♡ husband!satoru’s genes are just too strong ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
part 2
you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on your very obvious baby bump, the other clutching the newest ultrasound.
“i’m done,” you declare.
across the room, satoru pauses mid taking his shirt off. “done… with pregnancy? because i feel like that’s a little late.”
“with your genes,” you snap, glaring at the photo. “they’re ridiculous. actually unfair.”
he snorts, walking over. “nothing i can do about that, sweetheart.”
you shove the ultrasound toward him. “explain this.”
he looks at it, then at you. “…that is a baby.”
“that is you,” you correct immediately. “again. for the third time.”
he hums like he’s considering it. “we don’t know that.”
“we do,” you insist, growing more emotional by the second.
“we have two already, toru. two tiny versions of you running around with your face, your hair, your stupidly pretty eyes—what am i even contributing?!”
“everything?” he offers.
“no,” you shake your head, pouting. “i carried them for months. i’m carrying this one. i do all the work and your genes just— copy, paste, repeat!”
he tries— he really does— but a grin slips out anyway. “to be fair, it’s a very good face to copy—”
“satoru.”
“right. not the time.”
you huff, looking down at your stomach. the baby shifts faintly, and it only makes your emotional state worse. “i just… i want one that looks like me.”
that quiets him instantly.
he steps closer, slower this time, like approaching something fragile. kneeling in front of you, he gently takes your hand and places it more securely over your bump, covering it with his own.
“they are like you,” he says, softer now.
“they don’t look like me,” you mumble.
“they have your expressions. your attitude,” he replies. “the way they get emotional over the smallest things—”
“it’s not small!”
“—and the big things,” he corrects easily, a small smile tugging at his lips. “that’s all you.”
you hesitate, but your eyes are still shiny. “that’s not the same.”
“it is to me.” his thumb brushes under your eye, catching a tear before it falls. “and this one? might surprise us.”
“you said that last time.”
“okay, yeah,” he admits, “and i was wrong.. twice. but y’know— third time’s a charm.”
a reluctant laugh slips out of you.
“there she is,” he murmurs, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “besides… even if our baby comes out looking exactly like me—”
“she will.”
“—she’s still yours first,” he says gently. “you’re the one she hears, the one she feels. you’re home before she even opens her eyes.”
that makes your expression falter.
“…and,” he adds, grin returning just a little, “if we do end up with three mini me’s, i think that just proves you have excellent taste.”
you let out a shaky breath, then weakly smack his shoulder. “your genes are still stupid.”
“yeah,” satoru says easily, wrapping his arms around you and your bump, “but you married into the problem.”
you grumble, but melt into him anyway, his hand resting warm and steady over your stomach.
“…next one better look like me,” you mumble.
“personally, i do not mind if we keep trying.”
“and what— create a whole clan?” you huff.
“i mean—” you slap a hand on his mouth before he can continue.
satoru loves marking his girlfriend up ໒꒰ྀིっ⸝⸝⸝ ꒱ྀི১ (suggestive!)
you don’t realize how bad it’s gotten until shoko points it out.
“rough night?” she jokes, eyes flicking to your neck.
you laugh it off, brushing it aside like it’s nothing, but your fingers instinctively come up to your skin anyway. you pull out your phone to open the camera app— and yeah.
there are a lot more marks than you thought.
“did you do this on purpose?!” you ask the moment you step in front of your boyfriend.
he doesn’t even look guilty, not even a little.
satoru glances up from where he’s lounging, hooking a finger into his blindfold to push it down.
“hm, did what?” he asks innocently.
you walk closer, tilting your head just enough to expose the evidence. “this.”
he sits up a little, like you’ve just given him something to focus on, and there’s that familiar spark in his expression— the one that always means trouble for you.
“oh,” he says, almost thoughtful. “those.”
you cross your arms. “what do you have to say for yourself?”
he stands, closing the distance immediately, and before you can step back, his fingers are already under your chin, tilting your face side to side like he’s inspecting his own work.
“they’re fading,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “that’s annoying.”
“annoying?” you repeat. “satoru— people can see them!”
“i know,” he says it so easily it throws you off.
his thumb presses lightly over one of the still darker marks, and your shoulders tense automatically.
“i put them there,” he continues, quieter now, eyes flicking up to yours. “why wouldn’t i want them seen?”
your heart stumbles a little at that, even if you try not to let it show.
“because it’s embarrassing,” you mutter.
“doesn’t feel like you were embarrassed last night,” he hums, unconvinced.
your face heats instantly. “what— that’s different!”
“mm, is it?”
he leans closer, close enough that you can feel his breath before anything else, and you already know what he’s going to do.
“don’t you dare—”
he does it anyway.
his lips press right against the side of your neck, exactly where the skin is still sensitive. not exactly rough, and even a little slow. like he’s reminding you how easily he can do it again.
you inhale sharply and he smiles against your skin.
“you always say that,” his voice comes out low. “never mean it.”
his teeth graze just enough to make you flinch, and then he soothes it immediately, like he’s got the timing memorized.
which, honestly— he probably does.
your hands come up to his shoulders, half to push him away, half to steady yourself.
his hand slides to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, like you moving away isn’t even an option he’s considering.
“hold still, sweetheart,” he says softly.
“mm— toru—”
and then he’s doing it again. you feel it happening, the pressure, the warmth— and your fingers tighten in his shirt without thinking.
when he finally pulls back, it’s not far. just enough to look.
really look.
his eyes flick between the fresh mark and your expression, and something satisfied settles in his face.
“there,” he says, almost pleased. “better.”
“oh my god— someone could’ve walked in,” you breathe.
