part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six
You're married to Satoru Gojo - an arrangement since your childhood, one you're so excited for. You soon find out - he wants nothing to do with you. Any one is preferable, from the waitress at your engagement party, to his secretary. Torn apart by insecurities and devastated by the fact that you can't make this one sided affection work, you decide to find something to keep you going until Gojo finds a way to end the marriage. That's what lands you right in the notorious boxing ring in town - led by Ryomen Sukuna, who finally sees you.
pairings - Nepo baby! Gojo x Heiress! Reader x Boxer! Sukuna
warnings!! - Heavy angst, cheating, Satoru is cruel and mean, reader starts off very shy/insecure, Soft Sukuna but he still don't mind being buried inside married reader, a fuck ton of feelings, eventual smut, explicit, mentions of insecurities, love triangles, threesomes, messy dynamics, redemption arcs like a mf.
Multiple endings. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV
This is so disgusting and absolutely heartbreaking that anyone would even consider making this. So I am asking people to report this blog for bullying. I don't have to tell any of you why creating a place that encourages negativity is awful. And then sending an ask to inform after? Yeah, you all know exactly what you're doing.
not to mention "anons for jjk". yeah. you all must think you're fucking slick huh @tojioffline
The twins! There’s nerdjo 🤭and then there’s fratjo too ig, I was really excited when i saw nerdjo trending so I grabbed the opportunity to draw him hehe
it’s just past 2am when the bedroom door creaks open.
you stir first. blearily. you don’t sit up, just blink at the shadow in the doorway.
the shadow is small and chubby, clutching a frog plushie to his chest.
“gumi?” you whisper. “what is it, baby?”
he doesn’t say anything. just stands there in his too-big froggie pajamas, silent.
you sit up.
that’s when he toddles over. silently with quick little steps and climbs straight into the bed, right between you and toji.
gumi wedges himself into the sheets like he’s done it a thousand times (he has).
you gather him close instinctively. his cheeks are warm. his lashes damp,
“bad dweam,” he mumbles.
your heart breaks into a million tiny sleepy pieces. “oh, baby.”
“was big an’ loud an’ - an’ it chased me,” he sniffles.
“fwoggie twied t’fight it but he don’t got arms.”
you nod solemnly. “poor froggie. so brave.”
“he twied,” megumi insists, serious as death. “but it was too monsty.”
he sniffles again. then hiccups.
you pat gumi’s back. he’s curling into a tighter and tighter ball, sock hanging off one foot, toes cold against your thigh.
“what happened to your other sock?” you ask, gently.
megumi lifts his head. considers this. looks at froggie. then solemnly whispers: “he eated it.”
toji, who was pretending to be asleep, snorts into his pillow.
you don’t even correct him. just nod very seriously. “we’ll deal with that tomorrow.”
then gumi wiggles around like a franticworm until he’s planted directly on top of toji’s chest.
he’s sprawled out like a starfish. plump cheek smushed against toji’s rough skin. froggie clutched in one hand, the other splayed out like he’s claiming territory.
toji lets out the heaviest sigh.
“he’s a parasite,” he mutters. “a chonky parasite.”
but one big hand still rises to cup the back of megumi’s head.
megumi lets out the tiniest little hum of satisfaction. already drifting off again.
just a reminder for smut readers to not compare yourselves to what you read. at the end of the day it is porn and it still has tropes and stereotypes like any other.
if you can't go multiple rounds, or if you need more time, or if you have trouble finishing/can't finish at all, if you don't have big breasts or a small waist or birthing hips, if intimacy is intimidating, if you don't like the feel of penetration, if ur a virgin, if it takes more time for you to get wet, if you can't squirt, if you're not short and petite, if you have medical issues that get in the way, if ur a victim of sa or abuse. that is all normal and it does not make you less than. if you don't find a reflection of yourself within stories, that is more than alright. lots of it is escapism and glorified and porn trope adjacent and not a reflection of real life. you are perfect just as you are.♡
彡 When Sasuke comes home after a few days away from you, he is definitely the type of partner to absolutely cover you with his body while the both of you sleep. Coming home late from his journey finding otsusuki links, way past midnight, so he knows his wife is bound to be asleep indefinitely. That, however, doesn't stop him from cleaning up and getting under the covers with you.
Your sprawled on your side, your leg out, you could pass as being on your stomach, but that doesn't matter right now. All your husband was concerned with was how absolutely at peace and how cute you look, snuggled up into the blanket. He lays down beside you, an arm immediately wrapping around your waist, careful not to wake you as his body presses tight against yours.
A peaceful sigh leaves your lips and you unconsciously relax in his arms. His upper leg moves over your own, his body practically mounting you at this point. Sasuke presses a soft, few chaste kisses from your jaw to your neck, relishing in the fact that he was, once again, home with you. Suddenly, you stirred softly in his arm. A confused hum leaves your throat.
"Sasuke," you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you were still inevitably groggy, barely even coherent. Sasuke lets out a soft hum, "Sleep," he replies and you make another soft noise as you press further back into your husband, finally relaxing knowing he is home, safe and sound.
Suddenly, you had the overwhelming urge to turn around, to feel even closer to him. You now face him, slotting your upper leg between his thighs as you press close to him, arm wrapping around his torso while he other bunches at his chest. A soft chuckle leaves his lips, "You're moving around a lot for someone who should be asleep."
You completely ignore his statement. "Kiss," you ask, pouting your lips slightly, but it wasn't a question, it was more of a demand that he couldn't say no to, not that he every would, he would never deny you. Sasuke's lips meet yours softly, now you really now this isn't a dream, your body warms up with a soft and fuzzy feeling that only he could evoke from you. "Go to sleep now," he replies, arms tightening around you.
"Love you," you say.
"I love you," he replies, only a soft smiling rising on his face realising that you've fallen asleep.
Do not copy, steal, modify, etc.
Relogs and like are appreciated.
synopsis . Comforting Nanami about his biggest insecurity. content . semi-crackfic, fluff, size kink, slight begging, an insecure nanami, light praise, jerking him off in the mirror, oral sex (m!receiving), etc. (not proofread)
Nanami has always hated how big his cock was.
It sounds stupid to most people off rip but it’s a real hinderance for him. In his opinion, he has extra inches he doesn’t believe are necessary—especially when he knows how to please a woman with much less. Yet somehow, your hand was always running over that same bulge he hates so much and he’s simply incapable of understanding your obsession with it.
All the things that make his face twist up with displeasure whenever he’s staring into the mirror, you seem to drool over. He’s got no clue how he ended up with such a sweet girl but there you were.
In mornings where he pulled up his slacks to head to work, that thickness in between his legs would cause such difficulty for him. He’d zip his pants up just for his cock to practically mold against the damn fabric, sticking out like a sore thumb and making him look like some kind of attention starved whore.
God, he hated that.
And yet there you were, rolling over on the bed after a peaceful night’s rest and then letting your eyes fall down his reflection in the mirror as if you adored every annoyingly extra inch of his. “Kento,” You’d hummed, “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”
Nanami would roll his eyes too quick for you to see before sighing. “How is it that tailored slacks still manage to fit me this way?”
“You look fine,” You protested, making your way out the bed and over to him.
He shook his head and began to unzip himself before you could even make it over, “It continues to stick out. People stare,” He huffs, glancing back at you for a second as he adds, “Women stare.”
You didn’t seem the least bit surprised to hear that, snaking your arms around his waist and then kissing his shoulder, “Of course they do. I stared when I first met you.”
“You still do.” Nanami argued, turning his head back to his reflection, “And I’ll never understand why. It makes me look… less put together, unprofessional.”
“You look perfect,” Your hands are sneaking their way down his torso now, reaching just past his waistline. “I’ll never understand why you despise this part of you.”
He falls quiet as you push his slacks further down and then slip your fingers beneath his boxers. Warning you with a low murmur of, “Honey.. please.”
“Let me show you how perfect you are, Ken.”
“You spoil me-,” His words cut off as his breath hitches, your fingertips reaching the base of his cock and quickly causing it to stiffen. “But, we don’t have time for this. I have work..” Nanami reminds you.
“I’ll be quick.” You told him, even though you knew you’d be everything but.
Your hand wrapped around his shaft, thumbs sliding against his veins for a moment before you tugged him free from that dark fabric. Nanami’s head rolls back for a moment as he looks away from his reflection the moment you pull his cock out. He really didn’t want to look at himself anymore than he had to.
Yet again, there you were to coax him into doing so. “Look, Ken. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“It’s too big,” He argued, sounding more like you the first time you both slept together.
Which makes you chuckle, “It fits in my hands perfectly.”
“You’re unable to use one. That’s-, hah… so much work for you.”
“I love all the work I have to do, though.” You say softly, pressing your lips into his back as both yours hands stroke his cock slowly, letting it harden fully against your palms.
You then lean past his bulky frame, your eyes catching the way his fat cock fits so perfectly in your two hands. His tip was a blushing shade of pink, drooling profusely with precum that dripped all down ‘n in between your fingers.
Nanami’s eyes eventually found your expression in the reflection, his hips instinctively rolling forward a little as he saw how appreciatively you stared at his cock. “Sweetheart,” His voice came out deeper now, breathing already uneven. “Is it not-, mgh.. too much?”
Your laugh rung around him again, “Not at all. You worry yourself too much, I love how big your dick is.” He scowled upon hearing that, shaking his head. To which you smile, “Look at it, look how perfect it looks in my hands.”
