Chapter Text
Three months and Satoru still wasn't used to this. There was a certain appeal to having someone to come back to, but he was still startled over and over again by a foreign presence in his home.
Foreign? Perhaps he wouldn't say that. It was a delicate, quiet presence, almost too elegant, it felt out of place after being out and about in the bustling city.
She was delicate and quiet, a perfect wife. Almost perfect that is, if he didn't constantly sense the overwhelming, untamed cursed energy coming from her. She was born into a clan that is an offshoot of the Zenin clan, deeply conservative, ‘conservative’ being the nice way of saying misogynistic. She was determined to be prime livestock the day she was born, so no one bothered to teach her how to wield her power, which is still a mystery to him. Surely, he thought, that the clan’s men were fools to not let her train, she would have made for a great puppet either way. He hated the way he thought about her, he didn't know much beyond that about his wife, she was a puppet, meant to breed and produce progeny with his pristine pure blood.
Gojo had a rather big apartment in Tokyo, one would call it a penthouse because he occupied the whole floor. It was modern, minimalistic in an expensive way. Equipped with everything latest, speakers in every room, he woke up to his whole house bursting in vibrant beats, loud western pop.
She wore beautiful kimonos, and she came to the city with three maids that are always by her side. She walked in little steps, poised, calm and slow. Quiet and ideal. But he was annoyed with the presence of the maid girls, his home felt crowded, he was used to living alone until recently.
She smiled at him gently every time their eyes met. It was awkward, he could only flash her a smile back. Unable to convince himself that she’s a real person. She felt like a relic from a different time and place. She always sat by the balcony in the living room, he became acquainted with coming home to her, although he doesn't know if she sat there waiting for him or was admiring the orange skies. She sat on the carpet by the balcony, sometimes peeling a tangerine, completely distracted by the various flocks of birds heading home that day, her silhouette carved in orange and red.
She would turn around when he entered the living room, his beautiful wife would flash him a smile, “Ah, Gojo-sama, welcome back.”, and he would return her smile, warm and gentle, “I'm back”.
For the longest time, he felt like he was in a play, or perhaps even playing a very long game of pretend or housey. He would wake up, she’s already awake, dressed in her elaborate layers of kimono, cooking breakfast, aided by the three maid girls. She always took the lead, gentle, deliberate, kind, never raised her voice, never sudden gestures or moves. Just practiced, scripted and theatrical (he felt), discipline.
His jokes never landed, his arrogance or even his comments never got any reaction whatsoever. “Ah Gojo-sama, very amusing”, cue in fake polite laughter, maybe even a nervous tension later, almost as if asking how she’s performing and whether he is satisfied. Did you like my laugh? Did I do something wrong?
She saw him off every day, at the door, always the same question, “Does Gojo-sama have a specific craving or request for dinner?”, she asks politely while handing him his bento, 4 stacks of bento for lunch, meticulously packed, it leaves everyone at Jujutsu High jealous. She had initially asked if she should pack extra for his colleagues, he decided he will feed them only through their eyes and told her not to, because of course he will show off his wife’s talents. Or even the perks of having a wife.
“Ah no, thank you, dear”, he replies. She smiles at him kindly, “Alright then, have a great day.”, the same send off every day. It's almost as if she’s a hollow robot.
But over the course of weeks, after being subjected to clean floors, rooms, laundry, bedding and so on, he was frustrated. The house was clean great, someone was always home and welcomed him back. The tea was great, the food was great. But gojo felt like a guest in his own house, a stranger to his own wife. It was suffocating.
So one day, he decided he will do something about it, he wanted to reaction out of her, any reaction out of her, he has tried everything, everything to get a reaction out of this museum piece.
Except one thing.
This was an arranged marriage forced up on both of them by the elders of their clan, they were simply not given a choice. Gojo was strategically worn down, threatened and finally convinced, even the great Satoru Gojo couldn't evade an arranged marriage. But his annoyance and regret came crashing down when he saw her face, she was beautiful. The elders drilled in the importance of an heir, “That's the whole purpose of getting you married, Gojo. You must produce an heir”, which he didn't take seriously until he realized that there was more pressure on his wife, she would be deemed ‘defective’ and ‘undesirable’ if an heir wasn't produced.
So they did it, every single month, her cycle was meticulously tracked, they shared a room only during her ovulation. And he wouldn't get sight of her beautiful pair of bosoms for the next month.
He saw the anxiety on her face whenever she bled, the fear of being deemed useless. It infuriated him, how could they reduce someone to just a breeding doll? All her life, she’d been told she was born to fulfill a duty, she was reduced to this. He pitied her. He saw how she couldn't ever become a human being or grown into herself because she was never allowed to.
Where everyone saw tradition, Satoru Gojo saw oppression, an oppression so painful and ingrained that he pitied her, and over time, had started to feel protective over her. He didn't want her to feel unsafe or under pressure. The maids she brought with her were not only maids but sorcerers assigned to protect her, and to make sure she reproduces, they report back to the clan. So, if he refuses to perform, relieve himself inside her, she will be on the receiving end of nasty shit.
But for the most part, he held back, kept it respectful. He didn't strain her, he was never too rough. He was never too erotic. He only ever fulfilled his ‘duties’, but even he couldn't deny that his wife was amazing. Even when all she did was lay there.