“even better,” he teases.
his fingers trace along your neck again, following the scattered marks like he’s mapping them out, like each one matters.
“wanna know why i like doing that so much?” he adds after a second.
you let out a quiet hum.
“i like seeing where i’ve been,” he says, quieter now. “and i like knowing you’ll feel it later.”
your stomach flips in a way you refuse to acknowledge.
“pervert.”
“maybe.”
he leans in again, but this time it’s just a light brush of his lips— almost gentle compared to before.
“you don’t stop me, though,” he points out.
you open your mouth to argue, but you don’t really have a good argument.
his grin widens, and he moves to spin you around.
his hands slide down your waist again, fingers pressing into you with a possessiveness that makes your stomach flip once more.
then you feel it— the unmistakable heat and hardness pressing against the small of your back. you stiffen, heart hammering.
"oh my god,” you breathe. “are you hard right now?”
♡ sukuna realizes that he does get jealous after all. . .
series masterlist
sukuna will say this very seriously, he does not get jealous. the emotion itself is beneath him.
that is until yuji coming home from school, jumping in place.
“i made a friend today!!”
“you did?” you ask. “so what are they like?”
“his name’s megumi and he likes dogs and dinosaurs too and he traded me his pudding because i gave him my chocolate!”
yuji keeps talking without stopping.
“and he’s really quiet but he laughed when i scared a pigeon away and megumi said maybe we can go to the park together and can we please please please—”
“ji— okay, okay,” you laugh. “slow down.”
his eyes widen instantly. “really?!”
“if megumi’s dad says yes, sure.”
yuji cheers.
later that week you end up exchanging numbers with megumi’s father after pickup.
toji fushiguro, he introduced himself— pretty tall, scar across his mouth, seems normal enough, though.
the playdate gets set for saturday afternoon, and sukuna seems pretty indifferent to it or at least he pretends to.
“you’re taking yuji to the park?” he asks while scrolling through his phone.
“mhm.”
“so, who’s the kid— or more like, you know their parent?”
“well.. a little?” you say thoughtfully. “toji fushiguro.. i think?”
“…fushiguro?”
you blink. “hm? you know him?”
“used to run in similar circles.” sukuna looks deeply annoyed already. “guy’s a pain in the ass.”
“well.. he seemed nice?”
“that’s because the guy likes pretending.”
you snort. “you’re dramatic, it’ll be fiiine.”
“i’m serious.”
“baby, i’m going to a playground. not a nightclub.”
sukuna looks at you for a long second, then sighs.
“fine, do what you want.”
which, surprisingly, he actually means— he fully intends to let you have your little park day in peace.
because really.. what could happen?
apparently a lot.
because now sukuna’s standing outside a convenience store a few minutes away while staring at his phone with growing irritation.
he just cannot stay at home while knowing you’re out with that damned black-haired man, so he lasts another three minutes before getting back in his car.
meanwhile, you’re sitting at the park bench while yuji and megumi run toward the playground together.
“be careful!” you call after them.
toji sits beside you a second later holding two juice boxes and an iced coffee.
“kid asked me to bring extras,” he says, handing you the iced coffee.
“thanks!”
“don’t mention it.”
for a while it’s easy and comfortable, you talk while the boys play. mostly about school— how both boys have been doing, how megumi apparently refuses to sleep without his stuffed wolf, how yuji always has endless energy no matter what.
“so.. that your kid, right?” toji asks eventually, nodding toward yuji.
you smile. “well no.. but technically my nephew.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
you shrug slightly. “he does feel like my own, though.”
“clearly.”
talking to toji is surprisingly easy, the guys laid back, which is probably why the next thing out of his mouth makes you second guess.
“you single?”
oh..
but before you can even answer, another voice cuts in.
“no, she‘s not.”
you look up immediately.
sukuna stands there behind both of you wearing all black with sunglasses pushed into his hair.
he looks weirdly calm, which means he definitely heard enough to annoy him.
toji glances between both of you once before leaning back slightly.
“oh! what are you doing here?” you say surprised.
“was just getting something to drink.”
“from the park..?”
“eh, crazy coincidence.”
toji snorts quietly beside you— big mistake, because sukuna’s eyes immediately slide toward him.
“fushiguro.”
“ryomen.”
you can absolutely feel the tension in the air.
you look between them slowly. “oh my god.. you actually know each other.”
“unfortunately,” they say at the exact same time.
yuji spots sukuna from across the playground and immediately lights up.
“UNCLE KUNA!!”
he abandons megumi and runs across the grass at full speed before slamming directly into sukuna’s legs.
sukuna just rests a hand on yuji’s head. “now get off me brat, you’re sweaty.”
“we were racing!”
“that so?”
“i won!”
megumi finally walks over, hands shoved into his little pockets.
“yuji cheated..” he says quietly.
“did not!”
“you pushed me!”
you’re trying not to laugh while yuji now clings to sukuna’s arm, and you get up to approach both.
toji watches the interaction for a second, then he looks back at you.
“…damn my bad,” he says finally. “cute little family you got there.”
sukuna goes quiet for a second, then his arm hooks around your waist possessively.
“exactly,” he says. “know where you stand, fushiguro.”
♡ sukuna realizes that he does get jealous after all. . .
series masterlist
sukuna will say this very seriously, he does not get jealous. the emotion itself is beneath him.
that is until yuji coming home from school, jumping in place.
“i made a friend today!!”
“you did?” you ask. “so what are they like?”
“his name’s megumi and he likes dogs and dinosaurs too and he traded me his pudding because i gave him my chocolate!”
yuji keeps talking without stopping.
