⋆｡˚⋆ ✵ ⋆ Slow and secret. ⋆ ✵ ˚｡⋆
Synopsis: Scar!jo's wife misses her husband's touch.
Pairing: Scar!jo x wife!reader.
Tags: [MDNI] Slow and intimate SMUT some fluff and angst sprinkled, voyarism, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding, p in v, reader is a horny little shit, praise kink ig, missionary, overstimulation (can people learn the diff between this and overwhelmed..?) cunnilingus.
From Shibuya and Shinjuku's ruins to the Italian coast is a long, dreadful and sorrowful journey you embarked on with your husband.
Freshly scarred and high from the adrenaline after the showdown, Satoru hadn't realised just who he was after defeating Sukuna.
He wasn't just the strongest anymore.
He was a survivor.
The winner.
But he came crashing down from the peak sooner than he expected.
One look in the mirror.
And he wasn't anyone.
Not your husband, and most definitely not Gojo Satoru anymore.
So for months, he hid.
The characteristic charming and confident man you married was nowhere to be seen the last three months. Buried in the rubble that consumes what Tokyo once was.
Satoru is still somewhat a ghost of himself—you watch him as he stays rooted at the shore, tall frame swallowed by his orange oversized sweatshirt to hide the dents in his canvas underneath that follow his skin until his mid thighs.
Just staring at the horizon of azure blue, a mirror of his own eyes.
Though you can't see his face, or read his thoughts from where you lay on the sunbed shaded behind the creamy, semi-see through curtains, you can tell his gaze is void—empty like it's been for some time now.
Or perhaps foggy with his everlasting fear. Paranoia of ever having to relieve what he did. Unfortunately for you, as much as you've tried to be a reassuring and wife, nothing has quite helped your husband with abolishing that mindset just yet—that he's on the battlefield.
You don't dare to say it out loud.
But you miss your husband.
Your Satoru.
So much.
Not how he looks.
Never that.
But the cheerful, loud and lively version of him. It pains you far too much to see him so far away despite being right next to you.
You press your face further into the plush white pillow beneath your cheek and try to find comfort in it—to no avail, you can only fall asleep on your husband's chest but he's refused physical contact ever since he came home.
It breaks your heart every time.
Because you love him either way—scarred or not—maybe now even more than before after he kept his promise of coming back to you.
He doesn't see it that way though. And he avoids you like it's better for you to stay away and not see the outcome of the events carved into him.
Says he's "not worthy for you anymore." or "unattractive." So you won't need to force intimacy onto him because he hates the feeling of your fingers brushing every dip of his skin that wasn't there before and that only serves as a reminder that he was still weak.
You wish he'd understand he's anything but weak.
In the distance he's still watching the waves, you begin to wonder if today, on the third day of your vacation—the one you forcefully dragged him on, far away from Japan so he'd have a change of scenery (a positive one)—he will finally get inside the water.
Tug off his cover-up, dip himself beyond his feet in the blue and lose himself in the ocean.
The answer lingers in the back of your mind like a pest, you're sure he's not ready yet, but there's a sliver of hope in your chest.
Which disappears and gets overtaken by vast disappointment once he turns around and makes his way to you. A few long strikes and he reaches where you're bundled up on the bed, hair messily sprawled out on the sheets, curtains half drawn to sheild you from the sun.
And he would usually cling onto you immediately. Throw a hand over your waist, press himself against your back and curl into you. Cuddle you until you both fell asleep in this nice weather.
Instead, now he takes the other end of the bed. Swinging his feet up after dusting the sand off and leaning against the headboard—quiet as a church mouse.
Sadness pools in your stomach, an uneasy feeling taking over your every fiber. You try to be strong knowing he has it so hard—but you can't help but feel undesirable at some point.
Swallowing the prickling feeling of wanting to cry, you try to keep your voice leveled—clear of any sentimental emotions—when you attempt small talk with him.
"How's the water, honey?"
He's quiet for a beat before mumbling "I didn't go in."
You hum, a sorry excuse of a smile on your face.
And you can't help it when the tears bubble quickly in you and you accidentally choke out a sob you were meant to push down.
Satoru’s head whips over to your sideways curled up figure on the bed when the sound reaches his ear.
You feel pathetic.
Making small talk with your husband.
Helpless, and feeling incredibly selfish.
For the first time in months, Satoru feels himself live in an emotional fully. Worry spreading through his whole body.
He pushes himself off his side of the bed and circles the bed till he reaches your side and crouches right where your face is hidden in the pillow and from where tiny whimpers are muffled.
"Baby, what's wrong?" You start sobbing at the sound of the nickname. He has no idea just how much it means to you to just hear him talk or look at you.