But no longer will he do that. His petty mission to get a reaction out of her will commence tonight, the first day of her ovulation.
He went through the motions of the evening, there was already tension all over her face while serving him dinner. She fidgeted her fingers under the table, she thought he couldn't hear it, but he could, he is the Six Eyed sorcerer after all.
That night, she waited for him in bed room, the only time of the month they share a bed, she has a separate room for the rest of the month. He looks forward to those days now, waking up next to her. Her perfectly combed hair is no longer perfect, it's ruffled, tangled and messy. Her face is puffy in the mornings, she’s shy about her morning breath. He has never had the courage to pull her onto his chest, stroke her hair and have her stay in bed for a little longer. He craved warmth and affection but never acted on it.
Because she’ll be taken away, once she’s with child, the clan elders will take her back to the clan compound. He knows why, despite them saying it's for her own good, he knows it's their greed, they want to possess and completely control the powerful heir. Something in his chest knots at the thought but he pushes it away, he refuses to think about it, he denies it any space in his mind, because he knows he couldn't handle it all yet.
His wife on that night, wore a white juban. Usually, he would enter the room, turn off all the lights, that would be their cue to remove their clothes and get in bed. And rut.
But today, he was feeling zesty. He left the bed side lamps on, instead of waiting for her to remove the singular layer of clothing, he knelt in front of her. Ran his palm under the juban, up her thighs and caressed her inner thighs, he looked up at her. Daring her to maintain eye contact, but she was already beet red, blushing so heavily.
And there, mission successful, that's all he wanted, a reaction. Maybe some part of him wanted it so badly because he wanted to prove his masculinity, his performance and drive. And he did. And that's it, he knew he should stop, it's over now, he got his reaction, but surprisingly, he was hard at the sight of her. He wanted more, he couldn't stop.
He bent down and kissed her knees, he started trailing his kisses up her body, slowly uncovering her tender skin, pushing away the clothing, he stopped to remove it entirely, this is the first time he’s done that, he generally lets it stay on because it doesn't matter what's on or off when the lights are off. But not today. He could feel it, and she saw it too, the almost monster like bulge in his pants. The room is getting heated. The room is getting suffocating. And finally, Gojo stands up to remove his shirt, then his pants, his length popping out almost instantly. It's already halfway through to standing up straight, but it's already so big.
She’s felt it deep deep inside her before, the sensations he’s made her feel deep down inside her, parts of her body she wasn't even aware of, she didn't think it was possible. Her belly quivered at the sight, his excitement for her, his physique and what's about to come.
Gojo’s protruding adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, he suddenly felt overwhelmed. Her legs were halfway spread from when he was kissing her thighs, her juban was almost removed, it was sliding down her body, revealing her curves and edges, it was alluring, inviting, he could eat her. He stroked his length a few times, taking in her sight. It was indecent and vulgar, what he was doing. Completely against the instructions they were given on their wedding night. But he was sick of it, it was his wife, it was his right to have her his way.
And so he would.
He knelt back down on the floor, in front of her. He spread her legs open, wider. He brought his eyes face level to her pussy. She was already wet, he felt his arousal intensify at the sight, these wet inviting gates, waiting to be bred, waiting to squeeze every last drop out of him.
She felt rather embarrassed, to be spread open and inspected like that, but she could feel herself getting wetter, her anticipation growing wilder, and then suddenly, Gojo stroked her folds with two of his fingers. Her spine arched and she let out a moan, this was a first. He looked up at her for a moment before proceeding, noting her ecstasy and taking it as a good sign, she’s enjoying it.
But this is only the start.
He continued stroking and pressing in deeper, while he stroked his length, getting harder and bigger by the second. It felt so good.
“Gojo-sama,” she said between gasps as she leaned back, put her hands behind her, supporting herself to stay up. He stops and looks up, she’s almost out of breath, her cheeks are red, so are her eyes, they are swollen with tears, the dam about to burst, which startles him. He almost gasps at the sight, but he stops himself.
He stands up, finds his jacket on the hanger behind his door, and wraps it around her. She’s catching her breath, calming down. He puts his palms on her shoulders, pressing on them gently, grounding her. He’s being so forward today, even though he can't explain it. “Are you alright?”, she hears himself ask her, a tone that has never come out for anyone before. It's gentle, it's steady, it doesn't have that signature edge of his.
He’s silently cussing himself out, ‘Of course she’s not alright you idiot! She must have been so overwhelmed, you startled the poor thing.’, he’s telling himself. She looks away, doesn't meet his eyes, but halfway through darting her eyes away, she suddenly meets his eyes, it flusters him so. He has suddenly become aware of the fact that he’s bending in front of her, completely naked. Every single part of his body exposed and hanging, even worse, standing right next to the bed lamp. Every toned muscle on his body in view, the way shadows dance around them, the way sweat dripped down them. He can't deny it now, how face is so red.
“I'm fine, we can't stop.”, she says after a moment of silence after looking deeply into his eyes. Her composure was back, so was her anxiety. This was her ‘duty’ speaking, the ever diligent and ideal woman. He was taken aback, but he nodded, “Right.”, he said, he was at a loss for words.
What did he do wrong? Did he hurt her? Did he make her uncomfortable? Did he cross a boundary? He wished she would just tell him, or maybe even slap him. That would be easier.
