୨୧ ― Gojo Satoru just can’t help himself when he see’s you in cute lingerie ~
"Cover those pretty eyes of your! And no peeking or i'm changing back!" You warn, adjusting the cute cow horns atop your head nervously.
"But baaaabbby, im dying over here" Gojo whines dramatically, hand pressed firmly over his eyes as he waits on the bed. "What if you're so cute i actually explode? You'll have to explain to our child why their daddy spontaneously combusted… What if i just use one eye-"
"D- don't you dare!" You huff, cheeks flushing. You knew he was being silly, but… you wanted him to be surprised! You take a deep breath, trying to calm down.
Gojo softens, his heart fluttering in his chest, "what about half an eye?"
"Satoru!"
"Sorry sorry," Gojo chuckles, grinning, "I'm just teasing, babe. I know you're excited~ They're covered, i promise."
"Promise you won't laugh?"
"Could never at you~"
When you finally give permission, his hand drops and his entire expression melts into one of pure adoration, "Oh baby…" He murmurs softly, sitting up from his spot on the bed as he engraves this moment into his memory. How you went out of your way to dress-up just for him, how the cow-print lingerie was practically painted on your skin and that growing belly of yours, how the garter belt accentuated the shape of your hips…
You were perfect.
You fidget nervously, your face flushing. Gojo stares at you, his mouth slightly agape. It wasn't that he was speechless, it was more like he couldn't speak, didn't have the words to tell you just how much you meant to him, how beautiful you were, and how lucky he felt to call you his own.
"Y- you can't just stare at me like that, Toru! I- I feel huge…"
"Really really." He hums, eyes still glued to you, "Actually, i've had a surprise for you too, sweetheart~" He coos, pulling out a box from under the bed, "Now it's your turn to close those pretty eyes of yours~"
You blink, "Satoru, what-?"
"Trust me~" Gojo grins, "and don't peek." he gives you a wink.
Before you can start to feel self conscious again, you feel yourself being scooped up bridal style, "Yeeehaw!!!" he hollers playfully, twirling you around as you giggle and cling to him, "Look what i caught myself, the prettiest cow in all of Japan~"
Your eyes open to find Gojo in nothing but a cowboy hat and a red bandana around his neck.
"Should we see if you're ready to be milked yet, doll~?" Gojo purrs, carrying you back to the bed and gently laying you down.
"You're so ridiculous, oh my god! I can't believe i let you get me pregnant," you giggle as he crawls over you, kissing you tenderly.
"but you love me~"
"i do." you smile as he presses his forehead against yours, "So very much…"
"You're my whole world, baby. Now… Moo-ve over sugar, this cowboy's about to show you a good time~"
nerdjo, his pregnant girlfriend and his baby (and sometimes suguru) ♡ art creds here
When you nervously showed him the positive pregnancy test in your shared room at the penthouse,૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა froze for a solid ten seconds, then immediately pulled up a dozen tabs on prenatal vitamins, baby name generators, and a shared Google Doc titled “Baby Project v1.0.”
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა insisted on turning one of his spare rooms into a nursery right away, sketching floor plans on graph paper and ordering a star-projector ceiling light so the baby could “have her own little galaxy every night.” (he wanted a baby girl so bad, kept insisting that the baby HAD to be a girl)
He started a meticulous pregnancy tracker app on his phone, color-coded by trimester, complete with weekly bump photos he took with his fancy camera while you were both still in hoodies and sweatpants between lectures.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა would drive you to every prenatal appointment in his sleek car, blasting whatever playlist you had chosen turned down low, and holding your hand the entire time while asking the doctor way too many hyper-specific questions.
He researched the healthiest snacks obsessively and kept the fridge stocked with cut fruit, Greek yogurt, and those fancy imported juices, proudly announcing each new “approved” food like he’d unlocked a rare achievement.
Late-night study sessions turned into him reading baby development books out loud to you while you rested your head on his lap, his free hand gently on your growing belly.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა cried quietly in the car after the 20-week ultrasound when he saw her little profile on the screen, then immediately printed it out and laminated it for his wallet.
He started calling her “Pixel” as a nickname because she was “the best new character in our life’s game,” and it stuck even after you picked her real name.
