#otp: stellar collision

[osunism]

Halfsleeper

🪧 Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan. 📚 Series: SONDER 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️ Be Advised: Gojo might be a lil' toxic, explicit sexual situations, descriptions of canon-typical violence. ❤️‍🔥 Pairing: Satoru x Asabé [🧿🧜🏾‍♀️]

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© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. This includes my masterlist format as well as feeding my writing to an AI garbage machine [shame on you if you do this]. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. Title banner by me. Dividers and support by @cafekitsune.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

[osunism]

Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan.

Warnings: Gojo might be a lil' toxic, there's some smut in this story [a lot actually the attraction is pretty instant], and it's already on AO3 if that's the format you prefer.

I.

     Protection details are light work—usually. Gojo hasn’t failed a mission since the Star Plasma fiasco in high school, and even that had been an extraordinary circumstance. It is rare that one crosses his desk, requiring at most a first grade sorcerer for success, so when the Higher Ups call him directly to assign him to protect another sorcerer—a foreigner, no less—he gets curious. And when Gojo gets curious, he starts investigating.

     The dossier alone was enough to spark his interest, from the woman’s name to the information about her background. An entire clan of sorcerers living abroad! It is one of the rare instances of sorcerers being born outside Japan, and he wonders if even that is more xenophobic mythos perpetuated by the conservatives pulling the strings in the jujutsu world. Not only is the woman he’s to protect from a sorcerer clan—and a powerful one at that—she is essentially royalty.

     What intrigues him is that she was married to a non-sorcerer. Some nobody named Jin Hayashi. He was killed in a car accident a year prior, and since then his widow, Asabé Hayashi, has been living in seclusion in a modest house in the suburbs. He’s even more surprised that she is not far from the school…and that he has not once sensed her cursed energy.

     He learns why when she arrives at Jujutsu Tech for the first time.

     After his meeting and acceptance of the mission, Gojo finds her in his office, and for a moment he watches her. Her back is to him, and the first thing he notes is how…delicate she looks. He catches a glimpse of her profile: burnished sienna skin, a sculpted nose, and full lips. Her eyes are the color of honey, and her lashes are black and full, curling on her cheek like the crests of waves.

     “Do you mean to stare at me all morning?” Her voice is soft but sultry, like smoke or fog flowing over the serene architecture of a zen garden. Gojo watches her through his blindfold a while longer, his smile unwavering, although it curls a little more at her words. He comes in, shutting the door behind him.

     “It’s an old habit,” he says without missing a beat. “I like to read the room before entering. Kind of an essential skill in my line of work.”

     Asabé does not smile, even as Gojo comes around to sit at his desk, and he gets a good look at her. If he wasn’t staring before, he’s staring now.

     Asabé Hayashi is one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen. Even to say it does not do her justice. She is striking, and he finds himself ignoring the usual analysis of his Six Eyes in favor of just looking at her. The woman is a fucking knockout and he’s seen her dead husband. Gojo is wondering how a plain nobody like Jin Hayashi won the hand of foreign royalty. He’s also wondering how long it’ll take him to talk this woman into—

     “You are Satoru Gojo, I presume,” she says. “I was told that you could help me with my problem.”

     “That’s what they tell me,” Gojo says, trying not to sound breathless. God she’s incredible. Her face alone is a work of art. He wants to trace those perfect brows with his thumb, those high cheekbones, and that mouth.

     “So,” he says, even as part of his thoughts turn decidedly not wholesome or businesslike. “Assassins! Sounds exciting. But I’ve a few questions of my own before we continue. My bosses were a little vague on the details so you’ll forgive me if this sounds redundant.” He doesn’t sound the least bit regretful but she looks at him, impassive, gesturing for him to continue.

     “You’re a sorceress,” he says, watches her stiffen a little at the simple statement. Very interesting. “And from my understanding, you have a powerful inherited technique, and a powerful sorcerer clan. Why not go to them for protection? And what is stopping you from protecting yourself?”

     Asabé’s beautiful mouth thins into a grim line.

     “Gojo, my family is the one sending their enforcers after me,” she says and his brows go up in mild surprise. “And as for why I cannot protect myself…it is because of a binding vow.”

     Gojo nods, understanding.

     “Does this vow forbid you from using your technique?”

     “Only against my family,” Asabé explains. “A long time ago, my clan was nearly wiped out because of vicious infighting. As a way to prevent this from happening in the future, my ancestors made a binding vow forbidding their descendants from ever turning our gifts against one another. As you can expect, it has led to some very creative ways for more ambitious members of the clan to rise in the ranks.”

     Gojo snorts. “I wouldn’t know, but I’ll take your word for it. So, you’ve got a family who wants to kill you, but why? Your technique is valuable, why lose it by killing you?”

     Asabé blinks, visibly confused. Then, she gasps.

     “Ah, I see, it must have been lost in translation. No, they are not trying to kill me. They are trying to drag me back home.”

     And all at once, Gojo understands.

     “You’re hiding from them.”

     Asabé says nothing, but he sees the tension in her jaw, the hard swallow in her throat, and the way her honey-hued eyes harden in cold fury.

     “Yes,” she admits, and he can see how it nettles and stings her pride to do so. “It is why I have sealed my cursed energy to make it more difficult for them to locate me. But…living in Japan, I still stand out, as you can see.”

     Gojo laughs. “Miss Hayashi did you just make a joke? I do believe the ice is finally beginning to thaw!”

     “Gojo…” she says, and her voice sounds like a purr and a growl all at once. He takes a moment to try not thinking about how that voice would sound panting and moaning in his ear, saying things so obscene it would make the devil himself blush with shame. He really needs to get laid soon, but since seeing her he’s been thinking about it. God she’s fucking gorgeous.

     She clears her throat, rather conspicuously.

     “In any case,” she continues, “it’s simply more prudent to tap in with a community that can offer me protection. It’s not like I can go to the police about this kind of thing.”

     Gojo knows all about demanding families. Not that his is very demanding—he does as he pleases, but he also knows what’s expected of him. No, he suspects Asabé’s family is not unlike the Zenin clan. For that alone, he spares her some pity. He can’t imagine being seen as nothing but a potential brood mare for more heirs. No wonder she ran off to marry a nobody. Probably vastly preferable to being sequestered away to pop out babies.

     “Well, we have a few options,” Gojo says. “We can keep you here, at Jujutsu Tech. Tengen’s barriers are ancient and powerful, and we’ve vast resources if you want to study, meditate, whatever you want to do to pass the time. You also wouldn’t be required to seal yourself. But, you would be required to stay on the grounds in order to remain protected. I also won’t always be here to keep an eye on you, which I’m sure is counterintuitive to your request.”

     Asabé’s brow furrows as she considers his words. Gojo waits patiently, studying how her blood races in her veins, her pulse quickens, her heart rate rises. She’s running through all the scenarios in her head, he can feel that much. He knows without having to ask that she’s afraid to remove the seal and reveal herself, but he’s so perishingly curious about how powerful she actually is. Part of him really wants to know if this woman’s ability is worth his protection.

     Asabé’s gaze clears as she blinks, having weighed that option. He can already tell she doesn’t want to be confined to the campus. He doesn’t blame her. As secluded and protected as this place is, it has been breached many times before by highly skilled sorcerers. He has no idea what enforcers her family has at their disposal, but if they’re on equal footing with his family’s wealth and influence, he suspects curse users will be making their way here in no time. And he’s not always on the campus grounds.

     He briefly remembers Riko, and his smile almost fades.

     “What’s the other option?” Asabé asks, breaking the silence. Gojo sits back in his chair.

     “Well, the other option is you would be staying with me.” He tries not to look smug but the thought of this lovely creature walking around his home is…tempting. The circumstances being what they are, he can hardly be blamed for being a tad excited, right?

     Asabé’s eyes go wide.

     “Is…” Her voice wavers a little. “Is that appropriate?”

     Gojo turns out his hands in a shrug. “Does it matter? I’ve got a spare bedroom if you’re worried. And I can guarantee your safety more that way. Trust me, there’s nowhere safer in this whole country save for Hokkaido.”

     Asabé considers it. She has no intention of freezing her ass off in Hokkaido for the rest of her life. She frowns again, clearly not liking the idea of being roommates with the man who is essentially her bodyguard for the duration of her ordeal. Her gaze slides away, and she bites her lip. Gojo has a brief image of her doing that with his mouth on her throat.

     He really needs to get laid. Fuck.

     “Fine,” she says, terse and exasperated. “Do I have to wear the seal there too?”

     Gojo shrugs. “You don’t. But if it makes you feel better you can keep it on. I have to admit I am curious about your technique, though.”

     Asabé’s cheeks go warm and she looks away again.

     “It’s not relevant to your mission, and I try not to use it if I don’t have to.”

     “Your choice,” Gojo says nonchalantly. “So, shall I send someone to pick up whatever you need and have it brought over, or are you averse to that too?”

     Asabé frowns again, glaring at him.

     “I am not going to risk revealing myself if I don’t have to, Gojo,” she says sternly. “But yes: I would appreciate having my things brought to your…residence. Will I be confined there or am I allowed to come and go?”

     “How about we cross that bridge when we come to it?” Gojo suggests. “And trust me: it won’t feel at all like house arrest once you’re there. I’ve been told I’m pretty entertaining to be around.”

     Asabé stares at him, clearly unamused. Gojo lets out a little scoff. Sheesh. Tough crowd.

     When Asabé first meets Gojo her initial thought is that this lanky, arrogant, nonchalant idiot cannot possibly protect her. However, his cursed energy speaks volumes and then some. She felt him behind her before she deigned to turn her head and get a glimpse of him. And she is pretty sure that blindfold does absolutely nothing to hinder his sight. She wagers he’s got better eyesight than a fucking owl.

     And even his eyes could not discern her technique, meaning the seal she has placed on herself is working.

     After her meeting with Gojo, he makes a few calls, getting his staff on the job of moving her into the guest bedroom of his penthouse apartment overlooking the sprawl of the Tokyo metropolis from the safety of a quiet building nestled in the hills of the city’s outer limits. Asabé gets her first glimpse of the building during the drive: a sleek and modern high-rise of highly reflective glass. It’s the kind of place one imagines their future dark romance novel hero resides.

     In other words: it’s exactly how she imagined Gojo’s choice of residence would be.

     They enter the building together, greeted by a vigilant doorman who bows low to Gojo, holding the door open for both of them. Asabé ignores how the doorman looks askance at her out the corner of his eye, and she makes sure to give him her most impervious and imperious stare as the elevator doors close. She feels grim satisfaction as her withering look makes the doorman avert his gaze quickly and guiltily.

     The ascent is a silent one, broken only by Gojo unwrapping Jolly Ranchers to suck on. Out of the corner of her eye, she studies him. His skin is like alabaster, his hair as pale as starlight, but he keeps that damnable blindfold on so she can’t see his eyes. She wonders briefly if his eyes are sensitive to light. Back in her homeland, it is not uncommon for powerful sorcerers to develop physical ailments, especially considering how a lot of sorcerers suffer from brain damage when overusing techniques.

     Still, for as silly as his blindfold looks to her, she has no doubt he can see quite clearly.

     “Now who’s staring, hm?” Gojo says slyly, his smile becoming a smirk. Asabé’s cheeks go hot and she wishes she wore her sunglasses so she could stare in peace. Even then, she’s sure Gojo’s senses are superhuman.

     “I was just…” She struggles to find words because there are none to say. She was staring, even out of her peripheral vision, she was marveling. She’s heard of Gojo’s good looks, as well as the reputation those looks entail. And now she’s exiting an elevator into his penthouse. Once they cross the threshold, she feels nervous, as if she doesn’t belong here.

     Everything about Gojo’s apartment is sleek and modern, although there are trappings of tradition amidst the decor, and she can feel something inside her dim and muted as she crosses the threshold. She hesitates. Gojo looks over his shoulder.

     “You can remove your seal if you like,” he says casually, “this place is highly secure against cursed intrusions. It’s also insulated in case I have to get a little crazy. Can’t destroy the place in a fit of pique.”

     Asabé’s hand goes to her chest, and Gojo can see the seal nestled there beneath her clothes. A necklace? How simple…and curious. As they remove their shoes, he leads her through the kitchen, giving her the grand tour. It is extremely rare that he brings anyone to his personal home, even rarer that he brings them to the ancestral Gojo estate. Still, he doubts her intentions are to bring him harm. She seems skittish, her eyes seeming to be expecting attackers to jump out from behind the next corner.

     “And here’s you,” Gojo says, leading her to the guest bedroom. Asabé peers inside. It’s lavish in comparison to say, a hotel or motel, but it is no less than what she expects from a man like Gojo. The bed is large, facing a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a sprawling green space and beyond the carpet of lights that is Tokyo proper, and there’s even a walk-in closet. She smiles, seeing that her things have already been dropped off for her to unpack at her leisure.

     “My room is down the hall,” Gojo explains. “I’m here when I’m not working or teaching, and since you are the job, looks like I get to be home way more often than usual. Help yourself to the kitchen—I don’t cook much, but if there’s anything you need please let the concierge know. Groceries get delivered so there’s no need for you to risk going out on your own, and the housekeepers are here once a week to clean. Not much, but it keeps me from getting lost in the clutter of the day to day. Pretty sweet, right?”

     Asabé smiles. “Thank you, Gojo,” she says with a respectful bow. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your assistance. I’ll try not to get underfoot.”

     Gojo grins. He’s not worried about her getting underfoot but the way she looks right now he wants her to get under him somehow.

     “Let me not keep you,” he says. “Make yourself at home and we can go over your situation in more detail, hm? Maybe order some Thai food. You like Thai food?”

     Asabé smiles, almost shyly. “Thai sounds wonderful. I’ll unpack and freshen up. And again: thank you.”