While he zoned out, she searched his face for reassurance, she didn't find any. And it was then she realized that this was all for a cheap reaction out of her. She felt worthless and used, and deeply hurt. Those welled up tears flowed down her cheeks, with streaks. It was a singular quiet sob before Gojo noticed it, he instinctively leaned in to wipe off her tears and inspect her, he sits down next to her on the bed, putting an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer and tighter.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel that way.”, he apologized and she sobbed even more. “Is that all I am to you Gojo-sama? A cheap toy to play with?”, she wipes her face, “I know I'm not worth much to you, but please don't demean me like this.”, she brings both her palms to her face, sobbing.
He can't think, the sight of her sobbing makes his mind go blank. He’s acting purely on adrenaline when he uses his other hand to lift her face up that was nestled into her palms, he brings them to face him, looking into her eyes. Soft gaze, gentle, calm. Deep down, there is a little sapling of guilt that's taken root in his heart, it's threatening to spread into roots deep into him, consuming him.
He meets her tear flooded eyes, her whites are turning red. There is hurt written all over her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to say a single thing, the sapling of guilt had knotted his throat, tightening his grip and choking him. So he pulled her closer, he pulled her in, her face against his bare chest, his chin on the top of her head, his arms holding onto her securely. After a moment, he reached for the lamp, his first mistake of the night, he turned it off and wrapped a blanket around her.
“We’ll do it your way from now on, I will never cross the line again, dear. I'm sorry.”, a neutral soothing voice came out, from the darkness above her. It made her world feel less dark. She allowed herself to calm down, sigh off the weight in her chest and lean on his chest. It was sturdy, warm and wet, drenched in sweat. She rested the side of her face on his chest, finally breathing calmly. And Gojo, who felt every molecule in her body felt her heart slow down and calm its beating. He knew she was fine now.
And a moment later, she’d fallen asleep. Sitting up, on the edge of the bed, in his arms. He held her like that, for the longest of times, for he wanted them to wake up like this, in each other’s arms. It didn't matter if the great sorcerer’s body would be sore, in fact, he had never felt sore in his life. But eventually, out of concern for her, he laid down, with her still in his arms, foreheads touching, arm wrapped around her, breathing each other’s air. He stroked her hair slowly for as long as he was awake that night.
And the next morning, when he fluttered his eyes open because he felt her stirring in the bed, she was still in his arms, her big doe eyes looking right up at him, her face in front of his chest, she’s slept on his arm the whole night. They stared quietly for a moment, both hesitating, neither ready to break the silence. He wanted to cup her cheeks, caress her face and kiss her good morning. But he was afraid, he didn't feel as brave anymore, especially after the night before.
The sapling of guilt dug deeper into him, he broke the moment and sat up in bed, “Get ready, we’re going out today.”, he wasn't ready to leave her to the maids yet. He’d walked into them inspecting her last month, checking her pulse, and so on. He knew they were gonna do it again today, she would face backlash for not being successful last night, but if he took her away with him, hurried them, he would save her from that.
And he genuinely wondered how such a dignified creature let them do that to her every month.
“Be ready in 10.”, he muttered.
But before he could slide to the edge of the bed, he felt a slender snake like palm clasp around his wrist, “Where….?”, the rug he’d wrapped on her pulled off, her bosom was in full view, they were perfect cups, rounded and perky. It happened almost instantly, a bulge rose up beneath the rug that was covering the lower half of his body. She noticed it. There was no hiding it.
But this time, she didn't remain still, she sat up too, she wasn't the calm, elegant, composed wife he knew anymore, she was brave, deliberate and driven by intention. She sat up, next to him, inches away, she turned to him, “Forgive me for being insolent”, it's not an apology for she doesn't wait for him to reply, she leans him, completely, one palm on his tip, her grip on his length on top of the rug, while kissing his lips. This is the first time they’ve kissed, ever.
He turned primal, his arm snaking to her hips and pulling her onto him, pulling her in deeper, closer, until the rug is around them, her wet folds against his hard length. They stand up straight, it's nudged between Gojo and her, so big and long that the tip presses against her belly button.
She gasps at the sensations, but they don't stop kissing, but they don't stop grinding on each other. Until it becomes too much, until Gojo lifts her up by the hips and pushes his length in, sitting her back on his lap. It goes deep deep inside her. It stretches the mouth of her pussy around him, it tightens around him in retaliation, but another round of sensations run through her body when he twitches inside her. They both grunt, it's unbearable, they have to move, they have to rut like rabid desperate dogs.
He grunts before twisting around, and putting you down roughly on your back on the bed. He inserts back his length, pushing it in deeper this time, your toes curl, you curl your neck back, raising your legs. But he isn't done yet, he lifts up both your legs, parting them wider, and thrusts in deeper. And again.
You feel his length inside every inch of you, touching your cervix, teasing it with every thrust. It's a beam of warmth inside you, you feel greedy, you want him in, all of him, deeper in and nest it deep inside you. And he fulfills your unspoken wish, he quickens his pace, he instinctively stretches your legs wider, but you snake them around his hips, refusing to let go, locking your feet. You stop letting him pull out too far out while thrusting, because you need him deep inside you again.
