boobs

tonight, though, you were exhausted. school had wrung you out completely; your notes were scattered across your desk, your eyes burned, and your brain felt like mush. satoru had appeared halfway through your breakdown with snacks and zero useful academic advice.

“maybe,” he’d said from upside down on your bed, “if you stopped looking at your homework like it just—”

“gojo.”

“right, right. tough crowd.”

now it was late. too late. the room was dim except for your desk lamp, and satoru stood by the door stretching lazily, shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of skin that absolutely did not help your concentration.

“well,” he sighed dramatically. “guess i should leave before you start missing me.”

“you’re fucking insufferable.”

“and yet you adore me.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling a little despite yourself. “goodnight, satoru.”

he stared expectantly, you stared back. “…what?”

“aren’t you forgetting something?”

“oh my god.”

“there it is,” he grinned. “the nightly homie kiss.”

“it’s literally embarrassing that you still call it that.”

“but you still do it.”

you hated that he had a point.

with the deepest sigh you could muster, you stepped closer and grabbed the front of his jacket, tugging him down just enough to press a quick kiss to his mouth.

you meant for it to be quick.

satoru clearly had other plans.

the second you pulled back, his hand slid automatically to your waist, warm and annoyingly firm, fingers curling there like he belonged. “mm,” he hummed thoughtfully, way too pleased with himself. “weak effort tonight.”

“you are so annoying.”

“and stressed,” he added softer this time, thumb rubbing once against your side. “been frowning for like six hours straight.”

your expression faltered a little. “school sucks.”

“yeah,” he said easily. “but you’re doing fine.”

the sincerity caught you off guard more than the touching ever did.

which was probably why you made the mistake of looking at his mouth again.

satoru noticed immediately, because of course he did.

that stupid grin returned slowly. “you wanna try again, don’t you?”

“no.”

“liar.”

before you could argue, he leaned down himself this time, kissing you properly — still playful, still light, but slower. his hand slipped from your waist to your hip, fingertips brushing the curve of your lower back and barely grazing lower for a second just to make you jolt.

“satoru—”

“what?” he said innocently against your lips. “just supporting my homie emotionally.”

“you’re the worst.”

“and yet,” he murmured, stealing one more kiss, “you look less stressed already.”

“You keep stealing the good fries,” he complained.

You looked up from the carton. “The good fries?”

“The crispy ones.”

“Those are all the fries.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You grabbed another one, and Sukuna immediately narrowed his eyes. “That was a crispy one.”

You giggled. “Too slow.”

“I literally bought them.”

“And?”

His jaw twitched, and for a second he almost smiled back at you. Almost–until his phone rang. The smile vanished instantly. You watched him pull it out, and his expression shifted. Not annoyed or irritated, just tired, which made your stomach sink because you knew that look.

He stared at the screen for a moment before answering. “Yeah.”

Silence followed. You kicked your feet against the pavement, picking at the corner of the fry carton while he listened, sighed, and ran a hand through his pink hair.

“How long?” he asked.

Your stomach dropped.

NOoOooOoOOoOoOooO. Not today. Not now. You already knew. You knew before he even said it. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”

You looked away before he could see your face. The call ended. A few seconds passed, then he said, “I gotta go.”

There it was.

You nodded. “Oh.”

His brows furrowed. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, trying to sound casual. Normal. Totally unbothered.

“Okay.”

Sukuna stared at you. You stared at the road. He knew. You knew he knew, but neither of you were going to say it.

“They need someone to cover,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You mad?”

“No.”

A lie. A terrible lie. Possibly the worst lie ever spoken.

Sukuna scoffed. “You’re literally pouting.”

“M’not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You shoved another fry into your mouth aggressively. Sukuna stared, then snorted–actually snorted, the jerk.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You look like someone kicked your dog.”

“I don’t even have a dog.”

“You look like someone would kick your dog.”

You glared at him. He looked annoyingly amused, until his expression softened slightly.

“They’re short‑staffed.”

“Okay.”

“I need the hours.”

“I know.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yuji needs new shoes.”