     As Gojo leaves her, he can see her gaze lingering on his back, curious and hesitant, as if there is more she wishes to say,  but she vanishes into her room, the door shutting softly behind her.

     In the guest room, Asabé takes a moment to really take it all in. Her husband has been dead for almost a full year, and her family has been searching for her relentlessly. She thinks about how everything went so wrong, and dreads being dragged back into bondage. She thinks about how Jin saved her without realizing it, and all he got for his troubles was an early grave.

     Asabé stares out of the windows into the well-manicured park below, and into Tokyo proper, then she begins the long process of unpacking her things. She opts to shower in lieu of simply freshening up, and when she emerges, she feels less weary and more clear-headed. It’s a lovely bathroom, with a deep, freestanding soaking tub, and a shower surrounded by pristine glass. Above the tub is a skylight. She loves that, and anticipates many relaxing bubble baths in the future, staring at the stars. She slips into a short but simple sundress, and pulls her long black hair into a single braid over her shoulder.

     When she emerges from the bedroom, she nearly runs into Gojo.

     “Oh!” She cries, gasping as he catches her by the shoulders. His hands are soft and warm, much larger than hers, and she looks up at him, wide eyed. His blindfold is off, and she glimpses his face for the first time.

     She has never seen such a face, save in the descriptions of angels and their impossible beauty. She stares, momentarily stunned. His eyes are indescribable to her, a blue that defies explanation, as if they are living pieces of the cosmos. His hands tighten on her shoulders only slightly as her gaze slowly studies his face. His mouth is soft and pink, and he’s not smiling, but nor does he look unhappy.

     “I’m sorry…” She whispers, trying to find her voice and wondering why it’s so small. Gojo tilts his head forward, those eyes studying her in full as he smiles.

     “Do I make you nervous?” He asks, his voice rich and deep, and Asabé shivers in response, unable to help herself. No, not nervousness, but something she’s not quite ready to confront. Slowly, oh so slowly, Gojo releases her shoulders, and she takes a small step back. It’s his turn to study her.

     Her dress is beautiful, but Gojo thinks this only because it looks good on her. The straps are so delicate, as if they are made to be slipped from her shoulders. He can see the the swell of her breasts beneath, and spots the thin gold chain around her neck, and the seal hanging from it.

     It’s her wedding band, he realizes. The seal is her wedding band.

     “You’ve been sealing yourself since your marriage?” Gojo asks. Asabé nods quietly.

     “It was the only way I could live here peacefully,” she says softly. “Jin didn’t know. I…I had the ring ensorcelled by a curse user who specializes in seals. It wasn’t cheap, but it worked. At least until…”

     Gojo can deduce what happened. Likely the “accident” that befell her husband was no accident at all. He beckons her to follow him and they make their way to the living room, which is surprisingly spacious. So much of the apartment is so open that it does make her nervous. She wonders if this design is his choice. It doesn’t feel very secure.

     They sit on the couch, with her curling on one end and him sprawling on the other.

     “Tell me about the accident,” he says, and Asabé hesitates. His expression is gentle, almost as if he is compassionate, and she doesn’t understand how he manages to make his eyes—so striking!—soft. She has not spoken to anyone about the accident since it happened, but if he can find any answers within, she’s more than willing to revisit it.

     “We were driving,” she begins. “Visiting his parents in Toyama. It was storming terribly, and we’d been arguing. His mother is—was—not very fond of our marriage. We were taking one of the mountain roads and…he couldn’t see the cursed spirit but I could. I tried to warn him…but he wouldn’t listen.”

     Asabé shuts her eyes, remembering.

     “It pulled us into its domain, but only briefly, and it was enough. The car hit something in the domain, sent us both crashing through the windshield.”

     This next part, Asabé hates to remember.

     “Both of us were horribly injured and dying. I could see my…I was torn open. So was he.”

     A dress of red, a skin of gray.

     “You survived using reversed curse technique,” Gojo surmises, his voice quiet and thoughtful. Asabé nods.

     “I can’t control it,” she tells him, “I didn’t even know I could do it until that moment. I just knew I didn’t want either of us to die, but I couldn’t save him. He died right in front of me.”

     “And the cursed spirit?” Gojo asks.

     Asabé fingers the ring around her neck with her slender fingertips.

     “I unsealed myself for the first time since leaving my family, and I exorcised the spirit myself. And then I called for help.”

     Gojo remembers reading about the accident during his personal briefing of Hayashi’s background. So a cursed spirit caused the accident, hm? And her unsealing herself means whoever her family sent to spy on her and hunt her down must have finally pinpointed her location.

     “Can you unseal yourself, now?” He asks. Asabé freezes, wide-eyed.

     “Gojo…” She whispers. “If I do that—”

     “They won’t find you,” he says. “Trust me. Go on, unseal yourself. I’m sure keeping your cursed energy suppressed like that can’t possibly be comfortable. And I need to see what you’re made of because if you exorcised a spirit on your own, you’re clearly not a weakling. Let your hair down, Miss Hayashi.”

     He winks, and her cheeks flush hot.

     “If…if you’re sure…” She says softly, and grasps the chain around her neck, lifting it over her head.

     All at once a great weight on her soul is lifted and she watches Gojo’s expression. He is still smiling but there’s a sharpness to his gaze, his pupils shrinking, and she remembers what she knows about the Gojo clan’s techniques. Six Eyes and Limitless…she’s not sure what either of them are capable of, but from his silence, she knows they are in use.

     Gojo has never felt cursed energy like hers before. Usually, the Six Eyes tells him everything from vitals to near-clairvoyant readings on moves everyone around him is making. He can see her cursed energy, a flame of the deepest cerulean he’s ever seen. Same color of his eyes if he were to venture a guess. It’s beautiful and it is so tightly controlled he knows she’s been trained, formally in fact. He focuses his gaze, chases the path of her cursed energy, and sees the brightness along her throat. Cursed speech? He tilts his head, curious.

     “You have exemplary control over your cursed energy,” he says by way of acknowledging her. “What about your technique? If your family wants you back this badly it has to be pretty powerful.

     Asabé hesitates again. “I…I hesitate to use it. It can be…overwhelming.”

     Gojo smirks, smug and superior.

     “I promise you can’t hurt me. Go ahead and try.”

     “I don’t want to hurt you,” she says and Gojo raises a brow. Most techniques are made to hurt or defend, he can’t imagine what power she has that could be for anything else. He gestures for her to continue. Asabé holds his gaze a moment longer, before she shuts her eyes. Without telling her, Gojo releases his infinity. He needs to feel her. God, he needs to stop staring at that brightness on her beautiful throat. He wants to trace a wet path with his tongue along it, feel how warm that satiny brown skin is.

     “You can’t hurt me.”

     “But I can.”

     Gojo lets out an involuntary gasp as he feels the sensation of…it feels like nails digging into his shoulders and forearms, yet Asabé remains curled on the couch, serene as can be.

     “How…?” He begins to ask and even though Asabé is no longer speaking he can see the brightness around her throat, still active. The nails are still digging into his skin like a lover clinging to him, and he activates his technique to repel it. He glances down, seeing no marks in his skin, but he can feel echoes of the sensation. The brightness in her throat dims.

     “Cursed speech?” He wonders. Asabé smiles thinly, replacing her seal. Her cursed energy goes mute, but Gojo has seen and tasted it and he will never forget it.

     “In a sense,” she says and Gojo cannot help but brace himself for another ghost sensation. “We do not have the precise power that the Inumaki clan does, where we must speak words that compel. Rather, it is our very voices that inspire sensation: pleasure, pain, and everything in between. With enough effort, I can make you hallucinate.”

     Gojo can’t help it: he’s smiling. He’s delighted. What a fascinating power, and a dangerous one. Compulsion is one thing, and the energy is not as precise hence why it can backfire so easily depending on how powerful the opponent is, but this? She can speak any word and empower it with whatever she wants her opponents to feel.

     “How did you exorcise the spirit?” He asks.

     “I sang,” Asabé says simply. Gojo laughs.

     “What like a lullaby? Did you put it to sleep or something?” He’s laughing still and Asabé frowns, rolling her eyes.

     “No, I sang until it was torn apart at the seams. It’s not just nails I can make you feel, Gojo.”

     Something about the way she says that makes all the blood rush to his cock. The possibilities of her voice hadn’t occurred to him until now. God, if he unseals her and fucks her, he can only imagine—

     “Yes,” Asabé says, looking amused as she watches him. “Even that.”

     Gojo grins. “I can’t imagine since you decided to seal yourself. Can you control it?”

     Asabé has the wherewithal to look indignant.

     “Of course.” She says through gritted teeth. “I’d not be much use as an heir if I couldn’t control my own technique. I only sealed myself to hide from my family.”

     Gojo leans back, casual and unbothered, and Asabé tries not to think about how good he looks, about the way his button-down is unbuttoned enough to show the beautiful column of his throat, the hollow of his clavicle, and just a peek of his chest. She thinks about how warm his hands are, how gentle he was when he held her shoulders. She bites her lip. Gojo can see it in her, her blood is racing through the pipes of her veins, her heartbeat picking up into a slightly fevered cadence. Her lips part, and her breath comes a little rushed.

     Oh, she’s turned on. Good, he shouldn’t be the only one sitting here wondering what she’ll look like with her ankles in her ears and his dick buried to the hilt inside of her. And her voice unsealed? Oh he knows that’s dangerous. He can always stuff her panties in her mouth but—

     “Stop looking at me like that,” she says. Gojo blinks, grinning like a wolf.

     “Like what?”

     “Like you’re thinking about having me with a side of fries,” she says. “Speaking of, you mentioned Thai food?”

     Gojo laughs. “So I did. Let’s eat and maybe we can both stop looking at each other like a couple of rival lions at the drinking pool, hm?”

     Her cheeks flush again, and this time she looks away from him.

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�� 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN.

[osunism]

Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan.

Warnings: Gojo might be a lil’ toxic, there’s some smut in this story [a lot actually the attraction is pretty instant], and it’s already on AO3 if that’s the format you prefer.

III.

     Asabé has been kissed before, this much is obvious. She has been kissed tenderly by her late husband, who always made it a point to gush and fawn over how beautiful she was. She has been kissed by others too, who remarked on the softness of her plump lips, on how sweet her breath is, how tender and sensual her tongue. Her pulse has raced with the anticipation of a kiss before, her heart beating a feverish cadence in her chest, lightheaded and dizzy.

     But when Satoru Gojo kisses her, it’s different.

     His mouth brushes hers and she yields almost immediately, as if compelled by some unseen goading from the universe. Her lips part under his and he seals his mouth over hers, moaning deep in his chest as she whimpers. Her hands come up, cupping his face as the kiss deepens. To say her pulse is racing is an understatement. Her pulse is humming, her blood roaring in her ears, her scalp tingling. Everything about Satoru Gojo is turning her on, from the solidness of his stance, to the way his big hands caress and pet her as they kiss.

     Fuck, she wants him so badly it hurts, but this is a ruse. She has to keep reminding herself that this is merely a ruse.

     Gojo pulls away just enough to peer at hear from above the rim of his sunglasses, and Asabé realizes that she has not been seeing things: his eyes really do glow on their own.

     “Oh…” Because what other response is there? She stares at him, transfixed.

     “Oh,” Gojo repeats, his deep voice amused. Asabé is dizzy with desire and she realizes she’s still holding his face in her hands.

     “You’re so beautiful,” he says from between her hands, amused and sincere all at once. “My beautiful, gorgeous wife.”

     The word makes her shiver, and he feels it, smirking harder.

     “Do you want to go home?” He asks softly. Asabé nods wordlessly, unable to speak for fear of begging him to take her right then and there. Gojo pulls away from her entirely, and she is forced to let go of his face. One of his hands trails down her throat, over her shoulder, down her arm, only to lace his fingers with hers and pull her close enough to wrap his arm around her as he guides her over the bridge and toward the exit. He leans down to brush his lips over the top of her head again,  kissing her temple.

     When they enter the car, Gojo sits on the other side of the seat, sighing and leaning back.

     “Wonderful performance, by the way,” he says casually and Asabé blinks. Gojo grins. “You almost had me convinced that we really are married. Mr. Hayashi was a lucky man.”

     At the mention of her late husband, Asabé inwardly flinches. It’s like ice water. Gojo has completely broken the intimacy between them, and is now treating her like…like she’s a client again. He isn’t even looking at her, scrolling through his phone like he is, occasionally chuckling to himself as he sends a text. Likely he’s got women galore clamoring for his attention, Asabé thinks bitterly, and wonders why she cares so fucking much.

     When they pull up to the apartment, Ijichi and the concierge work to bring the spoils of Asabé’s haul up to the penthouse, depositing them in her bedroom before leaving. Gojo takes off his sunglasses once they’re alone, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

     “Mm, so what shall we do for dinner tonight?” He asks, as Asabé emerges from the bedroom. Gojo watches her momentarily, before returning to his phone.

     “I can cook tonight,” Asabé responds. “I had the concierge and Ijichi go out for groceries while we were out.”

     Gojo grins. “Look at you, already acting like a wife and running the household. What’s for dinner, my beautiful bride?”

     Asabé ignores the flush of heat in her face.

     “You forget that I was a wife before all of this, Satoru,” she says lightly. Gojo’s grin never wavers. “In any case, I’ll be making a dish from my homeland: jollof rice.”

     “I’ve heard of it,” he says. “Sounds tasty. What’s for dessert?”

     Asabé is already in the kitchen, getting everything she needs. Gojo follows, curious and excited to see what she comes up with.

     “That depends,” Asabé says airily, taking out a cutting board and fetching a knife from the knife block. “What does my hardworking, not-a-nuisance-at-all husband want to sweeten his tongue?”

