Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You never wanted this. 

To be thrust into an arranged marriage that you were certain your husband would detest was never something you desired. Especially to such a man as him. This man, one of such renown, married to you? A clan member who couldn’t even wield the very basics jujutsu? Where his distinguished, formidable strength looks like a joke beside his doormat of a wife? A wife who was always mere refuse to be disposed of? 

The covenant of marriage is the most venerated, most blessed of contacts between two individuals who love each other. A ‘covenant’ is the highest form of a contract in and of itself. And matrimony is one that has been hailed and celebrated and accosted for millennia. 

Why are marriages of convenience hardly addressed? When they are so common, even in an era of humanity where they are scarcely organised anymore? Espousal was something continuously arranged between children of monarchs or nobles, all for the benefit of their families’ pockets and reputation.

Your circumstances are no different. You were the runt of the clan. Runts are never of any use to anybody. Especially not in a society so set apart from the normalcy of non-sorcerers, where they have it so easy, living in ignorance to the incessant, looming threat surrounding them. The world of jujutsu is harsh, demanding, and tyrannical. Above all, it is political.

A child with a limp was the first flaw. A small girl who had her leg irreparably damaged one day at the age of four, all because of her own childish folly. 

Hope still remained within the clan leaders for the girl’s future. They thought that, despite her impaired limb, she would exhibit great talent and aptitude for the clan’s signature technique when she reached age six. Many past sorcerers had managed to work with missing limbs or other permanent injuries, and still remained formidable in battle—so, what could possibly make her any different?

Yet, no such thing revealed itself in the child. The mishap was an extreme and unacceptable blow to the clan elders’ pride. No fruition came from their own expectations. Expectations that were not so far-fetched for the civic world of jujutsu, yet the child proved to be a disappointment regardless.

Talentless at jujutsu, the only thing that kept you from being completely thrown out was your sufficient amount of cursed energy to be considered sorcerer material and the ability to see curses themselves. The clan’s technique never manifested itself within you. You only knew the most basic of self-defence; unable to take lessons to greater heights because of your impairment.

You became, and was made, a recluse. The clan elders paid you no heed. They were generous enough to give you a room befitting of your status, but that was where their hospitality ended. The servants didn’t respect you. No one respected you. You were alone.

Despite all of that, your life was relatively peaceful, and, more frankly, boring. The harrowing mistreatment you suffered as a small child after it was discovered you were nugatory eventually died down. You spent your teenage years in the shadow of your accomplished and gifted younger cousin, Asuka. 

And then, one day, at age twenty, everything went downhill.

You supposed it had always been only a matter of time until things took a turn for the worse. In this world, it had always only been a matter of time until you were cast out of the clan, once and for all.

“It’s time you were put to some kind of good use,” your great-uncle, the clan chief, said to you that horrible day. His fingers had been steepled into a calculating pose upon his desk that raised gooseflesh on your arms. “You’ve lived in peace here, leeching off of the fruits of your fellow clan members’ labour, for long enough.”

Gripping your cane, your fingernails bit into its leather handle, form tense on the chair you sat upon, and you had swallowed nervously. “…I’m afraid I don’t…exactly understand, great-uncle.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he had sighed resignedly and snatched up a brush, dipping it in the nearby ink pot, turning his attention to the paperwork before him. “Ever since the futility of your existence to the clan was revealed all those years ago, you’ve dwelled here sheltered and duty-free. Surely, you didn’t really believe we wouldn’t notice. Well, now it is time to give you something to do.”

Drawing your lips out into a thin line, you had shakily replied, “What is it that I am to do, great-uncle?”

“Marry.” He began to write on a piece of paper. “There is a man who is in need of a wife, if his clan’s lineage is to continue. Asuka-chan is not of age yet. You’re the only female here who’s…somewhat suitable.” He had looked up and at you with nothing to mask his contempt. His glance was brief and he refocused on his paperwork once more. “Our tribe is one of the greatest. We are a match for him, and the joining of our kinsmen would prove greatly advantageous to us.”

You sensed there was something more to this; his explanation of the situation was vague, ambiguous. Our tribe is one of the greatest. Was there something wrong with the clan that, as he had said, your sheltered self was not privy to?

“May I ask why I must marry this man?” There were a lot of things you had been dreading throughout your life here, and marriage was one of them. But, you had taken comfort in the belief that you were not of worthy calibre at all to be married off to another. This is not good. This was not good at all.

Does he know of how truly defective I am? If he did—or if anyone did, for that matter—you would be as good as dead.

Your hand rested subconsciously on your lower stomach, sweat beading on your top lip. No one can know. 

How do I make sure no one knows?

He already said that this marriage would only be to continue the bloodline of your unknown future husband’s clan. It would be revealed sooner or later.

Your great-uncle paused, and a rush of cold panic hit you. Stupid! How could I ask such a thing? Your duty, as a woman in this world, was to sit still, silent and pretty. Don’t ask questions, just do as told.

But the clan leader had sighed and set his brush down. Although he evidently disfavoured you, he did not seem to be one prone to smashing a vase over your head at even the slightest slip up. If asking a perfectly reasonable question wasconsidered a ‘slip up’. And, thankfully, he didn’t think it one. Pursing his lips, he fixed you with a detached, uninterested stare. “No point in sugarcoating it, I suppose. It’s like this: our clan has fallen into dire straits. Enough to be a concern. You’re the only woman of marriageable age here. You may be a defect and a terribly embarrassing stain on our reputation—and it is utterly humiliating to have to offer someone as incompetent as you up to such a renowned man—but I’ve thought long and hard about this, and found that we have no choice. You are to be married, limp leg and all, in three months’ time.”

Overlooking his slights, you focused on the crucial aspects, fighting to push the further truth of the matter, that only you knew, away. “…Alright.” You tried to remember all of the eminent bachelors known in jujutsu society, and couldn’t think of one you would be suited to wed. “Who is the man I am to marry?”