It's too much, it feels so good, but you needed to come, or you would go crazy. You dig your fingers into the sheets and grip them harder, you arch your back to his quickening pace with no release in sight, that's when you moan his name, “Gojo-sama”, you look up at him through sweat and pleasure, grabbing his attention, he looks down at you and the bulge was creating in your belly with his cock.
Something primal in him turned on and the next second you were in a mating lock with him, he was fucking your brains out, harder and deeper in with every thrust.
The climax was unlike any other, you both peaked together, it was like standing on top of the highest peak in the world together, watching the endless light rays stretch and stretch, far and wide. And he came inside you, completely, wholly. It was like a pond of warmth deep inside you. It left you heaving and gasping as he got off of you, fetched you a towel and wiped your thighs clean.
A river of cum flows out of your pussy, down the valley of your thighs, and your legs spread out flat on the bed.
He empties the bed just as quickly, pulling away from you—no brace, no warmth, no embrace. He's only doing his "duty," you thought to yourself. Partly disappointed, partly relieved that you won't have to worry about hiding or lying. Halfway on his way to the washroom attached to the bedroom, Gojo turned around; you caught yourself staring at his pristine white butt cheeks.
His six eyes already knew where your two eyes were. Half his body facing you, conscious and aware of your gaze on his. "Ah dear, take your time getting ready," he says before walking to the washroom. It's surprising the man didn't break under your intense gaze. You were gasping for air seconds ago, having had the best time of your life, a part of you still unable to process what just happened. You can't believe what you just initiated. You lie there flat on the bed, your legs still wide open. You feel so light, but sitting up feels like a chore.
"I mean, he's my husband; I don't care," you think to yourself, feeling a strange pride.
You hear the noise outside from the kitchen; that's breakfast being prepared. You sigh to yourself. Your three maids, gifted to you by the Satoru clan—you simply haven't been able to open up around them. They're identical triplets; they look the same, they dress the same, the same empty look in their eyes. They don't laugh, they don't talk; they are simply perfect at being your maids, managing the house, and keeping a watch on you. You feel their gaze through walls, through doors. Sometimes you wonder if they can read your mind, but you brush the thought away.
You sigh to yourself as you come back to reality: the marriage, the heir, the clan, and the life you live. Nothing about it sounds good or exciting to you, but you're so used to it now, you don't even care. You feel yourself becoming like the sisters: perfect and bot-like. You feel yourself fade and crumble in routine.
While you were zoning out, lost in your thoughts, the bathroom door unlatches and clicks. It opens; you see Gojo. The lower half of his body is wrapped in a light-blue-colored towel. He freezes at the sight of you; he didn't expect you to still be in his room.
"Were you waiting for the washroom?" he asks, just to fill in the silence. You sit up, your entire body aching and feeling sore. "Ah no, I was just feeling a little tired, Gojo-sama; I was collecting myself," you stumble through your sentence. And now, your body is in full view; you're the one being observed. But the shame is gone.
"Alright, I'll run you a bath. You should go ahead and get some rest if you need it." The man is much more diligent than you expected. You lean back on the bed frame; you breathe out slowly and close your eyes. Before you knew it, a pair of sturdy hands envelop you. You had fallen asleep; maybe it was the strain, maybe it was the exhaustion. But you were in his arms, picked up in bridal style now. He is looking straight up, avoiding eye contact. He carries you to the washroom and lowers you into the bathtub. It was perfectly hot. The water splashes on his face; you instinctively reach to wipe it off without thinking much. But your hands are wet; you soak his face further.
Gojo chuckles. For the first time, it's not one of his arrogant smirks; it's a genuine laugh. He is awed by your innocence and couldn't help but smile at you brightly. The chuckle came from his stomach; it wasn't fake. It didn't come from his throat, forced and performed. He perhaps caught even himself off guard.
But the moment snaps and he's by the door again, looking away. "Let me know when you're ready; we're going out today." Your stomach drops.
Going out? Where? Did you accidentally forget about a meeting with the clan? A banquet? A celebration or a funeral? You felt so anxious you could faint. You quiet down; the water in the tub stills. You can't bring yourself to move. The perfectly hot water from a moment ago is now prickling your skin, biting you. The gnawing in your chest returns; the heavy weight that's nestled itself deep down inside you makes itself loud again. You want to scream, because the stone in your chest is screaming constantly; it makes your head reel and pound.
The washroom door slides open again. You turn around with a flinch, your eyes wide like a wild animal's in the woods. Ready to attack or take flight. You catch your breath in your throat; it's the maids. You sigh, but not really with relief.
You look back down at the water that surrounds you—the water that somehow felt like it could swallow you whole moments ago. You bring your knees to your chest, folding them and closing them tightly to you. Your hand goes to your belly, sandwiched between your folded legs and your torso. "I hope I can fulfill my duty soon," you think to yourself.
The thought has almost become a chant to you these days.
And the next hour is a blur. The maids bathe you, inspect you, check your pulse, and dress you. Today you wore a sakura kimono; this was part of your dowry. It was designed and tailored for you, the fabric hand-picked by the elders of your clan. The whole set, including the hairpin, would now be a family heirloom because of how valuable and expensive it was.