It takes him a minute but he eventually looks at the mirror in front of you two. “My size is ridiculous,” He comments, face all twisted up as a pout pulls at his lower lip, “And bothersome.”
“No it’s not,” You say, then you’re moving your hands and stepping around him.
He can’t even get another argument out before you’re on your knees in front of him, forcing him to look down at you and not the reflection ahead. “Fuck, don’t.” He rasps, hand already flying to the top of your head.
“I’ll be quick, Ken,” Your hand was grabbing at his length again, fingers wrapped tight around his pulsing base.
His eyes roll. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to suck him off but… seeing his cock stretching your lips apart so obscenely always made him feel bad. Your throat would always end up pained and one time even bruised.
Nanami gives you a little nod and you waste no more time opening your mouth and letting his bulbous tip slick right down the center of your tongue.
His brows tweeze and he groans, “S’filthy..”
You’re just smiling up at him as if you could do this all day long, your lips soon pressing around all sides of his cock, warm mouth enveloping him like he’s supposed to be there.
Whereas he hated all this, you soaked stupidly upon taking his cock into your mouth. You loved the way his ridgety veins felt twitching and pulsing against your tongue.
Nanami didn’t even have to do much for you to get him off, despite how thiiick his cock was inside that mouth of yours.
You sucked eagerly, taking more ‘n more of his inches in as if he wasn’t already at the back of your throat. Then you’d moan and let your eyes roll back, drool spilling past your lips and falling to the floor.
“If anything’s perfect it’s you, sweetheart,” Nanami grunted, his hips slowly pressing himself deeper into your mouth. “N-Never had a woman take my cock so prettily before you.” His voice came out as if he was amazed by it.
Your eyes seemed to light up just before you hollowed your cheeks out and then sucked on all his many inches harder, pulling a wonton moan right out of his lungs.
It wasn’t long before he came down your throat, hearing you gag loudly.
Right then his insecurities shot back up and he whined, trying to pull your mouth off of him. You shook your head and your hands on his thighs squeezed at him. Then you deepthroated his cock, your lips flush to his pelvis as your throat struggled and seemed to tighten around him.
He’s no idea how you hadn’t choked but seeing his cock perfectly snug inside your mouth for the first time did something dirty to him. “Oh fuuck,” Nanami’s hips thrusted once, properly fucking your face for a moment.
Even as tears slid down your face and your gags became like music to his ears, he couldn’t believe he was enjoying this.
The hand on your head gripped tighter and the only Nanami felt bad for now was how far open your jaw had to fall for this to work properly. He ignored it for the most part, though. Your mouth was far too pretty all slobbering around his cock.
The second time he came, he was unable to stop himself from thrusting his cum deeper—insuring that you swallowed up every last drop.
Then, when you wetly popped your lips off of him and let out a cough, he understood that maybe his size wasn’t so bad.
Especially when you looked up at him and tilted your head, cooing at him, “Do that again after work.” Oh, your voice was strained already but his breath only hitched again at the sound. “Harder though, you fuck like you’re scared sometimes,” You added shortly after.
Nanami nodded and told himself right then and there that perhaps when it came onto you, he didn’t have to shy away from how stupidly big his cock was.
No, perhaps it was finally time to use that to his advantage.
the kitchen is loud in that soft, lived in way - rice steaming on the stove, a window cracked open to let in the late afternoon breeze, the low hum of the city outside.
you’re at the counter, sleeves rolled, trying to finish cutting vegetables before the timer goes off again.
behind you - absolute chaos.
“why do we have to clean our room now?” your son whines, dragging the words like they physically hurt him.
your daughter slumps dramatically over the table. “you said later, you're insufferable - always changing your mind.”
you close your eyes for half a second, breathe in, and turn around. “i said after homework. homework is done. rooms next.”
they groan in unison.
“ugh, you’re so unfair,” your son mutters, just loud enough to sting. “you don’t even know how boring it is.”
the words land deeper than they should - not because they’re cruel, but because you’re tired, because it’s been a long day. because you’ve been holding everything together with quiet patience and the unspoken understanding that is just a part of you.
before you can respond, the air behind you shifts.
satoru had been leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with that lazy, half-amused expression he wears when he’s pretending not to pay attention.
his blindfold is gone; his piercing blue eyes in full view, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. when he straightens, the room subtly reorients itself around him - like gravity remembered where it belongs.
his voice is calm. low and definitely not playful.
“hey.” he starts - both kids freeze as if caught in the middle of a crime scene.
they turn toward him instinctively. gojo steps forward just enough to be unavoidable, hands sliding into his pockets. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t smile.
“don’t talk to my wife like that.”
the words hit the room - and you.
something in your chest tightens, then warms, then aches. "wife" - fuck - not corrective, not casual. possessive in the quietest, surest way. like a line drawn, no - carved in stone.
the kids go silent.
“she asked you to do something reasonable,” gojo continues, tone steady, unshakable. “and you don’t get to take your frustration out on her just because you’re bored.”
your son opens his mouth, then thinks better of it when gojo tilts his head slightly.
“you can be tired,” gojo says. “you can be annoyed. that’s fine.” his gaze sharpens - not cruel, just firm. “but you will be respectful.”
your heartbeat stutters from something else entirely. from being seen. backed. claimed without spectacle. it stirs something deep and private, something grounding and dizzying all at once.
“i’m sorry,” your daughter says quietly.
your son nods. “yeah. sorry, mom.”
you hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until they finally drop.
gojo glances at you then - just briefly. the edge in his expression softens in a way only you ever see. a silent i’ve got you.
“alright,” he says, clapping his hands once, the mood loosening just enough. “rooms. ten minutes. i’ll check.”
they scatter down the hall - the kitchen settles again.
you lean back against the counter, exhaling. gojo steps closer, lowering his voice. “you okay?”
you nod, but the way your pulse is still racing gives you away.
he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple, lingering just a second longer. “you don’t have to carry everything alone,” he murmurs. “that’s my job too.”
your throat tightens but you smile anyway.
from the hallway, a voice calls, “dad - does shoving everything under the bed count?”
and as the noise resumes, your hand finds his wrist for just a moment - steadying yourself, grounding that stirred, glowing thing in your chest - because you know now, more than ever, that you’re not standing alone.
you should’ve known that the second your fifteen-year-old son and his pink-haired best friend yuji came barreling into the living room asking you to do a tiktok trend, it was going to be a horrible idea.
megumi stands there with his arms crossed, cheeks a little pink, trying to act like this isn’t his master plan while yuji bounces on his toes grinning like a mischievous little brat.
“it’s simple, mom,” megumi mutters, eyes on the floor, “you just call someone you haven’t talked to in forever and say goodnight. that’s it. no big deal.”
yuji grins wider, “yeah! and it’s funny when they’re confused! people eat this shit up.”
you glare at the pink haired kid, hearing him cuss and the tips of his ears turn red, his eyes go a little wide.
“stuff! i meant stuff. s-sorry, ma’am.”
megumi rolls his eyes at his kiss-ass friend, then turns back to you. “come on, mom. it's just for fun.”
you raise an eyebrow, already smelling the setup. these two gremlins only get this excited when they’re about to embarrass somebody—usually you.
you sigh, kicking your feet up on the coffee table. “who am i even supposed to call? i don’t even really talk to anybody,” you ask, already knowing the answer is gonna make your stomach flip.
megumi shrugs way too casually. “dad, obviously. you guys barely talk unless it’s about me.”
yuji nudges him, whispering something that sounded a whole lot like ‘ten dollars, she does it’ with a smile.
you raise an eyebrow at that and stare at your kid, then at the phone being shoved into your hand like contraband.
toji. your ex-husband.
the same toji who still has your contact saved under 'mama' with a heart he refuses to delete even after the papers got signed. the same toji who answers your calls at 3 a.m. when megumi has the flu, who shows up with bags full of groceries and your favorite flowers with a cup of your go-to drink from the cafe you love when you text him “we’re out of milk” like it’s nothing.
yeah. that toji.
you thumb through your contacts, heart doing a stupid little skip when his name pops up—big dumb photo of him shirtless holding megumi as a baby, smirking at the camera with that look that makes you melt every time. he knows exactly what he does to you even back then.
you hit call before you chicken out.
megumi hits record on his phone.
it rings twice.
“hey mama,” his voice rolls through the speaker, low and raspy from sleep, that rough edge that always scrapes down your spine in the best way.
you hear sheets rustling, like he just rolled over in bed. “it’s been a while. everything good?”
your mouth goes dry. megumi’s eyes go wide like he didn’t expect his dad to pick up. yuji slaps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.
you clear your throat. “mhm, just calling to say goodnight.”
silence for a beat, then that deep, sleepy laugh that makes your thighs clench on instinct. “oh really? just goodnight?”
“yep,” you say, popping the word like gum, “is that a problem?”
“nah, baby. just curious is all. it’s the middle of the night, i know you’re not hitting my line for a bedtime story.” you hear the grin in his voice, the way he drags out the pet name like he tastes it again after years. “missed hearing from you.”
yuji fake gags and megumi elbows him, trying to keep the angle right.
you decide to fuck with him. “um, well…i just got my feelings, you know? wanted to call you.”
the line goes quiet again, then his voice drops softer, all gravely and worried. “yeah? talk to me, baby. what’s going on?”
that’s when megumi makes the loudest retching noise known to man, “i’m gonna vomit,” and bolts, yuji cackling behind him as they both sprint down the hall. the phone shakes from your laugh, megumi yelling “turn it off, itadori!” before his door slams.
toji laughs too, low and warm. “our kid set you up, huh?”