The tears spill past your waterline like a waterfall with no direction or limit, dampening your cheeks, soon turning your eyes raw from the dryness.
You hiccup into the pillow, muffle sobs that rip straight from your chest while your husband stays crouched next to the bed and rubs your back—unaware of the inner turmoil you actually fight everyday because of him.
Because he’s there.
Yet, he’s not.
And it stings.
“It’s okay, tell me why you’re crying.” His voice soothes in your ear, questions softly with the underlying care in his words that he always had with you.
That has your heart clenching even more, your chest tightening at how the man you knew only shows up every once a never.
You feel like a terrible wife for wanting him back.
“I miss you.” You frailly cry out, voice a pitch higher and shaky.
Though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably wearing that face of indescribable confusion. He’s there, so what are you talking about?
“I’m right here, sweetheart..?” He’s unsure as he points out the obvious.
You don’t miss a beat in replying. “No, I miss my husband.”
His mind slowly wraps around the idea he has about what your talking about and something shifts in him.
For the first time since he’s gotten back from the shore, you show your face again. Mascara smudged around the corners, hair messy, cheeks glossy and lips puffy.
“You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t let me touch you. We barely talk. You don’t let me help. We are married for fucks sake, Satoru.”
Your voice breaks as you spill your hearts content out through the tip of your tongue. Months of frustration and loneliness piercing right at the one man you love most in the world.
Satoru falls quiet with a frozen tongue and a paralysed mind. Internally, he feels the gears shift, his mind rewire as he understands you.
And he gets it.
Shit.
Where has he been these last months?
Back at the battlefield while his wife desperately tried to cling onto his consciousness and ground him like the tether she always was to him in his world of curses?
Uneasiness washes over him at the realisation that he can’t erase the past—the last months you’ve spent in solitude with an absent husband at home, constantly nurturing it without reward.
So all he can offer and pray you accept are apologies.
“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry.” His long fingers clasp around your hand against the pillow. Holding tight enough for you to feel your bones being squished against his.
“I’m so sorry.”
But you don’t need his apologies.
He has no need to apologise for. After all, you’re not the only one grieving him. He is too. The life he had, who he was, who the mirror showed him before the slashes.
It’s different though. He doesn’t love who he is now, while you still do.
He’s still your husband. You said “I do.” 4 years ago with the same confidence you’d say it today. Even after all of the hardships and even after all of the forgiving.
“Don’t apologise.” You mutter, shifting on the mattress and sitting upward—moving your weight to sit on your legs—and cup his cheek with your right hand to caress it.
Only now do you realise his eyes are glossy too, guilt swimming in them —regret. The kind that eats at your bones for mistakes you didn’t mean.
Quietly, you confess with the sound of the waves in the background supporting you.
“I’ll always be by your side, Satoru. But you need to let me in. I’m your wife.”
Your eyes follow the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows your honest words. Their meaning sinking into his marked skin with permission this time.
He nods once—slow and sure—and the knot in your chest loosens. In the blink of an eye, he’s getting off his knees.
The matress dips where he sits down next to you, hand still in hand, his body fully turned to you while your legs—folded beneath you—still are angled straight ahead.
In a slow pace, he draws himself closer to you. The smell of his natural musk that always drove you crazy mixed with the ocean breeze in his milky white hair filling your senses.
His lips brush against you in the comforting way they always did before meeting.
And slowly, he whispers.
“You are so much more than my wife.”
You hum once, curtly.
“You’re my everything.”
And the man you thought you no longer recognised, kissed you like the man you know bu heart.
The kiss is impossibly soft. Tender and warm. Electrifying all of your dormant atoms to life, cells buzzing under his touch.
It’s magical. An open door to the world you thought you were shut out of entirely—one with him and your love.
His lips move slowly against yours. Plush skin meeting plush skin in a desperate yet patient reunion.
You didn’t realise you missed it so much till now.
It hurts to part.
Satoru only pulls away for a second to look in your eyes.
Neither of you exchange words before diving back into each other’s essences.
His hands find your waist, your body turns to him completely—back pressing against the headboard as he holds you, your hands fitting on his broad shoulders.
Beneath the tips of your delicate fingers, you feel the dips and uneven surfaces under the thin layer of his sweatshirt.
The kiss deepens once he swipes his tongue under your lip and you grant him that quiet access like you always have under the sun or moon.
You’ve always been Satoru’s.
From the day you saw him on the other side of the train station.
Till now.
And you always will be his.
Your nails slightly dig into his flesh as he explores your mouth, one of his hands now on your chin—tilting your face up—so he can follow the same path he always did.
