junkuna

[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

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[junkuna]

hey angel <3

I love your fics sooo much! And if I may pretty please.. just maybe.. be added to your tag list? Just maybe.. ♡♡♡

of course!! and aww thank u so much baby i really appreciate it !! :D

[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

drop a note to be added to perm taglist

[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

drop a note to be added to perm taglist

[junkuna]

Scribble scribble (nerdkunaaaaaa)

[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

drop a note to be added to perm taglist

[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

drop a note to be added to perm taglist

[junkuna]

I LOVE GIRLDAD GOJO

also yes he was defo not given the childhood he deserved OH MY BABY

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

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[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

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[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty

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[junkuna]

| satoru freaking out over your daughter's vaccination

the clinic smells sharp, sterile, and your daughter’s chubby little hand curls in yours, fingers trembling just slightly. she’s trying not to cry, trying to be brave, but you can feel her tiny heartbeat speed up.

satoru crouches next to her, hand gently over hers, his own trembling ever so slightly. “okay… okay, we’re fine. we’re fine,” he mutters, voice quieter than usual, but his wide eyes betray him. every tiny noise from the nurse makes him flinch.

“satoru…” you giggle, brushing his hair back, “she’s supposed to be scared, not you.”

he swallows hard, jaw tight. “i know, i know… but… i can’t help it.” his fingers squeeze hers just enough to anchor her. “i worry about my angel. she’s only ten weeks!”

your daughter lets out a happy little squeal, gripping satoru’s hand back, eyes flicking to the nurse. she’s trying to be brave, but her little body stiffens when the syringe comes out.

and for a second everything is painfully still — then satoru practically combusts.

he jerks, voice too loud in the tiny room. “wait—wait—wait!!—” his hand clamps around hers like he’s trying to keep her from disappearing, eyes wide and ridiculous and very much human. “i mean—are you sure you know what you’re doing??”

”satoru!!” you snap quietly, glaring at him for his outburst, “you can’t just ask that! she’s a qualified nurse!”

“i know— i know! i’m just nervous!”

the nurse’s calm face doesn’t even crack; she has the practiced, gentle patience of someone who’s seen this exact performance a hundred times.

“alright, cutie. one, two…” she murmurs, and before you can say anything else she moves with quiet efficiency. the needle presses to the soft skin of your daughter’s thigh and there’s a tiny, surprised noise from her — half gasp, half hiccup — just enough to alert your melodramatic husband. satoru makes a sound that might be a cry, might be a laugh, maybe both. you can’t help it: you laugh, sharp and helpless, because he’s clutching the side of the table like it’s a cliff and not a vaccination chair.

“satoru, it’s just a vaccine,” you say, the words soft, trying to thread calm into the edges of the moment. “she doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

he looks at you like you’ve betrayed him and then like you’ve saved him, all in the span of one breath. “doesn’t matter,” he whispers, voice small. “it hurt her, so it hurt me.” his fingers tremble around hers; his thumb rubs tiny circles against her knuckles. you reach out and squeeze his shoulder and he drops his head against your arm, dramatic and ridiculous and utterly, achingly tender.

the nurse is already backing away, smile easy. “all done,” she says. “good job, sweetie.” and you’re unsure whether she was referring to your baby or your husband, who now seems to have lost all the colour in his face.

your daughter blinks, lip trembling, and then lets out a single, surprised giggle— a sound so tiny it feels like a miracle. satoru makes a noise that could be interpreted as a sob, presses his forehead to hers, and she buries her face in his shirt for half a second. you swear you feel the whole room light up.

“see?” you murmur, laughing through the relief. “she did it. and you didn’t have a heart attack.”

he sniffs, fingers carding through her hair, eyes glossy. “she was so brave,” he says, like it’s the most important headline in the world. and he means it. his chest puffs out with ridiculous, proud tenderness as if the tiny victory belongs to him alone. the sight is just so comical you have to bite your cheek to swallow back the laughs bubbling in your throat.

you kiss the top of your daughter’s head while satoru whispers confessions into her hair — apologies, promises, theatrical vows to guard her from every small thing in the world. she burbles, distracted by his voice, and reaches for his face with a tentative fist. his face melts when she grabs him, all tough-lines gone, replaced with that soft, absolute thing you’ve come to live for.

on the way out, satoru refuses to let you carry her, his hand permanently attached to the small of your daughter’s back. you nudge him and he grins sheepishly, still a little damp around the eyes. “ice cream?” he offers, like it’s a treaty. you laugh and nod. she squeals, a real, bright sound, and for a second you watch them — father and daughter — and think that maybe the world could be a little less sharp if you let moments like this sit in the middle of it.

he keeps humming under his breath the whole walk to the car, a soft, ridiculous melody that makes you think of lullabies and late-night confessions. you buckle her in and he leans in to press one last kiss to her forehead. “my brave girl,” he says, and it’s earnest and completely unperformative now.

you reach for his hand and find it warm and sticky with a smear of antiseptic from earlier. you lace your fingers with his anyways and don’t let go.