Your great-uncle seemed faintly satisfied with your acceptance of the matter. You supposed he thought you’d throw a hissy at being forced into an arranged marriage, something all women dreaded. Of course, you were most certainly not at all pleased, but what could you do? Refuse? What choice did you even have? Maybe the only upside about this whole fiasco is that you’d finally be out of the horrid place and elsewhere.

Or maybe thrown into something worse. You couldn’t bear to think of it. Everything was already unbearable enough as it was.

And, considering the secret you held, that was only a given.

“I’m sure you know of the Gojo clan, and just how important they are.” Your breath had caught. Oh, no. It can’t be. The clan leader picked up the teapot at his side and poured some tea into a cup, not offering you any. “They are greatly acclaimed and with a flawless reputation. How wonderful would that be for us?” He took a sip. “The Gojo clan elders and fellow higher-ups began to speak of how the man is in need of a wife. And, seeing the opportunity, we sent them a letter of proposal. It was immediately accepted—by the man himself, even.”

It can’t be. It can’t be. Not him! You swallowed harshly, with great struggle, heart about to beat out of your chest. The words were an endeavour to get out. “And he is…?”

“Unfortunately, we could not leave any details about you out without being put at even greater risk. Imagine you turning up to the wedding with that leg of yours and unable to even imbue a mere spoon with cursed energy!” He ignored your quiet, hesitant question, and barked a laugh. “The highest of insults, that’s what that would be. He’d probably kill us all.” Your great-uncle shook his head, unaware and uncaring of your strained self-control and suspense. You needed him to confirm that it wasn’t the man you were thinking of. 

The chief then waved a hand dismissively. “Point is, he’s agreed to marry you. I was so immensely surprised when I got the letter back. The proposal has been accepted, and you are now an engaged woman.”

You fought to keep yourself from having a panic attack. Unclenching your teeth, you asked, “Who is he, great-uncle?”

He looked at you. And he really looked at you. He silently interlinked his hands and stared at you from over the top of them with such an imperious gaze, and you felt like a mere ant under the sole of his foot. “When I tell you that this is the greatest honour you will ever be graced with, I mean it. It will likely be the only honour you’ll ever receive. Remember that everything is on the line here. Our family’s esteem, our family’s heritage and wealth—and your life. Everything is in jeopardy. Do not screw this up.”

“Yes, great-uncle.” You lowered your head, inwardly exasperated at him still withholding who the damn man was. You took a deep breath and tried to relax. “I understand, sir.”

“Good.” His chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “You are to marry this man in three months, as I said, and you will pack your bags and leave.” He leaned forward again. “If you do anything wrong and are sent back here, we’ll feed you to the dogs. Is that understood?”

His threats were not empty. You shakily nodded, frightened at how that future was easily envisioned, and virtually guaranteed. “…Yes, great-uncle.”

“Right. I am glad to hear that.” The man shuffled through his papers a bit, and then handed you one. “Take this and read over it well.”

Reading it, ice-cold sweat broke out over you. “Is—is this…”

“Yes.” Your suspicions were confirmed. No! “That is the man you are to marry.”

The paper in your hold began to tremble. “Him…?”

You must have done something truly abominable in your past life to be punished with this kind of fate. This man, of all men? Why? Even with your ‘sheltered’ lifestyle, you knew of him. Everyone did. It was vague, but you had memory of coming across him once when you were about seventeen. 

This man was the strongest, and inescapable.

Your great-uncle elicited a wearied sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Must I repeat myself? Yes.” He picked up his brush once more, dipping it in the ink pot. The man paid your visible shock no heed. “On the eleventh of January next year, you will marry Gojo Satoru.”

The months leading up to the wedding were frenetic.

But today would decide whether the scales would tip in your favour, or if everything will go down the drain. You worried your bottom lip, smudging the lip gloss that had been applied by some maids assigned to you to doll you up for his arrival. One of the servants noticed and, considering how scorned you were in the clan, she was not afraid to click her tongue at you and wrench open the lip gloss tube again.

“You keep messing everything up!” She forcefully reapplied it, glowering at you. “Our heads will roll if there’s a single mistake today. Be more careful.”

You uttered no word in reply. Inside, you were indignant and ashamed that this servant girl would speak in such disrespectful manner to you, but you had no power here. You never had, and that would probably remain the same even after your marriage to Gojo Satoru.

Why must I be selected to marry him? There were countless other clans to choose from—the Kamo clan, the Zen’in clan, the Inumaki clan, and the Fujiwara clan—ones who doubtlessly had beautiful and mighty women that were a perfect match for a man of his calibre. Ones who wouldn’t make his strength look like a farce when he was placed next to them. 

I suppose it’s because our clan is the only one on relatively good terms with the Gojos. And your clan was also just as renowned as the Kamos and Zen’ins. Why wouldn’t they wait until the likes of Asuka was of age? She was pretty, promising, and well on her way to being the next prodigy of the clan. The ‘one in millennia’ sort of thing. The one who could possibly one day even be a match for the strongest himself.

You knew that was a pipe dream, really—the clan elders were reaching for the stars again, clinging to that hope that Asuka would never turn out a setback like you.

Their prayers were answered. Asuka had mastered the clan’s technique at age twelve. Now fifteen, the higher-ups only had to wait one more year until she was of age to marry Gojo Satoru. Of course, there was no thought put into how the man was much too old for her, for only political and financial reasons were considered. You doubted the man would accept such a young bride, anyway. You didn’t know much about him in general, but you knew he had morals.

You were only two years younger than Gojo. It made sense to you why you were selected—but why were you even considered, apart from you being the only eligible woman in the clan? You have had to walk with a cane for almost two decades. You cannot, as your great-uncle so kindly put it, even imbue a spoon with cursed energy. All you could do was see cursed spirits and sense cursed energy.

A terribly embarrassing stain on our reputation, your great-uncle had said. Your family’s renowned technique was one of great danger to its enemies—the technique was notoriously difficult to harness, and a swift drainer of cursed energy, but when used, the consequences for the recipient were dire. Requiring great concentration and timely application, your tribe’s technique could drain the cursed energy from their opponent and store it for themselves. Essentially, using another’s energy against them, by ridding the foe of it. Of course, your clan was on the ‘good side’, so to speak, and only used such a tactic on cursed spirits or curse users. Along with several other advantageous traits, ‘Evocation of Essence’ (as it was cheesily dubbed millennia ago) was an immensely hazardous and mighty technique exclusive to your family name. 

