𝐀 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒. ( ♡ 𝚃𝙾 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚉𝚈 )
𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚄 promised himself that he wouldn't touch you, his newly arranged wife. but he swears that you're trying to give him a heart attack with how bad you want him, someone twice your age.
꒰ age gap (40s/20s) :: arranged marriage :: suggestive ꒱
𝓞𝙻𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳!𝚂𝙰𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚄ᅠ🌷͏͏♡ ͏͏ᅠ𝓐𝚁𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝙵𝙴!𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁
Satoru should have known you'd be a problem from the moment you said I do.
You were nothing he expected, everything he wanted, and something he couldn't have.
He knew he was in trouble from the day you flashed him those pearly white and crooked your head at him so cutely. Fresh out of your wedding ceremony and sprawled across your now shared bed. Waiting for a man with more creases settling into his skin than years to your name.
He sat still on the bed's edge. Quiet.
"You okay?" You asked. Sweet, sweeter than his scars deserved.
"Y'know," he drawled, cocking his head to mimic you. "You're awfully calm for a girl who just got married to someone old enough to be her dad."
He should have known the clan would pull something like this. Unfortunately, he could not outrun his elders. Forty four and without an heir was a stain on their name.
And now, you're here. Sweet, pretty, young you.
Smiling at him as if he hung the stars in the sky.
"Well," you intentionally mimicked his drawl. Huh, so you had spunk?
The mattress dipped beside him. Your soft knees brushed on his thigh's side. Your hands looked softer. Delicate. Probably fragile in his scarred ones.
"I guess that's right. You're twice my age— buuuuut."
Warmth bubbled in his side as you nudged him. A smile on your strawberry balmed lips.
"You seem nice enough." A dramatic? Sigh. "Real handsome too. Wouldn't say you're pushing fifty at all."
You stretched, still smiling. "Experienced, attractive, rich— what more could a girl ask for?"
His brows shot up. In all of his years as the Strongest, Satoru could only count on one hand the number of times in which his breath hitched.
You'd be responsible for it becoming two hands. Three, even.
What, with the way you batted your eyes at him at the dinner table. How you hung off of him during meetings.
It was odd. Not what he was expecting in the slightest. You should feel disgusted. Or unnerved.
He was your father's age.
Hell, his hands were wrinkling.
So why. The hell. Were you more into this than he bargained for?
"Don't you want a guy your age?" He scoffed at you one day during dinner.
You arched your brow. Huffed as you fixed one of your golden hoop earrings.
"Now why wouldn't I want my lobster buttery?"
Yeah. That's when he realised you were crazy.
Or maybe that should have been only a few days after your wedding, when he walked in to the sinful sight of you lounged on the bed. Silk kissing your soft skin. Teasing.
In a baby blue. Lingerie.
"What the hell are you wearing?" His hand covered his eyes. Over the blindfold. Not that it mattered. His six eyes knew what it wanted to see.
"A surprise for my husband." You smiled.
It felt like a taunt. He slept on the couch that day.
You were a little too excited about the thought of giving yourself away to a man who had finished school by the time you were born. A little too eager to press against his aging skin.
"We're married." You'd claim.
"Am I so wrong for wanting you?"
Of course not. But he sure as hell wasn't going to let your first time be with someone like him.
Not to mention the day that you—
"Remember how I said you're suppeerrr rich?" You cooed.
Satoru stared down at you. Mapping the morning sun that caressed half of your face in the dining hall.
His arms folded, the white fabric of his haori tucking against his chest. "Yes?"
He couldn't help but drawl, amused. Because his pretty arranged wife was full of surprises.
Satoru really should keep his infinity up around crazy girls like you.
Your delicate fingers surged sparks into his veins. Your softness pressed into every inch of him.
As your hand treaded his bicep, so his sanity threaded. Thinned.
Doll eyes. Oh fuck. Why were you giving him doll eyes? Stop that.
"Could you maybe. . . spare your wife a little gift?" You asked.
The devil sure was pretty.
He cleared his throat, but he was still thirsty. Starving, even. White lashes hung low over blues as he watched every inch of you.
"What do you want?" He asked.
You leaned closer than he should have allowed you to. Pouted.
"There's this new pair of shoes on the market. Real pretty. Pink. I think it'd look soooo good on me."
"Yeah? That why you married me? For my money?"
"Well I could always work for it."
Your hands traced to his chest. That's where he should have stopped you.
You were nothing he expected.
And something he couldn't have.
"Sweetheart," the words dripped dark. His brow quirked. Your fingers were getting a bit too comfortable with his haori ties.
His eyes hung heavy. Voice heavier.
"You know I've got scars older than you, right?"
It was meant to scare you off. But Satoru should have known better.
Again. He should really put his infinity up around crazy girls like you.
Instead of flinching. Or wincing. Or even curling your lip— you smiled.
Were those hearts in your eyes?
Your fingers fiddled with his belt. Your giggle slipped into a sigh. Too dreamy. Too sweet.
He laid a hand over yours. Gentle, because that's what pretty things deserved. But firm, because they never listened either.
Pulling you away, Satoru shook his head with a deep sigh.
"Anyone ever tell you you're crazy?"
Your pout returned. "So is that a yes to the shoes and a no to the sex?"
"Well, can you call me sweetheart again, then?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. As you hung on his arm with those big, bambi eyes of yours. Oh, he sure had his hands full with you.
© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cheriisoda.
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