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @sparklyeva

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[junkuna]

guys potentially a mini hiatus while i figure out university stuff! ty for being so kind :)

[junkuna]

| your baby's gender reveal cake with heian era sukuna

the great sukuna — scourge of the heian era, feared by all, destroyer of kingdoms — is staring at a cake like it’s an opponent he can’t quite size up.

he’d grumbled about the whole idea when you’d first mentioned it. why can’t you just tell me what it is? and when you’d insisted that the “fun” was in finding out together, he’d muttered something about warriors not needing “stupid parlour tricks with frosting.” but you’d been adamant, and in the end, he’d indulged you — though not without plenty of eye-rolling.

now the servants are tense, backs pressed to the wall, because there’s a blade in his hand and nobody wants to find out what happens if the colour inside of this dessert displeases him. you’re tense too, but for an entirely different reason.

he’d told you before — not cruelly, not even in that cold, cutting way he sometimes talks about the future — that he’d like a boy. an heir, he’d said, a son to inherit his strength. you never doubted he’d love whatever you gave him, but… there’s still that pinch of worry.

the knife sinks into the cake. you hold your breath as he pulls the first slice free.

pink frosting.

the frosting between the layers is a pale, soft blush, almost glowing against the dark sponge.

for a moment, it feels like everything stops. his eyes stay fixed on the cake, jaw working just slightly. you can’t tell if he’s trying to make sense of it, or if he’s holding something back. your chest tightens.

you glance up at him, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but his expression is unreadable — just his four eyes fixed on the slice like it’s revealing something only he understands.

“…are you mad?” you ask quietly, because the silence is unbearable.

his gaze flicks to you. for a beat, nothing. then his lips curve into a slow, crooked smile — not sharp or even remotely wicked. something softer. something kind. almost... elated?

“mad?” he repeats, voice low. “no.”

he sets the slice down, wipes the knife clean on the napkin, and then steps toward you until you’re almost pressed against the table.

“why would i be mad?" he murmurs, "there’ll be two of you." as if the thought alone is enough to undo him. his large hands find your waist, pulling you in until you’re snug against his chest.

you blink, because he says it so simply — like it’s not strange for the ryomen sukuna to melt at the thought of a daughter.

“two of me?” you echo.

he hums, one hand sliding down to rest over the gentle swell of your stomach. “mm. two beautiful, terrifying creatures i’d kill the world for.” his thumb brushes absently against the fabric of your kimono, and for a moment, you swear his touch is almost reverent.

you cover his hand with yours. “you’re really okay with this?”

“okay?” he scoffs softly, leaning closer until his breath warms your cheek. “i’ll make the gods themselves bow before her. my little girl will be untouchable.”

you laugh, even as your throat feels tight. “she’s going to have you wrapped around her finger.”

he smirks. “just like her mother.”

“and if she’s stubborn like me?” you tease.

his grin sharpens, but the hand on your stomach stays gentle. “then the world had better prepare itself.”

_

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @grignardsreagent @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings

lmk 2 be added or removed from perm tag list

[junkuna]

offering prostate as i fall to your knees to ask this

can i be added to your permanent taglist (if u have one) i keep missing masterpieces because my fuckass computer is too slow </3

baby i always tag you !!! you're on my perm tag list ive tagged u in every post i made unless i missed one :( i think ur computer hates me 💔💔💔

[junkuna]

GUYS I FIND OUT MY RESULTS ON THURSDAY IM SHITTING MY PANTS

[junkuna]

| your baby's gender reveal cake with heian era sukuna

the great sukuna — scourge of the heian era, feared by all, destroyer of kingdoms — is staring at a cake like it’s an opponent he can’t quite size up.

he’d grumbled about the whole idea when you’d first mentioned it. why can’t you just tell me what it is? and when you’d insisted that the “fun” was in finding out together, he’d muttered something about warriors not needing “stupid parlour tricks with frosting.” but you’d been adamant, and in the end, he’d indulged you — though not without plenty of eye-rolling.

now the servants are tense, backs pressed to the wall, because there’s a blade in his hand and nobody wants to find out what happens if the colour inside of this dessert displeases him. you’re tense too, but for an entirely different reason.

he’d told you before — not cruelly, not even in that cold, cutting way he sometimes talks about the future — that he’d like a boy. an heir, he’d said, a son to inherit his strength. you never doubted he’d love whatever you gave him, but… there’s still that pinch of worry.

the knife sinks into the cake. you hold your breath as he pulls the first slice free.

pink frosting.

the frosting between the layers is a pale, soft blush, almost glowing against the dark sponge.

for a moment, it feels like everything stops. his eyes stay fixed on the cake, jaw working just slightly. you can’t tell if he’s trying to make sense of it, or if he’s holding something back. your chest tightens.

you glance up at him, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but his expression is unreadable — just his four eyes fixed on the slice like it’s revealing something only he understands.

“…are you mad?” you ask quietly, because the silence is unbearable.

his gaze flicks to you. for a beat, nothing. then his lips curve into a slow, crooked smile — not sharp or even remotely wicked. something softer. something kind. almost... elated?

“mad?” he repeats, voice low. “no.”

he sets the slice down, wipes the knife clean on the napkin, and then steps toward you until you’re almost pressed against the table.

“why would i be mad?" he murmurs, "there’ll be two of you." as if the thought alone is enough to undo him. his large hands find your waist, pulling you in until you’re snug against his chest.

you blink, because he says it so simply — like it’s not strange for the ryomen sukuna to melt at the thought of a daughter.

“two of me?” you echo.

he hums, one hand sliding down to rest over the gentle swell of your stomach. “mm. two beautiful, terrifying creatures i’d kill the world for.” his thumb brushes absently against the fabric of your kimono, and for a moment, you swear his touch is almost reverent.

you cover his hand with yours. “you’re really okay with this?”

“okay?” he scoffs softly, leaning closer until his breath warms your cheek. “i’ll make the gods themselves bow before her. my little girl will be untouchable.”

you laugh, even as your throat feels tight. “she’s going to have you wrapped around her finger.”

he smirks. “just like her mother.”

“and if she’s stubborn like me?” you tease.

his grin sharpens, but the hand on your stomach stays gentle. “then the world had better prepare itself.”

_

@whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @grignardsreagent @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings

lmk 2 be added or removed from perm tag list

[junkuna]

hi bb! could I be added to the permanent tag list? :3

of course :D adding u on asap cutie pie