     Gojo doesn’t know why, but her words make him shiver. This is new. Usually he’s the one saying things that gives people tingles down their spine but this woman—this sorceress—is meeting him exactly where he’s at and it’s thrilling him from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes. He wants to gather her up, set her on the counter, and kneel between her thighs. That’s certain to sweeten his tongue, he’s sure.

     “Chocolate,” he says instead. Asabé spares him a cursory glance, her smirk evident.

     “Check the fridge, masoyi,” she says, her eyes glittering with amusement. Gojo eyes her momentarily, but then opens the fridge. Sure enough, there’s a pan of fudge brownies in there. Then, he registers the word she used, glancing at her in puzzlement. She’s not looking at him, chopping onions with a deft hand. He wonders how a woman who grew up as a wealthy heir even knows her way around a kitchen. He can’t remember his mother ever touching a kitchen utensil. Servants and cooks usually handle everything at the estate. And these days, living like a wealthy bachelor, Gojo is fine eating out. The women who make it back to his apartment never stay long enough to figure out how to get ice out of the freezer anyway.

     “If you plan on standing there, the least you could do is get the rice started, eh?” Asabé says without looking up from her task. Somehow she’s found everything she needs, and the rice cooker is already plugged in.

     “You seem to be doing just fine without me getting in the way,” Gojo says reaching for the cake.

     “Aht aht!” Asabé’s voice is sharp. Gojo’s hand freezes.

     “No cake until after dinner,” she says sweetly. “If you want something sweet, try dabino. It’s sweet, but it’s healthy and won’t ruin your appetite.”

     Gojo frowns but it’s more of a pout. “Are you seriously banning me from eating cake?”

     Asabé never stops, moving with a smooth efficiency as she grabs the blender and a bag of fresh tomatoes.

     “Yes,” she says cheerfully. “You eat like a fucking five year old, Satoru. It’s a wonder you still have all your teeth at this rate.”

     “I brush!” Gojo says by way of protest. Asabé eyes him. “And floss!” He adds. “And use mouthwash!”

     She pats his cheek, and Gojo finds even the sharp scent of onions is appealing coming from her.

     “And you’re such a good boy for doing all of those things, masoyi,” she teases. “But your gut health is important. And I need you healthy.”

     Gojo’s eyes flash dangerously, and he grins.

     “Oh I’m plenty healthy,” his voice comes out more of a growl than he intends and Asabé freezes. All at once the power slips back into his hands and he smirks like a predator on the scent. But Asabé is no lamb. Her honey-hued eyes sweep over him like a caress, appraising and impressed. Gojo Satoru is nothing if not a beautiful specimen of a man.

     “I’m sure you are,” she says in that simmering, sultry tone that makes him want to curl his toes. “But right now, you are in charge of the rice.” She reaches for the pack of dabino in the fridge, opening it to fetch one. It’s small and brown and sticky with sweet syrup.

     “Nan,” she says softly, offering it. Gojo turns his head, takes the date from her fingertips. She’s right: it’s sweet, as sweet as anything else he shovels into his mouth, and he chews thoughtfully, pausing when he feels the seed. He removes it from his mouth, setting it aside. When Asabé takes her hand away he’s quick as a strike of lightning. She gasps when he gently seizes her wrist. Then, he brings her syrup stained fingertips to his mouth. Asabé watches him with wide eyes.

     Gojo sucks her index finger into his mouth, slow and indulgent, and then releases it. He does the same to every finger, watching her the whole time. His sight tells him she is more than aroused. All the heat in her body is rising, her blood rushing, cascading, down to her loins. He can see her pulse, hammering in that tender plane of her neck like a trapped thing. He can see her heart pumping. He can see her ribs expanding as she struggles to breathe evenly.

     “I think I like dabino,” he says softly, voice husky, letting his moist lips brush over her knuckles. He feels the shiver in her, from the head to the tailbone. Yes. Good.

     “I think you do too,” she says softly, never breaking his gaze. “Will that satisfy you for now, Satoru?”

     Gojo doesn’t let go of her wrist. “I don’t think I could ever settle for one, Asabé. I’ve an insatiable sweet tooth, as you know. I think I might eat the entire box before the rice is done.”

     She shivers again, and then takes her wrist away from him. He lets her go, smirking. The scales are once more tipped in his favor. He does oblige her by helping with the rice at least, but now it feels as if she has earned his help rather than him being eager to obey her.

     And he’s so damn eager, but he’s gonna make her work for it.

     He wants her to unshackle her voice so badly, wants to test the bounds of Limitless against the gift of the Siren. Can he resist her? Can he grow her skill? Can he get her to stop being so afraid of her family finding her?

     He wonders how she will feel if he offers to simply kill anyone who tries to take her back. Likely not a good reaction, but he can think of no easier way to deal with this. The Ruhín family can always tap into their House of Saud alliances if money gets slim, and who knows what new sorcerers they’ll send to contend with the Honored One?

     He has to admit, he’s excited to see just how far they’re willing to go. He loves sharpening his fangs on curse users. He almost wishes the one whose been prowling around the property would give up his foolish surveillance and attack. He almost wishes making a move wouldn’t spook the others he’d seen when taking Asabé shopping. By the time they came back, he counted no less than seven curse users watching them. The exciting part is trying to discern is if they were there for her or for him.

     The only thing this tells him is that there is a bounty involved. And these foolish curse users will be forced to bring her in alive and unharmed. Gojo knows from experience that most of the curse users who take these kinds of jobs tend to be too deranged and psychotic to actually be successful at kidnapping. And the one person who could likely pull this job off has been dead for nearly a decade.

     Gojo saw to that himself.

     Over the course of the next hour, he watches Asabé cook. She’s quick and efficient, and he can’t help but wonder what she’d look like doing this regularly. Maybe she’ll let him chop the onions next time. Maybe she’ll let him sneak a slice of cake. Maybe he’ll wrap his arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck, try to tempt her for a quickie, see how quickly he can make her come before the pot starts bubbling over. The kitchen smells heavenly, and his penthouse suddenly doesn’t feel like a big empty box, and more like a…home.

     Fuck. He has to remember this is a ruse. Domesticity has never been his thing, but Asabé looks so damn good, humming to herself while she stirs blended tomato sauce and peppers. The onions are sizzling in a pan of olive oil, seasoned with cayenne and garlic. He licks his lips, sees himself going there to slip his arms around her waist, let her feel just how fucking much he wanted her. He’s damn near vibrating in place from the idea. He sees himself nuzzling her throat, peppering it with kisses, letting himself feel the sultry purr of her voice as she gives him approval to continue.

     His phone buzzes. It’s Nanami. Thank fuck. Someone with some sense.

     💖Nanamin🧑🏼‍🏫: How goes the security detail? I hope you’re keeping things professional since you opted to not have her stay at the school.

     Gojo frowns at his phone. Of course he’s keeping things professional! But sometimes the job calls for a bit of theater and can anyone blame him if he’s thinking about how soft her skin was when he was caressing her leg in the store today? Or the way her mouth feels against his, tasting like vanilla and honey and all the sweet things he craves?

     He is imagining what her pussy tastes like. He could go up to her right now, kneel behind her, spread her open and bury his face in all of that.

     🧿Honored One🧿: Of course I’m keeping it professional. And it was her choice not to be at the school. She’s safer with me. Turns out her technique is super powerful, who knew?

     💖Nanamin🧑🏼‍🏫: We had a run-in with a few delegates from her family today.

     Gojo’s expression hardens, all humor chased away as the entire purpose of the job comes thundering back into place. He reluctantly turns away from Asabé, who hums as she cooks, and makes a sign that he’s stepping out on a call. He goes out to the balcony through the living room, dialing Nanami directly. He picks up on the first ring.

     “What do you mean delegates from her family?” Gojo hisses. “It’s literally day one!”

     Nanami sighs. “My guess is that she’s been followed since before she contacted us for help. They didn’t seem to want a fight, but they were insistent on speaking with you. That, and if I were them, the obvious choice would be to investigate Jujutsu Tech to see if she made contact. Your plan does have flaws, Gojo.”

     Gojo frowns and tries to ignore his colleague’s scathing dig at his admittedly impulsive plan. “Well, what did you tell them? Do they know she’s here?”

     “It’s likely they know she’s with you, as they mentioned spotting the two of you together today…being intimate.”

     Gojo grins, but the mirth does not reach the cold, distant cosmos of his eyes, which are filled with a sort of grim ssatisfaction. So their ruse was the right move. Even just seeing her with him should be enough to give them all pause. They must retreat and rethink their next courses of action.

     “So they want a sit-down to negotiate,” Gojo says. Nanami murmurs assent.

     “So it would seem, but if the two of you are involved it’s likely there will be some sort of demand made for official records. I recommend the two of you get a marriage certificate and some wedding photos before they approach you directly.”

     “Well,” Gojo says. “We technically haven’t announced anything. And they saw us together once. I say we let this thing simmer a bit longer, convince them that I really am courting her. Maybe they’ll back off before we have to hunt down a judge.”

     “And just how long do you think they’ll wait before they’re convinced to leave?” Nanami asks. “They could make trouble for us if we don’t play our cards right.”

     Gojo sprawls on one of the patio chairs with a long sigh.

     “Don’t worry, Nanamin,” he says flippantly. “It’s going to work itself out. And if nothing else, maybe I can talk her into becoming a teacher at Jujutsu Tech.”

     Nanami is quiet a moment, and Gojo thinks maybe the call has dropped but then he hears the other man’s soft intake of breath.

     “Why are you determined to help her, Gojo?” He asks. Gojo is quiet this time, considering his answer.

     “I don’t think her talents deserve to sit on a shelf and rot while she is forced to marry and give birth to sorcerers her family will actually care about and nurture. She’s strong, Nanami, really strong, and I think we could use that strength here where she can live a life she chooses.”

     Nanami makes a thoughtful sound.

     “You mean a life you choose for her.”

     “Huh?”

     “You want her to join jujutsu society here,” Nanami says. “But she has been living here already; living the life she wanted to live before her husband passed and she was forced to seek us out.”

     “She’s been living a life of fear, Nanami,” Gojo argues back with a scornful scoff. “And a life lived in fear is a half-life at best, and a miserable no-life at worst. She deserves better than that. She deserves to be free and able to walk around without having to fucking seal herself and her power!”

     That last line is a little too loud, and he hears a soft clearing of a throat. He looks up, eyes glowing like electricity as the sun sinks behind the skyline and trees. Asabé stands in the doorway.

     “Dinner’s ready,” she says softly, and she smiles at him, but Gojo sees a sadness there that wasn’t there before. Fuck. How much did she hear?

     “I’ll be right there,” he says to her, and his smile is warm, his eyes soft. He watches as her vitals relax somewhat, the pulse slowing, the blood flowing in a rush and not a roar. Sometimes using Six Eyes is a cheatsheet, other times it’s a guide on how to disarm volatile situations. Asabé takes a deep breath and exhales before turning to head back inside.

     “She heard you, didn’t she?” Nanami asks. Gojo growls under his breath. Nanami doesn’t say it, but he heard too. The knife cuts two ways, and Gojo never feels it.

     “It’s fine.” Gojo says. “I stand by what I said. Did her family leave any contact information or are they playing spymaster until the last minute?”

     “I’ll text you the name and number. I believe they’re staying in the city. And they are registered with the Nigerian Embassy.”

     Gojo doesn’t miss how he stresses that last part. Great, they’re here and listed officially as in the country, meaning they have some semblance of diplomatic immunity. It also means he can’t kill them without causing an international incident. Clever fuckers. Ah well, he’ll find a way to drive them back home one way or another.

     No one is taking Asabé from him.

     Dinner is delicious, and Gojo finds himself reluctantly admitting that Asabé is an excellent cook. He wonders if she had cooks growing up, or if she’s like Nanami and simply enjoys it. They eat in relative silence, and he can see her vitals spiking. Her mind is running rampant and he knows it’s his fault. She bites her lip several times and Gojo gets annoyed.

     “I didn’t mean it the way you think,” he relents because if she doesn’t speak to him he’s going to go apeshit and kill them both. Asabé quietly guides her chopsticks to her mouth, as serene as a monk in meditation.

     “Didn’t mean what, Gojo?” She asks. Gojo clenches his jaw. She’s using his surname. Of course she’s upset. He just shit all over her desire for a quiet and unassuming life. But how is it she can’t see that that sort of life is impossible for someone like her? She is exquisite. A tigress prowling amongst common mongrels.

     A goddess, even. A siren, definitely.

     Why would she ever want to hide? Why should she?

     “Why are you hiding from your family?” Gojo asks. “It can’t be only because of marriage.”

     Asabé glares at him. “It doesn’t matter, because I hired you to protect me from them.”

     “Why the seal?” Gojo presses, not wanting to back down from a challenge. “You could suppress your cursed energy enough with a binding vow and your father’s enforcers would be none the wiser. Why suppress yourself completely?”

     Asabé’s eyes are blazing. Good. As long as he can get something out of her.

     “I didn’t want to risk hurting Jin,” she says softly. “I didn’t…you know how it is with sorcerers: we attract misfortune with our abilities. I didn’t want that part of my life touching him.”

     Asabé lets out a bitter little laugh. “A fat lot of good that did me in the end.”

     Gojo stares at her, and sits back in his chair.

     “You loved him,” he says simply, wondering why the words taste so bitter in his mouth. He has still not been able to understand how a shooting star like Asabé fell in with an unassuming non-sorcerer like Jin Hayashi.

     Asabé smiles. “I did. He was good to me, and he never pried about my past. Gojo, I was able to start fresh here. I was able to figure out who I am without…” She gestures around them. Gojo doesn’t understand. Not that he doesn’t want to, but he simply can’t fathom it. For her to walk away from the life so easily…it is a luxury he has never and will never be afforded.

     Throughout all the heavens and the earth, I alone am the Honored One.

Alone.

     Whatever expression he wears, it softens the look in Asabé’s eyes from one of indignation to that of concern.