Your gaze flickered up. Sukuna looked away. “Kid grew out of the last pair in like three damn months.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Choso’s helping with rent already. I’m not dumping more on him.”

Your chest tightened, because there it was–the real reason. Not cigarettes, not stupid spending, not because he wanted to leave. Because there was a five‑year‑old waiting for him at home who somehow managed to outgrow everything the second it was bought. Because Choso was already carrying enough at sixteen. Because Sukuna had been playing the role of provider for so long that saying no almost wasn’t an option anymore.

“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to,” he said quietly.

You hated that, because you knew it was true. He wasn’t ditching you because he wanted to. He needed the money. You knew that, but the stupid hurt feeling wouldn’t go away. Because for one afternoon–one stupid afternoon–you wanted him to pick you. Just once.

You immediately hated yourself for thinking it, because that wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Bills weren’t fair. Rent wasn’t fair. And Sukuna had never gotten the luxury of putting feelings before survival.

Still… it hurt.

“Whatever,” you muttered. There it was–the dangerous whatever.

Sukuna sighed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You get this tone.”

“What tone?”

“That one.”

You stood up. “There is no tone.”

“There is.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is.”

You grabbed your bag. “Go to work, Sukuna.”

His jaw clenched. You knew that look too–the one where he wanted to argue but couldn’t, because he really did have to leave. So instead he stood, towering over you.

“Walk home safe.”

“Yeah.”

“You got your keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone charged?”

“Yes, dad.”

That earned you a glare.

Good. Maybe he should suffer too.

“You being annoying on purpose?”

“Maybe.”

His eyes narrowed, then he reached over and flicked your forehead. Hard.

“Ow!”

“Brat.”

Then he started walking backwards toward the street. “Text me when you’re home.”

You rolled your eyes.

He pointed. “Seriously.”

“Okay.”

“Promise.”

You huffed. “Promise.”

Only then did he finally leave, and somehow watching him disappear around the corner felt way worse than you’d expected.

The walk home sucked, mostly because it gave you time to think, which was terrible. Thinking was terrible. You replayed the afternoon over and over–the way he’d looked disappointed too, the way he’d tried explaining, the way he’d said he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t have to–and somehow that only made you more upset, because if he’d been a jerk about it, you could’ve stayed mad. Instead, he’d been reasonable, which was annoying.

Your phone buzzed.

Ryo🤰: Made it.

You ignored it.

Another buzz.

Ryo🤰: You home yet?

Ignored.

Five minutes later:

Ryo🤰: Answer your phone idiot.

Ignored.

Then–

Ryo🤰: Don’t make me come check.

You immediately typed back:

You: You’re literally at work.

His reply came instantly.

Ryo🤰: So you’re alive.

You stared at the screen for a moment, then locked your phone.

Nope. Not doing this. You were too sad and too grumpy to talk.

Three hours later, you were curled up in bed, still grumpy, still refusing to text him properly, and still pretending you weren’t checking your phone every ten minutes. The quiet of your room made everything worse, and when the sudden knock at the door echoed through the apartment–three sharp raps–you froze. It was nearly midnight, and before you could even process who would be knocking at this hour, your phone rang. Sukuna’s name lit up the screen, making your stomach flip as you answered with a flat, “What?”

“Open the door,” he said.

You sat upright, confused. “...What?”

“Door.”

“Sukuna.”

“Door.”

“You were literally at work.”

“I still am.”

“What?”

“Open the damn door.”

Still confused, you dragged yourself out of bed and opened the door, only to find him standing there in his work uniform with tired eyes, messy hair, and a paper bag in his hand. You blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You wouldn’t stop sulking,” he said.

“I wasn’t sulking.”

“You ignored me for three hours.”

“That’s not–”

“Sulking.”

You glared at him, but the irritation didn’t hold. He looked genuinely exhausted–dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like he’d worked a twelve‑hour shift–and yet he’d still come all the way here. Your anger weakened immediately, traitorous thing that it was.