During the pregnancy, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა would drag Suguru into their usual late-night study sessions just to show off the latest ultrasound printout he kept in a protective sleeve, zooming in on “her perfect little pixel profile” while Suguru sipped coffee and called him a sap.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა assembled the crib with the precision of someone defusing a bomb, triple-checking the instructions and adding extra safety features he found on niche parenting forums.
when you went into labor, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა was a whirlwind of calm panic—grabbing the hospital bag he’d packed weeks in advance while driving you there safely.
In the delivery room, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა held your hand the whole time, feeding you ice chips and whispering nerdy encouragements like “You’re clearing the hardest boss fight, baby.” Then he saw his daughter and broke into full-on happy tears, glasses fogging up.
The first time he held his daughter, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა was a complete mess of awe and love, rocking her so gently while murmuring stats about newborn reflexes he’d memorized.
Back at the penthouse, he set up a whole command center with a baby monitor that had night vision and an app that sent stats to his phone so he could “data mine her sleep cycles.”
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა Back at the penthouse, he set up a whole command center with a baby monitor that had night vision and an app that sent stats to his phone so he could “data mine her sleep cycles.”
He bought a baby carrier that looked like a little tactical vest and wore her around the penthouse while reviewing lecture notes, calling it “multi-tasking DLC.”
First bath time was a whole event: ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა had the water temperature checked three times, rubber duckies lined up, and recorded a video for memories.
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა insisted on taking her to campus in a fancy stroller, proudly introducing her to professors and friends between classes like she was a little star.
Diaper changes became a strangely efficient process; he had it down to a science with wipes warmers and a changing pad that played soft melodies.
He baby-proofed the entire penthouse with outlet covers, corner guards, and even pressure sensors on low cabinets “just in case she unlocks parkour mode early.”
૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა would hum video game themes as lullabies, and surprisingly, Pixel always settled down faster to the Zelda soundtrack.
When she had her first real laugh, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა FaceTimed Suguru mid-laugh and held the phone so close the audio glitched, yelling, “Did you hear that?! She’s got my humor! She's hilarious!"
He bought matching nerdy onesies for the baby and insisted on a “family photo op” with Suguru during one of their hangouts, forcing his best friend to hold her while he took 47 pictures from different angles.
During study breaks on campus, he’d wheel the stroller over to wherever Suguru was and dramatically unveil her like she was a limited-edition figurine, saying things like “Behold, the final boss of my heart” while Suguru pretended to be annoyed but always ended up playing peek-a-boo with her.
When she started crawling, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა sent Suguru a 15-second video of her scooting across the floor with the caption “She’s already faster than you bro” followed by ten laughing emojis.
Suguru once joked that the baby looked more like you than him, and ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა spent the next week sending side-by-side comparison photos with annotations pointing out her “obviously Gojo-coded” features.
For her first birthday party, ૮₍ daddy nerdjo ⑅₎ა made sure Suguru was there early so he could watch his best friend hold the birthday girl in her tiny party dress, getting a little misty-eyed again while muttering, “she's so cute...”
when gojo satoru asked you out, all of your friends said to reject him. apparently to them, there were thousands of reasons.
“gojo? he’s so annoying. he thinks he knows everything!”
“he’s such a weirdo, why even bother with him?”
“that nerd studies all day. he won’t even have time for you.”
but, you? you thought why not give it a shot?
i mean, he’s at the top of his class, actually takes his studies seriously, and is good at literally anything that exists.
you didn’t interact with him a lot before this—except when you had a group project last term—so, imagine your surprise when you open your laptop and see a message from him.
chem group partner
hey
sorta sudden but i got a question for you
following his text was a link. half of you was curious, the other half was hoping that pressing into the link wasn’t going to take all of your credit card information.
your cursor hovers over the link for a bit before you click on it, teleporting you to a website.
your eyes widen as you stare at the screen. you definitely weren’t expecting a picture of satoru’s cat with the text “will you go on a date with me? (tofu says yes)”.
recalling when you went over to satoru’s house for the group project, you remembered he had a white cat with the name “tofu”. you absolutely adored that little fluffy creature.
under the text, there were two simple options. yes and no.
you think about his confession as you spin your cursor in circles—a force of habit. what made you gasp though was, when your cursor got near the “no” button, it started moving away automatically.
you let out a small giggle, realising you didn’t even have to think about your answer, before clicking the “yes” option.