     “Satoru?” She ventures, and it surprises him that his name can sound so tender in another’s mouth. He hasn’t heard anyone say his name that way since…since Suguru.

     “Are you alright?” She asks. Gojo nods.

     “Yeah, I’m good,” he says, lying through his teeth. “I can’t claim to understand why you made the choice to hide, but I can respect it. I still think your talents are better spent joining me. We’d be formidable together.”

     Asabé gives him an amused smirk.

     “What makes you so sure of my power?”

     Gojo thinks of the deep, unfathomable blue of her cursed energy, of the brightness in her throat, the sustained note that translated to the sensation of nails digging into his flesh. The discomfort and pain had been real, and his sight registered her cursed energy seeping into him through her voice. Or was it through sound? He wants to test it again but he knows she’s reluctant to remove that seal.

     She deserves better than this.

     “I have a really good hunch about these things,” Gojo says, giving her an easy and arrogant smile. “It’s quite literally one of my talents. I am very eager to see just what you can do with it.”

     Asabé chuckles. “I’d definitely be an ace at karaoke,” she provides and Gojo grins. Her eyes sparkle when she laughs, and she seems at ease in his presence again.

     “Let’s do karaoke, then,” Gojo says, almost recklessly. “I’ll rope my students into it, they love that shit too.”

     “Your students?” Asabé’s eyes go wide. “They let you teach?!”

     Gojo gives her a sardonic laugh. “I’ll have you know I’m a pretty good teacher, and my students are some of the most talented to come out of Jujutsu Tech.”

     Asabé gives him that simmering laugh again.

     “You know, now that I look at you, it makes sense.” She says, rising from her seat. “I’m going to put on some tea, would you like some, husband mine?”

     Gojo smirks, gets up, and follows her. Asabé can feel his gaze at her back like two brands. She rolls the tension out of her shoulders, searching the cupboard for the tea boxes. They’re on a shelf too high for her to reach, and she’s shocked when she feels the warmth and hard lines of Gojo’s body pressed against her back. He reaches above her with ease, and she gets a whiff of his cologne and his deoderant. Suddenly her senses are awash in that clean, masculine scent that is uniquely his own.

     Gojo keeps himself pressed against her, fetching three different boxes of various teas.

     “You looked like you were in need of assistance, wife,” he murmurs, dropping his voice in her ear and relishing the resultant shiver. He caught her around the waist to steady her, his hands gripping her lightly. He resists the urge to smooth his hands lower, to the flare of her hips, to cup the generous curves of her ass. To kneel behind her and bury his face between her thighs while she brews tea for them both.

     Fuck.

     Asabé is frozen in place, trapped between the counter and her “husband’s” warm body, and she can feel just how he feels about this entire situation. And with a hot flush of shame, she hates to admit her initial thought was how fucking big his dick is.

She turns around quickly, hoping to get that hard length off her backside, but now he’s facing her, looking down with those gorgeous galactic eyes, and she leans up and kisses him before she realizes what she’s doing. Gojo doesn’t even question it, he kisses her back instead.

     “Mmm…”

     Gojo moans into her mouth, his tongue slipping between them and seeking entry. Asabé’s lips part, yielding with the grace of a willow bending in the breeze. Gojo licks into her mouth, bracing himself using the cabinets above her head, pressing her into the counter, the tea momentarily forgotten.

     “Are we performing for an audience?” She breathes into his mouth between each heated kiss. Gojo smirks, then grins when her tongue traces his lower lip.

     “That depends,” he says. “Do you want to perform for an audience? Or do you want this to be a private rehearsal?”

     Asabé doesn’t want to admit how hot this is, but it���s too late because Gojo can tell she’s turned on. He can see all of the heat pooling between those thighs, the rush of her breath between her parted lips, the way her body quivers with untapped potential energy. One touch, and she’s his. One kiss, and he’s hers.

     “I…” She cannot find words to tell him what she wants. She wants one thing from him, so badly. But she can’t do this, not when there is so much at stake.

     Her hands come up, and she presses them against his chest. Gojo stops immediately.

     “We shouldn’t.” She says softly, and yet she can’t seem to pull away from him. Gojo is still, waiting for her to make a decision. If she says yes, he will have her, if she says no, he will release her. But if he releases her he is going to need to leave the penthouse and find someone to take all this dick because he has been wanting to give it to her since they met.

     “Are we being watched?” She whispers, a tremor in her voice. Gojo’s expression is as serene as an angel’s when he gives her a subtle nod of his head.

     “How many?” She asks. God, his lips are so close, she just wants to pull him a little further and melt into him. His pupils expand.

     “I counted seven last night,” he says, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I killed one this morning, while you slept.”

     He watches Asabé absorb the reality of the words like a blow, a small gasp; a leap in her pulse; and then a rush of heat directly to her loins. Gojo wants to grin. Oh naughty girl, getting turned on at the idea of her protector killing in her name.

     Good, because Gojo will tear a thousand curse users to pieces for her. He will wipe them from the face of the earth if it means she can be free.

     He will free her if it means he has a chance at having her. She doesn’t know it yet, but in time she will. He can feel the divine pull of her. He wants to tear that accursed seal from her throat and bask in the electric shiver of her cursed energy. He wants to feel her voice on his nerves again, see just how hard he can push her to tap into her true potential. And then he wants to fuck her through the mattress until his name is the only thing soaking her tongue.

     Fuck, what is wrong with him?

     “I’m really trapped,” she whispers, tearing her gaze from his to look anywhere but in those strikingly perceptive eyes. Gojo redirects her gaze, forcing her to look at him. The cosmos wheel in his eyes: stars born, stars collapsing, the core of everything rotating around the fulcrum that is his very existence. Asabé gets lost in the infinite beauty of his eyes, but Gojo forces her to focus. He needs her lucid. He needs her awake. He needs her free.

     “No,” he says, his voice like warm honey. “You have me. And as long as you have me, you’ll never be trapped again. You came to me for a reason, Asabé: I am the strongest, and I am unstoppable when directed toward those that would harm you. Let me protect you. This is what I do.”

     Something about his words makes her brow furrow, makes her feel a rush down her arms and spine like a shiver, but deeper. Goosebumps raise and there’s a prickle at the nape of her neck. Asabé has felt this before.

     Gojo has just made some sort of binding vow. A powerful one from the feel of it. The very air around them crackles with something stronger than cursed energy. Something divine has briefly made itself known. Her eyes widen at the realization.

     “Satoru…” She says, her voice hushed and awed. Gojo places a finger to her lips, compelling her discretion. A vow he cannot speak of or he risks voiding it, then. She wonders what the trade-off is, wonders who else will die while she sleeps in that big empty bed beneath the skylight, gazing at the stars and wishing she could fly amongst them and be free of her cursed bloodline. There is no blood on him, not even the coppery scent of it. He is pristine and untouchable. And yet for all his inviolability she can feel the warmth of him on her skin.

     His fingertips are still on her lips, his eyes are calm, the galaxies within swirling in divine serenity.

     “Kiss me, Asabé.”

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Translations & Notes: So, if it isn't apparent by now, Asabé Hayashi [neé Ruhín] is a Nigerian princess, specifically of the Hausa ethnic group. I don't like the idea that sorcery is exclusive to Japan nor is cursed energy the only source of magic in the world. So we will be deviating from that specific bit heavily. Gojo doesn't adhere to conservative, xenophobic rules, and neither shall I. Asabé speaks Hausa, English, Japanese, and Mandarin fluently. She'll be peppering in Hausa in her conversations since she feels comfortable enough with Gojo to do so.

𑁍 Masoyi -- Sweetheart [sweetie] 𑁍 Dabino -- Dates [common sweet snack in Arabized parts of the world, including Northern Nigeria, where Asabé is from]. 𑁍 Nan -- Here [as in: take this]

𓆩♡𓆪

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN.

[osunism]

Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan.

Warnings: Gojo might be a lil’ toxic, there’s some smut in this story [a lot actually the attraction is pretty instant], and it’s already on AO3 if that’s the format you prefer.

II.

     Over the course of dinner, they talk. Gojo isn’t prone to ultra-spicy food, being a sweet-tooth minion, but he marvels at Asabé’s casual handling of Thai levels of spice. When he asks about it, she mentions off-handedly that the food from her homeland is much spicier.

     “It’s a shame you’re so averse,” she teases, “I’d cook a few dishes for you. But I can modify the spice levels easily. The ingredients I need are relatively easy to find here.”

     Gojo smiles. “You offering to cook? You do realize that I’ve already been paid, correct?”

     She shakes her head. “I know, but it feels imposing to be shacking up with you and not…contributing in some way. And you mentioned you didn’t cook. I’d hate to subsist on takeout for the duration of the case, even if the food is good.”

     Gojo surmises that being married to Mr. Hayashi was a frugal experience, but he refrains from commenting. Even he knows that bragging about wealth is a gauche and quite frankly, very silly thing to do. He is who he is, but it’s not his wealth that makes him better than everyone else. He could be penniless tomorrow and still be content. Not that he wants to be: the money fucking helps grease all the right palms when he’s working cases, especially abroad.

     “Well, if you insist, then please make a list of everything you need and I’ll send Ijichi after it.”

     Asabé blinks. “You mean the driver? Is he not just a driver?”

     Gojo laughs. “He’s whatever I need him to be. It’s why we pay him, after all. I’m not going to let you go outside and risk being spotted. This penthouse is more secure than an American military base, at least as far as jujutsu is concerned. It’s why you can feel free to unseal yourself anytime without fear. And…of course, you have me.”

     Something about the way he says that makes her pause mid-bite, before she swallows her food and hides her expression in a hasty sip of her drink. She licks her lips as Gojo watches her. He doesn’t wear his blindfold in his home, and she is beginning to understand that the blindfold is likely for his comfort rather than everyone else’s. It must be exhausting, seeing the world the way he does.

     “You know what we forgot?” Gojo says suddenly. “Dessert. Mochi would be clutch right now. Oh! I know, I think there’s some leftover ice cream in the freezer…”

     Asabé watches him, a little mystified. Sometimes she looks at him and sees a man-child, and then moments like before, she sees the Honored One, and a wintry distance in his interstellar gaze that reminds her of carvings of ancient gods and how they view humanity. When he looks over his shoulder and catches her gaze, a popsicle hovering inches from his lips, she sees something else that makes her shiver. She’s not quite sure what it is. Something about his eyes makes her feel too visible.

     Gojo smiles at her, and enjoys his popsicle.

     The first night of security detail goes by like a high school first date. Gojo and his charge elect to watch movies, deciding on something lighthearted and funny. Without realizing it, Asabé finds herself moving closer to Gojo, their mutual laughter bringing them closer together until her knee is pressed against his. Gojo watches her cheeks flush with heat, her pulse racing at the contact.

     It doesn’t take long, but by the third movie, Asabé feels herself drifting, and she leans over. Gojo hesitates at first, but then offers her his shoulder, buffered with one of the pillows. Soon, she’s asleep, and Gojo allows his awareness to expand. For a moment, he is beyond the penthouse, his sight taking him beyond the windows, the skylight, and the warded park.

     There are several curse users within range of his sight, likely doing surveillance. His residence is very secure and he’s since learned how to spot tails. Unlike his beautiful charge, sleeping so peacefully, he has been hunted since birth. One does not survive to become the strongest sorcerer in the modern age by being unable to spot and foil assassins and kidnappers.

     Without a second thought, he sends a warning shot. Just an expansion of his cursed energy. He can see them startle like prey, and he grins. No, he will not hunt them just yet. Let the would-be sharks circle in search of blood. He will enjoy showing them just how far down the food chain they actually are when the time is right. For now, he is secure in the knowledge that they are too afraid to approach now that their prey has found shelter with an apex predator.

     Gojo returns to himself with a slow, controlled exhale. Asabé barely stirs, and he reaches up, runs his fingers over her neck and head. She makes a small moan of pleasure, curling into him. He wants to kiss her throat, right on the spot that beautiful noise comes from. He wants to know what other noises he can elicit from her. Instead, he scoops her into his arms, effortlessly, and carries her to the guest room. She turns her head, burying her face in his chest.

     Gojo stops momentarily, looking down at her. Everything his eyes are telling him says she’s asleep. Is she dreaming of him?

     Asabé breathes deep, smiling.

     “Mm,” she says. “You smell so good.” Her words are slurred, but Gojo smiles anyway. She is dreaming of him.

     Slowly, gently, almost reverent, he lowers her into her bed, tucking her beneath the covers. He stays there a moment, watching as she snuggles into the bed, and he entertains the thought of joining her. He wants to press his lips to her nape, and leave a trail of kisses down her spine until she shivers like a fly-stung horse.

     Fuck.

     Instead, Gojo leans down, brushing his lips along her temple, keeping infinity between her skin and his. She shivers, tucking her head in her shrugged shoulders when his technique tickles her skin.

     Goodnight, beautiful.

Gojo leaves her to sleep, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t go to his room, requiring little sleep. He thinks of Riko again, of Suguru’s insistence that he rest. He thinks of Fushiguro Toji’s strategy: wearing him down enough to get close and kill him. He has since made sure he never makes such a mistake again. He has since become even more powerful.

     Now…now he reads through the dossier of the case, opting to do actual work. He spots a detail that intrigues him: Asabé’s surname. She allegedly comes from a powerful foreign sorcerer family, and Gojo silently curses the jujutsu community for being so goddamned insular. The more conservative generation of sorcerers have little interest in the study or cataloguing of foreign-born sorcerers. Gojo is still disbelieving that they still cannot accept that there will be more foreign-born sorcerers as curses get stronger and their numbers in Japan continue to dwindle. It is the nature of things. It is one of the reasons why he is reluctant to kill younger curse users if he can convince them to come to Jujutsu Tech instead and nurture their skills and turn them to a good cause.

