found yourself scrubbing away calluses every evening, taking less and less time for yourself, but treating less and less wounds.

It was a bone-deep satisfaction when you received the news. A several second long sigh of relief, a weight floating up, up, and away.

“Woooooooo!”

As confetti hits your face, you mentally scold yourself for believing you could ever have just a few minutes of peace.

“Grade 1! Wooooooo!” Satoru sweeps you up into a bone crushing hug, his party popper abandoned on the floor.

Your facial muscles betray you and you smile. Your voice box betrays you too, and you start to laugh as he spins you around.

“I know! It’s crazy!” Who said that? Not you.

“I bought you a caaaake!” He sets you down on the ground, grabbing your hand and dragging you back towards his dorm room.

“For you or for me?”

“For you, but if you don't like it, I’ll have no choice but to eat it.”

“A necessary sacrifice, I’m sure.”

“Exactly!” He pushes you into his room and flicks on the light switch. It illuminates a banner he’d put up, reading “GRADE 1 PARTYYYYY”.

You chuckle again, flopping down on his bed. “What would you have done if I hadn't gotten it?”

He smirks as he retrieves the three-tier Victoria sponge from his mini-fridge. “Wouldn’t’ve taken you to my room.”

You huff out a laugh. “I see.”

He joins you on the bed, sitting cross legged and setting down the cake. “No cutlery.” He grabs a fistful of cake, grinning as he pushes it to your lips. “Open wiiide!”

And as every neuron fires at once, screaming at you to swat his hand away, or pull back, or even just roll your eyes and pretend to be uninterested, you open your mouth and allow him to push a handful of cake into your mouth.

Cream smears along your cheeks, jam along your lips, and you watch him with fond eyes as he finishes off the handful.

And in that moment, you realise how effectively he's worked his way into your heart, taking residence in your arteries and synchronising your best with his own.

He looks back at you, adoration swimming in his crystalline gaze, swallowing down the cake.

“I'm really proud of you,” he says, sincerity in every word, every syllable.

You mirror his smile, reaching out to wipe cream from his chin. “Thank you, Satoru.”

As your skin makes contact with his own, he melts under your touch. He realises how swiftly he's fallen in love with you, barely a year going by before you’ve had him at your feet.

He prays a silent prayer that you will let him share the rest with you.

“The cake?” You say, wiping your hand on a napkin. He realises that, again, he’s expressed his secret thoughts aloud. Oh, well. They're for you, anyway.

“Yeah. The cake.”