the text “hm. knew you'd say yes 🩵” pops up.
you smile to yourself again, grabbing your phone and taking a picture for keepsake. you can’t believe he made a whole website just to ask you out.
you continue, the website teleporting you to another page where it says “so…when are you free?”.
pulling up your schedule on the side, you carefully select the time and date. you decide that june 23, 6:30pm would be fine, questioning if you clicked the 12am option, would he actually go through with it?
guess that’s a question for another day.
you then get to choose what to eat, with the options, pizza, sushi, burgers, pasta, tacos, ramen. you pick your favourite, fingers crossing that you’d actually crave for it on the day of the date.
after that, you get the last slide, leaving you a bit disappointed. the text saying, “be ready by 6:30, i’ll come and get you that day 🚗”.
though the words below that was what made you realise why people called him cocky.
“normal people use their words, i made a website, for you. did it under an hour, no big deal."
Gojo satoru was seething. For a moment, he swore that all he saw was red. His fingers twitched violently before he heard poor Ijichi's panicked mutters of his name repeatedly which managed to compose him enough to remind him where he actually was. For the past ten minutes, Satoru stared at the sight in front of him. He knew he had absolutely no right to be jealous but he couldn't help it. Not when your husband wrapped his hand around your waist, pressing you close to his side. His six eyes easily enabled him to see how your husband was caressing the curves of your waist. Even if no one noticed (or if they did, they never mentioned it out loud), Ijichi did afterall. He knew Satoru's conflicted feelings about one of the higher up's young wife. He noticed the lingering stares, fleeting touches and your panicked whispers to tell Satoru how highly inappropriate this was but obviously he was too far gone. Hell, Ijichi even helped Satoru arrange a meeting for the higher up so he could meet you alone.
It was wrong of course, because you were the wife of another man but Gojo Satoru didn't care. Not even if you were the wife of another higher up in the Gojo clan. It wouldn't matter because he was the clan head after all. Was he supposed to care though? Ijichi thought to himself, he saw how Satoru reacted whenever you were there. Long gone was the composed and intimidating clan leader that everyone feared (god forbid no one wanted to be Gojo Satoru's enemy). His cerulean eyes would dart to you nervously beneath the bandages that wrapped his eyes, trying to access your every single move using his six eyes. He was always careful about his choice of words and most importantly his tone. Calm and respectful. Ijichi wondered if his love was real or was it just obsession glorified but eitheway, he came to the conclusion that it was dangerous. Being the center of Satoru's devotion was exhausting.
Ijichi observed the scene in front of him. You were wearing a cerulean shade kimono (matching the shade of the clan leader's eyes) designed with delicate hand painted blossoms winding along the fabric- OH, THIS WAS THE KIMONO THAT THE YOUNG MASTER HIMSELF GIFTED TO YOU. His eyes nervously darted to Satoru, once he realised that Satoru recognized the gift. He was ready to step forward as if he decided to do something impulsive. No wonder he was seething. Ijichi noticed how weird the young master was around you. Most of the times, he looked like he did not know if he should touch you but he sure as hell knew that no one else was allowed to touch you. He established that the young master was too possessive over another man's wife. All of this thinking gave poor Ijichi a bad headache.
Satoru still stared at you, you knew that or at least you could feel it. You tried your best to fight off the shivers and leaned against your husband slightly, feeling tired with all the formality. Suddenly, a loud clap resonated from behind you. In the center of the room sat Satoru on the jodan-do-ma, a gold leaf folding screen towered behind him, framing his back and making him look as powerful as he was. For the first time, you actually got to look Satoru properly, he was wearing a black montsuki hakami, staring right at you and your husband. Your husband stilled, even if he was highly ranked, anyone could be the victim of Gojo Satoru's wrath, there was no exception (except for you, but that wasn't the point). All the elders bowed instantly and you followed as well. You looked at Ijichi who was sweating bullets at this point, even though the room was air conditioned and quite chilly.
"I want all the elders to head to the meeting room, there is something I need to discuss." Satoru said and just like that the room emptied in the blink of an eye. The elders rushed to the meeting room, including your husband and the few wives that attended were being instructed to go to another room led by one of the working servants. You contemplated to go with them, before Ijichi stepped in front of you. "Gojo san wants you to follow me. He will be ariving shortly." he said in a whisper to which you can only nod and look around to see Satoru isn't in the room after all. You sigh and follow the nervous man.
