Satoru Is The Type To Mimic Your Gestures, Your Voice Tone And Other Stuff

Satoru is the type to mimic your gestures, your voice tone and other stuff💀💀

i think he does this unintentionally, like he picks up some phrases from you and uses them similarly and you do that too actually, it is quite natural bc you spend so much time together and influence each other a lot :>

It’s genuinely so sad and frustrating how much people mischaracterize gojo and turn him into a cold, heartless disloyal cheater.. :(

They make him out to be some self-centered bastard who only cares about his position as the strongest, when he’s literally the opposite and is burdened by his role as the strongest.. They slander and misunderstand him so much that it’s so heartbreaking to witness *sighhh* 💔

it is :( it is okay to not like him but please respect his character it’s the least you can do 💔 like i am talking outside of fics bc certain aus more or less force him out of character anyway but some of the takes i see or how ppl memeify his tragedy makes me want to peel my skin off and shove it in their mouth so they can shut up 😭

◞  THE DAWN.

꒰ satoru has a crush on you, his favorite new neighbor. ꒱

ᴍᴅɴɪ. 0.8k. f!reader. no curses au. neighbors to crushes. slice of life. fluff. prose. sfw. reposted.

in the stickiness of summer, satoru finds a glimpse of eternity; a pier that acts as a hopeful median between he and the lake house next door is where he first tastes honey on soft lips.

the day he met you, he regarded it as the first day of his life because, to him, it didn’t really begin until you. it couldn’t have. time moved so languidly it felt like it was idle until you came. then, a flurry of vibrant colors and moments whirl around his head making him so dizzy with admiration, he feels stuck in a daze more often than not with you.

no, he didn’t really begin until you.

he waded around listlessly, a seemingly infinite indulgence in idleness that he couldn’t shake until your presence grabbed his hand and forced his feet to gain momentum again. no, nothing moved until you.

introducing himself was him taking his first breath.

a handshake and a welcoming smile was a rebirth. you said your name and it fluttered from your tongue to his chest. when he spoke it from his lips, it was light and feathery, floating in the air like a wondrous marvel. no, he knows life didn’t start until you walked into his world, and met him at the end of a pier while he peered at the perfect blend of cherry and citrus that painted the sky as the sun set. he can’t forget the way you sauntered up so slowly, standing next to him as if that’s exactly where you were always supposed to be. he recalls turning his head to catch your adoring smile as you gazed out at the sky. “it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you asked. eyes never looking away from you, he nodded. “yes, it is.” he grew to believe you paraded around like the brilliant sun and brought the morning with you. the evening’s arrival must be some indicator that your breathing is steady, excitement dying but your heart still convinced of its contentment, and its rate soothingly slow. it’s the only explanation for how and why your voice blossoms into a breathy lullaby when you grace him with greetings. it’s the only explanation for his currently subdued but hastily crescendoing desire to make a chalice of your lips and swallow the sound of you. yes, in your eyes, he sees the dawn: the dawn of day, the dawn of time, the dawn of all meaning. you touched him like summer and brought tepidness along with you. you smiled and brought the allure of spring. you held him and brought the coziness of autumn. you stayed and adorned him with the intimacy of winter. you did it all at once, too. what else could he do but sink into the depths of an unyielding devotion when you were a chrysalis of tenderness that deserved all of his dedication and diligence? he leans into your presence with anticipation these days. it’s how his prosaic days felt like opulence with you, the way the experiences of his undeviating routine feel like novelty happenings he shouldn’t dare overlook. right away and with no warning, satoru was smitten by you. today is no different. your existence is still some fixture of art he’s compelled to observe and decipher its meaning. you warrant all his endless curiosity. he watches as a new morning star kisses you gingerly, first before anything else, and he wonders how long the light has been chasing your radiance, emulating your aura to share as a labor of love. satoru thinks you might just be like the sun; satoru thinks he might just bloom for you. when he finds you gracing the dawn, overlooking the steady waters of the lake, he desperately seeks rationale to wander up and stand by your side, just as you had him. although, he never comes across it and therefore he never comes strolling past the threshold his door creates. he’s never been stuck where he stands, but he reasons a safe distance is a good enough place to adore you as any. it’s the heavy thumping in his chest that keeps him there, palms clutching a spherical demitasse and yearning for courage. a strong sip of morning brew and a deep breath. 

that’s what it takes before he pushes the screen door open, its creaking alerting you of his coming presence. you turn to watch him, an enchanting smile molding the shape of your lips just before you offer him a cheery salutation. “good morning, neighbor.” and he beams, watching the domain of his fondness expand and become limitless. yes, both satoru and the day wake just to behold you.

this might seem like an odd assortment of men, but gojo, diluc and boothill are all the type to call you honey when the atmosphere is tender enough… everything is quiet, and the moon is high up in the sky, and you’re treating them so gently that the petname just rolls off their tongue. so, so softly. even though they don’t use it often.

something about guarded men letting you in and calling you something so sweet and domestic… looking at you with tired, tired eyes, but smiling, like you’re the only good thing in the world. placing a kiss on the inside of your wrist, like a silent thank you to your pulse point for thrumming as it should.

they call you honey, and it sounds like something more than just five letters. it sounds like a promise. they hold you close, kiss your forehead; and you know it’s one they intend to keep.

let’s run it back for a second to appreciate jjk 0 satoru

that jacket fit though 🥵

do you think gojo could be normal about someone off-handedly mentioning you have a work husband or do you think he'd hold on to your leg for 24 straight hours and cry or do you think he'd go to prison for murder