He shoved the paper bag into your arms, and when you looked inside, you found your favourite takeaway–the exact thing you’d mentioned wanting earlier but never ended up getting. Your chest tightened just a little.

“Sukuna…”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “I know today sucked,” he muttered.

You stared at him.

“And I know you were upset.” You opened your mouth to deny it, then closed it again, because pretending now felt pointless.

Sukuna sighed. “I just…” He struggled with the words, like saying them physically hurt. “I need the money.”

Your heart squeezed because he sounded almost guilty, like he'd done something wrong when he hadn't. Not really. “I know,” you said softly.

His shoulders loosened slightly, just a fraction.

“I know,” you repeated.

Silence settled between you, and before you could think better of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Sukuna froze completely, like you’d hit him with a truck, but after a moment his arms came around you–slow, heavy, warm. You felt him exhale, the kind of breath someone lets out only after holding it in all day.

“I’m still annoyed,” you muttered.

“Mhm.”

“You left me.”

“Mhm.”

“You suck.”

“Mhm.”

He rested his chin on your head. “Still bought you food.”

“…Yeah.”

“Still came here.”

“…Yeah.”

“Still got another shift tomorrow.”

You groaned, and he actually laughed–a low, tired sound against your hair. And despite everything, the stupid hurt feeling finally faded. Because maybe Sukuna couldn’t always choose you first; life didn’t give him that luxury. But even after a miserable shift and an exhausting day, he still ended up on your doorstep at midnight. And maybe that counted for something too.

a/n: Inspireddd by the faaact exams are preventing me from talking to my girlfrieeends :(

You obey easily, blushing a bit, his hands brushing oil on your tits, making your lashes flutter shut, covering up just a bit.

"Don't, you're sexy.."

You blush even more if that were possible, breasts rising and falling as his huge hands knead that flesh, plucking at your nipples. Satoru moves to stand right over your head, the view of his cock tenting his pants fucking you up.

"You're getting the highest tip," he snorts at that.

"Oh?" He's gliding more oil across your tummy, leaning over to part your thighs and eye your slick pussy, hesitating just a bit - this is where he likes to let the clients guide him. "Put my hand where you want."

"Oh..." your heart hammers in your chest as you slip it down further, he lets out a soft little moan when his fingertips are right between your slit. "Mnh!"

"You don't need any oil there," he muses softly, teasing fingers slipping up your slit, making you jolt as they toy with your twitchy clit. Your hips arch as he teases your entrance, slick pouring from your little hole down his fingers. "So wet already, we just started the massage.... your little cunt is so needy."

All you manage is your eyes rolling back in your skull - your man just never made you cum, and your own fingers didn't feel close to as good as those five inch fingers did.

You swear they're bigger than your ex's cock.

Rough fingertips dip in your slick just to the first knuckle, slutty little moans escape your throat at it.

"Feel good?" He murmurs softly, one hand holds your thigh apart, the other swirls around your messy cunt and sliding in. "You're so tight here, too, I think need to loosen you up."

"Please," this slutty masseuse with pretty blue eyes pumps your pussy full - stretching you out with these sweet nurn6, that spongy spot he presses, making you gasp out, back arching off the little bed. "Mnh, there, there!"

"Shh, not too loud," he leans fully over you to press a kiss on your inner knee - that was not protocol, not when he couldn't stop thinking of drinking your pussy and breeding you. "Your cunt is already so loud."

You huff, earning another chuckle, when suddenly you can't help but tug at his zipper, sliding so your head dangles off the bed. He pauses, blushing and looking down at you, fingers sliding out.

"What are..." You look up all pretty with hearts in your eyes for him, biting your lip, thighs shaking.

"I really want your cock in my throat, I'll pay so much more," he almost laughs.

Paying him to suck his cock!?

"You sure, sweetheart? This is for you."

"I'll love it if you would like it," you turn around, on your elbows and knees, looking right up at him as he frees his cock. "Is this special treatment?"

"It is, can't say anyone's touched me," he mumbles, suddenly nervous, when you've got your mouth wrapping his cock, his head falls back, groan slipping from his throat as that tip grazes the roof of your mouth.