“you have no idea,” you say, flopping back against the couch cushions, legs stretching out. “they wanted to film me calling someone to say goodnight. some dumb tik-tok trend. i dunno...but of course, i thought of calling my dear ex-husband.” you say teasingly.
“ex-husband,” he repeats, tasting the word like it’s sour. “still hate that shit.”
you bite your lip, voice a little sad. “yeah, well, the papers say what they say.”
“well, the papers don’t say that i stopped wanting you,” he retorts, voice rougher now like he hadn’t meant to let that slip.
your heart does something embarrassing. you hear him shift again, mattress creaking. you gulp down any emotions creeping up as you change the subject. “you answer the phone fast for somebody who was asleep.”
“ringer’s always on for you. you know that.” he yawns, big and lazy, the kind that ends in a growl.
you smile at that, always appreciating the fact that no matter what happened between you two, he’s always there for you and megumi. just a call away.
then he speaks again, you can hear his shit-eating grin through the phone. “what’re you wearing right now, baby? somethin' real pretty, i bet.”
you roll your eyes, of course he'd ask something like that. you chuckle a bit as you glance down at yourself. hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, the hem riding up your thighs.
“your hoodie.”
“mmm…i thought so. that’s cute. real cute.” you hear the soft smile in his voice. the one he always gives you. he pauses, you hear him gulp a little like he's at war with his own thoughts.
“well…alright, baby. goodnight then, yeah?”
“wait—” you blurt before you stop yourself. “don’t hang up yet.”
he goes quiet just long enough for you to panic, then he says, “alright. don’t worry, i’m here. not going anywhere.”
you let out a little sigh of relief and he hears it, his heart doing flips and tricks, what a traitorous thing.
he shifts a little in bed, putting his phone on speaker, resting it on his chest almost as if it’s you laying your head down on him like you once did. he surprises you a bit, breaking the silence.
“so…what’s the real reason you called, hm? ‘cause i know you didn’t wake me up at—” a pause, checking the time, “eleven-thirty just to say goodnight. surely you could’ve called someone else.”
you drag a hand through your hair, heart thudding stupid loud. “honestly? i don’t know…it’s been a minute since we talked just us. it’s nice hearing you.”
he exhales slow, like he’s been holding his breath for years. “come over tomorrow.”
you blink. “what?”
“you heard me. megumi’s got that baseball thing, right? drop him off at yuji’s after, then come here. i’ll cook for us. like old times. dinner and a movie. whatever. just—come over. it’s been too fucking long.”
your thighs press together under the blanket, imagining yourself curled up at his side, his big arms wrapped around you, making you feel so safe. “toji—”
“i still think about you.” he blurts out. “i keep our pictures around at my place. shit, i still wear my wedding band, you know that? god, baby. i’m so in love with you, i never stopped. it’s fucking pathetic, i know—”
you laugh, wet and surprised. “you’re insane, toji.”
“yeah. for you? always was.” he pauses. “come on. say yes, mama.”
you swallow hard, pulse in your throat. “okay, tomorrow. after i drop the gremlin off.”
“good,” he breathes, sounding way too satisfied. and of course, being the nasty dog he always is, wanting to tease you a little, “and wear that lingerie set i like. i know you still got it.”
you shake your head with a smile and roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “i’ll think about it.”
he laughs. “you do that. night, gorgeous.”
you hang up before you say something stupid like 'i never stopped loving you too' and toss the phone on the couch, screaming into a throw pillow like a goddamn teenager who just got asked out to the junior prom.
meanwhile megumi yells from his room, “you’re both disgusting! i’m moving out!”
it starts with him pacing. ryomen sukuna never paces. he stalks, he prowls, he leans against walls with an attitude problem—he does not pace. but tonight he’s moving like a storm cloud across the living room, muttering under his breath, hands clenched, tattoos tightening with every turn.
you’re on the couch watching him like he’s malfunctioning, and after a minute you finally ask, “are you okay?” he freezes, doesn’t turn, just stands there with his back to you like a man preparing for extraction from his own chest. then he whirls around with the intensity of someone about to ruin your life or change it forever.
“i love you,” he blurts.
you blink. “okay…?”
“no,” he snaps, then immediately softens, jaw flexing because he hates snapping at you. “not ‘okay.’ i—fuck, this is coming out wrong.”
he drags a hand down his face, breath shuddering. you’ve seen him fight curses, demons, nightmares of the human condition with less visible tension.
he tries again. “i love you in the way that ruins other things,” he says, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. “i love you in a way that makes everything else… small. irrelevant. pathetic. you walked into my life and everything i thought mattered stopped mattering.”
you stare at him, stunned by the sudden intensity, the exposed nerves in his voice. he starts pacing again, hands flexing. “i think about you constantly,” he mutters. “every hour. every minute. like some lovesick idiot in a story i’d rather set on fire. i think about you when i’m working, when i’m training, when i’m trying to fucking sleep—”
“sukuna—” you try, but he barrels on.
“and i hate it,” he says, frustration flashing through him before softening again. “i hate that no part of me functions the same way it did before you. i hate that i want things with you i never allowed myself to want with anyone.”
he steps closer, slow, almost cautious—and for a moment you think he might stop right in front of you. instead he drops to one knee. your breath stops in your throat. “i want mornings with you,” he says quietly, almost reverently. “i want nights with you. i want the fights, the irritation, the boredom, the comfort. i want a life where i get to wake up and you’re there, breathing next to me like a miracle i didn’t deserve but got anyway.”
your chest aches at the sincerity threading through his voice. “i’m selfish,” he admits. “i’m possessive. i want you in my space, in my bed, in my arms, in my future. i want to look at you fifty years from now and still think, fuck, she’s mine.”
you swallow hard, eyes blurring. then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring—simple, heavy black metal, the exact kind of thing he’d choose if he were trying for vulnerability but too him to pick something delicate. his voice drops to something unbearably gentle. “marry me,” he whispers.
your stomach flips. “sukuna—”
“i know i don’t deserve you,” he says quickly, voice cracking in a way you’ve never heard. “i know i’m rough and complicated and mean and loud and half the time i don’t even know how to talk like a normal person. but i can promise you this—”
he takes your hand, lifting it with careful, reverent fingers. “i will love you in every language. i will love you in every lifetime. i will love you until my bones give out and the world ends. and even then, somehow, i’ll find you again.”
your tears fall fast and hot. he clears his throat, looking up at you with eyes that seem to shine despite how hard he’s trying to look composed. “so,” he murmurs, “say yes. please.”
you whisper it, barely a breath. “yes.” sukuna exhales like he’s been drowning for years, and when he pulls you into him, arms circling your waist, forehead pressed against your sternum—you feel him shake. just a little. just enough to know he needed this more than he’s ever admitted, even to himself.
“you’ll love these guys! my friend is in this one!” your best friend, shoko, yelled over the loud music that was playing. you had been at the bar for far too long, holding your ears closed. you found no fun in listening to underground garage bands try to get famous.
“you said that about the last two of them,” you said with a dramatic huff, but your mood changed immediately. the lights were red, and smoke clouded the stage before the hottest man you’d seen in your life walked out. the bassist.
sure, the other men were just as hot, but he was beating them by a long shot. his hair was wet against his neck, and a black stripe crossed his nose. he was different, and you didn’t know if it was the tattoos or his unique look.
“okay, you were right, i like them,” you whispered to her, even though the band had yet to play a note.
but when they did, you actually enjoyed the music. the bass was hitting your chest, and for some reason, you could hear it louder than anything else. even though you’d never heard his voice before, you were sure it was the one you were hearing the clearest.
“are you ovulating?” your best friend whispered in your ear, and you gasped, looking at her like she was insane.
“why would you say that?”
“you’re eye-fucking choso.” she laughed, and you furrowed your brows, not sure who she was talking about. “the bassist.”
“oh,” you said, not denying you were eye-fucking him. “no, i’m not ovulating,” you said, going back to tapping your foot to the beat of the music, your eyes never leaving choso. you were almost positive he noticed your stare, but you weren’t ashamed.
once the set was over, they went to the back, and your friend pulled you to the bar. she ordered the two of you drinks, and you sipped on yours, looking around. seconds later, you saw one of the boys from the band come running in your direction.
“sho!” he yelled, practically jumping on her.
“be careful, toru, you almost made me spill my drink!” she laughed as the white-haired boy pulled away to look at you.
“who’s this?” he asked curiously, with a smirk that freaked you out a little.
“my best friend, y/n. she’s gonna go bar hopping with us tonight.” she smiled at someone behind you, and you looked shocked.
“hold on, i’m doing what now?” you asked, and a deep voice behind you made you stiffen.
“c’mon, don’t be the odd one out.” you turned around, seeing choso with a lazy smirk, and you almost fainted right there. his voice was deep and smooth—so sexy you couldn’t think of anything else.
“choso, not everyone can stay up all night like you,” another man said, shoving his shoulder. choso’s eyes never left your face; it was so obvious, but he didn't seem to care.
“i’m just saying, wouldn’t it be fun to have an extra person?” he asked, looking up at shoko for backup.
“yeah, he’s right, geto! where’s sukuna?” she asked as the last man from the band walked out from the back. he looked irritated, but he didn’t say much; he just followed the crowd. you all left to go to the next bar, which was a few blocks away.
as you were sitting around watching shoko, gojo, and geto dance, choso came up to you.
“so, you’re shoko’s friend, y/n, that she talks about so much?” he asked with a smirk, and you smiled back.