And to think Asuka had mastered it at only age twelve. You pursed your lips and looked down at your hands. The girl need only exist, and you are shown up for the futility you hold on the daily.

You were not jealous of her, no. She was only a child. Her being groomed and trained by the clan elders for ‘greatness’ was no fault of hers. Asuka never had a choice in the matter. Just like you. And, really, you were glad you were the one being exposed to this, not someone undeserving and innocent like her.

“You are ready, my lady,” one of the politer maids said, stepping away from having just applied the finishing touches to your hair. This will be ten times worse on the wedding day. She was even respectful enough to bow. “You must head to the waiting room to receive your guest now.”

“Thank you,” you softly acknowledged, rather moved by her courteousness. It was once in a blue moon you were talked to in such a way. “Please hand me my cane.”

Dutifully, the young girl handed it to you and you stood to your feet without much struggle. The door was opened for you, and you were led by a silent guard through the winding halls of your clan estate to the centre common room of the manor. You needed to be there, ready to greet your fiancé, before he arrived. Not only that, but you would be in the presence of your great-uncle, your ailing grandfather (former clan head) and aunt. They were the clan elders, as your parents had passed long ago, and were unabashed about expressing their deep regret at your existence.

This is the first time I’ve been in all three’s presence for years. The one you dreaded the most was your aunt. Being Asuka’s mother, the way she treated you before the girl’s birth and manifestation of potential was grievous. You never wished to lay eyes on her again. Six years later, you were put in a precarious position with the woman once more.

“About time you arrived,” were the first words of said woman as the reception room’s doors opened and you entered. Immediately, all of your previous inner pep talks and self-encouragement about holding your head high and ‘not letting her get to you’ went out the window. Once more, you were internally reduced to a shaking child of seven with a battered frame and empty stomach. Chinatsu, her name was, one of high revere and reputation within the jujutsu world, and your father’s sister. She held great political sway over jujutsu society. “I think I finally sprouted some grey hairs and wrinkles as you took your sweet time to show up.”

The room was filled with more people than just the three—some other elders you did not recognise sat nearby, all hailing from different clans, and all present to oversee the long-awaited arrangement of Gojo Satoru’s betrothal. And each chuckled at her toneless jest, all considering a lark at your expense immensely amusing. It’s always easy to pick on the less fortunate.

Masking your tumult, you meekly bowed your head. “My apologies.”

“Sit down,” she brusquely commanded, rolling her eyes at your limping gait and the tight hold on your walking stick. It was always taxing to remain standing for too long, and the lengthy walk to this room had taken a toll on your leg. The hand bracing your weight as you leaned against your cane was visibly shaking with exertion. 

So you sat, and you tried to ignore the side-eyes from everyone in the room. Your aunt made no attempt to conceal her evident disdain at your presence. Inwardly sighing, you knew a lecture was on its way.

“Now, let me lay a few things out straight for you, girl,” she began, leaning back in her chair with one leg slung over the other, her arms crossed. “When he arrives, you stand up and give him your seat. If he declines, insist he take it. I doubt he will, though. Take one look at you for a bride, and he’ll wish he never came.”

It was starting to get harder to bear. This was the tone she took on before she would give you a beating as a child. But you gulped it down and steeled yourself. She can’t touch me here. I’m fine. It will be fine.

The woman continued, “And then you will remain completely silent. Speak only when you are spoken to. Which you won’t be. Act as if you are not even here. Don’t even look at him.”

“Chinatsu, dear, be a bit less harsh,” your grandfather cut in, waving a wrinkled hand at her gently. The wizened old man wasn’t coming to your aid, no—no one would. He was just concerned for the guests. It wouldn’t do to have these affluent people overhear the doormat of the clan be so obviously walked all over. There had to be at least some dignity retained. “I’m sure she already understands such elements.” Then he turned to you, old eyes hard. “Don’t you?”

Again, you lowered your head. “Yes, grandfather.”

“There you have it. Only thing she’s got going for her is that she’s not stupid. Let us engage in some light conversation while we await that boy’s arrival. Refreshments, anybody?”

And so your aunt backed off, and polite chatter began to filter about the room. No one addressed you, and nor were you offered any refreshments. You were left to awkwardly sit and stare at the floor in silence.

A quarter of an hour passed by when your great-uncle clicked his tongue. “That kid is never punctual. How long is he going to take?”

“If you were engaged to such a woman as that, would you want to arrive on time?” your aunt replied, chuckling dourly to herself as she inspected her nails. “No, I would relish every last moment of freedom I had.”

A delegate from the Kamo clan chortled. “My goodness, ma’am, you most certainly don’t mince your words.”

“There has never been any point,” she amusedly answered. “I feel awful for poor Satoru. How unfortunate was he when his clan requested this engagement. But, well, how could we have ever resisted such a tantalising offer?”

Throughout your life, you had grown a relatively thick skin to such constant ridicule. Although the words stung, the insults had become almost like water off a duck’s back for you. Maybe one day, you would be able to bear such villification and feel nothing.

What you were most afraid of right now, however, was the man’s imminent arrival. You don’t believe you had ever met. What will he think when he lays eyes on me? He would probably be gravely disappointed and, even worse, insulted. You wouldn’t blame him. If you were the strongest and coerced into a marriage with such a spouse as yourself, you wouldn’t be very pleased either.

Where is Asuka? This was a very formal familial gathering, surely even she would be present. But considering how particular her poor excuse for a mother was about her training, the girl would likely be in the courtyard, doing her daily drills and exercising. You felt sorry for her.

Neither of you were close, but you weren’t enemies, either. You weren’t much of a threat to her, anyway. She outshone you so brightly, you couldn’t ever even hope to compare.

A servant entered and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the people in the room. “Apologies for the interruption, but he has arrived.”