Tongues fighting, bodies heating up under the daylight, you feel the need to reduce the layers between your thin white cover-up dress and his sweatshirt.
Hesitantly, the pressure on his shoulders caused by your fingers lessens and your hands migrate to the collar of the orange material.
He’s still kissing you as you tug on the zipper.
Then he freezes.
Tongue retreating and lips separating from the heated kiss. Eyes locking together.
You see the fear and hesitation in his baby blues. A silent prayer for you to not see him.
“Satoru, I love you.” You croak out. Voice scratchy and hoarse. The remaining few drops of tears spill from the corners of your eyes.
“I love you so much you have no idea. And I have always loved you and I always will. Even when you change.”
Your husband’s heart shatters.
Loud, like glass breaking against the floor. Unmendable.
But he trusts you.
So he dries your face with the buds of his fingers. Kisses the corner of your damp eye, and pulls the zipper down himself—showing the tainted and raw outcome of his fight.
Pink scars, painfully painted stars in his history.
You see beyond them. See the chiseled body he worked for, the defined v-line that you go crazy for, his rock-hard abs. His determination.
The scars are mere decorations you wish he accepts someday.
“You’re beautiful, honey. Even more now.”
Satoru has doubled in mass since being in the prison realm.
There’s nothing unattractive about him.
Your mind momentarily flashes to the promises of him giving you a family after the fight if he made it.
Every time you think about it, nausea overtakes you.
That dangerous what if that haunted you for nights before the showdown.
What if he didn’t…
No, he’s home.
And that matters so much to you.
That he could come home missing half of his body and you’d still cherish him to death.
Because you know there were others without the gift or the fortune to see their loved ones faces ever again.
Your hands press against the hard surface of his pecks before peeling your back off the headboard and reaching up to kiss him.
You’re caged in between his arms that hold himself up against the headrest. He happily accepts the kiss, lighter than a few seconds ago.
He melts into you again. Your back presses against the cushioned board again as he hovers over you once more.
Hands dipping, your nails feel every dip of his abs. Your legs subconsciously closing as the heat in between them grows.
Satoru bites your bottom lip so he can slip inside your mouth this time, his confidence recovering little by little as he sees the effect he still has on you.
You rein back a whimper that almost escapes one he lowers his lower body onto you. Hard boner pressing against your thinly covered clit—slotting himself perfectly against her.
With the palms of your hands, you push the orange sweatshirt off Satoru and he pulls his hands back quickly to throw it off before latching them on your breasts.
Your mouths dance a ballad you’ve both practiced across different lives.
With no regard for even considering that people might walk by and catch what’s happening through the slightly agape curtains, you slowly plunge your hands inside your husband’s swim trunks.
He hisses against your mouth as your hands wrap around his shaft, sensitive from not being touched or touching himself at all these last months.
Every fiber in you is on fire. His lips leave yours and attach to your neck—peppering your skin with love bites that show you’re his as he works on kneading your tits.
You start pumping his girth at a rhythmic pace, swiping your index finger to collect the small amount of pre-cum oozing out of his tip to stroke him.
Satoru’s face lifts to see you spit on your hand while maintaining eye contact and he feels himself grow harder even when it’s not even possible anymore.
His hand messily pushes down his swim shorts and his cock springs up, hitting him in his lower belly where you immediately grab it and coat it in your spit.
He lets out a deep rumble from his chest that has you twitching around nothing. One large hand pushing your cover up just enough for your bikini-covered breasts to meet the light of day.
A finger hooks under the thin strap underneath them and he sets them free once he tugs the string over your tits.
Your stroking falters when he moves to your nipple, biting as a greeting and then sooting the sensitive bundle of nerves.
You’re dripping—soaking the expensive material of your bathing suit under your cover.
Satoru’s still working on your nipple when his hand pushes up your cover up and moves aside your panties. Long fingers pressing against your warm wetness.
He swears he could cum just for the fact that you’re this wet over him.
A thick, rough digit of his pokes at your entrance before slipping inside. You gasp at the stretch, not having had sex in a long time.
Satoru relishes in the small sound. He pumps the finger once, twice and on the third thrust he unexpectedly adds another finger.
Now, his middle and ring finger stretch you. Wedding ring pressing against your cunt whenever he bottoms his hand out.
His palm rubs against your clit in a way that has you twitching beneath him. Your body jerks at his tongue swirling around your nipple and his palm slapping your bud.
Small moans ring in his ear. With your hands still wrapped around him, he starts thrusting against the mattress, chasing that friction while your mind crashes.
He feels you tense up when your walls start to flutter around his fingers so he pulls them out before you can reach your release.