     He wants to make the same offer to Asabé, and being a citizen via marriage would make it easier to get her accepted into the school. But that won’t work. She’s already beyond high school age. Gojo leans back on the couch, reaching for a Jolly Rancher out of the dish on his coffee table while he works.

     Then, he has an idea.

     In the morning, Gojo orders breakfast, and smiles when Asabé emerges, clad in a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt. Even being dressed like this does nothing to diminish how stunning she is. Gojo could see her in a potato sack and still want to know what her lips tastes like after they’re wet with wine. She blinks sleepily and blearily at him.

     “How are you this cheerful this early in the morning?” She asks, her voice husky with recent wakefulness. Gojo points to the coffee pot, and she glances from it to him with a grateful look in her eyes.

     While Asabé makes coffee, Gojo considers his idea before speaking.

     “So,” he begins, and watches as she peers at him over her mug. He laughs to himself. She brought her own coffee mug? He doesn’t cook but man she must think he’s a useless bachelor!

     “So,” he repeats, “I have an idea as to how we can reduce the number of enforcers and the like coming after you. It also may be able to allow you more freedom of movement within Tokyo. I know it sucks being confined to this gorgeous, massive penthouse all day like some princess in a castle, so it occurred to me that we can solve this problem one simple way.”

     Asabé’s brows knit together in consternation. “Alright…what is this idea you have, Gojo?”

     Gojo claps his hands together. “We get married!”

     It’s worth it just to see her sputter, coughing as she tries to process what he’s just said. Married?! Is he insane?

     “What do you mean ‘married’, exactly?” She asks. Gojo’s mouth opens, then closes.

     “I mean married…?” He ventures. “Look, if you’re married to me, the likelihood of curse users coming after you will drop significantly. They’re all scared of me, and they should be because I will absolutely kill them, so it stands to reason that they would never come after my wife.”

     Asabé shakes her head, disbelieving. “Isn’t this a little extreme? Wouldn’t it be just as effective if we simply said we were dating, instead?”

     Gojo shakes his head. “No, because if push came to shove, and I had to sacrifice a girlfriend for the greater good, I wouldn’t hesitate to do so. A wife carries more value, especially for my clan.”

     Asabé tries not to feel chilled by the casual way he says this. First with killing curse users, and then with valuing a wife over a girlfriend. Though, after the chill passes, she can see the cold logic in it. If she is ‘Mrs. Gojo’ the likelihood her father’s enforcers will take her by force will reduce. No one wants to be within the path of Gojo Satoru’s wrath. But marriage?

     “It wouldn’t be a real marriage,” Gojo assures her. “I’m not going to require you to act like my wife or anything. You’ll just be taking my name. That alone should buy you protection and mitigate the annoyance of me having to do pest control with curse users for however long your family wants to send them.”

     Asabé wonders how badly her father wants her back in the clan, likely to be married into another family soon after. He can only drain their expansive coffers so much before he gives up the chase. She wonders whom will outlast whom in this war of attrition. But still…she thinks of Jin, of his body spread across that mountain road, twisted at an unnatural angle, his viscera dark and red and slick amidst the glitter of shattered glass and rent metal.

     She thinks of his face, wide-eyed and slack jawed, his eyes almost accusing her of his death while her body healed and knit itself back together.

     Gojo frowns, seeing her vitals shift before his eyes.

     “Hey,” he says, his voice soft. Asabé doesn’t respond. “Hey, look at me. I’m right here, you’re not in danger.”

     Asabé blinks like a waking dreamer, or a fugitive from a nightmare. She gasps. At some point in her dissociative state, her mug had slipped from her grasp. It floats, suspended in midair, and Gojo peers at her, his expression gentle. An angel, coldblooded and logical, but compassionate too. She reaches for the mug, and once her grasp is sure, Gojo releases his technique. The weight of the mug becomes solid in her grasp once more.

     “Thank you,” she whispers, still mystified at what transpired. Gojo smirks.

     “Told you I was fun to be around,” he says. “So, what do you say: wanna get married and make some curse users shit bricks?”

     Asabé laughs, a sultry, simmering sound that makes Gojo’s scalp tingle.

     “Proposing to a widow after she finishes having a flashback of her dead husband is certainly a choice.”

     Gojo waves his hand. “It’s for a good cause! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind knowing you’re being kept safe.”

     Asabé looks up at him, her expression caught between shock and surprise. Gojo holds her gaze fearlessly. There’s something so guileless about it, and yet she can’t fathom how his mind works for him to say some of the things he does.

     “I suppose it can’t hurt,” she says slowly. “And we can dissolve the marriage once I’ve secured my safety from my family.”

     For some reason the idea of that nettles at Gojo’s pride, but his smile never leaves his face.

     “Exactly,” he says. “So is that a ‘yes’? I’m not buying us matching rings until you say yes.”

     Asabé sips her coffee, peering at him over the rim. “That depends,” she purrs. “You going to bend the knee and ask me properly?”

     Gojo swallows. Oh.

     Even sealed, her voice is rich and velvety, and he wants to actually taste it. He wants to hold her close and drink down that voice as he kisses her until her thoughts are nothing but petals scattered on the wind. He wants to lift her up on one of these quartz countertops, spread her legs, and hear that throaty voice moan his name until the sun sets and Tokyo’s skyline paints her in a smattering of neon.

     Fuck. He turns from her in time to hear the intercom buzz, indicating the food is here. He is also painfully hard thinking about his charge in every position he can successfully put her in. God he bets she looks so fucking good with her knees pushed back, folded in half, her cunt wet and—

     “Gojo?” Her voice calls. “Are you okay? You seem…distracted.”

     Gojo holds up a hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just went to bed a bit late last night is all.” He moves toward the door, answering it. The delivery driver attempts curiosity by trying to sneak a peek beyond Gojo, but he finds a pair of cerulean eyes boring into him before handing over the food and retreating back into the elevator without so much as a backward glance.

     Gojo turns, his little ‘inconvenience’ taken care of and breakfast in hand.

     “Let’s eat!”

     Over breakfast, Asabé is quiet. She’s surprised Gojo is so talkative, and most of the time it sounds like conversations he’s having with himself. Well, she would never credit him with being in his right mind. This world they inhabit can make one crazy. It’s one of the reasons she walked away from it.

     “So, tell me about your family,” Gojo says. Asabé frowns.

     “Not much to tell, really,” she says, almost bitterly, and Gojo knows it’s a lie even as the words leave her mouth. “They’re typical affluent sorcerers: think they own everyone and everything. My dad’s the advisor to his uncle, the Emir of Zaria, and they’ve got ties to the House of Saud by marriage.”

     Gojo nods. Sounds like typical sorcerer politics. Not much different than his own family. He wagers being a daughter of such an affluent family comes with its own baggage. He’s been lucky enough that most of the people around him who would hinder him are dead, either through betrayal or someone trying to get to him through them. He wonders how much different things would be if one of his ancestors had been smart enough to Pact their descendants into not trying to kill each other.

     Now he’s the head of a clan that has dwindled in size, boasting mostly members of extended branches with little to no cursed techniques to speak of, trading only on the ancient and indispensable coin of the Gojo name and legacy. His mother lives alone on the ancestral estate, and he barely talks to her, now save for on important festival days or when he wants to make use of the estate’s ancient hot springs.

     He is comforted to know that Asabé’s own relationship with her family is just as strained. At least he is not alone in being alone.

     “So, aside from the inherited technique, what else does your family do?”

     Asabé chews her bagel and washes it down with a slurp of orange juice.

     “Well, the Ruhín clan boasts a large arsenal of cursed tools, and some of them have developed weaker offshoots of the inherited technique, and then there’s our rivals, the Keita clan, whose technique allows them to make animals into servants by imbuing them with the essence of shikigami.”

     Gojo nods. He’s surprised at how much of a culture of sorcerers thrives outside of Japan. He wonders how many students Jujutsu Tech would have if they could approach these new sorcerers before they walked the path of a curse user, or if there is a way to get these insular clans to be more open about sharing their knowledge and sorcerers. Suddenly, his idea for changing jujutsu society from the ground up feels more of a monumental task than it did previously. He still believes it can be done, but Asabé’s existence and circumstances serve to remind him that he must think beyond the borders of his own country if he wants to truly shake the table.

     Ah well, he is the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Nothing is beyond his ability to accomplish, even if it takes him longer than he would like.

     “Are there a lot of cursed spirits in your homeland?” He asks softly, his tone that of a curious scholar—a teacher seeking to broaden his educational repertoire. He’s only been to Kenya thus far,  but Africa is a huge continent by far, of course there’s bound to be more sorcerers. It’s simple math.

     Asabé nods. “My continent has been through much over the course of human history, with many wrongs that have yet to be redressed. Cursed energy and spirits abound, though our sorcerers lack the stringent organizational hierarchy of Japan’s own. As a result, the ones who fight curses could be technically branded curse users. They only work for pay, and most places where cursed spirits tend to gather aren’t around people who can afford a sorcerer’s exorbitant asking price.”

     Gojo nods. So the problem’s the same, no matter the country. Curse users whoring their skills out for insane fees, which leaves many civilians in the lurch. Sometimes he wishes he could solve the problem of capitalism and the ridiculousness of the jujutsu world at the same damn time. Asabé watches him with a curious expression.

     “Would you want to become an official sorcerer?” He asks suddenly. “You have a rare and powerful gift, and to be quite honest we could really use the help. I feel like hiding is such a waste of your talents.”

     Asabé smiles grimly. “I know what you’re trying to do, Gojo, and while I appreciate the praise, I also know it comes with the expectation of a foreshortened lifespan. I don’t want to sign up for this just to find myself in an early grave because some curse user or spirit got the drop on me.”

     “They’d never harm you as long as I’m there. I’d kill them before I let anything happen to you.” Gojo says before he realizes what he’s saying. His voice is fierce, a growl underpinning his tone, his eyes hardening like gems in a look of fearsome and possessive determination. Asabé gasps, and he can see the capillaries in her face open up, sending a rush of crimson heat to her cheeks. She puts her gaze in her coffee mug.

     “That’s…” she tries to find words. “That’s very reassuring, Gojo. Thank you.”

     Gojo grins. “So in order for our fake marriage to work, you’re gonna have to drop the formalities with me.”

     Asabé blinks several times. “Excuse me?”

     Gojo leans back in his chair, still grinning. “You heard me: you have to say my name.”

     “Gojo?”

     “Try again, Asabé.” The way he says her name makes her shiver. It’s a name from her homeland, of course, but the vowel pronunciations of Hausa and Japanese are similar enough that he puts the inflections on it perfectly. Not only that, but his voice drops an octave when he says it, and she tries to ignore the warmth rushing through her veins, dripping to pool between her thighs. Has it really been so long that just him saying her name is enough to turn her on? And the way he’s looking at her, it’s as if he knows what he’s doing to her!

     “I suppose you’re right,” she says slowly, hesitant to say his name for fear of how it will sound when shaped by her lips, while an ember of what she now knows to be desire struggles to become a flame in her belly.

     “Satoru.” She says simply, so softly the vented air almost steals it away. Gojo watches the way her lips part around his name, the way they shape the syllables, the breathy little sigh that accompanies it. The way her eyes seem to soften as she realizes saying his name isn’t so bad.

     He wants to hear it again and again. He wants it as a refrain in his ear while he buries his face in her neck and does his best to leave his mark on her skin. He wants to unshackle her voice and hear her sing for him, only for him.

     Asabé is silent, as if there is precious little else of import to say after his name. Instead, they gaze at one another, realizing that despite their scheme, some threshold has now been crossed. The tension warbles a bit longer before the trilling and vibrating of Gojo’s phone interrupts them. He answers, reluctant to tear his eyes off the woman who is practically smoldering across from him. He watches her while he takes the call, listening intently, eyes focused.

     Asabé realizes what that feeling is when he looks at her. She feels naked.

     “Uh huh,” Gojo is saying while she’s imagining things that no woman should be imagining about this man. “Alright. Got it.”

     He hangs up, and she can practically feel his divided attention coming together to focus on her in full again, even though his gaze never left hers the entire call. Her gaze drops to his mouth. God, what a beautiful mouth he has, and she can tell it’s soft, probably smooth and sweet like the candy he likes to eat.

     “Asabé,” he says her name in a sing-song voice. “You’re staring at me like you want to eat me.”

     Asabé blinks again, startled. Of course she hadn’t been discreet about her…admiration.

     “It’s your eyes,” she says by way of excuse. “I cannot help it. I have never seen anything like them before.”

     Gojo smirks, wondering why a compliment he’s heard innumerable times over the course of his life makes his stomach go into knots when she’s giving it to him. Asabé gets up from her seat, coming around to him. He looks up at her, smiling, cerulean eyes bright and alert and expectant.

     “If I’m to be your wife I suppose that we should be comfortable with a level of intimacy that makes our union convincing.” She reaches down, tentatively brushing a few locks of silver-white hair from his face. He never takes his eyes off of her, even as her curious fingertips linger on his temple, trailing down his cheek, watching a spot of color bloom there.

     “You’re not wearing your infinity,” she whispers, her fingertips coming to linger on his lips. Gojo’s mouth smiles under her touch.

     “For my wife?” He muses, his breath warm and moist on her skin. “I don’t need to.”

     He kisses her fingertips, watches her eyes widen a little as his lips trail lower, planting a kiss in her palm. Asabé shivers, then cups his face in that same hand. Gojo leans into it.

     “Looks like we’re getting the hang of it already,” he says, looking at her with a knowing smirk. She laughs, that sultry and simmering sound that he’s growing to love.

     “And so we are,” she says, those honey eyes twinkling. “Satoru.”