“and he’s really quiet but he laughed when i scared a pigeon away and megumi said maybe we can go to the park together and can we please please please—”
“ji— okay, okay,” you laugh. “slow down.”
his eyes widen instantly. “really?!”
“if megumi’s dad says yes, sure.”
yuji cheers.
later that week you end up exchanging numbers with megumi’s father after pickup.
toji fushiguro, he introduced himself— pretty tall, scar across his mouth, seems normal enough, though.
the playdate gets set for saturday afternoon, and sukuna seems pretty indifferent to it or at least he pretends to.
“you’re taking yuji to the park?” he asks while scrolling through his phone.
“mhm.”
“so, who’s the kid— or more like, you know their parent?”
“well.. a little?” you say thoughtfully. “toji fushiguro.. i think?”
“…fushiguro?”
you blink. “hm? you know him?”
“used to run in similar circles.” sukuna looks deeply annoyed already. “guy’s a pain in the ass.”
“well.. he seemed nice?”
“that’s because the guy likes pretending.”
you snort. “you’re dramatic, it’ll be fiiine.”
“i’m serious.”
“baby, i’m going to a playground. not a nightclub.”
sukuna looks at you for a long second, then sighs.
“fine, do what you want.”
which, surprisingly, he actually means— he fully intends to let you have your little park day in peace.
because really.. what could happen?
apparently a lot.
because now sukuna’s standing outside a convenience store a few minutes away while staring at his phone with growing irritation.
he just cannot stay at home while knowing you’re out with that damned black-haired man, so he lasts another three minutes before getting back in his car.
meanwhile, you’re sitting at the park bench while yuji and megumi run toward the playground together.
“be careful!” you call after them.
toji sits beside you a second later holding two juice boxes and an iced coffee.
“kid asked me to bring extras,” he says, handing you the iced coffee.
“thanks!”
“don’t mention it.”
for a while it’s easy and comfortable, you talk while the boys play. mostly about school— how both boys have been doing, how megumi apparently refuses to sleep without his stuffed wolf, how yuji always has endless energy no matter what.
“so.. that your kid, right?” toji asks eventually, nodding toward yuji.
you smile. “well no.. but technically my nephew.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
you shrug slightly. “he does feel like my own, though.”
“clearly.”
talking to toji is surprisingly easy, the guys laid back, which is probably why the next thing out of his mouth makes you second guess.
“you single?”
oh..
but before you can even answer, another voice cuts in.
“no, she‘s not.”
you look up immediately.
sukuna stands there behind both of you wearing all black with sunglasses pushed into his hair.
he looks weirdly calm, which means he definitely heard enough to annoy him.
toji glances between both of you once before leaning back slightly.
“oh! what are you doing here?” you say surprised.
“was just getting something to drink.”
“from the park..?”
“eh, crazy coincidence.”
toji snorts quietly beside you— big mistake, because sukuna’s eyes immediately slide toward him.
“fushiguro.”
“ryomen.”
you can absolutely feel the tension in the air.
you look between them slowly. “oh my god.. you actually know each other.”
“unfortunately,” they say at the exact same time.
yuji spots sukuna from across the playground and immediately lights up.
“UNCLE KUNA!!”
he abandons megumi and runs across the grass at full speed before slamming directly into sukuna’s legs.
sukuna just rests a hand on yuji’s head. “now get off me brat, you’re sweaty.”
“we were racing!”
“that so?”
“i won!”
megumi finally walks over, hands shoved into his little pockets.
“yuji cheated..” he says quietly.
“did not!”
“you pushed me!”
you’re trying not to laugh while yuji now clings to sukuna’s arm, and you get up to approach both.
toji watches the interaction for a second, then he looks back at you.
“…damn my bad,” he says finally. “cute little family you got there.”
sukuna goes quiet for a second, then his arm hooks around your waist possessively.
“exactly,” he says. “know where you stand, fushiguro.”
♡ sukuna realizes that he does get jealous after all. . .
series masterlist
sukuna will say this very seriously, he does not get jealous. the emotion itself is beneath him.
that is until yuji coming home from school, jumping in place.
“i made a friend today!!”
“you did?” you ask. “so what are they like?”
“his name’s megumi and he likes dogs and dinosaurs too and he traded me his pudding because i gave him my chocolate!”
yuji keeps talking without stopping.
“and he’s really quiet but he laughed when i scared a pigeon away and megumi said maybe we can go to the park together and can we please please please—”
“ji— okay, okay,” you laugh. “slow down.”
his eyes widen instantly. “really?!”
“if megumi’s dad says yes, sure.”
yuji cheers.
later that week you end up exchanging numbers with megumi’s father after pickup.
toji fushiguro, he introduced himself— pretty tall, scar across his mouth, seems normal enough, though.
the playdate gets set for saturday afternoon, and sukuna seems pretty indifferent to it or at least he pretends to.
“you’re taking yuji to the park?” he asks while scrolling through his phone.
“mhm.”
“so, who’s the kid— or more like, you know their parent?”
“well.. a little?” you say thoughtfully. “toji fushiguro.. i think?”
“…fushiguro?”
you blink. “hm? you know him?”
“used to run in similar circles.” sukuna looks deeply annoyed already. “guy’s a pain in the ass.”
“well.. he seemed nice?”
“that’s because the guy likes pretending.”
you snort. “you’re dramatic, it’ll be fiiine.”
“i’m serious.”
“baby, i’m going to a playground. not a nightclub.”
sukuna looks at you for a long second, then sighs.