You didn't look the type to suck a dick down your throat like you have no gag reflex - but here you are, swallowing him like you can't get enough. Your oiled up ass is arched, Satoru reaches a long arm over you, one hand entangled in your hair, the other finding your hole and fucking his fingers in and out.

The loud sounds of your squelching pussy and his cock choking your slutty throat are loud, the stupid ass spa music falling on deaf ears as he thinks he's in love with your mouth.

"F-fuck you're... too good at..." He's never one to be at a loss for words, but with every glide of his pretty pink tip in your throat, you're swallowing impossibly more of him. "That's it - fuck, just like..."

Satoru bites down on his lower lip as he shoves the back of your head so he's choking you with his length, curling his fingers just right so you squirt right down him. Dripping in rivulets you're making the biggest mess, squishing sounds loud when he rushes his fingers side to side to make you squirt even more.

"Mmmph," tears streak down your eyes as you swallow Satoru's cock, thighs shaking on the leather bed, nails pressing into well muscled thighs. His grip on your head tightens as he bends over, fucking your throat even faster

"Want me to use your throat, cum deep inside it, huh sweetheart? Use your mouth like a pretty toy till all my cum makes you full?" Your answer is to desperately suck, two of his hands now on your head. Hips snapping, cock fucking in and out.

For a woman who had nothing but missionary and a little spit on your cunt as lube, you've never wanted to please like this. You want him to use yojr throat - fuck you would let him use every hole he wanted, looking up at him to see his flushed cheeks through your watering eyes.

"Mnh, m"gonna..." he cups your face to hold it in place, cock bottoming out so his drool soaked balls press on your chin. He pumps so much cum his knees are weak, he damn near has to cling to the bed as you keep sucking. "That thirsty? Gonna suck me dry..."

You keep sucking even as he is sensitive, Satoru pulls back and looks at the mess he's made of you, cum having slipped down your chin. He gathers it and slips it back between your lips.

"Open for me, pretty."

You eagerly listen- you, a soccer mom having this white haired masseuse spit in your open mouth in a filthy string. You eagerly swallow him up, earning him yanking you to your knees, kissing you right when the little timer goes off for his next client.

"Oh," you flush as you realize just how much you loved that, tying your robe hastily and almost bouncing at the door before he stops you.

"Hey," he tilts your chin up, pressing you against the door. "Can I see you again? Like... dinner or..."

"You want to go on a date? With me?"

"Nervous about a date but you just let me spit in your mouth?" he grins and you cover your face now.

"Oh god..."

"Pretty please?"

He is pretty sure he is in love when you give him your number and peck a kiss on his cheek.

and when he has to cancel his next client, it may or may not be because he's jerking his cock to the way your juices are still coating his fingers 💗

It’s very early. Too early for you to be up and leaving the comfort of your bed. You consider closing your eyes again, but you realize that Satoru is here. With you, separated by the walls of your bedroom. After weeks of endless late nights and waking up beside an empty bed, suddenly the sound of his singing doesn’t annoy you anymore, instead it makes you yearn for the normalcy of your married life. 

Then again, “normalcy” means something different when you’re two overworked sorcerers.

And now the feeling of wanting to spend every second possible with him makes you feel very awake. 

Satoru is still taking his sweet time inside the shower once you pattern down to the kitchen, switching on the cupboard lights. You rub at your eyes, and when the darkness finally ebbs away, you spot something starkly standing out against the ritzy furnishing of the room.

It’s a cupcake. Inside an old plastic jar that looks too tall for it.

At first, you wanna laugh. It’s funny, and actually really cute. You think about the way he probably rummaged through the cupboards trying to find the perfect container for his cupcake, one that won’t smush it in any way. Logistically it’s perfect, wide enough to encase the width of the cake, but leaves a lot (maybe too much) space on the top to preserve the hardened frosting and all its sprinkles. He could probably fit another cupcake on top if he wanted to. You don’t even remember having this one at all, it must’ve been an old plastic jar you stored away behind the clutter and forgot about.  