     Gojo swallows. This woman’s voice is powerful even with the seal because why does his name sound so fucking good coming from her lips? He wonders what she will sound like moaning it in hsi ear. He wants to hear her scream it while she begs him to—

     “We should go out,” he says, willing those not-so-wholesome thoughts to the back of his mind. Asabé raises a brow. “A public appearance of us together is necessary to make the ruse convincing. Don’t worry, no one will dare harm you while you’re by my side.”

     Asabé takes her hand away and Gojo wonders why that bothers him. He wants her to keep touching him. God he wants her to kiss him. That beautiful mouth of hers is made to be kissed until—

     “That’s a good idea,” she says. “Where shall we go?”

     Gojo grins. “Well, I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t take my gorgeous wife shopping, now would I?”

     Asabé feels as if she has underestimated just how wealthy Gojo is because when their car pulls up to a shopping center that exclusively houses major designers, she wonders if maybe they should have gone with more conservative shopping options.

     That’s the old you, she thinks bitterly. Jin is dead, and Satoru is from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the country. Accept it. Aside, you deserve nice things! Indulge.

Thus, her inner voice reasons.

     The amount of money Gojo is willing to spend seems, for lack of a better term, limitless. When she picks out a Versace bag? The Centurion card comes out, heavy and tapered and casual. The attendant ringing them up tries not to look shocked, more so at how beautiful they look together rather than at the fact that Gojo is casually spending money on items that cost more than most people’s rent.

     And throughout the shopping spree, Gojo is indulgent, leaning into the affection of their sham relationship with a relish that almost convinces Asabé it is not entirely feigned.

     He holds her hand while they walk through the busy mall, keeping her close. At one point, he leans in, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she glances up at him with surprise, before smiling shyly as he winks at her from above the rim of his glasses.

     When they slide into Balmain, she models clothes for him: racy dresses that cling to her curves like a glorious art deco skin. Gojo sits in a chair, sipping offered champagne, legs spread as he watches his “wife” emerge from the dressing room to model clothes for him.

     “How about this one?” She asks, turning on the balls of her feet in the triptych mirror. Gojo’s lips are wet with champagne, and he sets it down. He doesn’t drink usually, and if he does decide to, he prefers a sweet dessert wine to anything else. This champagne is dry, possibly burned, as if it has been frozen rather than kept on ice. He does not pick it up again.

     “Why not get them all?” He asks casually. “You look good in everything, my dear. And even better in nothing.”

     Asabé feels her pulse leap at the words, and for a moment it’s as if everything around them is obsolete. She studies Gojo momentarily, who watches her with a bright and amused focus that makes her shift, squeezing her thighs together. Then, his tongue snakes out, tracing his beautiful lips, still moist with champagne. With one large, strong hand, he beckons her to come to him and Asabé can’t help it. Her steps go to him, faltering at first, before she remembers she is supposed to be his wife. She comes to stand between his spread legs.

     “You look incredible,” Gojo says, and she wonders if this is part of the ruse or if he means it. His hand comes forward, and he gives her a questioning look. She nods. His hand comes to rest on her calf, before slowly moving upward, tracing one of those long legs until her just barely begins to lift the hem of her dress.

     “I can’t wait to get home and peel this off of you,” he murmurs, shocking not only Asabé but the attendant coming up behind him, who startles at walking in on what is undoubtedly an intimate moment between them. In a sudden boldness, Asabé leans over until her face hovers a mere breath from Gojo’s own.

     “If you behave yourself,” she whispers, husky and sultry, “I’ll let you do anything you like tonight.”

     “Anything?” Gojo’s eyes are bright with anticipation. Asabé can see the attendant trembling as they discreetly attempt to collect the champagne glass.

     “Anything.”

     The rest of their day is spent walking around Tokyo. Gojo never lets go of her hand, and sometimes he even brings it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. Whoever must be watching cannot be convinced that their relationship is genuine, and even Asabé forgets that this is a ruse sometimes. The way he speaks, the way he holds her close, the way he looks at her, all of it feels so real she momentarily forgets her heartache and fear.

     Gojo takes Asabé to a bridge overlooking a pond in a park. The sun will be setting soon, and he wants to see her eyes match the sunset.

     “You know,” he says, leaning against the railing. “For a fake marriage this was actually a lovely first date.”

     “Yeah…” Asabé says a little dreamily. “If this were real I’d definitely call you back for a second date.”

     “Only because I spent the equivalent of two homes on you today.” Gojo teases and she nudges him playfully, scoffing when he turns on his infinity to evade her.

     “It’s more than that, Satoru,” strange how she’s gotten used to saying his name after only a day. “You are good company. The money helps, and anyone would be happy to be spoiled by you.”

     Gojo turns to her, reaching up to cup her face in his hand, tracing an unhurried thumb along the sleek curve of her cheekbone, tender and almost genuine.

     “Yeah, but you’re not just anyone, Asabé,” he says. “You’re my wife.”

     And then he leans down and kisses her.

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[osunism]

Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the Honored One, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan.

Warnings: Gojo might be a lil’ toxic, there’s some smut in this story [a lot actually the attraction is pretty instant], and it’s already on AO3 if that’s the format you prefer.

V.

         Gojo returns in the small hours of the night for the next three nights. Asabé, not wanting to face the frigidness and distance they’ve suddenly found between them, is sure to be in her room and asleep by the time he warps into the penthouse. Some nights, though, she finds herself staying up much later, and she wonders if he will comment on her unsealing herself.

     He does eventually comment, just not in a way she expects.

     Gojo has been observing her, of course. He can’t help it. After a long day, and most of the night, having to wear a blindfold to prevent migraines, he warps into his penthouse to find himself bombarded with Asabé’s deep blue cursed energy. It’s seeping into everything like someone spilled over a heavy bottle of strong perfume. Everything in the penthouse is touched by it, shimmering in his vision. He speaks a word of power to dispel it, and registers her surprised gasp in her bedroom.

     She comes out, looking alert and on guard. When she sees Satoru, watching her as if she had just paraded out naked, she comes up short.

     “Oh,” she says. “It’s you. I thought…”

     “I told you no one would come here even if you took the seal off,” Satoru says a little acerbically, with just a tad bit of condescension for added spice. He watches it hit her nerves like well-placed throwing knives. Why he is enjoying hurting her in these little ways he doesn’t know. The way her eyes water just a little, her lip quivers, and she sucks in that shaky little inhale to keep her composure?

     Satoru loves that.

     “Yes,” she says, her voice regaining its confidence. “I see that, now.”

     “Did I wake you?” He asks, his tone a tad sharp. Asabé shakes her head.

     “You’re not the only one who has been keeping late hours, Satoru,” she tells him. Gojo ignores how his name from her mouth—that pretty mouth he kissed until it was love-swollen and beestung just a few nights prior—makes his stomach leap. She shapes it with a strange inflection, a taste of her mother tongue on his given name.

     It’s surprisingly more intimate than spreading her legs and torturing her cunt with open-mouthed kisses until she doesn’t remember how to beg.

     It’s only been a few days but he’s been hoping their avoidance of one another would cool his blood. But the sight of her like this: casual, as if she has always lived here like some sort of domesticated girlfriend [or a housewife, he thinks with bitter irony]. His dick is hard and he doesn’t know why.

     Fuck her.

     He wants to—badly—but also fuck her.

     “Yeah? Well, try not to stay up too late. I may need you sharp.” He makes his way toward his bedroom, pausing next to her to add, “We’re down to three curse users, now. You’re welcome.”

     Asabé doesn’t see so much as a fleck of blood on his uniform, or his hair. He’s pristine as he was when he left this morning. Not only that, but as he stands next to her, she can finally feel his cursed energy, and it sends a chill down her spine.

     She has never felt anything so limitless.

     It’s like a bottomless well, neverending, steady and precisely controlled…overwhelming. She can feel the electric thrum of energy between them as she strays too close but never seems to be quite close enough: infinity.

Why does he have it on in the house?

     Why does it bother her that he has it on?

     Because it was only a few nights ago that she was trying to see how much closer than skin they could get. The memory of her panting and moaning in his ear, of the sweet, delicious stretch of his cock inside of her, and his deep voice talking her through her climax again and again. She can still taste the salt of his clean sweat on her tongue. She can still remember how delightful his muscles felt gliding under her clutching hands, her nails carving stripes into his back, her lips claiming the elegant column of his throat. She can still feel the ache in her muscles days later, and every time she looks at the couch she sees herself leaned back, her legs in the air, thighs pushed back, black lace panties dangling from her foot, and Satoru, on his fucking knees, his thumbs spreading her pussy open before he spit in it and got to work, and made her watch the entire time, those galactic eyes holding her gaze captive, his mouth and nose buried in her folds.

     Don’t you dare look away. I want you to watch me ruin you.

And she had. And he did. She’d never felt more electrified in her entire life. Nor would she ever again.

     She can’t even stay in the kitchen for long without thinking of how he had her on the counter, balancing her on his shoulders while he teased her swollen and wet cunt through her panties before finally sliding them to the side to taste her in full. Every single shared space is shouting their tryst to the fucking world, and anyone with eyes can walk in and see it, and it’s driving her insane.

     The only place she can exist without these damned memories is in her bedroom. And she’ll drag her pussy across broken glass before she admits that her hand strays between her thighs, replaying those lurid memories of the best sex she’s ever had in her life as she brings herself to a quiet, shameful, quaking climax. And then feels a delicious pleasure in thinking she’s gotten away with something under Satoru’s nose. The Six Eyes can see everything, but if she’s quiet, he won’t know this about her.

     You can take it. I know you can. You’re so strong for me, so wet for me, so goddamn ready.

Asabé shifts uncomfortably, trying to squeeze her thighs shut. Her pussy lips slide together she’s so damn wet already. If he doesn’t grab her and fuck her on the nearest surface she’s going to explode.

     Satoru smirks down at her knowingly, and walks away, leaving her with an ache she feels down to her marrow. He knows. He fucking knows. Shame and embarrassment make her skin hot from her chest to her ears.

     Fuck him. God she wants to, but fuck him.

     She doesn’t see how painfully hard he is when he retreats to his room, or that he can not only see but smell her arousal before fleeing. She doesn’t see him retreat to the bathroom, leaning against the wall in his shower, pumping his fat cock in his unyielding fist to the thought of fucking her again. She doesn’t see how he fantasizes about that couch, only it’s her on her knees, not him. He pumps his cock harder and faster, imagining those plump lips wrapped around his shaft, the bulge of his cock in her throat. God and those gorgeous eyes, the color of sunshot honey, looking up at him, wet with tears, silently begging him to flood her throat and mou—

     He comes with a guttural and primal growl to the sound of her voice in his head, moaning his name, begging him to come inside of her, to fill her up until his seed spills from her cunt like someone tipped over a bottle of honey. Then he thinks about lapping it all up, tasting them both on his tongue, kissing her so she can taste them too. Fuck, he’s never come so much to a mere fantasy, but knowing the woman of his fantasies is just down the hall just hits different.

     In the end, he is left panting, leaning against the tiled wall, steaming water streaming over his body while his cock goes stoft in his hand. He takes deep, shuddering breaths, and for a moment his awareness expands and he sees her in the guest room, a figure wrapped in the oceanic blue of her own cursed energy, and then the seals on the windows flaring to contain both of them. Gojo decides that if they don’t ever fuck again he’s going to kill every single person in this country and then himself.

     She doesn’t see any of that, though, and she doesn’t need to, because he fully intends to fuck her again as soon as he figures out how to thaw the ice between them.

     Satoru decides on a whim to test just how desperate clan Ruhín is by suggesting he and Asabé go out with her unsealed. Of course, Asabé balks at the notion of setting foot outside of the penthouse without her seal, but Gojo insists, and he is adamant about it. In fact, there’s no levity in his voice at all when he tells her they’re going out.

     “Satoru, what will you do if they come for me?” She asks, trying not to be nervous, but her power soaks her voice and it bumps against the edgres of his infinity, forcing him to pour more power into it. Asabé flinches when she feels it.

     “Control your cursed energy, for starters,” he chides. “The more your power pushes against mine, the stronger I have to maintain it. If you keep doing that, I will eventually kill you.”

     That sobers her, and she glances up at him wide eyed, but he is deadly serious, even with the blindfold.

     When she speaks, her voice is measured and careful, and he sees the irritated flits of her cursed energy have been wrangled. He understands she’s nervous, but this plan he has can’t work if she is not in exacting control of the one thing she can control. And so with her energy once more unleashed, Satoru takes his “wife” out of the penthouse and into the world beyond.

     Kimura, the concierge, does a double take when he sees them. Gojo knows what it is. Kimura cannot see cursed energy, but Asabé’s is unmistakable. She glows with it, like a star fallen to earth and given human shape. Her eyes seem brighter, her skin seems shinier, and she is quicker to smile. It’s as if something in her has been set free, and Gojo is silently smug that he was right. He’ll have to call and rub it in Nanami’s face later.

     As they step out into the sunlight, Asabé does a little twirl, sending her white sundress spinning around her legs. Gojo can’t help but smile. He cannot imagine ever shackling his power, let alone for nearly a decade. Without thinking he reaches for her hand, without thinking she surrenders hers. Their fingers lace, and they walk through the park together, for all appearances a happy couple.

     At one point, Gojo suddenly pulls Asabé into an embrace, leaning down to kiss her. Asabé is shocked at how easily she responds. For a moment, the park is forgotten. There is no one else in the world but them. Gojo lifts one part of his blindfold to peer at her with one beautiful, cerulean eye.

     “I believe they’ve taken the bait,” he whispers against her lips between kisses. “Look like I fuck you on the regular and spoil you often, baby.”

     Asabé has no idea what that would entail but if the other night is anything to go by, she’d argue that perhaps she should look a little more composed than that. Still, it’s not hard to spot the representative of clan Ruhín, especially as she turns, smiling and holding Satoru’s hand, trying not to forget it’s all an act, and comes face to face with her past.