But today you wear it. You look like an aristocrat from 100 years ago. The irony isn't lost on you. When you exit the room, Gojo is waiting in the living room. He looks up, examines you for a moment. "Took you long enough; we're late by an hour. The kimono looks great on you; I've never seen you wear this one before." You fidget, nervous and anxious. You try to respond but your throat is knotted; you feel like a mute goat. He stands up, sighs, and gives you a gentle smile. "It looks good," he tells you in a quiet tone. It's reassuring and calm. Gojo seems to have a knack for reading your mind.
Gojo leads you to the entrance, his bento in hand—the one he usually takes to work. It puzzles you. Where were you going? You haven't stepped out of the house in months—so long that you forgot what Tokyo even looks like. You only ever got glimpses of it whenever you went back and forth from the compound to the house. You feel a fear of the unknown brewing deep down inside you. My god, what's going to happen now? Dread curdles the brew; it coagulates and turns into a rock-hard weight in your chest. It takes up so much space you feel yourself wanting to gasp for breath.
But you maintain a calm composure. You slide one foot into a pair of traditional slippers. "Ah ah, no, those won't do. Why don't you wear one of the pairs of shoes I have for today?" Gojo says with his usual boyishly pitched voice. You jerk partially around to meet his gaze. "Huh?" you hear your puzzled voice before you even decide what to think. "Sit down." He guides you to sit on the elevated floor; he crouches in front of you, pulls off your traditional slippers, and slides in a pair of shoes. These ones you have never gotten to wear before.
He slides them in, making sure each foot is snug inside. "Eh, a little big, but they fit you fine. These are from when I was in middle school."
??
A middle school student wore shoes that were bigger than your feet? Was he just born tall?
He quietly pulled the laces of the shoe together, tying them into a knot with a bow on it. He did the same for your other foot. "That should let you walk around comfortably on campus."
Oh. So that was what this was. You suddenly felt stupid for spiraling like that earlier. Satoru Gojo was just bringing his wife along for work.
His wife along to his work? That's still strange.
The front door opens directly to a private elevator. You both enter it. He lets you go in first while holding a hand on the side of the elevator opening, making sure it doesn't startle you by closing in, and then he walks in. He presses the button "B," which is for the private parking lot each tenant has. The elevator starts moving; you're already feeling sick and dizzy. It's always been a little disorienting. Gojo notices your shoulders slump and stands a little closer to you, touching your shoulders.
It grounds you a little, calms you down. The elevator stops and the doors slide open. You both walk out into the suffocating air of the parking lot. It's hot, humid, and claustrophobic. You stop at the entrance, take it in; Gojo goes in further. In front of you is a collection of strange cars, colorful and shaped in all kinds of curves. "Which one are we taking today?" He turns around to you, standing amidst his cars.
When he meets your gaze with that childishly gleeful expression on his face, it reminds you of your brother from when you both were younger. "Look at my mud snowman! Look at my mud snowman!" You giggle to yourself. What a childish man.
"Huh? What's funny, my dear? Do you find my cars funny?" His face drops. "No, no, that's not it; Gojo-sama reminded me of a memory from the past." "Ah yes, of course; I must have reminded you of something great and amazing," he gloats. It makes you smile wider.
You both stare at each other for a few heart beats, then the beating of your hearts become too loud and you both look away, flushed red.
"Alright, I'll choose; we will go in my favorite today." He points to a rather short car; you felt as if the car was glued to the floor. It was bright red with a black interior. "It's a V12 grand tourer," he says, admiring it.
He opens the doors for you, which were peculiar in their own way. You sit in the front next to him; this is a first. And before you knew it, you were flying through the city. You clutch your kimono hard; your heart is in your throat. The world is flying by; you can't catch a single glimpse of anything, but it's a beautiful flurry of colors, as if you were traveling through a portal.
"What if we run into someone, Gojo-sama?" "That won't happen; they can't see us. We're going too fast. There are cursed charms in the car; we are invisible." He turns to you with a smirk, looking completely away from the road. "And did you forget I have six eyes?" he says with his signature arrogance. And he presses onto the accelerator. It makes your heart skip a beat—or many.
You arrive at Jujutsu High in a couple of minutes. "Wait; let me open the door for you." He slides out of his seat. You turn to the door in the meantime; it seems it doesn't even have a handle to open it from the inside in the first place. You turn to the other side; the driver's side door also didn't have a handle. It slips your mind how he opened it moments ago.
Does this car need sorcery to open its doors? You only see buttons.
Gojo opens the door the next moment. He sees the puzzled look on your face. "Is something troubling you? Did I go too fast? Are you feeling sick?" He's standing in front of you, concern written on his face, examining yours, his hand hesitating to touch your chin. Gojo finds you to be a delicate, beautiful thing. He notices the delicate makeup on your face—these are traditional makeup products, not as durable as modern ones. He doesn't want to ruin it.
You adore the importance he gives you, but you also wish he would just hold your cheeks and ruin your rouge. The man has you constantly have a natural rouge anyway. You both snap and look away again; it's awkward—his question and concern hanging in the air as you sat there blankly. You feel so embarrassed. "No, no, nothing like that. I was just wondering why the doors don't have handles." You point at the door. He's taken aback; he jerks back to where you point. "Oh..." You've never seen the great six-eyed Gojo Satoru at a loss for words. "That... it's opened with a button; there are no handles." He turns to you, meeting your gaze through his sunglasses.