You feel him lower and latch his mouth onto your pussy before you can process it and whimper for the loss of his digits. Hands letting go of his length as he lowered himself.
Immediately, your hips buck when he flattens his tongue—trying to lap up and consume relish in every taste of his wife’s nectar that she’ll offer him.
You lose all control over the moans and whimpers that leave your mouth—too far gone to even think about others now when your husband eats you up so messily.
Your juices mixed with his saliva soak into the white mattress, staining it, yet the two of you couldn’t care less.
Satoru laps up like a starved man. As he is. His tongue slips past your ring of resistance at times, teasing. Testing to see if you’re ready.
Your nails cling as his back, scratching new redness that he doesn’t mind—not in the way he does with his scars.
His hands are now under your plush ass, angling you upwards and holding you in place as he devours you with the reverence and need he has always had with you.
Your orgasm approaches quickly once he reignites it. Satoru holds the need to smirk against you once he feels your clit twitch and your sweet cunt start to flutter all alone.
He looks up with your bud in between his lips to see the heavenly sight of you propped on your elbows, tits out and glistening, your head thrown back.
His rutting against the bed stops.
You come undone on his tone aggressively. It hits you all at once, shivers overtaking you as your mind falls into pure euphoria.
Satoru doesn’t let a single drop spill.
Not giving you much time to recover, too eager to melt his body with yours, and with you all over his face, your husband climbs over your body again and captures your lips in a kiss.
Tasting yourself on his glistening lips, you shudder and whimper from how sensitive you are once you feel him rub his tip against your entrance.
“ ‘toruuu.” You whine, tears brimming your eyes.
A mock pity pout spawns on his face. His head lolls to the side as he watches your struggled expression—mouth parted, eyes fluttering open and shut when he brushed himself against your overstimulated clit.
“Didn’t you miss me, baby?” He teases.
"I—did-I missed you so much, mmh!" You mewl out in high-pitched stutters. Eyes falling shut and letting the tears spill from your clamped shut eyelids once he bottoms out in one go.
“Oh fuck.” Satoru bites back a low groan that escapes straight from his chest, his thighs pressing against the round and plush skin of your ass.
He wastes no time in pulling back and snapping himself back home. Letting his length disappear inside of you with little to no resistance. “Yeah, baby. Take all of me.”
Electricity sparks every once-dormant nerve in your body back to life.
Your mind momentarily flashes back to the promises he had vowed to keep before the fight. How he’d retire if he won, give you a family and spend the rest of his days cherishing the moments he spends in your arms.
And you snap out of your thoughts once you feel his two hands slide under your thighs, strong forearms locking them against your hamstrings so he can snugly wrap your legs around his textured waist—carved skin firmed up from days in a dark realm where he fought against time and his own mind.
You feel him everywhere. To the veins harshly reminding you how they have a place within your velvety walls ever since he vowed to be the only one who would ever walk the earth to please you—to the heat swirling in your chest out of profound and raw love you have for your husband.
It’s not supposed to be such a bittersweetly beautiful moment as Satoru is keeping your legs folded around him—forcing him to voluntarily slam down and dip his bulging cock back down home, juices welcoming him and kissing his length goodbye when he pulls back—but it’s so painfully good.
The way he’s back within your reach—caging you under his huffing, feral state where you can see the light color of his eyes sparkling as his body is electrified with life for the first time in months—and the way he’s stretching you out so good.
Making you mewl out incomprehensible words that end up being letters melted into each other with no real meaning because your brain can barely form a real thought.
He’s finding the love you have for him in every crevice of you as your tongues mesh together again. Saliva on saliva as he connects his hips to yours without faltering once.
Begrudgingly, he pulls back. Your eyes fall down to his plush baby pink swollen lips that once shined with your release.
His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling—occasionally shaking as a deep groan escapes him when you suck him in so greedily—for a second, you catch his stare falling to your bodies connecting.
Then he snaps back up—face levelling to you where you’re still giving him that fucked out doe-eyed look that he swears will have him falling over the edge sooner than he intends to.
“Baby?” He softly calls out, the four-lettered word spilling out of his mouth with ease that comes out of the habit he has of calling you that loving name.
You barely hear the sound of his voice, mind somewhere over the clouds. His tip is pushing past your cervix soo nicely. Kissing that little spot that makes your muscles start to spasm in uneven waves—your eyesight blur and the tears streak down the sides of your face quick.
Unbeknownst to you, Satoru is a lot more pleased with himself than he’d admit right now. Even after the noise, the trauma and the ashes—he still has it in him.
Still has it inside of him to unravel you with the simples touches, to have you with your mouth parted open and your eyes rhythmically rolling back as he plunges inside of you—searching for your release.