"Can I ask you something?"
The poor man jolted as if he didn't expect you to talk to him. Was he afriad of you or was he afraid to be seen talking to you? He nodded, before looking around, eyes darting around the shadows as you both entered a dark hallway. Despite coming to the Gojo estate a few times, you still were not able to memorise the hallways properly, the place just seemed never ending.
"Do you think what is happening is … right?"
He looked over his shoulder, surprised that you asked that question, which obviously meant you harbored some guilt unlike the young master. It obviously did not cross his mind that you would ask a question such as this. He wanted to say something but found no words leaving his mouth. He guessed why Gojo was so crazy about you, because at the moment he was awestruck himself. The dark hallways of the Gojo estate were illuminated by the moonlight. You were truly achingly beautiful afterall. There was a little frown on your face, and the look in your eyes made Ijichi forget what he was about to say.
"Ijichi."
Oh fuck.
He was fucked.
A hand was lifted to Ijichi's shoulder and the 6'3 man stood tall with no expression on his face. The black hakami made him harder to spot which made him wonder if he was hiding in the shadows all this time. He gave a hard squeeze on Ijichi's shoulder and the look on Satoru's eyes dared him to make a noise in front of you.
"Thank you, you may stand outside until we are done."
You could tell Satoru was pissed, his cursed energy was flaring dangerously but he put a hand on your lower back and let you slowly into the nearby room. Despite his mood swings, he was gentle with you and made sure you would never be on the other side of receiving his anger.
The door closed and you turned around to stare at him. He stared at you for a moment, before pinning you against the door and kissing you feverishly.
And poor Ijichi was blushing furiously when he began to hear the noises of what he thought you both were doing.
"MHMMM.. GOJO SAMA-"
No way, Ijichi thought. You both were in the Gojo estate and your husband was sitting right across the hall, waiting for a meeting that Gojo suddenly appointed and was expected to arrive. Little did he know, that his newly wed wife was getting banged by Gojo Satoru himself. And for the next thirty minutes, Ijichi heard everything. The poor man was muttering prayers asking God so that none of the elders would come out or any servants would pass by.
"NGH MHMMM- SATORU!"
Ijichi could tell you were trying your best not to be loud but he guessed it was very hard since you were unsuccessful at doing it. Not to mention, all he heard from his boss's end were grunts and groans of your name being repeatedly said as if he was reciting a prayer.
Sooner or later, Ijichi realized Gojo wanted Ijichi to hear everything. Every moan, every smack of lips, every groan, all of it. Fuck, if Satoru could he would make Ijichi watch it so he would remember twice before even thinking but obviously, he would be more than happy to pluck out the eyes of any other man who saw you bare other than him, so he did not.
After a series of high pitched moans and desperate smacking of lips, you both quietened down. The next noises were shuffling of clothes and he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing you guys were finally done. The door opened to reveal Gojo wearing his black hakami except his hair was disheveled, neck covered in cherry red lipstick stains and his mouth was pulled in a grin. You followed behind, with the same state as Gojo.
Hiding your face timidly behind Satoru's broad shoulders was the only way you could face Ijichi knowing he heard everything. He heard you two going at it like rabbits, what was even more embarrassing than that.
"I should tell the guest-ts than Gojo san is arriving."
Ijichi stammered, stumbling forward trying to head to the meeting room.
"Ijichi."
Gojo called out slowly.
Ijichi turned around to see Gojo only smiling with his eyes closed. A tremor went down his spine for there was nothing comforting nor warm about his deceiving smile. It was a warning and he nodded, maintaining eye contact with the ground before practically running away.
"Satoru?"
"Yes, my love."
"What was that?"
The only response you got was a chaste kiss on your lips. (like always)
synopsis. You waited three weeks. You set up the apartment perfectly — candles, dinner, soft music. Three weeks of counting down. Three weeks of missing him. Three weeks of planning the perfect night. And then he walked through the door — and nothing went the way you'd hoped.
pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader
content & warnings. hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, gojo is exhausted and snappy, harsh words, crying, emotional hurt, six eyes detail, soft comfort afterward, happy ending
word count. 1.7k+
A/N. this is for the lovely anon who requested this! love ya <3
You'd been counting down the days.
Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours. You'd marked each one on the calendar, crossing off the numbers with a little more hope every morning.
Today was the last one.
Today, he was coming home.
You'd left work early. You'd gone to the grocery store, wandering the aisles, picking up everything he liked — the expensive soda, the brand of chips he pretended not to care about, the ingredients for his favorite dinner. You'd even found candles. Soft ones. The kind that made the apartment smell like vanilla and cinnamon.
You wanted it to be perfect.
You set the table. You dimmed the lights. You changed into the sweater he liked — the one he always said made you look cozy. You checked your phone. No new messages.
He said he'd be home by eight.
It was seven forty-five.
You lit the candles.
The door opened at eight thirteen.
You heard his keys hit the counter. The familiar sound of his shoes being kicked off. The sigh — heavy, exhausted, the kind that came from somewhere deep.
You stood up from the couch.
"Satoru?"
He was in the doorway. His hair was messier than usual. His blindfold was pushed up around his neck, and the skin under his eyes was dark, bruised-looking. His uniform was rumpled. There was a tear in his sleeve.
He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Hey," you said softly. "Welcome home."
He didn't answer.
You stepped closer. "I made dinner. Your favorite. And I got those chips you like, the ones from—"
"I don't want chips."
The words came out flat. Sharp. Like a door slamming shut.
You stopped.
"I just— I thought—"
"I don't care what you thought." He walked past you into the living room. "I just spent three weeks fighting things you can't imagine. I don't need candles. I don't need dinner. I need to not have to pretend right now."
Your chest tightened.
"I wasn't asking you to pretend," you said quietly.
"Then what were you doing?"
"I was trying to make you feel better."
"Well, you're not."
The words hit like a slap.
You blinked. Your eyes were stinging.
"Satoru..."
"Don't." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. "Just— don't."
He was pacing now. Back and forth, back and forth. His hands were shaking.
"You don't understand," he said. "You can't understand. You're not the one who has to—" He stopped. "You're not the one who has to watch people die. You're not the one who has to make choices that get people killed."
"I know," you said.
"You don't know."
"I know I don't know." Your voice was smaller now. "But I'm trying to—"
"Trying to what? Fix me?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"Love you."
He laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. It was brittle and sharp and it cut through the room like glass.
"Love isn't going to bring them back."
You flinched.
He saw it.
Of course he saw it. His Six Eyes missed nothing — the way your breath hitched, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way a tear slipped down your cheek before you could wipe it away. He saw the flinch. He saw the hurt. He saw the exact moment his words pierced through you.
And it broke him.
"You flinched," he said. His voice was barely audible.
You didn't answer.
"I saw you flinch." He wasn't pacing anymore. He was standing still, staring at you like he'd never seen you before. "When I—" He stopped. Swallowed. "When I said those things. You flinched like you were expecting to be hit."
"Satoru—"
"I never wanted to be the reason you flinched."
The room was silent.
The candles flickered. The dinner was getting cold. The apartment smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and something sad.
"I'm going to bed," you said.
"Sweetheart—"
"Don't."
You walked past him. You didn't look back.
You didn't cry right away.
You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, your hands in your lap. The tears came slowly — first a sting in your eyes, then a few drops on your cheeks, then the kind of crying that made your whole body shake.
You pressed your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds.
You didn't want him to hear.
You didn't want him to know how much it hurt.
But he heard anyway.
The door opened.
"Sweetheart,"
He didn't say anything. He just stood there, in the doorway, looking at you.
Your face was wet. Your eyes were red. Your shoulders were still shaking.
He looked like someone had punched him in the chest.
"I'm sorry," he said.
You didn't answer.
"I'm so sorry."
"You should go." Your voice cracked. "You're tired. You don't need to—"
"I need to be here."
"You just said—"
"I know what I said." He stepped closer. "I know what I said, and I was wrong."
You looked up at him.
He looked terrible. His eyes were red. His jaw was tight. His hands were shaking.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," he said. "I'm not asking you to pretend it didn't happen. I just—" He stopped. "I need you to know that I didn't mean it."
"You did."
"I meant that I was tired. I meant that I was angry. I didn't mean—" His voice cracked. "I didn't mean you."
He knelt in front of you.
"I've been gone for three weeks," he said. "Three weeks of nothing but fighting and blood and darkness. And all I could think about was coming home to you."