It reminds you of what a little kid would do if they wanted to save a sweet treat for later, grabbing whatever was the most convenient around. 

You’re melting at the right, but then you start to question it. Why did he pack just one singular cupcake? Where’s his lunch? Was he not going to eat anything else? 

Your heart butts in, thinking about why the only reason he packed his “lunch” like this is because he simply doesn’t have the time to properly prepare one. That once he’s out there, wherever the world demands him to be, he won’t even have the mind to take care of himself, let alone spare an hour for lunch. He wouldn’t have someone to take a break with. Everyone is already stretched too thin, and he’s going to be someplace else before you can reach him. 

And the worst part is, the cupcake (singular) isn’t even freshly baked. It’s a leftover you brought home a few days ago. 

It makes you want to cry. 

And maybe you are being a bit dramatic. You’re not sure what’s gotten into you this morning. But you really can’t blame yourself for feeling an unimaginable amount of affection and love for the man you get to call your husband. Not when it’s during moments that really remind you that Satoru is human. That somewhere behind those walls, beneath that immeasurable power is a man who’s living life for the first time, too. A man who has a notebook filled with things he wants to learn later on, who still wears that outfit combo you once said he “looked really handsome in”, and one who plays with the digivice you got him in the middle of the night just as you’re falling into a dreamless sleep. 

Your body moves before you can even think, and you’re already pulling out a pan and turning on the stove to cook him something more edible than a stale, half frozen cupcake. 

By some miracle, you finished packing the food into a lunch box when Satoru comes out of your bedroom. 

You can smell the remnants of fragrant steam from his shower, and the familiar scent of his cologne almost puts a smile on your face. But the second you really take a look at him, you’re back to aching inside again. 

Satoru doesn’t have a single clue on the internal turmoil you’re going through. 

He has a big grin plastered on, very happy to be greeted by the sight of you in his digimon shirt and a pair of sleep shorts that ride up just the perfect amount. He’s already dressed in his uniform, though his jacket is unbuttoned and he hasn’t put his blindfold on so there’s nothing to keep his white hair from springing up the way it usually does. It’s so soft, the way they frame his face and contrasts the bright blue of his eyes. It makes him look more gentle—boyish. Reminiscent of his jujutsu high days when everything seemed much easier. 

He notices you straight away, of course. There is no world where he wouldn’t find you first. 

There’s an evident eagerness in his steps as he approaches the kitchen, mussing his hair up from the front though it somehow falls back perfectly.  Satoru grins widely, nose turned up at the smell of your cooking. But you have a suspicion that it’s you who makes him happier when he can’t keep his eyes off you the whole walk.

“Wifey~ I don’t think I’ll make it back by dinner,” Satoru starts, apologetic. “but promise I’ll text at least 10 times today!” He recovers from his solemn tone and beelines straight towards you, making grabby hands and pouting his lips to ask for a kiss. 

He sounds so positive, humoring you so the thought of being left alone won’t make you feel sad. You really, really want to let him sink right into you and give him all the kisses of the world, but all you can think of is how lonely he must feel having lunch all by himself, somewhere halfway across the world. 

And that damn cupcake in a jar. 

He lets out a quiet “oomf” at the sheer force in which you barrel straight at him.

“Woah, slow down, honey.” He laughs, cushioning your fall before snaking his hands down to your hips and squeezing. “I know I’m prized commodity these days~”

You don’t even play around anymore. Being in his arms makes everything feel too real. And it reminds you of how important these mundane moments are—how fleeting they can be. 

Does he even know how precious he is?

“Eh?”

You can feel the way he tenses immediately after hearing your first sniffle. 

Satoru coos at you softly, right hand gently raking down the back of your head as his right holds you by the waist. He noses at your hair, planting kisses on the crown of your head while asking you every possible version of “what’s wrong?”. 

You don’t relent for a while though, too busy drowning in your own emotions and trying to squeeze him against you—trying to merge your bodies into one. 

You don’t want to face him just yet. You’re just a bit embarrassed, a whole lot sad, very much in love. Actually every single emotion at the same time. 