“Finally,” you heard your aunt mutter, and everyone stood to attention—except your grandfather, because he couldn’t stand—for Gojo Satoru’s entrance. What is he, royalty? Perhaps this was out of obligation, forced respect—which you suspected. Everyone in the room was at his mercy. The man wasn’t known for being quick-tempered, but you supposed no one wanted to take any chances.

The double doors creaked open, and in strode the towering, ivory-haired, blindfolded pride of the Gojo clan, Gojo Satoru.

“Goodness me!” were his first words, and he stopped before the room as the doors eased shut behind him, taking in all the politely standing guests in the room. “What a welcome this is. I guess it half makes up for my wasted time, that I could be spending teaching instead of humouring you lot.”

“Gojo Satoru, welcome.” Your great-uncle breezed over his brazen words and stepped forward, outstretching his arms in a cordial gesture of greeting. “It is an honour to receive you today. Please, sit down. Would you care for any refreshments?”

“Don’t bother if there’s no kikufuku. Let’s just get this over with,” is all he replied with. He allowed your great-uncle to lead him forward to sit. Quickly, you stepped out of the way and made yourself as invisible as you could manage, praying he wouldn’t notice you.

“Well, then, shall we begin?” your grandfather ahemed and spoke up this time, pointedly looking at your great-uncle. “I hope you don’t mind the onlookers gathered to witness this joyous event today, Gojo-san.”

“Joyous!” he snorted, flopping down in your chair. Quietly, you stepped aside so you were behind him, out of his line of sight, stomaching the pain in your leg. Gojo rested his elbow against the arm rest and placed his cheek against his fist, never having noticed you. His countenance was very informal—his legs were splayed wide, his regalia was not one fitting of this stately meeting, and his hair was tousled, held up into white spikes by his blindfold. You supposed this was his way of making it known just how highly he regarded this. He can’t wait to get out of here.

Fair enough. You wanted nothing more than to leave and never see any one of these people ever again, too. At least that was one thing you held in common with this man.

“Ahem, yes, well—Chinatsu, go ahead.”

“Of course, father,” your aunt smiled warmly at the man before her. “First of all, welcome, Gojo-san, and thank you for the proposal. We understand just how—”

“I didn’t propose it,” he corrected.

The woman shifted awkwardly. “Aha, naturally. Ahem, as I was saying, we understand just how inconvenient this is for you. However, the mutual gains outweigh the losses. Of course, the bride we have provided for you is not…the most satisfactory, to be polite about it…” She shot you a look before refocusing on Gojo. “But it is the best we can do. She may not be able to wield jujutsu, and neither is she fully able-bodied, but—”

“Where is she, then?” Gojo straightened from leaning against his fist and crossed his arms. “Considering all the slights you’re spouting about my bride-to-be right now, it sounds like you don’t want me to marry her and thus bring great prestige to your clan. That’s the goal, isn’t it? Let’s give all the sweet talk a rest for now and get to the point. I will be the judge of whether my ‘unsatisfactory bride’ is fit to marry or not.”

“I…I see. You are right.” She nodded stiffly, trying to conceal her aggravation at his blatant impertinence, and turned to you. “Well, dear, go on,” she stiffly urged, teeth gritted. “Introduce yourself.”

Swallowing thickly, you stepped forward reluctantly, face twitching with a slight wince at the exertion on your leg, and you stopped before Gojo Satoru. You kept your eyes down, bowing. “Welcome, Gojo Satoru. It is an honour to meet you. My name is [Y/N].”

There was silence for a beat. You felt a drop of sweat trickle down from the back of your neck, under your dress and down your spine. 

And then, “So, it’s you.” 

How cryptic. You had no idea what to make of his tone. He sounded neither happy nor disappointed. And then you saw a bright smile gradually spread across his face from the corner of your eye. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Again? Reflexively, you flicked your gaze up to look at him, and was met with a blindfold. Not being able to see his eyes intimidated you, and you realised with a jolt of fear that you had looked at him when your aunt specifically told you not to. So you cast your eyes down again timidly, bowing your head lower. My leg will give out if I have to keep this up! “Apologies, Gojo-san, bu—”

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘again’?” your aunt interrupted, leaning forward and frowning. “I…fail to recall a time when the both of you could have become acquainted before today.”

“Oh, of course.” Gojo didn’t turn to her. He just kept looking up at you, and you tried not to squirm under his scrutiny. “It was long ago, anyway. I doubt [Y/N] here would remember.”

You awkwardly flattened your lips and kept your gaze carefully away. You had faint memory of one instance when you were seventeen and you had both crossed paths, but you did not speak to one another. You only remembered an obscured pair of eyes behind dark shades and the sensation of being stared at, and that was all previous memory you had of Gojo Satoru. But what surprised you most was that he remembered something along such lines. You were not a very memorable person. And most certainly not for an exalted and very memorable individual like Gojo Satoru.

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had forgotten something awfully important. Something terribly detrimental.

“Well, do you remember?” Your aunt couldn’t keep the snap out of her tone this time. She hastily smoothed it over with a tight, but pleasant, smile, adding, “My dear?”

“I-I apologise, but I cannot recollect any memory of a past meeting, Gojo-san…” What remembrance you did have had no real significance, anyway. It felt like you were on death row, and every word you said was one step closer to your head being on the chopping block. “That is my mistake. Forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved a dismissive hand, unbothered, and finally looked away. “It doesn’t have…much to do with this, anyway. Perhaps I’m thinking of another.”

Yes, perhaps you are. How could he remember you? Someone so notable, so indelible? Opposed to the likes of you, Gojo Satoru even recognising you somehow left you bewildered. I must consider it an honour, if anything.

For the world shifted on the 7th of December, 1989. When this man was born, a bounty was immediately placed on his head. 

Even as an infant, he was the strongest.

“Well…now that you are both…officially acquainted, we shall discuss the proceedings of this marriage.” This time, your great-uncle took the wheel. “Gojo-san, do you agree to it?”

“Yes,” he immediately answered. “I will marry her.”

Astonished, every onlooker in the room excitedly murmured about themselves at the unexpectedly direct confirmation. He instantly agreed. You almost fell over in shock.

