★ in which house husband!gojo loves his life
the roles you two would play in your marriage was never discussed officially; it just happened.
first, he was the one who cared the most about the house you’d settle down in. he hated new builds, thought they were lazily made and found the grey and the laminated floors spiritually offensive. he was insistent on having a spacious, lush garden for the three children he’d already named in his head. the walls needed to be soundproof, and he swears the reasons aren’t sexual – alright, they aren’t only sexual – a room for a walk-in closet, his obviously, arched doorways that are also tall enough for his height, and so on and so forth.
second, he was so caught up in decorating and overseeing the renovations that he began shirking his responsibilities with the clan, preferring to let the assistants handle it. that was his answer to everything. they need him to officiate a ceremony as the clan head?
but he has to oversee the installation of the new marble tiles in the bathroom. what kind of unfeeling monster would take him away from that?
when he did have to venture outside of his home, he’d slump into your lap and pout up at you. “they’re abusing me. do something, honeypie.”
“what am i supposed to do, toru?”
he groaned. “use your scary, wifey glare. it always works on me.”
“you have to go, hon. there’s no going about it. they’ve already accommodated you enough. come on, it’ll be quick. you’ll be back home before you know it.”
satoru muttered under his breath, “everyone hates me.”
and third, he loves waking up early to make you breakfast and packed lunch. he makes the cutest little octopus sausages, adds googly eyes to your onigiris, and writes sickly sweet love notes for you to find. it’s not a surprise to see him watching tutorials on how to level up his bento game. only the best for his wifey, he says.
as soon as you leave, he’s putting on a pretty pink apron, vacuuming the carpets, brushing the floor, dusting the counters, and watching zumba videos to keep his glutes in shape. satoru’s also a regular at the local salon – his cuticles are pristine, hair glossy, skin radiant, and he has all the latest neighbourhood gossip.
of course, when you come home, he’d have a meal prepared for you too. that’s usually the highlight of his day.
“okay, okay, babe, you gotta try this sauce and tell me what you think,” he insists, spoon feeding you his experimental concoction.
swallowing, you nod. “it’s amazing, toru. i love it.”
a blinding sparkle shines in his eyes and he punches the air in celebration. “nice! i knew i could trust linda from next door. did you know she used to run an underground spice empire in mexico before she had to run away here with her husband? no, it’s true. her husband got in trouble with the mayor because his daughter liked him but he rejected her advances ‘cause, you know, he’s happily married and all that. ugh, isn’t the world so messed up? i’d totally reject all the mayors’ daughters for you, sweetie.”
best believe, when baby number one arrives, he’s the most attentive father in the world. perhaps…a little too attentive.
every corner of the house is padded and babyproofed. he crawls around on all fours, purposefully bumping his body against the furniture and rating the pain on a scale of one to ten. “oooh, okay, see? if this was a normal baby, that would be an eight, for sure. but our baby’s gonna be strong like their daddy so this is an easy three out of ten. bring it on.”
he paints the nursery walls on his own, adding a distasteful mural of himself as cupid and assuring you that it’ll be good for the baby’s development to see their father in a body more relatable to its cherub form.
“no, sweetie, i swear, he’ll love it. look at me! i’m adorable.”
“...did you just spoil the gender of my baby to me, satoru?”
he gulps. “okay, i’ll paint over it.”
the baby wears all designer clothes too. what business a two month old has wearing a louis v bonnet, no one could say.
sure, there are things he misses – his students, the thrill of his job, seeing the world – but, in truth, none of those things are gone. he can still see those rascals; they’re invited over quite often, especially under the guise of free manual labour. he still annihilates a curse or two here and there, and you two do a lot of travelling already. plus, there really isn’t anything more thrilling than being able to present a nice, clean home to the literal love of his life who falls into his arms and lets him do whatever he wants.
you never complain about the cheesy matching pyjamas he shrugs you into after the bath he had drawn for your lethargic body. the movie he has lined up to watch is never protested against and how he loves to eat dinner with you in his lap because you’re too tired to feed yourself.
amazing, strong, independent woman, all sweet and relying on him. trusting him to always be home, to have everything taken care of, that is the meaning of masculinity, he thinks. this is power. this is wealth. this is happiness.
so, no one would be shocked to know, a day never comes where satoru regrets his decision.
he can only hope that in every timeline, in every alternate reality, every version of him made the same one.