You wonder if he wore sunglasses today for you, so that you have the security and reassurance of holding his gaze. What a silly thought. It makes you feel warm.
"Oh!" You beam at him with a smile. "That's very fascinating, Gojo-sama," you say quietly. A gasp catches in his throat. What a beautiful, elegant creature. He holds out his hand to you to help you up and out. You take his hand, expecting it only to be a steady support while you get up, but instead, he pulls you up with such ease you wonder if this man thought you were a feather. But he wasn't reckless. Rather, he was careful. When he pulled you up, his other arm protectively hovered behind you.
Yet he didn't touch you. Not even the obi that wrapped around you. Like a delicate porcelain doll. Not like he didn't fuck your brains out this morning. He lets your hand go—the arm that pulled you up—it's slow, almost hesitant, almost like he wanted you to pull it back and hold it. You wondered if he could pull you on top of him with the same vigor.
You looked down to make sure your kimono is still in place, while you straighten out, “havent you ever sat in a ferrari before?”
Your family was well-off but also deeply traditional; they didn't indulge in cars other than the ones used to escort people around. Those cars were identical: black and big. You look up at him. "A fellali?" You only learned Japanese in school; you can't pronounce the English "r". Gojo smirks.
"Oh my god! Sensei! A fellali!" You hear a loud, booming voice from the top of the stairs at the entrance of the school.
Both you and Gojo turn around to see a trio: a boy whose uniform was modified to have a red hood, another boy with spiky hair, and a girl with brown hair. You and Gojo step away from each other in embarrassment. It wasn't like you both were doing anything, but you both were shy nonetheless.
"So, this is my wife, the one who packs the bentos," Gojo introduces you to his students. You greet them politely. "I'm Yuuji Itadori," "I'm Nobara," "I'm Megumi," the three introduce themselves. Nobara and Yuuji are outgoing; they ask you lots of questions and also have lots and lots of complaints. "Sensei never shares his bento!" An accusing hand points toward Gojo. "Oh! Is that so, Yuuji-kun?" you reply, astonished. Initially, when you had offered to pack extra for sharing, Gojo had insisted on, "No, no, it's alright. This is great. They can feast with their eyes." You should've known what he meant with that smirk.
The day passes as all four show you around the campus; never a dull moment with the constant bickering and laughter. At noon, Gojo returns to the car to retrieve the bento. "I asked the maids to pack extra for you." You both sit under the shade of a tree; it's quiet but not the awkward kind. There was contentment in the air.
But also, three sulky teenagers are eating from a vending machine because Gojo sent them away for lunch.
The day ends before you realize it. You promise the three that you will send extra bentos from now on, regardless of whether Gojo's arms fall off because of the "extra weight". You and Gojo head home. When he parks the car in the parking lot, you suddenly feel a wave of anxiety. Oh no, we're home. We're—no, you're back in this place. Back to your cage. Endless days of waiting and burning alive. Endless days of surveillance. Today was great; it broke the cycle. Now it's all the more harder to go back to it—to be a slave to the cycle again. You clench your fists under the layers of your kimono. You brace yourself. A little more and it will be over; that's what you told yourself all the time, since you were six.
When does "little more" really end? You push that thought away to the darkest corners of your mind. And you never dare to think of it again. Because you knew—you knew deep down—but acknowledging it would break you beyond repair.
But you forget who your husband is; he can feel every molecule around him—your increasing heart rate, the clenched, hidden fist. He turns to you once he kills the engine. He tentatively reaches his hand to your free hand; he closes his humongous, long fingers around your tiny palm. "Hey, don't worry; I'm here." A part of him wondered if that was the problem. A part of him wondered if he was causing this in you. A part of him wondered if you were feeling this way because of tonight—it's only the second day of your ovulation; you're both meant to share a bed tonight, too.
You turn to him, tears in your eyes; you didn't even realize it. Tenderness from a strange man broke something deep inside you; it broke the dam of anxiety.
"The nail that sticks out gets hammered down," you were told all your life. "Don't stick out." So you hammered down every part of yourself. An entire dam. But your humanity still broke through.
And Gojo, your husband, doesn't look like he's going to hammer you down anytime soon.
You break out in a sob; your sorrow curdles in your throat. You don't know how to explain it to him.
How were you supposed to? More than a decade of systemic oppression—a part of you was deeply ashamed for even suffering, because if you had truly accepted it, you wouldn't suffer this much. But you don't know why, or you can't understand why, but you can't bring yourself to resign yourself to your life like that. An ugly nail sticking out. A disgrace.
"Am I... am I... do I stick out?" you ask through your sobs. "Of course you do," Gojo replies. It's meant to be reassuring; he says it so calmly and gently, you want to believe it's a good thing. He wipes your tears and cups your cheeks. The perfect makeup and rouge are ruined, finally.
"You stick out like a sakura blossom in a sea of dead leaves. You stick out like a giving, nurturing oasis in the middle of a desert. You stick out like everything beautiful does; it sticks out, dear, because you're special." Your sobbing has already stopped.
"Hm," you say while swallowing the salty mucus in the back of your throat. You lean back in the car seat.
A sakura blossom. An oasis. Beautiful. Not a nail. "Not a nail..." you mutter to yourself without realizing. And Gojo has an eureka moment; "the proverb!" was written on his face. He chuckles as if finally figuring out what this was about. "When your husband is the most powerful sorcerer in the world, you're not a nail that sticks out; you are the person who wields the hammer."