Clearly, neither your aunt, great-uncle or grandfather were expecting this, for they all exchanged wide-eyed glances. Clearing his throat to silence everybody, your grandfather quietly said, “…Are you absolutely sure, Gojo-san?”

“Do you want me to marry her or not?” The man crossed his arms. “None of you sound very eager to get rid of her. Which you clearly want to do.”

Your head snapped to him, utterly astounded and offended. Must he point out the obvious and humiliate me more? You pursed your lips and hesitantly looked at your aunt.

She was red-faced and livid. Noticing this, your great-uncle jumped in before she could impulsively say something the entire clan would later regret. “That—That is…we are just looking out for…her. This is all for both our benefits, you see.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it is.” You had mixed feelings about this man. Does he really want to marry me? You doubted that somehow. And yet, he instantly agreed to wed you. Gojo stretched out his legs and crossed them over one another in a languid pose. “I can see that this poor woman here is just the apple of your eye.” Then he straightened and leaned forward, fingers steepled, elbows on his knees. “Look, I may be wearing a blindfold, but I’m not blind. At all. You think I can’t see what’s really at work here, under the surface? I thought all of you would have long learnt to never underestimate me.”

“Of course not!” your aunt hastily assured him. “We would never. We have only your best interests at heart, truly. Please know that we fully understand if you are unhappy with…her.”

Instead of replying to her, he turned to you once more. “You have a permanently injured leg, don’t you?”

“…Yes,” you responded softly after a pause, taken aback by the sudden question. 

“Did they force you to stand up so I could sit down?”

You were stunned silent. If I say yes, I’ll probably be beaten. You swallowed, debating your next words. When will I be able to speak for myself?

You clutched at the handle of your cane. “…No.”

You saw the material of his blindfold shift; he had narrowed his eyes beneath it. “Hm. Okay.” There was a tense pause, then Gojo stood to his feet. “Please, sit.”

You gawked up at him, as did everyone else. “I—I’m sorry…?”

“Are you not even allowed to sit down in this household?” He tilted his head at you. “You are a lady, and my future wife. Please take my seat.”

Your heart lurched in your chest. You were utterly baffled, speechless. “I—I…thank you, Gojo-san.”

“Satoru,” he corrected, tone so unexpectedly gentle, offering you a hand to hold as you guided yourself to finally sit. Gojo’s grasp was warm, and his hand enveloped yours entirely. You tried not to sigh heavily in relief once you were sitting again; you were too busy staring up at him with wide, questioning eyes. “S-Sorry?”

“You may call me Satoru,” he softly reiterated, his dimples showing as he smiled. “Since we’re to be married.”

“We’ve…only just met, though.”

“Yes, but we’re to be married,” Gojo repeated, shrugging. Then he turned back to the dumbfounded three in front of you both. “When’s the wedding again?”

“Uh—it-it’s scheduled for the eleventh of January…” your great-uncle stuttered in reply. “That is in three weeks…”

Gojo heaved a sigh. “Alright, then. Well, since I’ve agreed and all, it should be settled, right?” He smiled tauntingly at the clan elders, and they all looked warily at each other, beginning to bob their heads in unsure affirmation. His grin widened. “Wrong.” He faced you again. “What do you say? Do you want to marry me?”

“I…” What choice do I have? You had none. Everyone here, even him, knew you didn’t have a choice. People like you never have a choice.

“…I will marry you,” you eventually replied, lowering your head.

“But do you want to?”

Why does he keep insisting? It just kept putting you in more and more of a precarious position with your clan even further. Finally, you gave him a quizzical look and slowly nodded. “Yes.” No.

Gojo’s lips pursed, and he was quiet for a moment, just staring down at you with his hands in his pockets. Finally, he exhaled through his nose. “Alright, then, that settles it. That’s it for the meeting, right? I’ve got things to do.”

“Of—of course,” your aunt stammered, and as Gojo headed for the door, everyone, including you, stood to see him out. With his back turned, she grabbed your arm and pushed you along faster, nails biting into your skin. She’s furious. Again, that fear you felt when you were a child. So raw and real. “Your fiancée here will see you out.” And the woman shot you a look screaming, don’t argue.

The doors opened, and he paused, turning to face the room again. But Gojo Satoru looked at you. “You don’t want this, do you?”

You weren’t super appreciative of how he was pointing out everything you were feeling in front of everyone. With one last nudge that appeared gentle, but was really very harsh, you were shoved forward by your aunt to stand before the strongest. Yet again, you did nothing but lower your head, and quietly responded for his ears only, “I am not sure.”

He stepped forward and took your free hand, bringing it to his lips. Placing a gentle kiss to the top of it, Gojo smiled at you. “Shall we talk outside for a moment?”

Murmurs resounded about the room, and you looked back at your great-uncle—but it was your aunt who gave you a murderous look and nodded once. Chewing on your bottom lip, you turned to Gojo once again. He hadn’t let go of your hand; it was still held up to his mouth. “Yes.”

So, the door shut behind you both, and you were led out to a small patio nearby, the area sunlit and warm, perfect for a private talk. The moment you were left alone, you turned to Gojo and bowed deeply. This is my chance. This was your chance to cancel the whole thing—all to save your own sorry hide. I’m tired of having no choice. “I would like to sincerely apologise for the awkward circumstance you have been forced into—”

“I never asked for an apology from you,” he quietly interrupted. Gojo grabbed the nearby chair and pulled it out. “And please sit here. I can see that standing on your leg for too long takes its toll on you.”

You blushed, humiliated. It’s the way I look so pitiful next to this man! “…Marrying me would bring irreparable damage to your name, Gojo-san.”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Satoru?” He kindly guided you to sit down. And then he took a seat across from you, slipping off his blindfold. A pair of the bluest eyes you had ever seen gazed at you through snowy locks. “And let me tell you right now—I do not give a shit about what other people think of me. In fact, I make it my life’s purpose to show those blood-suckers—” he pointed indoors, “—that they do not run my life. I run my own. I do what I want.”

“Forgive me for being blunt, but I do believe that is only because you are ‘the strongest’.”