“fine, do what you want.”
which, surprisingly, he actually means— he fully intends to let you have your little park day in peace.
because really.. what could happen?
apparently a lot.
because now sukuna’s standing outside a convenience store a few minutes away while staring at his phone with growing irritation.
he just cannot stay at home while knowing you’re out with that damned black-haired man, so he lasts another three minutes before getting back in his car.
meanwhile, you’re sitting at the park bench while yuji and megumi run toward the playground together.
“be careful!” you call after them.
toji sits beside you a second later holding two juice boxes and an iced coffee.
“kid asked me to bring extras,” he says, handing you the iced coffee.
“thanks!”
“don’t mention it.”
for a while it’s easy and comfortable, you talk while the boys play. mostly about school— how both boys have been doing, how megumi apparently refuses to sleep without his stuffed wolf, how yuji always has endless energy no matter what.
“so.. that your kid, right?” toji asks eventually, nodding toward yuji.
you smile. “well no.. but technically my nephew.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
you shrug slightly. “he does feel like my own, though.”
“clearly.”
talking to toji is surprisingly easy, the guys laid back, which is probably why the next thing out of his mouth makes you second guess.
“you single?”
oh..
but before you can even answer, another voice cuts in.
“no, she‘s not.”
you look up immediately.
sukuna stands there behind both of you wearing all black with sunglasses pushed into his hair.
he looks weirdly calm, which means he definitely heard enough to annoy him.
toji glances between both of you once before leaning back slightly.
“oh! what are you doing here?” you say surprised.
“was just getting something to drink.”
“from the park..?”
“eh, crazy coincidence.”
toji snorts quietly beside you— big mistake, because sukuna’s eyes immediately slide toward him.
“fushiguro.”
“ryomen.”
you can absolutely feel the tension in the air.
you look between them slowly. “oh my god.. you actually know each other.”
“unfortunately,” they say at the exact same time.
yuji spots sukuna from across the playground and immediately lights up.
“UNCLE KUNA!!”
he abandons megumi and runs across the grass at full speed before slamming directly into sukuna’s legs.
sukuna just rests a hand on yuji’s head. “now get off me brat, you’re sweaty.”
“we were racing!”
“that so?”
“i won!”
megumi finally walks over, hands shoved into his little pockets.
“yuji cheated..” he says quietly.
“did not!”
“you pushed me!”
you’re trying not to laugh while yuji now clings to sukuna’s arm, and you get up to approach both.
toji watches the interaction for a second, then he looks back at you.
“…damn my bad,” he says finally. “cute little family you got there.”
sukuna goes quiet for a second, then his arm hooks around your waist possessively.
“exactly,” he says. “know where you stand, fushiguro.”
⋆.𐙚 ̊ heian era!sukuna refuses to let his wife do anything on her own
you’re in the kitchen when sukuna appears behind you, both sets of arms folded, watching you stir something over the stove with that familiar face of judgment.
“you are still performing this task yourself,” he says.
you don’t turn. “yes. it‘s called cooking.”
a pause. “uraume is a good chef.”
“i know.”
“then why are you doing this yourself?”
“because i want to. people can have hobbies that don‘t involve bloodshed, ryo.”
he goes quiet for a moment, like that answer doesn’t make sense to him. then he steps closer, looking into the pot with faint disdain.
“in my estate,” he scoffs, “no one of significance wastes their time with such trivial labor.”
you give a small shrug. “it’s not a waste to me.”
that makes him watch you more closely, like he’s trying to categorize the concept and finding no proper place for it.
“so you enjoy unnecessary effort,” he says finally.
you turn to look at him. “…what?”
“you could summon an attendant. you could command them. you could have it done quicker.” his eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s concluding something obvious. “and yet you choose this.”
you turn back to the pot. “it’s not unnecessary if i like it.”
“…strange,” he says.
there’s faint movement somewhere in the hall, servants are passing carefully, avoiding even breathing too loudly near his presence.
“you should not be here alone,” he adds suddenly.
“i’m not alone. you’re standing right here.”
“that is not what i mean.”
he watches you for a while longer, then steps slightly closer, voice calmer now.
“when i rule,” he says, “those beneath me do not hesitate. they obey. they serve. they understand their place.”
you lean lightly against the counter. “and what’s my place in all that?”
his gaze settles directly on you.
“above them,” he says simply. “as my wife.”
then he looks away, like the matter is already decided, and speaks again as if continuing a thought that has nothing to do with kitchens or cooking.
“i‘ve grown tired of this room,” he says. “and of all who move through it.”
then he steps closer, his figure practically looming over you.
“come,” he demands.
you blink. “come where?”
he tilts his head slightly, like the question is unnecessary.
“to our chambers.”
then, in that same tone—
“you enjoy unnecessary effort… so i shall spare you none.”
his eyes narrow faintly.
“i shall have you there. now.”
before you can even fully react, he lifts you off the ground.
all four arms adjust with ease, like your weight is nothing at all. he holds you securely against him without effort, already turning away from the stove.
“sukuna! put me down,” you protest, grabbing onto his shoulders.
“no,” he dismisses you, and instead begins walking.
servants immediately step aside, lowering their gaze as he passes. none of them speak.
you look over his shoulder. “what about the food?”
he doesn’t slow. instead, one of his upper arms comes up to snap his fingers.
“you,” he says to the servant. “see that it is properly prepared. if it fails, you will not be excused.”
only then does he continue forward, carrying you effortlessly through the halls.
“you will remain where i choose, woman,” he says calmly, already turning down the corridor toward the bedroom.