You turn to him suddenly, with a realization of your own. "But Gojo-sama, I don't have a hammer," you say, almost too innocently, with your voice cracking from the sobs.
"I, Gojo Satoru, am your hammer." "Oh." "Why would you like to test this hammer?"
Yes, I tested it just this morning. "What do you want me to do first?" Almost too cockily.
“The maids, I want them gone.”, you blurt out.
“Alright then, done.”
No further questions. No interrogation. No frowns. No shaming. Just immediate action.
"Wait here in the car; I need to make a phone call." He turns the car and the AC on before getting out, getting on a call for a few minutes, and he was back by your window again. "You will never see them ever again. Your hammer has struck them down," he says with a smirk. It was hard to believe. Months of being watched—can it really be banished just like that?
He didn't speak further. No more reassurances; instead, he guided you to the elevator. Took you up to the penthouse. You thought you would see them one last time—their hollow looks, their empty eyes—but they were gone. Vanished into thin air. You doubted it, still afraid of their piercing gazes. But no, you didn't feel it anymore—just Gojo's intense aura.
They were really gone. Hah. How easy that was for the clan head; you suffered in silence for months. The irony of the power dynamic here is not lost on you. He could have you disposed of just as easily. The realization slightly puts you on edge.
"Congrats, you're the queen of the house now. And I give you a hoodie as congratulations," he said theatrically. Perhaps he thought you didn't like the traditional attire all the time. And maybe that's true, but you've never worn anything other than this before.
You sigh. The house feels cool, calm and inviting. For the first time ever.
You both enter the living room. He turns around in front of you. "The hammer, my dear, needs maintenance." He doesn't ask for permission this time; he simply leans in and kisses you on your lips.
NSFW:
You both enter the living room. He turns around in front of you. "The hammer, my dear, needs maintenance." He doesn't ask for permission this time; he simply leans in and kisses you on your lips.
It feels casual at first; you reciprocate, but it starts building up in intensity. His kisses become harsher, rougher, more reckless and restless—starved, almost. You feel his familiar hand snake around your waist, pulling you in closer. He stops for a second only to pin you against the wall, to kiss you more obsessively. "Forgive me; I can't control it today," he says between gasps. And you don't care, either. You want him to take you, wholly and roughly. You want to take him in, squeeze him, and milk him dry. Neither of you wanted to stop or even care about the fact that this is not the bedroom.
While kissing, one of his hands snakes down your kimono; it's slick, as if he's been analyzing the layers of clothing just so that he knows exactly how to strip you. He finds his way to your pussy; it's already wet, but he presses his slender fingers onto your folds. It sends electricity through your legs. And he's already picked you up now—bridal style again—he's carrying you to his bedroom. "You will sleep in my room from now on." That was an order and not a suggestion.
He throws you on the bed, aggressively. Most of your clothing is already coming off, so you untie and throw it on the floor. It was liberating. Gojo strips himself at the same time, his aroused, thick, hard length popping out.
"Let's make this baby," he says with a primal voice. He climbs onto the bed, crawling on his knees to you, to your pussy. "Open wide for me, my wife," he commands. And so you do, your pussy almost quivering in anticipation and excitement. He buries his face into your folds like a feral animal. Before you can feel any of the sensations, ding-dong ding-dong, the doorbell goes off.
Gojo, rather annoyed, stops for a second before almost resuming, but the doorbell is heard again. He straightens himself in the most lethargic way possible, almost as if it was painful for him—only moments away from groaning and having a childish meltdown. You're still catching your breath, equally annoyed.
"I'll be back," he told you, before partially dressing up to check who's at the door. And he's gone. He leaves you on the bed—wide open, wet, and aching to take his length in.
And you wait. And you wait; he's gone for 15 whole minutes. When he's back, he has a serious look on his face that makes you get up and wrap yourself with the rug. You can tell something serious has happened.
"I'll be gone a few days; don't worry about it, don't stay up waiting."
You stare at the door for a while, the room is still hot, his scent lingers. Your husband disappeared into the night a few minutes ago. You already yearn for him. You’re wrapped in a hastily pulled rug that was on the bed. You’d seen his serious face, this was a first, you’d never seen him like that.
You hope everything will be alright. But alas, your husband is the most powerful sorcerer in the world, he will be fine, you sigh to yourself. You turn your head to the window, the night is young, Tokyo is lit up like a newlywed bride, its bustling and cheery. Just like you’re pussy minutes ago.
And then suddenly, you hear the door clicking open, your heart clenches, who could it be? The door clicks open, and its gojo. “I cant leave without finishing what i started.”, you see the bulge in his pants from across the hallway. The man stands at the entrance like an awkward child, like a five year old that ran away but remembered it's his favorite dish for dinner.
He starts walking up to you, but your heart starts thumping, maybe its the cold air that snuck in when he opened the door. Or maybe its just him. You don't know how but you can hear his heart pulse from across the hall, you move your legs, and suddenly you’re running to him, covering the few steps as quickly as possible.
You’re crashing into each other like two icebergs. Your teeth, your lips are ramming into his, and his kissing back with the same intensity.