“that depends on what she’s told you about me,” you laughed, hoping shoko didn’t tell him anything embarrassing.
“just about how good-looking you were. she was definitely downplaying it,” he said, slowly licking his bottom lip as he looked at you. your face was heating up as you just laughed at the compliment.
“thank you,” you said shyly, and he nodded, then took a big sip of his drink.
“you’re welcome, beautiful.” you looked him over one good time. he was littered with tattoos, piercings, and rings on almost all his fingers. the stripe on his nose was clearer now and obviously not paint but more of a birthmark.
he wore all black, not an ounce of color in his outfit, even if he tried. even his nails were painted black, although they were chipped. his belt had a skull on it, and his happy trail showed under his shirt that clung to him for dear life.
you were the exact opposite: soft, colorful, and girlie. your favorite color was pink, and you were commonly described as a rose.
the more the two of you talked, the more you realized you liked him—a lot. not just the way he looked or his intoxicating cologne that made you lose all train of thought.
from the outside looking in, the two of you looked like you’d known each other for a while. the way he was standing between your legs, and his cold, ring-clad hands rested on your exposed thigh. how he leaned close to your ear so you could hear him better through the bar’s loud music. or the way you gripped his bicep, the one resting on the bartop.
choso was six drinks down and drunk to the max; it was the only thing calming his nerves.
“you're so fucking sexy,” he slurred in your ear, his breath blowing past, and a shiver went down your spine.
“think so?” you asked, and he nodded while you just looked at him with a smile. “i think you’re a little too drunk, choso.”
“couldn’t talk to ya if i wasn’t. i was fucking stoned before i went on stage,” he admitted, throwing his head back in laughter. “only reason why i wasn’t scared to talk to you.”
“okay, pal, i think it’s time for you to go!” gojo said with a chuckle, pulling choso away from you.
“waittt…” he slurred, grabbing your hand. you just laughed at how dramatic he was being. “i’m gonna text you!” he blurted before they got him to let go.
“he doesn’t even have my number,” you snorted, looking at shoko, who just shook her head at choso.
“i bet everything he’d be too scared to text you anyway. he never acts like that,” she whispered to you, and you just shrugged.
you rolled your eyes and turned back toward the bar, finishing what was left of your drink, but the grin on your face was impossible to hide. across the room, choso glanced back one last time before gojo pulled him away.
you didn’t believe in love at first sight, but lust? that was something else entirely.
You're married to Satoru Gojo - an arrangement since your childhood, one you're so excited for. You soon find out - he wants nothing to do with you. Any one is preferable, from the waitress at your engagement party, to his secretary. Torn apart by insecurities and devastated by the fact that you can't make this one sided affection work, you decide to find something to keep you going until Gojo finds a way to end the marriage. That's what lands you right in the notorious boxing ring in town - led by Ryomen Sukuna, who finally sees you.
pairings - Arranged! Gojo x Reader x Boxer! Sukuna
warnings!!! - Heavy, heavy angst, cheating and reactive cheating, Satoru is ooc, cruel and mean, reader starts off very shy/insecure, Soft Sukuna but he still don't mind being buried inside married reader, a fuck ton of feelings, eventual smut, explicit, mentions of insecurities, painful and hurtful all around.
This WILL have multiple endings, all of these three are gonna be messy. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV and split up by each! based on this drabble - WC - 9k
This won the 30k followers poll! Thank you so so much again!!
part one
Gojo -
Satoru Gojo his entire life has been used – as the ‘head of the Gojo’ clan, as the heir to the empire, everything in his life has been set in stone the moment he was born. They never gave him a real choice, barely let him have friends his entire childhood, no it was studies, it was pressure, it was how to be absolutely perfect, telling him who to talk to, how to act, how to walk.
He knew inevitably his time in college was just a fun distraction, where he had friends for the first time, where he felt almost normal, where he secretly dated – his parents would not approve – of the girls he talked to. Yet he fell into it just a bit, enjoying it too much, partying and fucking the worst girls, ones that would make his parents gasp in shock.
He hung out with the worst crowd, too, straight up heathens really, to rebel as much as he could, before the inevitable fact – his dad was dead, and he was turning twenty four, there was no more partying, no more life, no more dreams. All there was – the obligations, the responsibilities, the arranged wife they’ve had picked out since you both were children.
Oh, you’re beautiful, it’s not that.
You’re sweet, you’re smart, you’re kind.
It’s not that.
You’re not his choice, nothing about his entire fucking life was his own choice, and this is just another thing, another way to show him what he is – just something to be used, just a tool for his family to have power. The richest family in Japan must have that, right? And you were from the second richest, and one of the most powerful, from an impeccable line.
You were impeccable, you were exceptional, you were ‘perfect’.
And Satoru Gojo hates you on sight, the moment you meet him at the engagement party – yeah, that's where he officially meets you, and doesn’t just ‘hear about you’. That’s where he sees how fucking gorgeous and bright you are, and for a moment his heart hammers in his chest, for a moment he’d sink to his knees to get a taste of you.
Then he remembers it all, when you shyly look down, when you ring your hands in front of you.
Obligation.
Arrangement.
You didn’t want this, want him, choose him – who would other than for his name, for his power? For what he could do for your family, for everyone. You’re shoved into this – a contract from your youth, who knew what the fuck you wanted, or who you’ve been with, who you want to be with?
You didn’t choose him, he didn’t choose you.
He keeps reminding himself in moments where he thinks the light from the chandeliers are hitting too nicely on your collarbones, when he looks at your lips just a little too long, instead he politely smiles, and turns away. Why, do you ask, does he turn away from his future wife?
Why is he later kissing another woman, fingering her right on the balcony, where pretty much anyone who walks by could see, smirking against her neck with every moan she muffles. Why does Satoru Gojo pick the most common, slutty little waitress to do so, when you’re there in a beautiful fucking gown, and look lost and upset, your lips trembling?
Because imagine a world where he falls – and you didn’t choose him. Imagine he thinks for a brief moment he could have happiness in his life, a joke really, it’s just flitting little moments. He can only handle so much pain, and in turn he causes you the pain, the embarrassment, sucking her juices off his thick fingers after she cums, laughing just a bit and walking back in.
His elders are furious, everyone is murmuring about his antics, as he throws back a shot and chuckles, but you?
You just look down, and a couple of tears fall, turning away and sipping on your wine. You say nothing even as he dances with you later, stumbling a bit with how drunk he’s gotten, to piss them off – to tell them he’s not going down without a fight – looking at you curiously.
You stare at his chest, you say nothing.
“Having fun?” He asks, and you scoff a bit, looking up with glassy eyes, and for a moment it pierces his drunk heart.
He’s horrible.
But isn’t he just a disappointment anyway?
“Am I having fun watching you with another woman at my engagement party?” You ask softly, shaking your head. “I get it, I’m not your type. I knew that from people telling me so.”
He pauses, right in the center of the dance floor.
“Yet I expected some decorum, I expected you to at least be respectful, not to show the world how unappealing you find me,” you whisper, biting down on your lip, shaking your head now. “I wanted to at least try here, with you.”
Satoru can’t speak.
Until he spins you, and catches you, his big hand taking over your waist, thumb pressing under the swell of your breasts. He almost falls then, from just a look, yet he holds himself back, he stops every insane thought and action, laughing easily, like he’s amused.
Satoru is good at hiding.
“Ya thought we’d have some story book romance, huh? Oh… you’re a fairy princess and I’m from another kingdom? And oh…” He leans down, so low to you, lips a breath away. “I fall for the princess, she’s just so beautiful, how can’t I?”
“Gojo…”
“News to you, perfect little fairy princess, I’m not interested in marriage, or any of this shit, this show, I fucking hate it,” his words are harsh, as he squeezes you too tightly, so tightly you’re shaking, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Your prince from another kingdom just stuck his fingers in a waitress. That’s reality, sweetheart.”
You tremble in his hold, and he knows then.
He hurt you.
Good, he thinks, shit will be easier that way, safer if you hate him, if you smack him, tell him to fuck himself. Yet you tilt your chin up and spin as the dance calls for, giving a little curtsey as he steps closer, not showing a hint of emotion aside from your tears that you seemingly can’t stop.
“I see,” is all you say then, stepping back into his arms, as the crowd of gossiping families speaks of it all, you hold all of your composure, even as he raises a brow, looking down at you. “Maybe I am foolish, to have thought it that way. Yet I still don’t understand why you’re…”
“What, little princess? So mean?”
You just look down again, quiet, swallowing visibly, you smell too good, invading his fucking senses. “I didn’t think you were mean when I met you as a child.”
“As a child?” Satoru pauses, and you sigh, shaking your head.
“Of course you wouldn’t remember, I’m not very special.” You step back as the song ends, and your tragic eyes meet his, before lowering them and bowing a little bit. “Have a good rest of your evening, I’m feeling a little…” You look at the girl he’d just kissed. “Sick.”
When you rush off, politely excusing yourself, Satoru feels this sinking in his heart, questions simmering under the surface – what if he just was kind to you? What if he at least didn't make a fool of himself?
But he doesn't go after you, no that would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. The thing is, you're much better off without him. So he's dancing with women who make his family furiously whisper amongst themselves, and he just knows -
You will hate him, and you’re better off for it.
*****
You
You didn't expect a fairy tale marriage. Even marrying the man who is basically the ‘prince’ of all the families, all of the clans, the Gojo heir. You may as well be the ‘princess’ of your own, both of you promised as children to each other, knowing no love or match would come to anything.