He rests his palm on the back of your neck, patiently waiting on you to look up at him. Satoru shakes his head affectionately, murmuring against your hair to explain to him why you’re so sad. He doesn’t stop trying, even when you stubbornly shake your head on his chest. But it doesn’t take you long to relent,—because you always crave being spoiled by him—and once you do, he almost quivers at how sad you look. Snot faced and all. 

You manage to push out the words through slow breaths, sniffing away the remnants of your outburst. 

“You’re just so.. cute. My husband. My handsome boy.” Your thumb traces careful lines on his skin, starting from the corners of his eyes to his temple. “So cute and strong and good and takes care of me so well.”

Satoru feels his chest seize, and then release fully, a breath so big that it feels like every burden he’s ever carried has finally gone. 

You're not praising him for his power, or for his position in this world. But for being good. A good husband, a good friend, a good lover. A good person. 

You have the ability to dismantle and build him up again every single time. 

“I guess I am pretty cool, huh?”

It hits you then, how soft he sounds. How small. Like he truly believes the words he’s saying, not just as an offhand rhetoric thrown out in lighthearted conversations. 

This really shouldn’t make you sad. Brought to tears and ruin. But damn his stupid big blue eyes and the undying love in them every time he talks to you. 

A sudden burst of shy clinginess has you latching back right into the crook of his neck, as your hands tighten impossible harder around his shoulders.

“What’s going on, pretty?” He whispers and coos at you still, running his fingers gently through your hair. He stops right at the back, holding your head closer.

“Isawyourcupcakeinajarandgotsad.” You mumble against his neck, and your husband chuckles at your childish actions.

“Can’t hear you from all the way up here,” Satoru definitely can hear you, but he won’t stop until you say it to his face.

He gently uses the hand on your neck to massage the area, wordlessly asking for you to look up at him. When you finally do, his hands stay right where they are. A small reminder that he’ll always be there for you. 

“I saw your cupcake in a jar and got sad.”

The pout on your face can move mountains. Satoru has to physically hold back after his heart practically jumps out of his chest at the speed in which it starts to beat. Naturally, he’ll take this chance to tease you, even when you’re all mushy and sappy against him.

“You cryin’ over my 2 day old cupcake?”

And at that your lips wobble, immediately driven to tears again.

It takes a solid 10 minutes for Satoru to hold you through your tears. And every time you think you’re finished, you manage to burst into sobs again because he is so gentle with you. So soft in the way he holds you by the waist, and even how he caresses the back of your head—like he’s afraid one wrong tug will cause you even more hurt. It doesn’t help that you’re aware of just how silly you’re being right now. How you’re making him late to be the hero of this world. Yet despite all of that, he still listens, still answers your unintelligible mumbling and cries with words that make you feel entirely heard.

He even coos at you with that tone that soothes the deepest part of your heart, the one who loves so much and asks for it the same way. 

Inside though, he’s completely torn between wanting to laugh at how cute you are or comforting you because you’re crying real life tears at his face. Full on sobbing and clawing at his shirt like your life depended on it. 

In the end, both reactions come out simultaneously. Whenever you let out a particularly dramatic cry, you can feel his body shaking from holding back his laughter. When you pout up at him after he finishes consoling his baby, you can see the pure restraint in his expression, the way his tongue pokes the insides of his cheeks to stay still. Of course when little giggles do manage to burst out, you punch his chest weakly. And then he soothes you all over again when he brings your violent hands to his lips. 

It’s silly, so silly in retrospect. He hadn't put much thought into the cupcake that morning, yet here you are, absolutely distraught over his poorly packed dessert. He can just brush it off as a passing thing—just you having a cuteness aggression that’s enough to drive you to tears. 

But Satoru is a weak, weak man for you. 

He is already prepared to give you the world if you look at him in any way, so the sight of you in tears is enough to bring him onto his knees. You don’t even have to ask, and he’d fulfill each and every one of your whims, regardless if they seem big or small. Silly or serious. Simply because you are worthy of being celebrated, chosen and loved in all the possible ways. 

Satoru doesn’t even care that he’s late.