     All at once, the ruse feels hollow and fragile, shattered by the force of her shock. She squeezes Satoru’s hand hard, eyes wide, pupils shrunk to points, her lips parted in a small sound of surprise.

     The man representing clan Ruhín is striking. Not in the same way as Asabé, but in a sinister and dangerous way.. He is tall, like himself, and wears his hair in neatly-kempt locs adorned with golden clasps. His face is stern, his nose aquiline, his lips full and framed by a neatly-kept mustache and beard. His eyes are dark, but there is no warmth in them. He is devastatingly handsome and that bothers Gojo more than the fact that this man is probably as ruthless as he is.

     “Ɗanjuma?” Her voice is soaked with her energy and both Satoru and this stranger, now named, feel her shock like the wet prickle of static electricity over their skin. The tall man smiles warmly, but Satoru notices that warmth never reaches his coal-black eyes. This is the face of a man who has taken many lives with his hands. There is no way for him to express genuine warmth or compassion. He subtly envelops Asabé in his infinity, and sees the man’s nostrils flare in surprise as he takes a step back.

     “Asabé,” he finally says, his voice a deep and gravelly baritone. “It has been too long since I last saw you. How have you been?”

     “Better than I was,” Asabé says without missing a beat. Ɗanjuma’s smile never falters, and those dark eyes watch Asabé like a predator would its potential prey. Gojo decides he dislikes this man.

     “So I see,” he says, sparing Gojo a glance. “You seem to have moved on from…what was his name? Jem?”

     “Jin,” Asabé corrects, and Ɗanjuma finds himself flinching as his nerves are assaulted with pins and needles. He laughs, holding up his hands.

     “Peace,” he says. “Please, I don’t want any trouble. I’m merely here to see how you’re faring in the midst of being a new, young widow. But it seems my worry was a bit premature. You are…?”

     Gojo wants to sneer. Cheeky bastard. Any sorcerer with two brain cells to rub together recognizes Gojo Satoru, be it by appearance or cursed energy. Ɗanjuma is being petty, and when it comes to sorcery, Gojo considers pettiness a province of the weak.

     “Gojo Satoru,” the strongest sorcerer introduces himself smoothly, his tone sickeningly saccharine. One does not grow up as rich and powerful as him without learning how to play politics, and malicious compliance is one of the key tenets of the society he inhabits that he wields with consummate skill. Ɗanjuma will need to do more than this petty bullshit to get under his skin. Asabé’s gaze darts between both men and she shuts her eyes briefly.

     “Why are you really here?” She asks tersely, squaring her shoulders. Ɗanjuma raises his brows slightly, and Gojo is beginning to wonder why he isn’t more afraid of him and seems determined to rattle Asabé. He’s getting irritated.

     “You know why I’m here,” Ɗanjuma says, wasting no time. “We let you have the space you needed, and more’s the better: being a wife and widow has likely taught you all you need know. Come home, we’ll seal the alliance between our families and you can be done with this cursed country.”

     Asabé’s cursed energy flares in irritation, and Gojo’s infinity increases. Now Ɗanjuma looks concerned. Good.

     “This is home,” Asabé says in a low and deadly calm voice. Gojo’s eyes see her cursed energy spilling into her words like fog, gaining pressure and power as the sound hit its intended target: Ɗanjuma.

     “Asabé,” Gojo warns affectionately. “Baby, remember what I said about controlling your cursed energy?”

     Asabé’s eyes cut to his like a blade and it’s the first time he’s seen such fearlessness. Normally his eyes are the ones stopping people in their tracks, but hers is…he wants to take her home right now and fuck her while she looks at him like that.

     “You can’t be serious,” Ɗanjuma says. “You’ll join the Six Eyes? You won’t last the year.” He catches Gojo’s glare. Gojo wants to smile. There’s the fear. He’s realizing he’s in over his head. He isn’t kin, so Asabé can use her power as she sees fit, and Gojo? Ah, he has been frustrated and he’d love to sink his teeth into an untried curse user. Already he can see everything. He can even predict the pattern of blood spray. He wonders if Asabé will mind a bit of a mess.

     “Satoru and I are getting married,” Asabé says. “It’s already been decided. And let’s face it: this is a better match, Ɗanjuma.” Gojo does smile at this, smug and superior. The venom in her voice almost sounds genuine. With his limitless shield slightly stronger, its pressure much more pronounced than usual, Ɗanjuma has no recourse. So he begins to retreat. Gojo’s grin is much too malicious to be considered pleased.

     “If this is truly your choice and not some ruse, I will respect it and report back to the family,” Ɗanjuma says slowly, and Gojo’s eyes tell him he’s lying. Every word comes out like he’s biting them and tearing them in order to process them better. Poor man probably thought he could scare Asabé back into the fold. Gojo loves freeing worthy sorcerers from the curse of banal anonymity and misery.

     “It is my choice,” Asabé says firmly, no trace of her cursed energy in her words, only simple, obstinate determination. “Call off your lackeys—whoever is left—and go home, Ɗanjuma. I will not be going back. Ever.”

     For a tense moment, Gojo wants Ɗanjuma to be stupid and make a move, but the other sorcerer is smart. He concedes with a duelist’s nod.

     “As you wish,” he says. He looks Gojo up and down with scarce-concealed contempt.  “Keep her safe, Six Eyes.”

     Gojo’s grin becomes an easy and arrogant smile. It goes without saying that he will do that and more. He thinks about how good Asabé looked in his arms, pressing lazy kisses against her lips. Safe. Right.

     Ɗanjuma takes his leave, and Gojo notes that several other curse users also withdraw, though they are never seen. Nothing escapes his notice, but even though Ɗanjuma promised to withdraw, Gojo does not release his technique around himself or Asabé. His arm goes around her, watching her face as her gaze lingers on the path Ɗanjuma took to leave. The wheels of her mind are turning and Gojo wants to know what she’s thinking.

     “So, I take it that was the guy you were betrothed to before you ran off to come here, huh?” He asks. Sometimes the least amount of tact yields the best results. Asabé blinks slowly before he sees the sleek line of her jaw set in pensive silence.

     “It’s more complicated than that,” is all she gives him. Gojo shrugs.

     “If we want to sell our marriage we’re going to have to be transparent, Asabé,” he says. “Tell me about Ɗanjuma.”

     Asabé inhales slowly, and then exhales.

     “Not here,” she says. “Take us somewhere private. And let’s get food. And dessert. And possibly alcohol.”

     “That bad, huh?” Gojo asks with a laugh. Asabé glances up at him sidelong, but she says nothing. Gojo slips an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

     “Hang onto me, baby, I know a place,” he says, wrapping her in his embrace and the world blinks away. Asabé doesn’t see it, burying her face in Gojo’s chest and shutting her eyes. For a blink, there is only the two of them, wrapped up in each other. For a blink, there is only the clean scent of his cologne and him. For a blink her heartbeat races from the warmth of him so close.

     For a blink, everything feels just right.

Masterlist 🧿 Previous Chapter

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN

[osunism]

Summary: A young widowed sorceress seeks protection under the aegis of the HonoredOne, but he has a better idea for keeping her out of the clutches of her dangerous clan.

Warnings: SMUT

🩵 AO3 || FFN 🩵

IV.

     Twilight slips into night, and the penthouse is cast into a stark chiaroscuro of dark and light, silver and shadow, ivory and sienna. The kitchen is unattended, but evidence of its use is everywhere: Dishes in the sink, a pot of jollof rice, still warm from recent preparation, a cutting board and knife abandoned on the counter. The living room too, is unattended, but evidence of its use is everywhere.

     A button-down shirt tossed carelessly over the back of the couch, the pillows strewn about. A pair of panties on the floor, a t-shirt next to them.

     Silence subsumes the penthouse, and yet in one room, beneath a massive skylight, there is the sound of ecstasy reaching toward heaven.

     Asabé thinks this is what dying feels like.

     She’s on her back, staring at the stars overhead, her senses soaked in the sight, scent, and sound of Satoru Gojo ravishing her. Wet, languorous squelching emerges from between her spread thighs, and she imagines what she must look like: a pinned butterfly, Satoru’s strong hands wrapped around her thighs to keep them spread as wide as possible, and his inhuman strength holding her still while she writhes, Satoru’s silver head situated perfectly between. They look like a work of erotic art.

     “S-Satoru…!” She cries out, throwing her head back, lips parted, lifting her hips to match the rhythm of his hungry mouth, of his thrusting tongue. A pair of galactic blue eyes peer up at her, merciless and tender, even as his lips seal over her swollen clit to suck rhythmically. He doesn’t seem phased by her pleas, by the whine in her chest, the way her heels press into his shoulders, her toes curling.

     “I’m going to...I’m going to…gnh fuck…!” Asabé lets out a long, throaty cry as she climaxes, spilling a clear wash of slick into Satoru’s mouth and down his chin. She’s dripping, gushing, and shaking as if she’s going to come apart if he doesn’t keep his grip on her. Her thighs quiver in his grasp, and she pants, spending her energy on additional mewls and whimpers.

     Satoru moans around her clit, licking it tenderly, almost as if he’s complimenting her pussy on being so good for him. To him. He reluctantly pulls away with a wet smack, licking his lips to taste all of her. It’s the third time tonight. He’s had her in the kitchen, on the counter, legs spread, panties pulled to the side. He’s had her in the living room, on the couch, her panties dangling precariously from her foot as he put her legs in the air. He even had her in the hallway, albeit briefly, stroking her with his fingers until she spilled onto his hand and he carried her to his bedroom to spill her onto the bed.

     “You’re doing so good, baby,” he says, his voice slightly husky. He strokes her thighs tenderly, maintaining that strength and keeping her pinned. “You’re capable of more, though, and I want it all. And you want to give it to me, don’t you, baby girl?”

     Asabé looks at him with glittering honey-hued eyes, her expression helpless in the face of such a wild and insatiable request. She nods. Satoru’s eyes are like a benevolent winter, cold but compassionate.

     “Say it,” he orders. “Tell me how badly you want to give yourself to me. How much you want to come for me.”

     “I want to come for you,” Asabé whispers. “I want you to make me come until I can’t…”

     Satoru smiles, and there’s a tender cruelty in it. He squeezes her thighs, looks down at her exposed cunt. It’s swollen and glistening and dripping. He wants to go in for a second tasting. He wants to spend the rest of this assignment sucking on her clit like a Jolly Rancher until she comes enough to give her fucking brain damage. She tastes so fucking good he wants to bottle her flavor and put it in a candy just for him. A pussy pop. He chuckles to himself. What a marvelous idea.

     “Mmm, baby, this is another talent of mine,” Satoru says, and he’s already crawling up her body, trading his grip for his hips to keep her thighs spread. Asabé catches a glimpse of his cock, so hard it brushes against his belly, and she can feel the heat of it against her moist cunt. Satoru reaches over her, grabbing a box of condoms from the nightstand.

     “Help me put this on so I can fulfill my husband duties, baby girl,” he says with a charming grin. She laughs, tearing it open. It’s a favorite brand of hers, and tenderly she grips his cock, delighting in his hiss. She places the condom on the swollen head of his cock, rolling it down slowly to the base. Fuck, he’s so long and thick she knows it’s going to hurt so good. The thought makes her wetter. Gojo doesn’t miss it either, he’s grinning in anticipation and amusement that she’s so eager. As if he’s always known this would happen.

     “You can take it,” he murmurs tenderly, easing his cock into her inch by delicious inch. “I know you can, baby. You’re so strong for me, so wet for me, so goddamn ready.”

     Asabé whimpers as he sinks to the hilt inside of her, her arms coming around him. They’re face to face, now, with him anchored deep within her, her thighs lifted, her legs linked loosely around his waist. For a moment, they simply wait, and she breathes deep, tightening her slick, velvet cunt around him. He shudders in her embrace, leaning in to nip her lush lower lip.

     “Naughty girl,” Satoru coos, clucking his tongue. “You ready?”

     Asabé nods wordlessly.

     When Gojo begins to move, she realizes she’s ready, but not ready for how good it feels. The first withdrawal of his hips, of his cock sliding out of her and then slamming back in, Asabé’s mouth drops open in a soundless cry. Gojo’s eyes are blazing, his pupils blown wide, an expression on his face that scares her and thrills her all in the same breath.

     His speed increases, and suddenly he’s in a steady rhythm, something primordial and ancient. Her nails dig into his back and shoulders, heels pressed into his lower back, urging, urging, urging.

“Mmm…harder, please…!” She hears herself beg, unable to help it, as if every drag of his cock pulls a little bit of her soul out with it. For a moment, Satoru does not adhere to her plea, and instead slows down, torturing her with long, languorous strokes just to change the pitch and length of her moans.

     “Ooooo god…” Her nails drag down his back making him hiss. She’s going to draw blood and he finds he doesn’t mind it. He wants to wear the stripes she gives him, wants to look and see that he can be touched when he wants to be.

     “Tell me what you want, baby girl,” he teases, still moving his hips in deep, long strokes. Asabé looks at him, her gaze unfocused, her mouth trying to shape something akin to what she desires, but the only thing that she can say is his name.

     “What’s that?” He asks. “Is it me you want, baby?” His hips jerk forward, burying his cock into her so roughly it bottoms out and makes her choke. She clings tighter.

     “You have me,” he growls. “You’ve had me since I first looked at you. But I’ve got you too, don’t I? Tell me you want this. Tell me you need this.”

     Asabé can’t help it.

     “I want this…!” She cries and Satoru fucks her harder, making her cry out. “I need this…!”

     Satoru leans up, looking down at her.

     “Damn right you do,” he says, reaching to push her legs over his shoulders. “And I’m going to give it to you, baby. You want it? You want to come all over my cock? Want me to claim you?”

     “Yes!” Asabé sobs, unable to bear the pleasure from this new, deeper angle. Gojo leans forward, folding her in half. Asabé’s hands go to the sheets, fingers curling into a white-knuckled grip as she braces herself.