This was it, your future, but you met him when he was just a little kid, he's two years older than you. His blue eyes and spiky white hair were enough to make your heart race, but mostly you noticed how sad those blue eyes were.
He wasn't mean then, he was kind and reserved, not boisterous, laughing and acting a fool. He was cautious more like you are, both of you not wanting to disappoint your very harsh parents who had so many expectations. Satoru had given you his hand, holding it tightly, pressing a little kiss on the back of it.
So you'll be my wife some day
Yeah…
You're um… pretty.
That was it, just a moment and then he'd had to run off. And you only saw Satoru in bits and pieces, here and there from afar, watching and knowing he didn’t notice you. Yet that moment gave you hope.
Just to fucking crush it all.
It's your wedding night, and his staff is carrying all of your luggage inside the expensive mansion. Satoru is drunk, you notice he is around you, as if that helps with the pain of having to be married to you, stumbling just a bit and chuckling darkly when you try to help him.
“I'm fine,” he yanks your hand off like you burned him. Your tummy is in knots, you feel sick. “Let me show you your room. Princess.”
He says it always mockingly, tonight you know he was with someone again, he's made no attempt to hide kissing others. You're sure he probably does more, but you're innocent yourself so you don't exactly know what's what. Your parents pounded innocence and propriety in your head.
You'll be Gojo’s wife, you must be pure for him.
What a joke, really, to be pure for someone who will never want you, to watch him kissing on necks in the gardens, laughing until he sees your face. You never have been a very confident girl, but everyone has always told you that you're pretty, lovely, so you sort of didn't think your looks were an issue.
Then again, it could just be you. Maybe you're boring, maybe you're too proper. Your mind wracks with doubts as he leads you up the winding staircase of the Gojo mansion up to a dark hallway. He opens a door and you pause, breath catching in your throat at how beautiful it is.
“This is our room?” You ask softly, the blue silk bed and gossamer canopy snug in a room of soft whites and blues. He chuckles, making you look at him.
“They had it made for us, pretentious isn't it?” You blink a bit.
“I think it's beautiful,” it's quiet when you step in, still in your beaded and saying white wedding gown. You slip off your veil and take a breath. Looking in the mirror.
You look gorgeous today.
No matter what he says or doesn't say, you see it in that reflection. In your lashes, in your eyes, in your lips, painted a pretty crimson. Your body is showcased to perfection, modest but still sensual, just hints of your lines and curves outlined, the material glinting in the soft light.
“Your room,” he says at the doorway, and you pause, making him smirk. “You didn't think we were fucking did you?”
You blush furiously, looking down nervously at your hands entwined in front of you. “I did think we would… make the marriage official even if you don't find me attractive.”
It's dead silent, lingering in the air – your insecurities rampant.
“Why? Because our duty?” He asks, stepping inside, his dress shoes echoing on the floor, coming to stand behind you, reflection in the mirror making you tremble.
“We will need to have babies, it's expected of me. Or I'll be… a failure as a wife.” Your voice breaks, and for a moment you see blue eyes soften, you feel fingertips slipping over your straps, yet they halt, and his eyes narrow.
“I won't fuck you, not for duty or expectations, fuck them and fuck that.”
It's like a slap to the face. You take a breath, trembling now. “Gojo, am I that displeasing really? I tried so hard to look-”
“Nothing will make me fuck you,” he murmurs coolly. “We will ride this shit out till I find a way to end it somehow.”
“End it?” your brows draw together, eyes swimming in unshed tears, his fingers slip off now, going to your back, slowly undoing the little rows of buttons methodically.
“An annulment, divorce, whatever… fuck this shit, I'm not staying married.” he is casual as he helps you out of your dress, knuckles tracing up your spine, then he smirks. “Oh shit. You want me? Hah… that's cute.”
“I… um… you…” You're flushed, reflection in the mirror blushing, as you look at him, his cruel smirk, his mean eyes. “Am I not supposed to want you?”
“Of course you do, I am Satoru Gojo,” he presses those straps down, pausing when he gets a view of your breasts as you hold the dress against them, your back exposed and bare. “You can always touch yourself and think of me, who am I to deny that? But I will never touch you.”
It's like he just stabs you in the stomach. You turn, facing the cruel, tall man now, on the night you hoped for something, anything, but you're just met with a mean curve of his lips. “So what, you'll just… fuck anyone but me?”
“You can cuss?” He laughs a bit, fingers curling along one of the carefully coifed ringlets.
“Yes, I can. I just don't usually,” you take a breath. Trying to remember.
Obey him.
Treasure him.
For your family
“You don't know me and you won't even try to, will you?”
“You want dick that bad, huh?” You gasp, slapping him as hard as you can then, he winces and rubs his cheek, glaring at you. You falter, looking at his pink cheek and gasping.
“I'm sorry. I…”
“Let's get one thing straight, princess,” Satoru Gojo leans over you, an arm on either side, tilting his head as you grip your wedding dress tightly to your chest. “We can do our own things. I get it. You have to live here for now.”
For now.
“But don't you dare fucking hit me,” he grips your wrist, bruising with his long fingers, you gasp out at the pain, tears falling. “Not used to men not wanting you, huh?”
“What!?” You're blinking in confusion, his grip tightening, your heart sinking.
You feel so sick.
“Never been turned down because you're the family princess, aww. So cute,” he leans down, touching your cheek, eyes a cruel bluee. “Everyone after that money, after a chance with you, so special. Well you're not fucking special to me, we are just the same.”
“I don't think I'm special or anything!? I never said that.”
“Don't have to, I can just see it.”
You're shaking in his hold. “I just thought we could try, you don't even know if we have anything, a connection or-”
Gojo laughs at you.
He laughs.
“Try what, fucking you? You want my dick real bad.”
“No!? Just if we could feel a connection? I… like you haven't kissed me, how do you even-”
Satoru grabs your face, leaning low and pressing his lips against yours, capturing them and making you lose your breath. You melt when his plump lips work yours, when a hand comes to entangle in your hair, your hands slipping off your dress so that your nipples hit the cool air.
His tongue slips in your mouth, exploring the recesses with far too much finesse, hot and drooling as he presses you against the hard wood of the dresser.
You've never kissed.
You try to move your tongue back, knowing you're awful at it, your arms slipping around his neck. He's mean, he's cruel, but you want to try, you want to have this. Feel whatever this dizzy sensation is, one of his hands gripping your breast as he pulls back, lips glossy, eyeing them now.
“I'll give you this,” he murmurs softly. “You have perfect tits.”
“Um…” You're stammering again, whimpering when his thumb brushes your nipple.
“Perfect posture, pretty face, nice little body. It's not enough though sweetheart," he pulls back now, grinning and crossing his arms as you just stand there. “There, your kiss, and there's nothing between us. Is there? Enough to shove that fantasy out of your head?”
Nothing!?
“You think keeping your tits out will make me hard?” You gasp, covering them up, blinking back more hot tears.
He wipes his lips with his thumb. As if to remove the kiss from his memory. You look down, pain making you dizzy – deep pain.
“I just… you’re so sure that this won’t work that you’re not trying!” He laughs softly, without humor.
Charming. Handsome. Cruel.
Satoru’s two fingers brush down your collarbone and across it, a mean smile on a devastatingly pretty face as he watches goosebumps dance across your skin. "You want me to touch you. Hmm?"
"I just…" you cover yourself with your arms now, suddenly so insecure, you were anyway but this was more. It was worse, having the man you've been infatuated with since a kid turning you down, on a night you felt so beautiful. "I just thought we could try to find some common ground, to maybe make this work. Become… more?"
He leans down, his sweet breath against your lips, tickling them as his blue eyes glitter, cold like the most beautiful sapphires, and just as hard, there’s no emotion in their depths. So cold you shiver, swallowing nervously.
"Oh sweetheart, I don't want any of it. What they tell me to do, what they expect, no... I'll burn it all to the fucking ground, and them with it.”
“Burn it to the ground?” Your whisper is soft, his lips curve mean when he grips your chin.
"You're a pretty girl, but I'm not for you. That's the most you're getting from me.”
Not. For. You.
"What is so wrong with me?” You hate how desperate you sound.
Was this who you are?
Do you know yourself outside of becoming Satoru Gojo's wife?
“It’s not…” he trails off, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “You just don’t seem to get it, little princess. It’s an inconvenience, this entire thing.”
Great.
You’re just a fucking inconvenience to your ‘husband’.
“We will let them think we're good for a year, maybe two. Then I'll get out of this, you should thank me really, it's not like you chose it either.”
He turns now, leaving you close to collapsing, with the pain, with the casual cruelty. “Satoru…”
“Don't fucking call me that,” he snaps, looking back at you. You step back and bump into the elegant dresser, shaking as he looks at you with such hatred. “You don't get to call me my first name.”
“I am… I am sorry if I messed something up. If I did something wrong…” You're sniffling your tears, trying to keep it together. “I haven't even kissed before and I probably am just bad at it. Just give me a chance to-”
“Stop trying,” his voice is softer, like he fucking feels bad for you. That's worse than his cruelty – pity. “Just keep to yourself and I will too, until I find a way out of it. It's useless to try.”
“Useless to?”
“Sweetheart,” his tongue is honeyed, a lilt to his voice. “I'll never want you.”
The knife in your heart?
Twisted.
“Oh, I see…” You take a breath, just nodding then, hands gripping the beaded material so tightly they ache.
Obedient.
Sweet.
Serve your husband.