“Be as blunt as you want. You’re going to be living with me for the rest of your life, anyway.” He shrugged, and you felt your heart jerk at his words. “And, yeah, you’re right. I’m the strongest, but those leeches never quit trying to make me their puppet.”

“Then this leads me to understand that you cannot comprehend just how treacherous of a position I am currently in. I am the black sheep of this family.” You turned your face away from him, unable to hold those blue eyes. Inwardly, you were applauding yourself for speaking without stuttering. Having an actual one-on-one conversation with another was not something you had experienced in years, and you were trying very hard not to have an anxiety attack. “They are doing everything in their power to be rid of me. And if you had declined the marriage proposal, I…” Drawing in a deep breath, you trailed off, then forced a smile. “Well. You get the gist of it. Point is, I do not want this marriage at all.” You were lying through your teeth. I have to get him to decline. If you didn’t, the true extent of your sheer inadequacy will be revealed. I do want to marry him, just to get out of here, but I won’t be safe with him either. “I’m giving you the opportunity to back out now while you have the chance.”

“You’re negotiating?” Gojo tilted his head at you and crossed his arms, slinging one leg over the other. He even arched a brow. “You know this is advantageous to your clan. And you. And, most importantly, me. What makes you think I’m going to back out?”

You lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. You didn’t look him in the eye. I’d rather stay here than suffer the humiliation of a divorce. You’d be killed for bringing great shame down on your family. “…I am a cripple. I can’t wield any jujutsu.” To demonstrate, you picked up the small potted plant on the outdoor coffee table before you both. With all your might, you tried to channel your cursed energy into it—and, soon, you were sweating from the mental and physical exertion. You smiled unsteadily at him. “See? Compared to you, I am even less than pathetic. And that image will reflect onto you, whether you care about your reputation or not.” 

Gojo was silent for a moment, just watching as you shakily put the plant back where it was. You decided to use his silence as a chance to continue speaking. “It is not unknown how—although you believe it your duty, as the strongest, to protect them—low of a regard you hold weak people in. Why would you accept me as a bride when there are countless others from fellow clans to choose from? Ones that are strong, capable, beautiful, and have talent in all things jujutsu? I really don’t think this marriage is worth it.”

Better being harshly castigated for getting him to call off the wedding than die for being divorced. You feared the consequences, yes, but they would be short-lived. Another year or two and you could melt back into the background again, unnoticed once more. 

“If it brings any comfort, I have only chosen to marry you because of an heir.” 

Exactly why this can’t go through! “I know. Even so, I don’t believe I’m a suitable spouse in that regard, either.”

“Why?” Gojo squinted at you. “Are you unable to have children?”

“I—No…” You tried not to avoid his eyes and thus blow your cover. “I…can have children. I just…”

“Don’t want to?” 

“…I suppose so…” You awkwardly scratched your cheek. “I understand that it’s the point of our marriage. But—well, in short, I’d rather not…do this.”

“I see,” he said after a moment. Gojo gazed out into the garden the patio overlooked, before sighing. “I’m still going through with the marriage, though.”

“…Sorry?” You balled your hands into fists on your lap.

He looked at you intently with striking cerulean eyes. “I’m still going to marry you.”

“Why…?” His adamance utterly bewildered you.

“Because.” Gojo held the stare for a bit too long before shrugging. “It gets a lot of things off my back. Off your back. I can see you’re itching to get out of here. So am I. Do you know where we’ve been ordered to go for our honeymoon?”

You hadn’t travelled out of your clan estate in a very long time. The offer was…enticing. “Where?”

“Ginzan Onsen. You’ve seen Spirited Away, right?”

One of the few joys of your childhood. “Many times, yes.”

“Great. That’s where they’re sending us off to, partly for a mission I’ve been assigned and partly to make a baby.”

You felt your neck and face burn at his blunt wording, and you turned your head away. “I see.”

“Anyway,” he continued, breezing over the awkward atmosphere. I suppose his easy-going nature and straightforward manner is handy at times. “Just rest assured that I won’t be doing anything to you that you’ll be uncomfortable with. If you don’t want a baby, then there won’t be a baby. Simple.” Gojo spread his hands as he shrugged again. “Our marriage will still be very convenient to us—to hell with these boneheads here—without or without a child.”

Still doesn’t solve my main problem! It was all very well and good to say there won’t be a baby if you don’t want one, but eventually the pressure will accumulate, and neither of you will have a choice. And then the truth of just how deficit you really are would be revealed.

God must hate me. Your future looked so pitifully bleak.

Dropping your gaze to your lap and your fisted hands, you drew in a deep breath to brace yourself for everything. “Alright.”

Strangely, the man before you immediately brightened at your soft acquiescence. “You will marry me?”

“Yes,” you sighed. Let’s get this over with, then. “I will marry you.”

Chapter Text

𝟏𝟏 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟐, 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑.

I never wanted this. 

The festivities were in full swing, with the sake and wine and food in endless supply. The traditional Shinto wedding ceremony was a success, and you could still taste the three nuptial cups of sake on your tongue. It was an aftertaste you had begun to hate.

You tried to subtly avoid your new husband, but he wouldn’t leave your side. In fact, the man wouldn’t even let you out of his sight.

“Stay close to me.” Gojo had even leaned down and whispered into your ear, interlacing his fingers with yours. The gesture had taken you completely off-guard, and you stared up at him in question. Today, he was not wearing any kind of covering over his eyes. Azure blue, like that of a summer day’s sky, stared down at you intently. “You need my support, don’t you? Since your aunt so kindly took your cane away from you.”

Utterly humiliated, you felt like throwing up. “Please don’t embarrass me.” Your voice was small.

“I would never.” Gojo then linked your arms together. “Lean against me. I don’t mind if it’s your entire weight.”

“…I’m not exactly light.”

“And I’m not exactly weak. I can carry you around bridal-style, if you want. That’ll really sell this whole thing.”

“Please don’t.” You squeezed his forearm as you tried not to rely completely on him, while also keeping stress off your leg. It was a difficult feat, without your walking stick. But your aunt had insisted it was ‘a bad look’, and snatched it away from you.  

