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?!”

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?”

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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.

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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.

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.

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.

…huh.

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.

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅! satoru gojo × 𝓯! reader

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.

a small no-curses au where reader is sukuna’s girlfriend, and he’s yuji’s and choso’s uncle — pure fluff (๑>◡<๑)

ᯓ★ introducing you to his nephews

ᯓ★ kuna’s jealous of yuji being your fav

ᯓ★ coming over, but not for your boyfriend

ᯓ★ you‘re taking care of his sick nephews

ᯓ★ his nephews make him apologize after an argument

ᯓ★ someone mistakes you for a family

ᯓ★ getting ready with them

ᯓ★ kuna accidentally teaches yuji a swear word

ᯓ★ his nephews and you draw his tattoos on yourselves

taglist: open! comment on this to be added

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.

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.”

“empty threats!” you hum.