♡ satoru keeps visiting the small bakery he recently discovered, mostly for you …the kikufuku mochi !
satoru has a routine.
not a strict one— he’s terrible with schedules, but there are a few things he does often enough that they’ve become habits. one of them is stopping by the same small bakery two streets off the main road after missions.
mostly because they sell kikufuku mochi.
the first time he came in, it was purely spontaneous. the sign in the window said fresh mochi, and satoru has never been able to resist sweets. he bought a box, ate two before he even left the sidewalk, and decided the place was worth remembering.
so now he drops by whenever he’s nearby.
the bell above the door rings when he steps inside.
it smells like sugar and warm dough. the display case is already half empty for the day, but the tray of kikufuku is still there, dusted lightly with starch.
satoru leans over the counter.
“same as usual?” you ask.
you don’t even look surprised to see him anymore.
he tilts his head slightly, a smirk plastered on his face.
“hey, how’d you know that?”
“you come here three times a week,” you say, already reaching for the box.
“what can i say,” he says proudly, placing a hand over his chest. “i’m a loyal customer.”
“you are,” you reply calmly.
he watches you while you pack the mochi. you’re careful with them, lining them up neatly so they don’t stick together. your sleeves are rolled up, and there’s a bit of flour on the back of your hand.
satoru started noticing things like that.
you slide the box across the counter.
“fresh batch today.”
“dangerous information,” he grins. “i might eat all of them before i leave.”
“you usually do.”
you snicker a bit when you say it.
satoru pauses halfway through pulling out his wallet.
“you’re making fun of me,” he says in mock-offense.
“i’m not,” you reply quickly. “just stating the obvious.”
“that’s worse.”
you try to hide your smile while adjusting the box in front of him. “you ate half the box before you even reached the corner last time.”
“…you saw that?” he quirks an eyebrow.
you give a small shrug, suddenly busy fixing the stack of napkins beside the register.
“window faces the street.”
there’s a quiet pause.
then satoru lets out a soft laugh, warm and surprised, like he didn’t expect you to admit that.
“so you watch me leave too?” he teases.
you glance up at him for half a second before looking away again.
“only when customers are doing something weird.”
“eating mochi enthusiastically is weird?”
“very.”
he comes back two days later, and then again the week after.
sometimes he tells himself it’s because the mochi are good. which is true— they’re soft, the filling sweet just the way he likes it, and honestly he could demolish a whole box without trying.
but lately he’s been standing at the counter a little longer than necessary, asking small (and obvious) questions.
“what time do you guys open?”
“do you make the filling here?”
“is it weird if i buy two boxes?”
you answer easily since you’re used to chatting with customers, but every now and then you laugh at something he says, and satoru finds himself pausing for a second, forgetting what he wanted to do.
today he walks in and the bell rings again, which has you looking up from behind the counter.
“hello,” you greet him with a polite smile. “you’re early today.“
satoru adjusts his sunglasses slightly as he glances at the display case, even though he already knows what he’s getting. you notice that for the first time since he started coming here, the blindfold is gone.
“yeah, well,” he says casually, with his hands in his pockets. “i was in the area.”
you grab the mochi box without asking this time.
and while you’re packing them, satoru crosses his arms and watches you for a moment longer than usual.
satoru never leaves without properly bidding his wife goodbye ♡
you learned early that loving him means sharing him with the world.
no one really warns you about that part. they talk about danger, about responsibility, about how busy he is. but they don’t talk about the quiet. they don’t talk about how heavy it feels standing in the doorway, watching him leave again.
satoru stands there now, half-turned already, like he belongs more to the outside than he does to this house.
“you’re leaving already?” you ask, even though you already know.
“mm,” he hums. “quick mission. i’ll be back before you even miss me.”
you frown a little. “i already miss you.”
that makes him smile.
he steps closer, like it’s instinct, like there’s something pulling him back just as much as the world pulls him away. his hand comes up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek so gently it almost hurts.
“you’re making it hard to leave,” he murmurs.
“good.”
he laughs softly at that, and then he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips— it’s warm. familiar. but not nearly long enough.
he pulls back just slightly.
“…one more?” he asks.
you sigh, but your fingers are already gripping his uniform. “you say that every time, but it’s never just one.”
“..please, baby?”
“c’mere.”
and with that he kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s got all the time in the world even though you both know he doesn’t.
when he pulls away, he doesn’t go far.
“…okay, now i’ll go.”
you don’t let go just yet.
“..toru.”
“mhm?”
“be careful.”
there’s a small pause, barely there, but you feel it.
“always am,” he says, and he squeezes your hand.
“okay, seriously,” he says, not moving. “now i’m going.”
you raise a brow. “are you?”
“…just one more—”
“satoru.”
he grins, completely unashamed. “last one. promise.”
you sigh again, but you lean in anyway— because this is how it always goes.
because every “last kiss” is just him trying to hold onto something soft before he walks back into something dangerous— and you need it as much as he does.
this time, when he pulls away, he actually steps back.
“…i’ll come back to you,” he says, quieter now.
you nod. “you better.”
he lingers for a second longer, like he’s thinking about staying, but he doesn’t, instead he turns toward the door.
“…hey.”
you look up— and even with the blindfold on, you can feel his eyes on you.
“miss me properly, okay?”
you huff out a small laugh. “get out already, so you get it over with faster.”
when he eventually leaves, you can’t help feeling a little lonely— but just as you’re about to walk back, the door swings open.
“i forgot something.”
you blink. “oh? what is it—”
before you can finish, he’s already back in front of you, hands on your face, stealing one more quick kiss, soft and bright and completely necessary for his heart.
“…that,” he says, satisfied.
you look at him. “seriously?”
