CW: mentions of arranged marriage, mentions of SA, mentions of misogyny, fem!reader, some suggestive content, kinda dark not really
A/N: Clan Leader!Satoru brainrot is real, let me know if you want more, I’m also a sucker for soft!satoru so he’ll always be in my writing
Clan leader!Satoru asks about your first impression of him while you’re busy cutting his hair in your shared bathroom. You don’t really know why he asks you to do it but you have the sneaking suspicion that he likes having his hair played with. It’s an easy enough job having to even out the grown out undercut when said person does not move their head. Which is why you glare harshly when he suddenly turns his head towards you. You jerk your hand away fearing you might accidentally buzz off half of his hair. Something he’d definitely cry about to you.
“SATORU!” you hiss while he looks at you grinning, completely unrepentant. He’s seated on a chair he’d pulled into the bathroom with a towel underneath to catch the stray strands.
“What was your first opinion of me? Like when we first got married,” Satoru asks. “Did you think I was the man of your dreams, hm? The handsomest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on?” His head is still twisted towards you while the hair clipper buzzed away in your hand.
You promptly move his head back to its original position. “Stay still,” you chide, leaving his question unanswered. You go back to trimming the hair, slower than before, in fear the man in front of you had a bald wish.
“Answer me,” he whines, tone completely unbefitting of a man of his stature. “I need to know or I’ll die.” He slumps his shoulder causing his head to move and you to move away. Again. You place the trimmer on the counter, exasperated, and cross your arms around your chest causing the sleeves of your Kimono to scrunch. The man in questions turns around sheepishly and bats his eyes at you innocently when he catches the look on your face.
“Gojo Satoru,” you say, watching as he winces at the use of his full name. “What did I just say?”
“Then why do you keep moving your head?” Your voice is tight and he continues to look at you innocently.
“God forbid a man wants to know what his wife thinks of him,” he says with a huff. “I’m a curious man, what can I say.”
“I’ll only answer you if you stay still,” you say, picking the trimmer up once again. Satoru nods his head excitedly, moving his head back into position so fast you’re sure it would’ve given anyone else a whiplash. You’re quiet again for a moment as the trimmer starts buzzing again.
“I don’t think you’d like my honest answer,” you tell him, quietly. The admission is almost weary in tone.
“Why?” To his record he stays still this time, letting you work to even out the patches of hair. You swallow softly, trying to think of your next words.
“I didn’t know what to think of you at the time,” you murmur, softly. “I didn’t know you.” There’s a brief beat of silence.
“You must’ve thought something,” he says, finally. “Considering our unconventional meeting.”
You think back to the two prospects of your potential marriage at the time, neither of which you had a say in. You sat back as a husband was picked for you and bowed your head at the choice given.
Gojo Satoru and Naoya Zenin.
At the time you’d only heard whispers of the two men. Whispers of cruelty, arrogance and of monstrous behavior plagued your ears from servants and ladies alike. One assumption had bled into another, leading you to believe your fate was sealed no matter who wedded you.
“It didn’t matter what I thought of you,” you tell him, softly, passing the trimmer over the last bit of uneven hair. “I didn’t have choice, everything I knew worked on assumptions.” you place the trimmer down again, gently feeling the undercut to ensure evenness, when the man before you twitches.
“Don’t do that unless you’re trying to start something with me, sweetheart,” he says lowly, voice dropping a decibel. You feel a shiver run down your spine and your body warms making you draw back your hand.
“Must you get worked up while I’m trying to work,” you say moving till you’re standing in front of him. Satoru had removed the blindfold to let you work, giving you full view of his eyes and the darkness the blue had taken on from your previous actions.
“Everything you do gets me worked up,” he muttered, “especially that.” His hands move to settle on your hips from where they rested on his lap. You try your best to ignore his wandering hands, more focused on trying to find what else needed to be trimmed.
He pulls at your kimono, enough for you to sigh in annoyance and give him a look. “You still haven’t answered my questions, did you think I was ugly? I’ll accept it no matter how much it breaks my heart.”
“I didn’t think you were ugly, Satoru. You know that you’re handsome,” this causes the man to grin at you, smugly, of course. “Did you know who my other prospect for a husband was?”
This wipes the grin off his face, turning it into a grimace that he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.