     And Gojo gives her exactly what she wants, fulfilling her demand, and slaking his desire. He fucks her like a man possessed, like he’s got something to prove, like he heard her siren song and was coming to make good on the promises her voice fed him. And the whole while he can feel the burning damnation of that seal around her neck, her damned wedding ring pressed between them like the final barrier between their fucking souls. Gojo wants to tear it off, wants to break that ensorcelled chain and toss it away. He wants to unleash her, and feel her in full.

     But he doesn’t, and instead he watches her come undone around his cock, again and again. He wrings her limp with sweat and tears, and then he flips her over, dragging her hips up and shoving a pillow under them. Before she can register what he’s doing, he leans over, spreading her thighs wide, and spits directly into her cunt, watching it drip.

     “Mmm…fucking gorgeous…” He hums in approval before fisting his cock and guiding it back into her. This time, he watches as her hands curl into the sheets, her lovely profile contorted in a rictus of ecstasy and shock, and he doesn’t hesitate to set off to a punishing rhythm.

     Throughout the penthouse, there is only the sound of skin slapping skin, and the staccato gasps and moans of a woman who has had her very soul stolen by the Honored One. But as Gojo leans over, covering her hands with his own, and lacing their fingers, he feels as if every tight squeeze and spasm of her cunt is stealing his soul right back.

     Asabé’s vision goes white, and all she can focus on is the sensation of Gojo’s big cock stretching her, every inch of his stroking her walls, rubbing that little plane of nerves that make her feel as if she’s going to combust, until she does with a hoarse cry, shuddering against him.

     “That’s it,” Gojo coos, maintaining his pace. “That’s a good girl. Give me another. Give it all to me. You’re mine, now. I’ve got you.”

     Such beautiful words. And Asabé feels vulnerable enough to believe them. Is this acting? Is this genuine desire? It has to be for how intense it is.

     She gives him another. And then one more.

     “Mmm…” Gojo lets out a growling moan. “You’re taking this cock so well, baby. And your pussy feels like heaven. I don’t want to leave.”

     Asabé finds words in the haze of her pleasure. “Then don’t.”

     Something in her words sends a tingle down his spine, makes his balls tighten in response. He wants to lose the condom, wants to come in her again and again until she’s overflowing and dripping with his essence. He wants to put a fucking baby in this woman. Fuck.

     It’s that last thought that sends him over the edge.

     His thrusts become rougher, and he reaches down to hold her hip while he plows into her.

     “Mrn! That’s right…take it, baby. Take this fucking dick. Let me hear you.”

     Asabé sings for him, her voice reedy and split, and Gojo gives her one last thrust, growling and moaning and whimpering as he empties himself into the condom, wishing it was her.

     In the stillness of the aftermath, there is only their mingled panting. Gojo peppers Asabé’s neck, shoulders, and spine with soft, affectionate kisses, his tongue snaking out to taste the salt of her sweat. Every part of her tastes divine. He’d drink her damn bathwater if she let him.

     Reluctantly, he pulls out, slowly, and both of them groan from the sensation. Asabé shivers. After catching his breath, he rolls over, and Asabé spots a very full condom as he walks to the bathroom to dispose of it. Part of her wishes he would come inside of her. She can picture it, her cunt swollen and abused, dripping with his come and hers. The thought makes her tingle all over and she lets out an involuntary giggle.

     “Something amusing?” Gojo asks, returning from the bathroom. Asabé forgets all thoughts and simply stares at him. She hasn’t gotten the chance to truly look at him, as their coming together was so forceful and consuming there was no time to savor the sight of one another, only the need to slake their mutual desire for each other.

     Satoru Gojo is without a doubt the most beautiful man she has ever laid eyes on.

     His body is a work of martial art, sculpted and honed for combat, housing an even more dangerous mind. His skin is taut over that lean and compact muscled frame, the color of pale ivory, with just a flush of peach in the undertones. A scar, old and pink, runs the length of his torso all the way up to his neck. She wonders who gave it to him, wonders who was strong enough to land such a blow on the untouchable sorcerer. Her gaze slips lower, biting her lip as her cheeks flush warm at the sight of his cock. Even soft it’s formidable, and she can’t imagine how she was able to take it all.

     She supposes that’s why he made love to her with his mouth three times before deigning to fuck her. By that time she was so wet he could have slipped his whole fist in there.

     “Like what you see?” Gojo asks smugly. His eyes are glowing in the darkness, and he approaches the bed with an easy confidence born of years of knowing he is special, knowing he is the best. Knowing he alone is the strongest.

     “Yes,” Asabé whispers. “It’s hard not to, Satoru. You are so beautiful.”

     Gojo tilts his head, grinning. Preening more like. But he’s studying her too.

     His Six Eyes tell him everything. Her heat signatures pooling between her thighs, blooming on her cheeks. The way her heart races when she meets his gaze, the parting of her lips, the soft little intake of breath. Her eyes are so beautiful, guileless and blurred with recent pleasure, glimmering like bronze and honey and gold. Her hair is a little mussed, stray curls framing her beautiful face.

     A scar, silvered and fairly recent, curves around her belly. He knows where it’s from: she’d been torn open in the car accident that took her husband’s life. And on the brink of her own death, she—like him—had discovered how to use reversed curse technique to knit herself back together. He understands her the way no one else can.

     Asabé feels even more naked beneath his scrutiny, despite actually being naked already. She makes a move to get up and leave the room, but Gojo seizes her by the wrist.

     “Stay,” he says softly. “Just for tonight. You shouldn’t sleep alone.”

     Asabé looks at him, doubtful. He lifts her hand, kisses her knuckles.

     “I promise to behave myself,” he says with a smile. “Unless you want me to be bad. I’ll behave, but I’m really hoping you’ll let me be bad at least once before you flee my charms.”

     Asabé laughs despite herself.

     “Are we still being watched?” She asks. Gojo momentarily forgets what she means, but then realizes. At some point, he forgot this was a show they are putting on for the spies circling them. If it’s reported she’s fucking him, that she’s with him, the mission will go well. Nevermind if the lines are a little blurred. It’ll work itself out in the end.

     “Do you honestly care?” He asks her. Asabé’s cheeks flush, even as Gojo pulls her closer.

     “No,” she whispers. “But…I don’t want us to…get too…mmm…” His lips have found her throat and her thoughts seem fuzzy and unimportant suddenly.

     “What is it, baby girl?” He murmurs hotly, his deep voice reverberating against her skin. “Anything you want, name it.”

     Asabé wants him. She wants him so bad it makes her crazy. She wants to push him down, mount his dick, and ride him until he sees stars. She wants to ride his face until it’s soaked with her, until she’s the only sweet thing he wants on his tongue. She wants to fuck him all over this damn penthouse on every surface, in whatever positions their bodies are physically capable of holding. She wants him to open his goddamn domain and fuck her there too, whatever that entails she doesn’t care. In her eyes are all the answers he seeks and he knows it. He grins like a satisfied wolf with blood on its muzzle and room for more prey to hunt.

     “You really are a naughty girl,” he laughs. “I have to wonder how your husband handled your appetite.”

     It’s like ice water. A shock to the system. A shattering of delicately spun glass. Asabé pulls away abruptly. Gojo realizes his mistake, and for once the strongest sorcerer—the fastest sorcerer—is too late to stop the chain reaction of his thoughtless words.

     “Shit,” he says, reaching for her, but she slips from his grasp, and he sees the seal glow against her skin, her cursed energy beating against its borders. An ordinary curse user wouldn’t be able to detect it but nothing escapes the piercing sight of the Six Eyes. He’s struck a raw nerve in her. She’s livid. “Fuck, Asabé, I’m sorry. That was…I shouldn’t have said that.”

     “It’s fine,” she says quickly. Too quickly. Her heart constricts. “It’s fine.” She tries to convince herself.

     But Gojo can see it’s not fine. He reads her with his sight and sees he’s momentarily broken the spell their mutual desire cast on them both. Of course he had to open his fool mouth about her dead husband. And she loved that man! Fuck.

     Asabé bites her lip.

     “I should go shower and get to bed,” she says and Gojo feels a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Goddamnit.

     “Thank you,” she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Chaste compared to everything that came before. “I needed this.”

     And then she leaves the room, taking all the joy and light with her. Satoru stands in a shaft of moonlight, cursing his own foolish pride.

     Asabé regrets leaving as soon as she does it. She wants so badly to turn around, run back to him, tell him his words did not harm her, but they did, and she has her pride, after all. But still, after everything they’ve done together she feels something alien in her when she crawls into her empty bed, smelling of him.

     Shame.

     The realization is like a fist to her gut, and she curls in on herself, biting her lip on an unexpected sob. Had she ever been happy with Jin? A year without him and already that life—that painfully ordinary life—feels like a dream. From the moment she realized her family would come for her, to the moment she laid eyes on Satoru Gojo…everything before feels like someone else’s life.

     Who had she been when she was with Jin? A quiet housewife, no children to speak of because Jin was reluctant. His mother had poured poison in his ear about marrying a foreigner. Jin never could overcome the hurdle of his own shame and self-loathing. And Asabé remembers her fury.

     It comes back to her in a rush. That’s what they had been arguing about. Children. She’d wanted children and he didn’t.

     The rain had been so fucking heavy that day, and she’d been wearing the seal, and they’d been on the road for hours. Her senses were dulled. The domain blended so easily with the mountain road and she didn’t see. And Jin couldn’t see.

     We attract misfortune with our gifts.

So she had said to Satoru not scant hours ago, and so it is true. She could have saved Jin had she not sealed herself. Had she not been so afraid to be what she has always been.

     How did your husband handle your appetite?

Asabé laughs through her tears. Oh, he didn’t. Jin was as ordinary as they came. He’d not thought on ways to prolong pleasure, to indulge, to savor. Sex was a duty to him, and obligation at the worst of times, and an excuse for him to get off at the best. But Asabé doesn’t remember being fully present. Everything about that life had been painfully ordinary. And she had wanted children so badly. Motherhood called to her like her own song turned against her. And Jin had refused.

     And then she met Satoru.

     Satoru is a star amongst gems. A meteor streaking across everyone’s sky: beautiful, destructive, and life-changing. Everything about him is so much, but never has Asabé seen someone so ardently hungry for life. Where others sip from the cup of life modestly, or worse: let it pass them by untasted, Satoru drinks deep. He is thorough in everything he does, deadly serious even beneath that cheerful, laid-back exterior.

     She wanted him from the moment she laid eyes on him with no blindfold. Nothing between her and those stolen pieces of heaven that pass for his eyes. He makes it so easy to fall for him she feels foolish. It’s a role to him, she reminds herself, part and parcel to the protection detail and the ruse they’re putting on for the benefit of fooling her father’s enforcers. But part of her feels sick. If he can do this so easily with her, how many others has he provided this service for?

     Her mind reels until finally, exhausted, she sleeps, slipping down into the blissfully dreamless dark.

     Breakfast is awkward. Gojo wants to laugh because it’s almost as if they are married, with all it’s attendant foibles. Asabé’s demeanor is cold when she makes her coffee. Great, she’s playing the role of the cold bitch wife. He supposes he has to play the role of indifferent husband. So he does.

     “I’ve got work to do at the school today,” he says in a tone that just barely crosses the threshold of professional. “You’ve got run of the penthouse, of course. And Ijichi and Kimura are on call if you need anything done or to go anywhere.”

     Asabé looks a little surprise, and he watches her pulse leap a little, her heartrate increases.

     “How long will you be gone?” She ventures. Careful, trying to sound indifferent when her vitals are screaming for him to stay.

     “Depends,” he says nonchalantly, slipping on his blindfold. “Don’t wait up for me.”

     Before Asabé can register the dagger of his words, he blinks out of sight. There’s no sound, no record of his ever having stood there. He’s simply gone. Asabé doesn’t want to register why this exchange feels like the beginning of a heartbreak. She’s gotten to know him over the course of a few days, yet when they talk it feels as if they’ve known each other for lifetimes. He’s so easy to talk to, and he listens well. For all his arrogance, he listens to her like no one else in her life has. And he hears her…and sees her.

     She deserves to live a life where she doesn’t have to seal her power.

And he’s right. He’s so fucking right. For the last five years she has kept a vital part of herself sealed away, claiming it was to keep Jin safe but really she is scared. Scared of what she’s capable of, scared of what her family will do when they catch her, and scared of what lengths she will go to keep the small scrap of freedom she has.

     Since Jin died, she has been beholden to no one. She hasn’t spoken to his family since the funeral, and even then, only the requisite words of respect due to the widow were exchanged. All ritual and ceremony.

     “Mschewww,” Asabé sucks her teeth contemptuously. She is tired of these people treating her like an interloper and afterthought. “Agbaya.” Directed at one Satoru Gojo.

     Asabé grasps the sealing chain that holds the ring that keeps her cursed energy undetectable. She pulls it over her head, tosses it onto the kitchen’s island counter. Then, she exhales for what feels like the first time in almost a decade.

     Yes, a voice inside of her crows in relieved triumph. YES!

Asabé’s cursed energy spills from her like champagne and fire, expanding and filling up all the space in the penthouse. She sees for the first time, why Gojo’s home is so secure.

     Every single window, from the living rooms, to the bedrooms, and even the skylights…are inscribed with cursed energy seals. It is elegant work, complex work, too complex for her to comprehend outright. Whatever it is, it keeps curse users at bay, and contains whatever cursed energy is released inside.

     She can feel her power pressing against it, feels the tingle as the seals press back. Solid. Unbreakable. Gojo is a fucking genius, and he would have to be, having been hunted since birth. It doesn’t matter, she’s free, and she’s done hiding. If he wants her at her full power, he’ll have her.

     Somewhere, Satoru Gojo smiles in satisfaction.

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