“can’t help it. just wanna stay home with my pretty wifey.”
he leans in, presses one last, tiny kiss to the tip of your nose this time.
“okay, now i’m really going.”
“c’mon.” you point toward the door. “you’ve got responsibilities.”
after wrapping you into a quick hug, he finally slips out for real.
and this time, when the door closes, you think that maybe waiting for him might not feel so bad after all.
everytime i try to write for someone else it just ends up being gojo anyway…（´∇｀'' )ゞ
chosen from countless women, you become satoru gojo’s wife, and now an heir is expected of you. he is kind, attentive even, yet he has never touched you, which leaves you to take matters into your own hands.
𝒄𝒘. arranged marriage trope ⸝⸝ smut with plot ⸝⸝ p in v
𝒂𝒏. this is for @yoonsucks 3k event!! & art by baobei_beh on x
You’ve learned not to reach for something that was never offered. It makes things easier, simply filling your role the way you’re expected to.
Wife, in name.
You remember the day with clarity.
Coming from a prominent sorcerer clan, the invitation hadn’t been a surprise. A formal letter, sealed and precise, summoning you to the Gojo estate. You went because you had to, because in your world, declining something like that wasn’t an option.
When you arrived, there was already a line.
Women— dozens of them, stood waiting, their composure brittle beneath the surface. Some adjusted their hair for the hundredth time, others smoothed creases from their clothes. A few tried not to stare each other down, though the tension between them was obvious.
And then you saw him.
He walked down the hall toward the room where everyone was gathered, unhurried, almost careless. And for a brief, fleeting moment, his gaze met yours— those impossibly clear blue eyes, sharp and unreadable.
You didn’t think much of it at the time.
One by one, the women were called in.
One by one, they came back out.
Some held themselves together, faces stiff with practiced dignity. Others weren’t as composed, makeup smeared, eyes red, voices trembling as they whispered or outright complained about being rejected. The atmosphere grew heavier with each passing minute, disappointment thick in the air.
Through it all, you remained detached.
You weren’t there to win. You weren’t there to impress. You were there because not showing up might have cost you more than your pride.
And then, somehow, he chose you.
You still remember the silence that followed. The weight of every gaze snapping toward you, sharp and disbelieving. You hadn’t done anything remarkable. You hadn’t tried to stand out.
The looks they gave you afterward were impossible to forget— resentful, confused, some openly hostile. As if you had stolen something from them. As if you had played a game better than they had.
“Are you certain about this, Mr. Gojo?” you had asked carefully, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.
Several elders seated nearby turned to look at you as though you had committed some unforgivable offense, their expressions tight with disapproval. The sheer audacity of questioning him, especially now, after his decision had already been made, seemed almost scandalous.
Relaxed as ever, Satoru leaned back slightly in his seat, utterly unaffected by the tension that had suddenly settled over the room.
“Please,” he said, voice smooth and almost teasing, “call me Satoru. It’s only right that my future wife drops the formalities.”
Future wife.
Months later, you're standing in front of your dresser with the soft fabric of a nightgown caught between your fingers. The hem of the nightgown catches on the edge of the dresser drawer, snagging for just a second before you tug it free.
You hadn’t even wanted to unpack it when it was given to you, this absurdly expensive gift from your husband. You’d shoved it to the back of the drawer for weeks, letting it gather dust beneath other gifted clothes you never wore.
You know why you’re here.
The Gojo clan head needed a wife, and you were the one who fit the checklist— quiet, presentable, and most importantly, fertile.
It was never subtle. Never dressed up as anything softer than what it is. The Gojo clan needs an heir— and you were chosen to provide it.
Although your husband has been kind and caring, he hasn’t made a single attempt to grow closer to you. Which is why you decided to take matters into your own hands— if he won’t act, then you will make sure that changes tonight.
Back then, you might’ve refused, but saying now that you’re not attracted to him now would be lying. So while the pressure of expectations is weighing on you, there may also be a few personal reasons behind wanting him closer.
So you’re determined to make tonight matter, he should be home any minute now.
You slip into the soft fabric, letting it settle against your skin, and turn slowly in front of the mirror.
Your grip tightens slightly in the lace, the fabric bunching under your fingers as your thoughts spiral somewhere you try not to let them go too often.
You’re tired of being the subject of whispered conversations among the clan, and you’re tired of your husband treating you like a friend.
Even now, they linger in every conversation you’re not meant to hear, in every glance from elders who measure time in expectations rather than days.
Three months. Three months and twelve days— enough time for questions to start forming.
You press your lips together.
You and your husband barely hold hands, let alone anything that would lead to that.
It leaves you wondering, more often than you’d like, if he finds you attractive at all. Or if there’s simply nothing there worth looking at.
Footsteps echo down the hallway— that’s your cue. You glance at yourself one last time in the mirror, smoothing the lace at your sides as you draw in a steady breath. Tonight isn’t supposed to be like all the others.
Tonight, you’re going to seduce your own husband.
The door opens, and there he is. Your husband. For a moment, it almost feels like he’s looking at you, though the blindfold makes it hard to tell. You wait, a small spark of hope catching in your chest.
“You’re home, how was your day?” you sing, your voice light and playful, fluttering your lashes as a warm smile spreads across your face.
“Just the usual— I’m glad to be home, though.” He offers you a polite smile before brushing past, heading straight for his dresser.
You remain where you are, letting out a slow breath. Not quite the reaction you’d hoped for— but you’re not ready to give up just yet.
You finally turn, smoothing out your nightgown as you go, tugging it ever so slightly to emphasize your cleavage, a quiet attempt to catch his attention.
His back is to you, and you catch him just as he reaches up, slipping the blindfold off.