Many affluent individuals within the jujutsu society were present at this wedding, and most were rather discreetly, some outright, ogling you both shamelessly. You couldn’t stand their scrutiny. But what you feared most was an anxiety attack. 

The voices were so audible. That woman is the bride? Isn’t that the one who is unable to wield any kind of cursed energy or technique? What an embarrassment to her clan.

More like an embarrassment to the Gojo clan! You unconsciously clutched at your husband, burning with shame. Poor Satoru. To think he is now plagued with such a purposeless bride!

He must be so ashamed of me. You wished you had the confidence to hold your head high. 

Anxiety seized you with a bitterly cold grip, unrelenting and all-encompassing. It froze your nerves and bones to ice, and you felt trapped, asphyxiated. I want to leave. I want to leave!

“I—I need a breather,” you whispered to him, heart beginning to palpitate. You had never experienced being in the limelight before, being the centre of attention, and you hated it. Especially when the limelight brought with it such probing, spiteful stares. “Could we go outside? Or to the bathroom?”

“Are you alright?” Gojo unwound his arm from yours and instead circled it around your waist, leaning down so he could look at you. His expression was drawn tight with concern. “You look pale.”

“Please, could we get out of here?” His shoulder was perfect for resting your head against, but you were too focused on trying to keep your expression neutral and blank so no one would question your deportment. And their questioning would be cruel, piercing, and demeaning. “I’m—I’m just feeling a bit lightheaded.”

“Of course.” Mercifully, your new husband seemed to understand your situation and began slowly walking you toward the bathroom. You were grateful for him making it appear as if nothing was wrong—as if the groom was just lovingly escorting his bride across the room to the buffet table or elsewhere. “Is your leg oka—“

“To think you have finally married!” Abruptly, an older couple intercepted your path and merrily greeted you both. They were both well-known higher-ups, and fear instantly shot through you. What do these people want now? 

The woman laughed a bell-like laugh, and it grated on your frayed nerves even more. “Honestly, Gojo-kun, I thought you’d grow old single, and leave your clan to die out!”

Your life-long habit of never looking another of greater social status than you in the eye took control, and you cast your gaze down to the ground. You felt Gojo tense up, and alarm bells instantly began blaring in your head. 

Hesitantly, you sneaked a glance up at him, and noted his set jaw, cold expression and the hand on your waist tightening its hold with every second. I can’t let his hate for these vultures blow out of proportion! Trying not to panic, you gently rubbed his forearm to calm him down, and Gojo’s gaze immediately snapped down to you. To your amazement, his jaw instantly unclenched, he relaxed slightly, and he gave a sarcastic smile. “Yes. What an unprecedented turn of events.”

Her companion, who you assumed to be her husband, patted her shoulder, wisely taking note of your husband’s clipped tone and icy stare. Smart of him to cut this short before it even begins. “Alright, now, dearest, let’s leave the newlyweds to it, shall we?” The older man warily eyed Gojo. “Let’s give them some space.”

“Of course! But, first, darling…” she addressed you, placing a dainty, manicured hand on your shoulder. Her smile was warm—eyes everything but. You felt quite put on the spot as the woman leaned forward and whispered into your ear, “If you’re ever in need of any advice toward…bedroom activities…” Your eyes widened and you tried to recoil from her, but her small hand held you firmly in place. “Simply ask for Takahashi Ema at the Takahashi estate, and you’ll find yourself a friend in me.”

“I…” You hadn’t the slightest clue what to say, and the hand on your hip wrenched you away from the woman.

“Whatever poisonous words you were hissing in my wife’s ear…” Gojo surprised you by pressing you further into his side, turning you away with him. “She will not listen to. If you’ll excuse us.”

He dragged you away, leaving the Takahashi pair stunned, and you bit your tongue to keep from crying out in pain from the exertion on your leg. But he noticed, and he immediately slowed down.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so rough.” Gojo led you over to a seat and eased you into it, kneeling before you. His consideration had affected you more than his abrupt handling. You had no idea what to make of that apologetic, gentle blue gaze of his. “They just—these people…” He looked away, scowling. “I hate them.”

“I figured.” You reoriented yourself and offered a small smile. “But, thank you, anyway. She did say something quite mortifying.”

“What did she say?” Gojo kept his volume low for only you to hear. 

Your face warmed. “Oh, uh…nothing of too much interest.”

He arched a brow. “Something about baby-making, I presume?”

It was your turn to look away. “Yes.”

“No need to feel embarrassed. That old hag’s words are nothing to take to heart, and such activities are only natural between a husband and wife, anyway.” Gojo lightly patted your knee, getting to his feet. He didn’t appear to notice how much more embarrassed you were at his casual words. “Would you like some food or a drink? I can go grab you something while you rest here.”

“You don’t have to.” All you really wanted was your cane and to go home. Ah, but I won’t be going home. No, you would be heading off with Gojo to your new shared residence. You wondered what it would be like. Will we have separate bedrooms? I hope so. 

Somehow, living with this seemingly kind man was much more appealing than returning to your family estate by far. And then you spotted some more higher-ups making their way through the crowd to you both. “Behind you.”

“Huh, what?” Gojo turned just as the three elders stopped before you. Two were men, one was a woman with an open fan she had hovering over half her face. She was quite young, maybe early-thirties, and gorgeous. 

The men smiled graciously and extended their hands to exchange handshakes with your husband one by one. “Satoru! Goodness me, we never thought we’d live to see the day you wed. Isn’t today just so delightful!”

“Agreed.” Gojo smiled in return, but it was stiff and empty, like he usually was around these people. “I am very privileged to marry such a lovely woman.” Then he placed a hand on your shoulder, and his smile became sincere. 

Utterly taken aback, you forced a laugh. “Haha, ‘lovely’ is a bit of an overstateme—”

“Forgive me for being rude, but…” The woman standing to the side snapped her fan shut and looked you up and down. “Is this Chinatsu’s niece? The one with a limp leg and inability to use jujutsu?”