It's what you were trained to be, a traditional wife who follows her husband's orders, even your stinging palm was beyond what you're used to. How can you serve a man that doesn’t want you, how can you obey someone when their only order is for you to quit trying?
As he walks out, with just one look over his shoulder before he shuts that door, leaving you alone in the room on your own in tears on your very wedding night… how can you act like that kiss meant nothing to you? How can you not sink down on that bed all alone, and sob.
The boy you fell in love with doesn't remember you.
Doesn't want you.
No, he hates you.
And you'll have to endure this and be a failure to your parents, the worst of all your fears.
You don't stop sobbing until dawn breaks into the windows.
*****
Gojo
It's been a month of having you in his home, you're trying to be so perfect too. Dinner ready every night, you sit there and wait for him, smiling so pretty, wearing some new outfit as if he will ever touch you again, trying to talk to him, to get to know him.
Satoru can't stand you.
All you do is make him want to end it quicker, so that he has no feelings in this. No amount of slutty little slips or lingering before bed time is getting him to consummate the marriage, to give in to what his family and elders shoved on him, controlling his entire life.
Nah fuck that.
Satoru is balls deep inside his secretary right now, condom dripping with her cum as he lets her bounce up and down his latex covered cock. He leans back and moans as she works him like a pro, bouncing her ass and letting it jiggle under the shoved up pencil skirt.
Of course he thinks of you, fists his cock to images of those tits, imagines those lips around his tip. All the more reason to not fuck you, imagine if he did? You were a virgin, probably would lay there and not know how to do shit, you could barely kiss him back.
He'd have to be all gentle, not slam you down and bottom out like he could right now. She's moaning, too loud, he has to slam a hand on her mouth, lips against her ear.
“We're at work,” he reminds gently.
“Sorry Mr. Gojo. Mnh!” Satoru's big hands work her up and down, bottoming out as she cums, covering her own mouth as she screams out.
“Hah, so messy,” he taunts, she's squirting all over his Armani slacks, right when the door opens.
Fuck.
Did he not lock it?
He pauses, and its…
You.
You quickly shut the door and turn away, as his secretary gasps, panicking and lifting up. Satoru drags her back down, eyeing you.
“Wife,” he teases, you turn to look at him, lunchbox in your hands. “Didn't expect you at my work. Can I cum real quick, then we can talk?”
You say nothing, obedient little thing that you are, not an ounce of fire in you aside from a little smack. He supposes that's how you were raised, how boring really, but he shoves the woman down once more. Toying with her clit and making her moan in front of you, right as he busts in that condom, groaning softly.
“Fuck, there we go,” he taps her and she hops off, giggling when she tugs her skirt down, rushing past you.
“Mrs. Gojo.” she says, you just step back and nod.
“Hello.”
‘Hello’ is what you say, to the woman who'd been riding your husband's cock?
He tosses the condom in the trash under his desk, sighing and smirking over at you, when you turn and see him, still hard and covered in milky seed, turning back around again.
“I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry?” He demands, slipping his boxers up now. “I was fucking someone and you're sorry?”
“I should have called first,” you turn back again, as he zips up, cheeks tinged pink.
You look beautiful today.
He wouldn't tell you. But you do.
“I was just… I learned to make sushi? I was so bored lately. Then… they kind of look ugly? But they're um… yummy and-”
“Just stop, fuck,” you look at him, tears in your eyes, clenched fists at your side when he takes the bento box. “Stop trying so hard, it's not gonna happen.”
“Gojo-”
“Stop, don't hurt yourself more.”
“But why am I so… why would you never ever want me?” you whisper brokenly then. “I am not trying to be mean but her? She's not even… attractive!? I don't-”
He laughs at you again, shaking his head. “You are a spoiled rich girl, a mean little thing. Because she's not drop dead gorgeous I couldn't want her? Looks mean nothing really, little princess. It's just you who I don't want.”
Your breasts heave up and down, finally a glare on your otherwise sad little pretty face. “I am trying!”
“I don't want you to fucking try, constantly acting like the perfect wife. I don't want it. Don't want you, how clear can I fucking make it!?”
You step up to him then, tilting your head to look up at the tall, cruel man, lipstick on his fucking neck, smirking at you. “Well maybe I don't want YOU, but I fucking TRY.”
“Oh. You want me,” he tilts your chin up, grinning at you, feeling your skin hot to the touch. “Bet you're so desperate you'd lick her pussy off me. Wouldn't you? For a chance.”
“I would never,” you shake your head. “Fine, you win. I won't try anymore.”
“Good. It's for your own best interest,” he pats your cheek and smiles. “What's on your plans today, hmm little perfect wife?”
“Not making dinner.” he smirks at you again. “Not trying for you ever again.”
You rush out of the door, dejected, shoulders slumped, when you look back at him though?
That look.
Heartbroken, devastated, done for. Like you just lost all your goddamn will to live.
That one hurts.
Satoru was not cruel before you. Sure he was a dick, he played a lot, he was conceited, but to make you give up trying made him have to push you away. If even fucking in front of you didn't he had to push it further, and he thinks that's the moment you gave up on him.
It's for your own best interest to end this when he can, to be strangers.
Your eyes are burned in his brain as he opens your dumb bento box, and sees these pretty little Sushi. Shaped like little hearts with pink paper instead of the traditional.
He swallows down his guilt when he sees them laid out with a cup of soup, rice, a drink even. And a little note on pink paper.
He hates himself more when he opens it.
Gojo, I know you don't want me, don't want this, but if we could just try… I think there could be something, truly. When we kissed I did feel it, somewhere buried under the surface.
I know I'm not who you chose, or who you want, but I hope one day we could grow to like each other. I am trying my hardest and I just hope that it can be enough.
Have a great day at work, I will see you at home.
Tears slip onto the note, bleeding the ink through the paper, he looks at the shut door you'd walked out of, remembering your eyes..they'd always fucking haunt him. That look of defeat written all over them.
You were bringing him lunch and love notes when he was letting a secretary ride his cock.
“Mr. Gojo?” his assistant opens his door, and he pauses, looking up at her. “You have a two a clock.”
“Right…” He just stares at the sushi, at the note, before shutting his eyes, swiping off tears he hasn't cried since he was a little kid.
That night, no dinner is made by you. No it's the chefs as it should always be, but it's a sign, as is you not in that dining room waiting for him. He walks around the mansion, looking for you, for any sign that you're in his home.
Why does he care?
He hears your sobs from the room you are supposed to share, and rests his door on it.
Why did you have to try so hard, when he told you not to?
“He will never w-want me…” You're sobbing and hiccuping. “Never enough.”
He swallows down his own self loathing, resting his head on the door, wondering at just who he is. Is this Satoru Gojo, or is this Satoru Gojo trying to be anything else but what he's always been pushed into?
He walks off to his own room, shutting the door. He'd have to end this marriage soon as he can, in whatever way that meant – to get you the fuck away from him. You may hate him for it, but at least you'd have a little bit of a choice in your life.
*****
You
You come home from an event with Satoru, a press junket where you have to act like a happy newlywed. And you do just that, you play your role, giggling with his hand on your waist, the most contact you've had since that kiss – the one where he felt nothing for you. The one that you felt shaken from, suddenly fucking delusional, in spite of the fact of one thing.
Satoru Gojo made sure to let you know there was no chance, he didn’t mince words, didn’t lead you on, it was your own hope that made you keep trying that first month, that hope that even after seeing him with his dick inside a woman, maybe he’d feel anything. Fuck, he made sure to cum before she got off of him, didn’t even stop mid fuck.
That’s how unimportant you were.
Yet even then you tried, until he made that disgusting comment – licking another woman off him? Calling you pathetic?
Well, you were.
You were not going to be cruel to him despite the rage in your heart, however, you just no longer try, it’s quiet when you take off your heels at the door, and he slips off his dress shoes. You both say nothing, but you feel his eyes on you at times, as if he expects some word out of your mouth.
You no longer say good morning, good night, you just live your life with Satoru for another month like this, he’ll have a girl over in his room, but you keep to yourself, living so alone… yet, with him.
Your few friends you have get worried for you, every time you get to see them over the next couple months you look more tired, you don’t look like you’re eating, you have dark circles under your eyes, the eyes that don’t glimmer any longer. They share their concerns quietly, over a nice brunch, but you act like everything is just fine.
Tonight your mother had pulled you aside, making sure to dissect your looks to a fault, including said dark circles – As if you didn’t have enough insecurities just being married to Satoru Gojo, a man who’d fuck anyone but you.
“You have to keep yourself together, look he’s all over those women,” she whispers, you would laugh but you know better, the woman who beat submission into your head was right here. You just look down, nodding.
“He always is.”
“So you need to get his attention,” you sigh, wanting to explain how hard you tried, even in lieu of him fucking that secretary in front of you, but you merely nod once more. “Get yourself together, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, your hair is oily even. What’s wrong with you!?”
What’s wrong with you?
You peer over to your tall, white haired husband surrounded by women in the ridiculously extravagant event, glamorously dressed when you chose a thin silk number, not caring anymore. You didn’t do your makeup, what did that matter? It’s not as if he’d ever look at you anyway.
“You’ll make him look bad, make us all look bad, you must gather yourself together and try more. Have I not raised you to be the perfect wife?”
The perfect wife.
To a husband who hates you.
“You did indeed Mother,” you manage to say, clearing your throat that night, feeling the eyes of so many curiously flit between you both. “I shall try not to disappoint you and father.”