You step up behind him, slipping your arms around his waist, letting your hands wander ever so slightly.
“Long day, huh?” you murmur, leaning into his back. “I wouldn’t mind helping you unwind.”
He lets out a soft chuckle and gently turns to face you.
“I think some sleep will do me good. Please, don’t worry about me,” he says, giving your head an affectionate pat.
God, he’s treating you like a kid— time to take more decisive measures.
You take a step back with a quiet huff, then look up at him, brows drawn together.
“What— this isn’t sexy enough for you?” you press, frustration creeping into your voice. “You’re the one who gave it to me, so it must be me, huh?”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face, and you catch the way he swallows.
“No— no, not at all. I mean— yes, it’s… it’s sexy. You’re—” He stumbles over his words, lifting a hand to scratch the back of his head. “Why would you even ask that? I’m glad you’re wearing it, actually. I think it suits you perfectly.”
“Then why won't you look at me, Satoru?”
His breath hitches. A beat passes before his hand drops slowly to his side, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for something— or someone.
“Because,” he admits, voice rough around the edges, “if I do, I'm not sure I'll stop.”
The silence stretches taut between you, his confession lingering in the air like a plucked string. His gaze flickers down, just once, to where the lace clings to your hips, and you see his throat work as he swallows hard.
“You have no idea,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, fingers flexing at his sides.
“That damn thing caught my attention the second I stepped in here. Every time you move, it—“ He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, dragging a hand through his hair.
You tilt your head, watching the way his shoulders tense. “So you have been looking?”
“Like I have a choice.” The admission comes out rough, almost annoyed, and something warm curls low in your stomach.
You take a step forward, close enough to see the way his pupils dilate.
“Satoru,” you say his name slowly, letting it roll on your tongue. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted when you chose this marriage.”
His gaze snaps to yours, sharp. “I—”
“Maybe,” you continue, tracing idle circles on his palm, “I wanted you closer.”
The nightgown’s lace flutters against your thighs as you lean in, close enough to share his air.
“You’re telling me,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, “that all this time, I could’ve—”
His hands hover at your waist, not quite touching. “Damn it. I thought you’d need time. That you’d resent me for pulling you into this.”
“Resent you? For what? The way your hands shake right now?” You catch one, pressing it flat against the curve of your hip. “Or how you keep biting your lip when I move?”
You demonstrate by swaying slightly, watching his teeth sink into the plush flesh. “That’s what I resent? That you’ve been holding back?”
His grip tightens, finally, as he exhales through his nose.
“You have no idea,” he repeats, rougher this time, “how many nights I’ve laid awake imagining this. That damn lace.”
A shudder runs through him as his thumb finds the scalloped edge at your thigh. “It’s translucent when you stand in the light. Drives me insane.”
You arch into his touch. “Prove it.”
Then, with a growl, he yanks you flush against him. The heat of his body sears through the thin fabric as his mouth crashes onto yours. His tongue sweeps in, tasting you like a man starved, and you gasp into the kiss. His hands slide up your ribs, tracing every dip and curve as if memorizing them.
When he pulls back, his breath is ragged, a string of saliva connecting you still.
“Still think I haven’t been looking?” he mutters, thumb brushing your swollen lower lip. “I could draw every stitch of this thing from memory.”
His fingers trail up to toy with the plunging neckline.
“This part—” a tug at the ribbon between your breasts, “—keeps coming loose in my head. And here—” his palm skates down your side, making you shiver, “—I love the way it catches on your hips when you walk.”
You bite back a moan. “So do something about it..”
. . ❤︎
The sounds are filthy, wet and sloppy, the sharp slap of skin against skin every time he bullies his way inside you beating through your bedroom.
“Keep it on,” Satoru growls against your ear, his fingers tightening in the lace at your hips as he drags you back onto him. The frills tickle your thighs, the fabric absurdly delicate against the mess he is making of you.
You gasp something unintelligible, clawing at his shoulders— not to push him away, but because the nightgown’s straps keep slipping down your shoulders, tangling your arms like you’re some half-wrapped present he can’t wait to properly unwrap.
“You’re— mmh! really obsessed with this s-stupid thiiing,” you manage, your voice breaking as he angles deeper.
“Obsessed?” He punctuates the word with a slow roll of his hips, dragging the lace higher up your thighs. “Y’the one who— ngh! decided t’use it against me. Like you— knew.”
His teeth graze your shoulder, a sharp contrast to the way his thumbs circle your nipples through the lace, the friction just shy of painful.
“Look at you,” he drawls, voice rough. The nightgown clings to your skin, where sweat has soaked through, and you watch his gaze darken as he takes in the sight, his own personal masterpiece, half-destroyed and still pristine in its ruin.
You arch into him, the absurdity of the situation hitting you in waves.
Here you are, a woman who’d never even held hands with her husband before the wedding, now trembling beneath his hands as he worships the very thing he’s ruining.
The lace scratches your oversensitive skin, each tiny thread a reminder of his fixation, and you moan when he tears the hem slightly in his haste to hike it higher.
“Satoru—”
The lace tears a little more as he yanks it up to your ribs, exposing the dip of your waist.
“Gonna ruin it properly,” he murmurs, and you realize he doesn’t just mean the nightgown.
He means you, the way your thighs shake, the way your nails rake his back, the way you’re already arching into him like you’ll beg for it if he hesitates even a second.
“M’so sorry sweetheart— let my sweet wife go without f’so long.”
He holds you in place, both of his strong arms wrapping around your thighs, his face one of pure bliss as you can feel every single twitch and throb of his cock as his cum spills inside of you.