“Megumi is Zenin,” you say, frowning at the crude language but make no move to scold him.
“Megumi is more you than he would ever be Zenin,” he tells you, “he doesn’t count.”
You feel your heart warm at the thought of Megumi, the silent yet sweet boy would be coming home from school with Tsumiki soon. You had yet to prepare food for them. They’ll come home hungry, you think. The tugging on your kimono is what brings your focus back to your husband.
“So what does he have to do with me?” Satoru asks, “Please don’t tell me you thought I was anything like that weak bastard.”
“It’s not that, I…” You trail off, trying to put together words that didn’t sound insulting. “I was just preparing for the worst.” You finally catch a few pieces that look grown out and pick up the trimmer again.
“What exactly is the ‘worst’?” He asks, the question is curious almost too curious.
You sigh again, “Satoru, what are you trying to get at?” You ask, frowning while trying to keep your focus. “Any answer I give you will sound bad.”
“I want to know. It couldn’t have been easy,” he says, he almost sounded pensive. “The first time you met me was at our wedding and you had no say in it.”
After you trimmed the pieces you examined earlier, you go back to observing his hair, placing the trimmer on the counter. You purposefully avoid eye contact with the man you’re standing before, feeling a slight hint of sadness at the thought of your first meeting.
“I was scared,” you tell him, softly.
“No, of who I thought you were.”
He pulls closer by your hips so he can lay his forehead on your stomach, disturbing your work and leaving you with a clenching feeling in your heart. He doesn’t ask you to elaborate but you do so anyways.
“I heard less about you than I did of Naoya Zenin,” you tell him. “People spoke of his cruelty quite often and all I knew of you was that you were the most powerful man in the jujutsu world.”
“At the time, I was told you could whatever to me and I was to obey.” The silence your words bring is almost deafening and in the rare instance that it happens, your husband was out of words. He keeps his face pressed to your stomach, the warmth of him you can almost feel through the layers of your kimono.
“We didn’t speak much during the wedding and I was told to prepare,” you say and this time you gently stroke the hair at the top of his head. “Prepare for our wedding night to hurt, my ladies told me it’d be easier if I simply relaxed and took it. That it would hurt less.” You feel sadness run through you, for yourself in a way, for a girl who didn’t know any better.
“I prepared for any children in our wedlock to be taken away from me,” you say finally, “I told myself if I was prepared I would hurt less.” You bring your hand to his cheek and gently stroke it, causing him to turn his head in your hand. Almost like a puppy, you think in amusement.
“What changed?” He asks, murmuring the question into the palm of your hand, keeping his face there as if it was his life line.
“Our actual wedding night, Megumi and Tsumiki,” you tell him just to name a few things. “I know more about you. A lot changed.”
You bring your other hand to the side of his face and cradle it between your hands. The look in his eyes is raw, matching the rawness that you feel. He pulls you into his lap and you go willingly, settling yourself comfortably with your forehead pressed to his. It was the type of intimacy you didn’t expect to crave. Didn’t know if you were allowed to. Yet it came so easy with Satoru.
When he speaks his voice is thick with emotion, “I’ll always protect you, yeah? You and our future children. Even from myself if I have to.” You feel your throat tighten and fear that you’ll cry if you say anything, opting to nod against him. You wrap your arms around his neck pushing yourself closer to him. And when he kisses you, it’s enough to ease your troubled heart. He kisses you slowly and languidly, keeping you pressed to him with a hand on your waist and the other in your hair.
It’s so easy to get lost in Gojo Satoru that you almost don’t hear the commotion outside. The tell tale sign that Megumi and Tsumiki had returned, tumbling in, in the way kids often do. You pull yourself away from Satoru, a thin string of saliva keeping your lips connected. You move to get off before things can get more heated. Satoru pulls at your clothes again, whining.
“NOOO! don’t go let’s take a quick shower together, the kids can manage without us,” he whines. “I promise to be good, wifey.”
Gojo Satoru was never good.
“I’m going to make them food,” you say pulling away from his weak attempt at keeping you hostage. “Go take a shower. Now.”
He pouts, selling the act of a deprived husband all too well. “So you hate me and you want me dead.”
You make your way out of the bathroom, but not before calling back, “If you’re good, I’ll give you something later.” You leave the statement purposefully vague but it works all the same in setting him straight.
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