It fills his body with a tingling sensation—a lingering hot feeling right where his heart sits at the realisation that you’re his wife in every sense of the word.
That you’re still here and still so loving.
All for him.
“M-mhm?” He hears you barely make out, nails moving from his back and onto his forearms where your nails subconsciously dig into his tainted skin.
A cannined smile pulls on his handsome face, almost resembling one of his characteristic smirks that has you knowing—even in your haze—that something is coming.
“Remember the promise I made you?”
Instantly, you scramble around your mind to try and filter to the thousands of promises you’ve offered each other and that he has yet to break.
There are so many, and you don’t have enough mind to run through them all.
“Which—ngh, ‘toru!” In the middle of your attempt to speak, he shifts, hooking both legs over his shoulders. Drawing his chest down, the strong surface of his chest weighing down on your smooth skin.
“—right there! Oh—“
You’re loud. Too loud for someone on a sunbed in a public place. Satoru probably knows it. Yet he makes no effort in shutting you up—he doesn’t muffle your real moans with a kiss, doesn’t silence your babbles with his hand. He lets them pour out into the open.
He lets the world know you’re his.
And that he’s back.
Either way, you don’t make any effort to stop the shore from knowing your lover is back.
His calloused hands, detailed with resilience and his unmatched strength, go delicate as he tries to wipe the stream of tears on the sides of your face.
“C’mon baby, you know which one.”
Seeing the way you fall quiet—half losing the fight between yourself and climaxing too early as your orgasm holds you by your throat, and half winning over the chaos of your mind—he “aids” you just a bit as his left hand drops and finds your clit with soft circles.
He’s teasing you, worsening the internal struggle he’s putting you through—setting every nerve in your body on fire as he pulls your release by the reins.
“What do you want from me?”
His words find a place in your disoriented head, clicking with his previous question.
A baby.
You wanted a baby with him before the fight.
A family.
Something to remember him by
Every night before that godforsaken day.
You tried.
Clung onto his body with a different—more painful kind of desperation than the one you have right now.
Tried for a baby.
Tried to leave a part of him within you just in case he—
The answer spills out of your mouth before your mind dips to darker places.
“A family.” You breathe out, eyes clamping shut for a second.
He muses, face dipping to press soft kisses to your pulsing temple. “Yeah?”
“Y—yeah!”
Your voice pitches higher at the last second as he presses down on your clit.
“Please—please, ‘toru—don’t leave me. Give me a baby.”
You don’t realise just how your fear is spilling through the cracks as you beg to finish and for him to never be done with you.
And Satoru goes soft.
Pace stuttering, abs tightening—he’s so close, you’re so close too.
With slow strokes, already high off demolishing you the past moments—Satoru rides the last moments of the roller coaster as he reaches his end.
“I’ll give you everything, honey.” He whispers, the bed creaking less beneath the both of you as he takes you to the edge.
And you titter to your orgasm that crashes over you twice as strong the second time once he completes his sentence. “Just take it all.”
He places a soft kiss to your lips as he buries himself inside, ropes and ropes of white milky cum filing your womb—overflowing right out of your walls while he remains inside, twitching and unwilling to leave.
A choked sob is muffled as Satoru’s lips catch it, right hand caressing your cheek.
Everything falls quiet, the smell of sex in the open air quickly settles back into the horizon as the sea overtakes the atmosphere and your ears hear the waves crashing against the sand.
The birds sing a song that relaxes your muscles. Your husband goes limp inside of you before pulling out—no longer having anything left of his to give that’s not love.
He plops down to you, the bed dipping in two sides now—but it quickly goes back to only one spot when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you over his warm body, letting you hear his heartbeat underneath the layers of skin.
Thud thud thud.
The sound goes straight to your veins, travelling through arteries and shifting your own heartbeat till it follows his.
He’s home.
Your Satoru is home.
And you fall asleep in his arms.
Safe, the way you both deserve to be.
Three hours later, Satoru walks over to the rim of the sea, stares off into the distance as the sun kisses his pale skin.
He’s uncovered, letting the salty breeze greet his open and slowly healing scars.
But he’s real.
And you join him when he goes inside the water.
Because this is just the first step out of the trenches.
And you’ll be there with him every stretch of the way.
Please excuse the way this turned out, tumblr has been deleting my completed drafts and not saving anything I write and it has been killing my motivation to write. Nonetheless, thank you to the 800 of u who have been patient w me, satosugu x reader and suguru x reader smut coming soon so lmk if u wanna get tagged~ bye loves.
Not proofread cause im scared it will get deleted.