The sensation is too much, your hole twitching— some droplets of milky white sliding down the curve of your ass.
“You're not getting out of this bed until y’full of me,” he growls, and the possessive edge in his words sends a shiver down your spine. “Not until I know it's taken.”
He rolls his hips, no longer chasing his own release but ensuring yours, dragging the pleasure out until you're writhing beneath him.
You can feel the heat of him, the way he still pulses inside you, and when you clench around him, he groans, his forehead dropping to yours.
“Again,” he orders, his breath hot against your lips. “Squeeze me like that again, and I'll give you another load right now.”
satoru likes when you depend on him. not in the controlling kind of way, he just likes being needed in all the tiny spaces of your day.
so he twists bottle caps just a little too tight before handing them to you with an innocent smile.
“satoru,” you complain, standing in the kitchen trying to open the bottle, “you sealed this thing shut!”
“hm?” he glances over from where he’s leaning against the counter. “did i?”
“you did!”
“wow, sounds serious. better let me handle it.”
he takes the bottle from your hands, making a dramatic show of opening it effortlessly, and his grin is unbearably smug when he gives it back.
“there you go, sweetheart.”
it’s the same with things placed on high shelves. you’re almost certain he moves them when you aren’t looking.
your favorite mug somehow ends up just out of reach, the snacks you bought disappear onto the top shelf— even your hoodie once ended up in the highest wardrobe compartment he knows you can’t comfortably reach.
and he absolutely refuses to let you lead when going out.
every time you go somewhere together, he’s the one leading. hand wrapped around yours while you trail beside him through crowded streets.
“you know where we’re going, right?” you ask, barely paying attention to where you’re headed.
“obviously.”
“then why won’t you just tell me?”
he shrugs. “because then you won’t need me next time.”
“toru...”
“baby.”
“one day i’m gonna get lost on purpose.”
“that’s fine,” he hums. “i’ll always come find you anyway.”
he also laughs when you roll your eyes, walking over before effortlessly plucking another item down from a shelf. except instead of handing it over immediately, he lifts it just out of reach.
“what do i get for my excellent service?”
“nothing, because you’re literally the one doing this!”
he kisses your forehead before giving it back.
because the truth is, satoru adores taking care of you. carrying your bags before you can complain that they’re heavy. zipping up your jacket when your fingers are cold. plugging your phone in after you fall asleep.
and maybe he just likes hearing you call his name, likes the way your voice softens when you ask, “can you help me?”
so yes, maybe he tightens jars too much on purpose, maybe he keeps your favorite things just barely out of reach, but only because he loves the little pout you give him before letting him swoop in and save the day.
sukuna is unexpectedly affectionate in private (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)
it’s quiet except for the low tapping of rain against the window and the occasional rustle of blankets every time sukuna shifts against you.
which is quite often.
for someone who acts like affection is beneath him, he’s currently half sprawled across your chest like an oversized cat, one arm heavy around your waist.
you look down at him for a second, making sure his eyes are still closed, before reaching for your phone as carefully as possible.
“mhmm, keep scratching riiight there,” he mutters lazily.
you bite back a grin. “hmm, you like that?”
his grip tightens, pulling you closer until your legs tangle together beneath the blankets. one of his hands lazily traces shapes against your hip.
he’s completely relaxed— nobody would ever believe this version of him exists.
which is exactly why you start recording.
the phone captures the way his face softens, the way he leans into your touch, and the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth when you scratch lightly at the right spot.
“you’re sooo spoiled,” you whisper.
“tch, by who?”
“me, duh.”
he hums thoughtfully. “suppose you’re useful for something.”
“wow. you’re sooo romantic.”
“you know how i feel about you, woman,” he mutters. “don’t make me say it.”
you just grin down at your phone screen.
especially when he shifts upward just enough to press his face against your chest dramatically after you stop petting his hair for two seconds.
“jeez,” you whisper. “clingy much?”
“careful.”
“hm? or what?”
“i’ll remind you who’s in charge.”
despite the threat, his voice is rough with sleep, quieter than usual. affectionate in that awful sukuna way where every sweet thing sounds vaguely dangerous.
you’re still smiling at the screen when his gaze suddenly flickers upward, and straight to your phone.
you watch the realization hit him in real time.
“…are you filming me?” his expression twists into horror first, before hardening into his usual glare as he jerks upright.
“delete it.”
“no.”
“delete it now.”
“you were being cute.”
his eyes widen a fraction. “give me the phone.”
you scramble backward across the bed before he can grab you, laughing when he lunges and misses by inches.
“nuh-uh!”
“you insignificant—”
“maybe.. i’ll show uraume.”
dead silence, and the look on his face is murderous.
“you wouldn’t dare.”
your grin turns evil. “oh, i would.”
he’s off the bed instantly, and so are you.
you shriek laughing as you sprint out of the bedroom, nearly tripping over your own feet while sukuna storms after you.
“get back here, now!”
“uraume deserves to know you’re secretly pathetic—”
“i’ll burn that device if i have to.”
“you were totally acting all soft!”
“THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED.”
you’re wheezing by the time you dart down the hallway, clutching your phone to your chest while he gains on you with terrifying speed, then suddenly strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, and you yelp as he lifts you clean off the ground.
“caught you.”
“i’m sorry— no, no, no!”
he pries your phone from your hands with annoyance while you laugh uncontrollably.
he glares down at the screen, pulls up the video, and watches exactly three seconds of himself melting into your touch.
“…this shall never be seen by anyone else.”
you grin. “but you looked adorable!”
“say another word and i’m never cuddling you again.”
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