"Then why—"
"Because when I walked in and saw the candles and the dinner and the way you looked at me—" He stopped. "I didn't feel like I deserved it."
"Satoru..."
"I don't deserve you." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I've never deserved you. And every time I come home and you're still here, I don't know how to handle it."
"You could try saying thank you."
He laughed — a broken, watery sound.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"You already said that."
"I'll say it a hundred more times."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
You looked at him — at his tired eyes, his shaking hands, the way he was kneeling on the floor like he was asking for forgiveness.
"Come here," you said.
He climbed onto the bed beside you, slow, careful, like he was afraid you'd push him away.
You didn't.
You pulled him into your arms.
He buried his face in your shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again.
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"I don't— I don't know why you stay."
"Because I love you too."
He held you tighter.
You lay there for a long time.
His head was on your chest. Your fingers were in his hair. The candles in the other room had burned out. The dinner was cold. The apartment was dark.
"I ruined it," he said quietly.
"You didn't."
"I snapped at you. I said horrible things. You went to all that trouble, and I—"
"You were tired."
"That's not an excuse."
"I know." You pressed a kiss to his forehead. "But it's a reason."
He was quiet for a moment.
"I don't want to be that person," he said. "The one who comes home and makes you feel small."
"Then don't."
"I'm trying."
"I know."
He looked up at her.
"How do you do it?" he asked.
"Do what?"
"Stay. Even when I'm like this."
"Because I know you."
You brushed his hair back from his forehead.
"I know the person you are when you're not exhausted. When you're not carrying the weight of the world. And that person is worth staying for."
His eyes were wet.
"You're going to make me cry," he said.
"Then cry."
"I don't cry."
"You're crying right now."
"I'm not."
"Your face is wet."
"It's allergies."
"It's November."
"I'm allergic to November."
You laughed — soft and tired.
He smiled — small and broken but real.
"I love you," he said.
"I know."
"I'm going to make it up to you."
"You don't have to."
"I want to." He pressed his forehead to yours. "Tomorrow. I'm going to make you breakfast. And I'm going to hold your hand. And I'm going to be better."
"You're already better."
"I'm trying."
"That's all I ask."
You woke up to the smell of eggs and toast.
You blinked. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains. The bed was empty beside you.
Satoru was in the kitchen. Again.
He was wearing the same apron. There was a smear of butter on his sleeve. The eggs were slightly overcooked. The toast was perfectly golden.
He looked up when you walked in.
"You're up," he said.
"You're making breakfast again."
"I messed up yesterday." He slid an egg onto a plate, his movements careful, deliberate. "I wanted to try again."
You walked over to him.
"Satoru..."
"I know I can't fix it with eggs." He set the plate down and finally looked at you. His eyes were soft. Hopeful. Scared. "But I can try. Every day. Until you believe me."
"Believe what?"
"That I'm sorry." His voice was quiet. "That I love you. That I'm going to do better."
You looked at him — at the butter on his sleeve, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands were still shaking just a little.
"Did you sleep?" you asked.
"Not really."
"At all?"
"A little."
"You need to sleep."
He set the spatula down and turned to face you fully.
"I need to take care of you first."
You reached over and took his hand.
"I'm okay," you said.
"Are you?"
"Yeah." You squeezed his fingers. "I am."
He stared at you. His throat moved as he swallowed.
"I don't deserve you," he said.
"Stop saying that."
"But it's true."
"It's not." You stepped closer. "Now sit down. Eat your eggs. And then you're going to sleep."
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, softly: "Yes, ma'am."
It wasn't a joke. It wasn't sarcastic. It was quiet and sincere, like a promise he was making to himself as much as to you.
You felt your chest warm.
He sat. He ate. He held your hand across the table.
And when he finally fell asleep on the couch an hour later — his head on the pillow, his breathing slow and even — you covered him with a blanket and kissed his forehead.
He didn't wake up.
But his hand reached for yours in his sleep.
You held it.
A/N. i genuinely cried at this ion wanna talk abt it 😭 i really hope you guys enjoyed this! <3 broke my heart a little writing this bcz of the things im going thru rn 🥹 i hope you guys are all okay and feeling amazing !! 😼💞
Plagiarism not authorized. Do not feed my work to AI. Feel free to req!! <3