Its only a few days. Its not even a big deal. But your heart doesn't listen. He’s sloppily removing his clothes, you throw away the rug on the floor, he pulls out of the make out for one second, he admires your view for one second.
You are a beauty to behold, your cheeks run hot, they’re flushed red, there’s a hue of heat around them. He could eat you whole, he could eat you alive. And no one is gonna stop him, not even a fucking crisis. He leans back in, this time going straight for your throat, he’s sucking on them, biting them, kissing them. He’s marking you his. And his only.
He stands up straight and pulls you up by the hips, its your cue to wrap your legs around his hips. And you do, you are less than an inch away from his face, breathing his hot air, admiring his sweat soaked face, he looks like a siren that fell out of the water. He starts walking to the bedroom, kissing you, holding you so tight who knows your waist will have bruises. He puts you down on the sheets, not even ready to let you go. It's as if he has to be touching you constantly and endlessly. Or he would lose his mind.
“We only have a few minutes.”, he whispers to you, in a desperate yet calm tone. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Because he grips your nips with his palm next. He holds onto them so tightly that you lose sensation there, almost numb. His length is already out, standing up fully, in its full vigour. Your pussy is already wet too. They’ve been wet for a while.
He brings the tip to your entrance. And rub it around a bit, you curl your spine in ecstasy. And he puts it in, he doesn't even bother to be gentle. It's deep inside you, full force, you’re almost gasping for your breath because it feels so damn good. You grip onto his wrist, “gojo-sama, its too much.”, you say between heaving. Your belly is bulging because of his dick, its rising and falling making it bigger everytime you inhale. He doesn't stop because he cannot control this, how he’s reacting to your body.
“You’re amazing.”, he grunts before going in deeper, thrusting harder. Your eyes roll all the way back, your legs quiver, but he doesn't stop. His pace quickens, he goes faster and faster and faster. Until you both literally soak the entire sheet in your sweat and fluids.
Its a girthy thick warmth, its thorough in how much of you it burns inside you, he hits every spot and every corner, his thrusting in and pulling out before going back in at full force is incredibly smooth. He doesn't stumble or slow down for even a second. Constantly building moments. Your eyesight blurs from the exhaustion, you’ve come so many times, and he still hasnt come once yet, he’s still going and it still feels so good. Its amazing.
His pace quickens for the final time, he thrusts deep deep inside you for a final time and you feel it. Feel inside you, a puddle of growing warmth filling you, your pussy is sucking him in, consuming the warmth, letting it flow deeper inside you. He doesnt pull out though. He isnt done yet.
“Now, we dont want it to go to waste right?”, he tells you before looking around for a suitable object to insert into your pussy in place of his dick. You feel your belly expanding to its maximum, you feel the weight of his cum inside you, its so substantial, you both know the second he pulls out you’re going to burst out every drop of it. He finally decides that a hand cream bottle by your bed side is suitable for the purpose. Its a medium sized bottle, not even as big as his dick at its fully hardened state but its the perfect size to plug you up, you fill him going slump inside you. He pulls out carefully to shove in the bottle the very next second. He was very serious about not letting it go to waste.
All the cum that was about to flow out of you got pushed back in with so much force you feel the pressure against your cervix deep inside you. “Ah!~”, you wince. Once he makes sure its snug in place, gojo leans in for a kiss, caressing you cheeks, moving your soaked hair away from your face, wiping off your sweat. “Rest well, my love.”, and kisses you on the forehead.
He’s off the bed, he turns around before leaving the room, “keep it in until I come back.” and goes into the night again.
You get off the bed after a few minutes of catching your breath and calming down. The lotion bottle moves inside you every time you move. The constant pressure it exerts leaves you slightly aroused all the time. You stand in front of a full length mirror in the room, the bulge is so prominent now, its not very big, but it shows, you bet it would show through your clothes. It's perfectly rounded and hard, when you press on it, it bounces back. You smirk to yourself.
You feel too tired for a bath, so you just fall asleep on the bed, wrapped snugly in sheets, the lotion bottle deep inside you.
You never fathomed that you, of all people, was going to be the lusty type. You always assumed yourself to be too eloquent for that. But your husband has corrupted you, that's what you tell yourself when you wake up in the middle of the night, all that stirring had made you wet again, you reached down, pressing your fingers into your pussy again, the tip of your fingers touched the lotion bottle and moved it slightly. This is nothing compared to Gojo's big dick, it made you yearn and ache for him even more. Your entire body quivered at the thought of what you both did just hours ago.
Its hard to forget, especially when your hands keep going to your newly rounded belly. You still feel him deep down inside, its so special to you. You had to sleep a little more consciously for the rest of the night, making sure you don't sleep on your belly or the lotion bottle was gonna crush your kidneys or just make you very uncomfortable.
The next morning you wake up to an empty house, no more of those annoying maids. No one to wait on you, no one to watch you, so you decide to ditch the kimonos and infiltrate gojo’s wardrobe. You found an oversized shirt and sweat pants. You put them on, they smell like fabric softener, you decide against taking a shower, because your skin still smells like him. And the little bulge faintly pops through the shirt, it looks more exaggerated because of your slender silhouette.
By the time he returns, you’ve already decided to push out the lotion bottle because no way you’re keeping it in for that long. The long overdue cum flood happens, gojo’s cum is thick and white.
thanks for reading <3!