Yet you are done trying, as he asked you to be, walking up the stairs now with him slowly trailing behind, as if to make sure there was enough space between the both of you.
Try a gym!
Or a spa day?
You need self care babe!
Yeah, your friends advice about self care was not enough for what you’re going through, but they ring in your head, as you head to your room, and reach around to try to unzip your dress. You curse, moving your hand in every which way, you then try to tug it up off you, but it’s half stuck with the tight material.
Fuck, you’re gonna have to ask him.
“Gojo…” You say, standing by his door, he’s up typing away on the laptop, shirtless, his body cut and chisled, muscles moving as he sits up straighter, eyeing you carefully.
“You, coming to my room?” You flush furiously, looking down.
“Don’t worry, I’ll never, ever ask to be intimate again,” you whisper, the pain still piercing your heart, your soul. He just looks down. “I just really can’t get out of this dress, and I swear to god it’s not a hit on or seduction.”
“Ah,” he doesn’t gloat like usual, standing up now, his sweats falling down his hips, you wish he didn’t look so good like that, coming up to you carefully, everything flexing as he walks. “Zipper stuck?”
“I think so, and it won’t go up over my damn hips,” you grumble, when he comes closer. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize constantly,” you just nod again. “Turn around.”
You do that, lifting your hair off the nape of your neck for him, two of his fingers grasp the metal zipper, slipping it down achingly slow, the noise loud in his quiet room, mixing with his own catch of breath. It’s quiet, a few tendrils falling against the nape of your neck, as the zipper jams just a bit, stuck in the middle.
“Hang on…” He mumbles, clearly irritated, holding the dress tight together and then grasping it, jerking you just a bit as he finally gets it down. “There.”
“Thank you, Gojo,” you say softly, as he looks at the smooth expanse of your back, and for a moment neither of you move, you turn to face him, still holding your hair up. “I didn’t mean to bug you.”
He doesn’t say anything, knuckles brushing down your spine lightly, enough to make you ache in your core, something you’ve never really felt before this moment. You swallow nervously, blushing and looking away, you can’t make a fucking fool out of yourself again.
You will not push something he clearly doesn’t want, it’s just not right – even in the name of ‘marriage’ it should be Satoru’s choice too, and he so clearly would never choose you, in any world. You turn now, straps slipping down your shoulders, his bright blue eyes get dark and lidded when his gaze hits your tits, the tops of them showcased with the little dress half off.
“I’ll let you um… sleep.” You say, he just blinks a moment, clearing his throat now.
“Yeah.”
You slowly walk out, wondering if it is just you looking for something, anything, the way you damn near begged him to notice you, to want you, it was as he said – pathetic. Even knowing he’s fucking women actively, that he doesn’t have the time of day for you at all, you still crave it, you still don’t retaliate.
His phone rings, and you hear him murmuring while you’re in the hallway –
Hey sweets, hmm… I bet you do miss me.
You feel your feet get heavy, you’ve been barely eating because you’re just fucking miserable, but hearing that as his door shuts and you walk to your lonely room sinks in. The miserable realization that he doesn’t care about you, that even if he gave you a glance, it was nothing, you were nothing to him.
You slip that dress off when you’re in your bedroom, looking at yourself in the mirror, even just his proximity always put a blush to your cheeks, as if your body was betraying your mind. You remember what your friends told you the other day, their concerned gazes, and the way they tried to be supportive when they barely know the half of what you endure.
Having to hear your husband jerking it on the phone and talking another girl through it when he has never touched you?
You are tired of crying, so tired.
You look up gyms in the area, sure that’s not really going to help a damn thing, but it might be enough to keep you busy, considering you can’t even work as a Gojo wife, and you’re left alone too often in the quiet, thinking too much. You pick one and map it, while laying in your bed and snuggling, yawning a bit as sleep starts to drag you under.
“All right, let’s see if self care will help me at all,” you say to yourself quietly, drifting off into a dreamless sleep, as you have been.
What’s there to dream about anymore?
*****
Sukuna
His knuckles are aching from hitting the big heavy black bag, punching it over and over, his class is done but Sukuna always loves to blow some steam off, and the best way is to beat the bag to a pulp. His ruby eyes are locked on the target, exhaling and controlling his breathing.
One, two.
One, two, punch.
Cross, jab, hook.
It’s methodical, it’s easy, even as his muscles ache – that ache is sweet, it’s so perfect to feel, he grins as he imagines beating the fuck out of so many people then. Start with his shit father – his mother gets a pass only due to being a woman – and then, all the little pretentious shits he went to college with.
Sukuna was supposed to be training to become a CEO, to take over his father’s position, and be a nepo baby like the rest of those damn men he partied with at the frat in college. Yet, he never, ever wanted that, and he built something for himself – several gyms, he’s trained pro boxers, national champions.
This was what Sukuna wanted to do.
Mostly, he loved to box, he cared just a little bit enough not to join those matches himself – oh, what would that look like!? The Sukuna heir going into a boxing ring!? Yet, at the same time, he had dreams of it. Of being in a ring and knocking everyone out, pushing that ‘family disappointment’ name even further.
For now, however, there is peace in the quiet gym.
That is, until you walk in.
Tired and fucking beautiful, these dark circles that sit under your eyes, a shy little nervous smile, about five minutes before he closes. You stand at the door and look around, frowning then and staring at your phone, wearing some pretty little yoga outfit and a big sweater, like you were getting ready for pilates rather than kickboxing.
“I’m sorry, first off for coming so late, second… ugh I thought you were a regular gym! Where is my brain…” You smack your forehead, turning, when he literally runs up to you, stopping you before fully thinking of it.
Sukuna, running.
You really are that pretty, when he sees a giant rock on your finger he curses internally, sighing.
“I do other things here, a whole room of workout machinery,” he says then, his voice just a little gruff, when you turn and look up at him, so shy, you look right back down at your feet, hugging yourself a bit. “I can show you, just need to lock up.”
“You probably want to get home, god I’m sorry, I slept all day like a miserable… oh… so sorry.” You have said sorry again, rambling now, making Sukuna wonder.
Just who has you this down? This shy? This clearly hurt?
“I meant to come earlier,” you blink back tears, looking up again with them swimming in your pretty eyes, so pretty he can’t decide what color they are, but the way they look at him almost takes him out. “I set an alarm, and promised I would make myself do something, then I just… hit it over and over. And now I’m rambling.”
“And crying,” he smirks a bit, swiping off a tear. “Rambling, crying, coming in late too, huh?”
“I know I’m so-”
“I’m teasing,” he chuckles softly, shaking his head and tilting your chin up. “If you want to do any sport, you need eye contact. Even when they’re all red and bloodshot.”
“Well your eyes are red too! I mean, oh my god!?” You cover your mouth, he laughs again softer this time. “I’m sorry, I like their color, they’re beautiful. Not to say I am hitting on you! Oh dear god…”
“Will you take a breath?” You shut your eyes, nodding. “A deep one, in… there you go, and out.”
Your breasts rise and fall, the sweater slipping further off a shoulder, as he takes in the mess that’s come to his doorstep – a beautiful, tragically broken mess that does something he can’t explain. When you swipe your cheeks and try to give a tremulous smile, you break whatever heart Sukuna has in his chest.
Who fucking hurt you like this?
Damage recognizes damage, but this…
“Don’t apologize a fourth time, yeah?” You nod then, sniffling a bit and attempting a better smile.
“I really just want to… apparently I need self care, my friends say, and I thought a gym might… help. But I can’t box, or kickbox.”
“Why not? You've got a lot of pent up tension," his hands brush down your shoulders softly, feeling the tenseness. "Bet you’d kill it."
"Me!?" You giggled nervously but he was serious, a huge handsome man crossing his arms and raising a brow, leaned back a bit in the quietness of his gym. "Kickboxing, huh?"
"Think you can't?"
You shake your head, and he sees it all over your face –
You don’t think you can do anything.
“Why not? Husband wants you all girlie or something?” He addresses the ring with a glance, you laugh without humor, your face darkening then.
“He doesn’t give a shit what I do, no, we’re not,” you trail off, shaking your head. “I dumped enough trauma on you just walking in here. What’s your name?”
“Sukuna,” he takes your hand, feeling yours just a little sweaty in his grip. “What do you mean doesn’t give a shit?”
“He doesn’t like me.” He blinks at that.
“Trouble in paradise?”
You laugh again, shaking your head. “Let’s say he’s done more with his secretary than me so far,” Sukuna frowns at that, raising a dark brow. “It’s okay, really don’t feel bad for me. I just need something to get my mind off it.”
Who the fuck wouldn’t want you?
He almost says it, but he holds back, nudging his head now. “Lemme show you around the gym.”
He locks the door behind you so no random people try to come after hours, and you follow him through, looking up at the ceiling – it’s high, wooden beams running across it, it was once an old factory before Sukuna bought it off the guy. The walls are all red and orange brick, some of it is painted white, with graffiti art.
“That’s so cool,” you murmur, walking up to it then, touching it gently. “What is all of this?”
“Some of the guys like to come tag it,” he says, there are all sorts of images scrawled, along with Sukuna’s name in big red letters, little demon horns over the U. “I think they’re callin’ me the devil.”
“No!” You laugh, the sound so foreign to your own ears, he can just tell when you sober up a bit, smiling gently now. “You, the devil?”
“Mmm, you don’t know shit about me yet,” you blush a bit at the insinuation. “You’d run out if you knew what I was thinking.”
“You don’t have to be so… nice to me, okay? Because you feel bad.”