He would put the entire world on hold just for you. 

He sways you against him, and the motion calms you enough for your sobs to die down. You’re left sniffling against his now-damp uniform, squished between his chin on top of your head and his arms around your body. Breathing in, heart to heart. As if you’re trying to make him understand all the love that will never be enough to express with words through the gesture alone. And he can understand, because he knows you in ways that nobody else does.

“I made you lunch. I know you’ll be really busy but I still want you to eat something nutritious.” You say against the column of his neck, grounding yourself as you feel the low hum of his voice through the skin. 

You turn around quietly, and Satoru adjusts his arms so that they rest on your stomach. He watches your movements keenly, chin hooked over your right shoulder. His warm breaths tickle you, but you don’t shrug him off. You just huff in response, and Satoru replies by nuzzling his face further into the side of your neck. 

Still caged in his arms, you open the lunch box to show him the express meal you cooked with the little time you had. 

It’s a simple dish. Salmon fillet, vegetable salad on the side and a hearty serving of rice. You even put his lonely cupcake in the bag, knowing he’d still eat it regardless.

“It’s not a lot, but I just want the best for you.” You tell him quietly. 

“You are the best for me.” 

Satoru immediately spins your body around to face him. He hunches his shoulders down to make himself smaller—closer—holding you by your cheeks and bumping your noses together. 

He doesn’t stop until he sees your smile through your tears, eyes crinkling as the happiness sparks its way back. 

You are so pretty. Even with swollen eyes and furrowed brows—especially like that. There’s so much beauty in the quiet ways you take care of him. How your actions say “I’m here for you”, louder than any words.

“I love you.” Satoru reminds you once more.

He repeats the words, pressing a kiss to each part of your face. 

“I love you,” your cheeks “I love you,” your forehead “I love you,” your nose “I love you,” and your lips.

He stays there for a little longer, pressing so hard that you have to hold onto his biceps when the force of his love bends you backwards. 

“I love you sooo so much.” Satoru singsongs, finally detaching from your lips with a loud and exaggerated “mwah”. 

“I can’t believe I get to call you mine.” He smiles at you, a little smug and undoubtedly sweet. 

“I can’t believe I get to call you mine.” You retort, though your voice comes out slightly gibberish as he’s still squishing your cheeks together. 

Instead of accepting, your husband decides to challenge you in your love. “Uh no, me even more.”

“Me, times like, a million.” You raise a brow, poking his cheek.

And like all your arguments, it continues as a one-upping competition, before you forget what you were squabbling about once he decides to be a sore loser and starts tickling you. 

When he takes mercy and holds you tightly against him instead of violently assaulting you with tickles, you’re breathless and heavy, with a big grin decorating your face. “We should get married again, or something.”

“If this is your way of telling me you wanna recreate our honeymoon night, you can just ask~”

You reward him with a light slap against his butt. And Satoru shamelessly revels in it, because that wasn’t a no to his offer.

Your home is quiet for a few moments, and in between the silence is the occasional sound of your sniffles, and his gentle lips against your forehead following every time. 

“Promise to call me when you eat?” A gentle tap of your nose against his.

“Pinky promise.”

And he does just that. Some time during the day, your phone rings and Satoru greets you with an up close look of his grin. He’s already taken off his blindfold, though you tell him to put it right back on because you know how sleep deprived and overwhelmed he is. Satoru whines and denies at first, but you push with a sealing argument, saying that “he’ll get to see your pretty face just fine with those six eyes of his”. He relents, because he can never say no to you. 

It doesn’t shock you nearly as much as it used to when your husband flips the camera around, showing him sitting right on the edge of a very tall skyscraper. You chastise him, but he just laughs in your face and tells you to eat more sweets to make up for him being away. 

This is how it is. 

Just you and him against the world. Miles away, but under the same sky. Imperfectly perfect together.

Based on this lady’s tiktok where she gets sad seeing her husband set out a granola bar for work, and all the comments underneath. (+muffin pic creds)

🥹 in the end, he’s just a boy with love and dreams too 💔