Sukuna blinks his pink lashes. “Huh?”
“I can tell, you’re a really good person,” you walk up to him, touching his hand now, sucking in a breath at the contact, fingers tracing his calloused, beat up knuckles. “Thank you though.”
“You think I’m pretending to find you attractive?” He almost can’t take you serious, but your face says it all. “Yeah, no, I’m not that nice. Now follow me before I say something real fucking dumb.”
You’re a flustered mess, letting your hand fall and nodding.
“This is where you’d like to be,” he mentions, toward the room with all of the normal equipment – treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, all sleek and black. “So you can just do your normal little workouts. Yoga mats and all.”
“Oh! I see,” you’re just a step behind him, he can inhale that perfume, he doesn’t know what scent it is but it’s driving him insane, when he stops and you bump into him. “Ah!”
He catches you quickly, frowning a bit at how weak you seem, assessing you. “You eat anything today?”
You blink a bit.
How'd he notice?
“No.”
“It’s six?”
“Yeah, not for a couple days,” you mumble. Sukuna glares at you, far, far too attractive and you’re not even fucking eating.
“If you have some… problem, you gotta tell me if I’m gonna train you, yeah?”
“No, nothing like that, just can’t eat when I’m sad,” your words are soft, barely over a whisper, running your fingers along the arm of a treadmill. “It’s been a few days I guess.”
“A few days, the fuck?” What sort of husband lets his wife just not eat?
He supposes the kind that makes her an unconfident, sad girl that cries the moment she enters a gym. Sukuna knows damn well he shouldn’t get involved in the shit, but just looking at you hurts him, in a way he’s not sure he’s felt, recognizing a version of himself so long ago, when he was young, when he wanted that approval, when he craved it so badly.
But more than that.
“If you don’t eat tomorrow I’ll be shoving food in your mouth,” you laugh at that, covering your mouth again. “I’m serious, the fuck you mean days?”
“I will make myself eat before I come.”
“And you’ll come at a decent time, yeah? Not before I close. Do I need to set three alarms to get your bratty ass up?”
“Bratty!?” you laugh again, shaking your head, the sight so fucking cute it destroys him.
God he’d drop to his knees just to kiss up those thighs, fucking lick you right over those leggings, the ones just a little snug against your puffy lips. And he can tell when you’re close how excited you are, the way your pupils blow out, the way you bite down on that lower lip, the one already chapped from likely biting it to death.
“No one has ever called me bratty,” you muse softly. “The opposite, actually.”
“Well maybe they don’t see it buried all in there, under a cute little fucking yoga outfit,” he brushes your hair back. His mistake, his undoing, and not kissing you is maybe the hardest thing he’s done.
You’re married.
He’s trying to give a fuck about that.
“C’mon brat,” you giggle again. “Here is the ring.”
You pause, looking at the huge rectangular boxing ring, surrounded by mats, boxing bags hanging heavy and worn all over, red and black ropes surrounding it. “Is this where you all practice?”
“Mhm,” he leads you over to a bag, touching it, old and black and hanging, one of his big hands touching it now. “Tomorrow you’ll punch it, today you didn’t eat so you don’t get to.”
“Mean,” your lips twitch though, the color to your face just brighter, your eyes glittering. Fuck you’re pretty sad, and happy, he can only imagine more. “All right, I promise, full breakfast.”
“Eat some dinner, too, then I’ll let you kick it.”
“The bag?”
“No, me.”
“What!?” You laugh again, Sukuna snorts and rolls his ruby red eyes, those pink lashes fluttering. “You’re joking, oh!”
“Yeah, a joke,” he tugs on that pony tail your hair is thrown in. “Two pm, don’t be late.”
When you’re gone he’s locking up, watching you slip into some bmw, waving a bit before you back up, wondering what’s this feeling in his heart, in his gut.
Sukuna loves women, he loves being inside them, pleasuring them, but he’s never just enjoyed making someone smile that much. Knowing you’re married should be a hell of a deterrent, whether he’s clearly a dick or not, Sukuna can’t just swoop in and be with married women.
Right?
Yet when he’s in bed that night, he finds himself throbbing, thinking of seeing your pretty face in pleasure. And he knows damn well whatever ‘morals’ he should have about it aren’t going to help him not make you feel good, in just any fucking way you need him to.
*****
You
“Never seen you eat so much,” Satoru murmurs when he walks in, lipstick across his neck, you’re downing some soup, realizing just how starved you were. “Have the chefs make something.”
“I just haven’t eaten in a week,” you say softly, Satoru’s eyes widen, then narrow a bit, while you dab at your mouth with a napkin. “I guess I’m hungry.”
“A week? What nothing here good, they can order anything.”
“I was too depressed,” the honesty is something you’d usually hold in, but something about meeting Sukuna today…
Everything about him.
The way he looked at you, that smirk was teasing, not cruel – he listened to you, he seemed to care, him a stranger. You know it’s nonsense, a man trying to be kind to a crying woman, but it meant a lot, even if that’s all it was. You’d walked in with a smile you haven’t had since you married him.
Satoru Gojo.
“A week? You can die from that shit,” he glares now, and you laugh, but this time it’s a mean little sound. “You think you can’t?”
“Sure, but what would you care?” You take a sip of the wine you’d poured, Satoru’s finest vintage, letting it dance along your tongue. “Wouldn’t it make your life easier if I did?”
His lips part, brows drawing together. “I don’t want you to fucking die, okay? Fuck.”
“You wouldn’t care,” you swirl the wine around, leaning back in the seat, eyes locked with the man you’ve tried so hard to make like you. To just come near you, to give you a chance. “I’m nothing to you.”
He says nothing in the quiet of the dining room.
“You didn’t notice.”
“Well, no I don’t eye your every move, figured you eat before I get home or some shit,” he runs a hand through his silky white locks, eyeing you carefully. “Do you want them to order something specific? Just because me and you will never be anything, doesn’t mean I want you to starve in my fucking house.”
“Nah, I like everything they have here,” you finish the wine in a gulp, an unladylike one that makes Satoru raise his brows, standing then, sighing. “It’s hard to eat when you can’t stop crying, when you constantly feel sick to your stomach knowing the man you live with hates your existence.”
You walk up and he says your name, you pause and look back at him. “I never said don’t eat, yeah?”
“No, you didn’t. But her lipstick is all over your neck, and up on that collar,” he touches it then, looking at the crimson on his pale fingertips. You step up to him, so close you inhale that scent. “Can you buy your sluts some decent fucking perfume, aren’t you rich?”
“What the fuck!?” You smile, you’ve never cussed, but it feels amazing in that moment, seeing him sputter. “What are you going on about, and what’s got your ass so fucking peppy?”
“Their knock off perfume, it’s all over you, every night. Buy them some Chanel or something, yeah? Not like you have to buy me anything, I have my own money. The scent makes me nauseous,” you turn again, Satoru grips your wrist, making you pause for just a moment, shutting your eyes.
Nothing, he feels nothing.
“Thought you didn’t cuss?”
“You don’t know me and you don’t want to.”
He lets you go, no argument, just quiet.
“I’m starting training at the gym,” you mention quietly. “I’ll be going there tomorrow.”
“Some yoga class?”
“Boxing.”
Satoru blinks, you just smile, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “You? Boxing?”
“Mhm, good night Gojo.”
You head up the stairs to your room, falling back on the bed, shutting your eyes, feeling good for the first time since that engagement party, for the first time in months there was something brimming under the surface. Some sort of hope.
Tonight you don’t hear him moaning, or talking to his girls, it’s quiet, and you’re thankful, shutting your eyes and falling into a deep sleep.
You’re haunted by two sets of eyes, two sets of hands, blue ones that are glaring, red ones that are hungry, long thin fingers choking your neck, suffocating you, thick ones painted black freeing you. Torn between them, claustrophobic in the darkness, where all you can see are their eyes.
You wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, holding your racing heart, thrumming against your palm, before you fall back asleep, and there is only one pair of eyes.
And they’re red.
Tysm AGAIN for 30k my loves <3 this will be a doozy
Patreon for more exclusive fics - Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass🍷
he’s a fucking bully! the moment he sees you with a face mask on: “what the fuck are you doing to your face 🤨”
(he loves that face btw)
you explain that it’s a purifying treatment that prevents breakouts. it goes in one ear and out the other. when you ask if he wants to try it?
“no ✋🏼 thanks.”
he walks away before you can respond and only says thanks bc he knows you’re sensitive and will ask if he stills loves you before you two go to bed.
you have games on your phone, he doesn’t fucking get it. he makes fun of you for it all the time. yet the first night you sleep over, he has his leg thrown over your body, snoring, head buried in your chest while you continue to play them until you eventually fall asleep too.
hungover? he’s fucking pissed. he’s seething when he comes back from the convenience store with pedialyte and milk bread. he forces you to drink it right when he gets home, you get scared and start to chug it.
you end up choking on the drink. the whole time he’s looking at you like you just threatened to kill him. he asks what the fuck is wrong with you and you’re just fighting back tears because you don’t know.
but he still rubs your back until you go back to sleep. you wake up hours later with a pounding headache and he already has soup on the stove for you because he knows a nap won’t be enough to make you feel better. he also toasts some of that stupid milk bread and adds a layer of butter because he’s seen you do that a million times and know that’s how you like it.
he is an incredibly grumpy man, but you’ve also come to learn that he’s the most reliable person you know, even if he looks at you as if you’re in dire need of a lobotomy sometimes.
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