“I—yes, I am.” You didn’t even have time to think about your answer, you were so caught off-guard. “Why…Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curious.” And then she sniffed. “Hmph. I thought you’d at least be pretty.”

You blinked. “Uh…”

“Anyway!” She turned to head back into the crowd. “I’ve better things to do than greet this chick. Have fun with them, father.”

There was an awkward silence as all four of you watched her sashay away, before one of the men, presumably her father, cleared his throat. “A-Apologies for her impolite behaviour. Emika-chan is the…rather unbridled sort.”

“Ah, yes, because insulting my wife is simply an uncontrollable trait.” The hold on your shoulder tightened, not yet painful. Evidently, Gojo was once again curbing his anger. “Perhaps you could consider putting your foot down, and making sure she’s actually ‘bridled’.”

“Ahem, yes, I shall take your words into consideration.” The man awkwardly sipped at a drink a waiter passed by with. “Once again, I apologise.”

“Do you accept his apology?” Gojo looked down at you. “Or would you like me to…exert some force?”

Disturbed by his words, you hastily shook your head. “It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s nothing to worry about, really.” You smiled politely at the woman’s father. “Your apology is accepted.”

The man looked immensely relieved. “Thank you, my lady.”

“My goodness, best be thankful I have such a merciful wife!” Gojo laughed, delighted at the two elders’ stricken expressions. “Maybe one day she won’t be so lenient. Watch your step, haha!”

His hand was still on your shoulder, and you patted it in a silent message for him to tone it down a bit. And he squeezed your shoulder in return, as the two men finally bowed and wished you both the best, before hurriedly running away.

“When will we leave?” you quietly asked, sighing at the next round of nosy guests making their way through the crowd for you both.

“Soon. I’m excited to show you the house.” Gojo accepted two flutes of champagne and handed you one. You gratefully took it and had a sip. “I think you’ll like it.”

“How so?” This man hasn’t the slightest clue about my likes and dislikes. How could he possibly say?

“I just think you will.” He had a swig of his drink himself, eyeing the next two higher-ups who had come to congratulate and degrade you two. Somehow, you felt like the man standing at your side was a bodyguard of sorts, vehemently protecting you from any thrown daggers in the form of words. “For one, it’s secluded and quiet. You won’t be bothered there.”

You had no chance to reply as the two people finally stopped before you both—one was a servant, the other an elder—and you braced yourself for the imminent onslaught of condescension and courteous barbs. Doubtlessly aimed at you primarily, as you were the perfect target. Decrepit, shrunken and vulnerable, what a lovely piece of meat you were for these vultures to eagerly sink their beaks into and tear apart.

“My dear boy,” the very old woman with a walker gradually made her way up to you both. “I do believe I can die happy now, seeing you married and ready to settle down.”

You noticed Gojo relax slightly. Perhaps he knows this woman, and she is genuinely kind. She seemed like the grandmotherly type. Maybe she would leave you alone.

“Ikeba-san. It’s good to see you up and about.” He bowed to her, and you quickly got to your feet and did the same, holding back a wince at the pain in your leg. She eyed you curiously, not callously. But the hand that had situated itself back on your shoulder once more provided you all the warning you needed. Gojo continued, “I’ve heard that your health has improved substantially.”

He must hold her in high regard if he’s speaking so respectfully. It was common knowledge that this man treated no higher-up with any semblance of respect, no matter their age or status. Perhaps they are friends.

“If you could call this horrid cough of mine improvement.” As if on cue, she wheezed into a handkerchief for three awkward minutes. “Ugh…yes, anyway. Your bride here looks reasonable. Maybe my prayers will finally be answered and she’ll straighten you out. Won’t you, girl?”

“Erm, yes, I will do my best.” I must tread very carefully. You had no idea what an indisposed elder like her was capable of. Likely great harm.

“Glad to hear it. You know, you’re quite like me.” Her tone was suddenly amused. “You have a lame leg, don’t you? We both have to rely on something to get us around. Me, a walker; you, a walking stick!” Then she guffawed, and had another coughing fit. “Hoho…yes, rather similar. Bright side of it is, dearie, you can have this kid here running around at your beck and call. Pop out a baby and that’ll really chain him down. ’Bout time he was, too.”

“Ikeba-san…” Gojo softly cautioned, but you cut in before he could say anything more.

“Thank you for the advice, but it’s really alright, ma’am,” you politely declined. “Gojo-san is already quite a sensible person. I’m sure he will be fine.”

“Sensible!” the old woman laughed. “Oh, dear, you haven’t the faintest idea of what this boy’s capable of. Do you know of the terror he caused as a child? Utter hellspawn, I tell you. Made me keel over and fracture a hip once. Remember that, Satoru-kun? You were about nine, I think, and about to—”

“Ahem, yes, good times,” he abruptly, but civilly, cut her off. You squinted up at Gojo, perplexed by his tone, and noticed his ears redder than before. “Haha. I’m sure my wife doesn’t really need to know all of the, uh, interesting things I did as a child.”

“It’s not like you’re any different now,” she grunted, shaking her head. Then she nodded to you. “Keep a sharp eye on this one, girl. He’s a real troublemaker.” 

“I’ll…keep that in mind,” you awkwardly replied, before bidding her a polite farewell as she turned away, grumbling to herself. That went unexpectedly well. You were anticipating and was fully prepared for more unfiltered vitriol to your face, but the old woman was surprisingly genial. Relief filled you once you relaxed again. Hopefully, I’m now in her good books. Not that you had any interest in forming a friendship with her. 

“That old lady’s a bit overwhelming,” Gojo said quietly, “don’t mind her.”

“She was a lot easier to deal with than all the others,” you muttered back. And then you asked for the nth time, “When can we leave?”

“Not yet. Here comes your aunt.”

Oh, god, no. You bit back a groan. When will she give me my cane back? One of these days I’m going to beat her over the head with it.

“Don’t you just look stunning!” your aunt immediately exclaimed upon approaching you both, lying unabashedly. Goodness, isn’t she excited to get rid of me? All of these niceties were so painfully bogus, your usually quiet, expressionless self had a hard time refraining from cringing. And the woman even had the audacity to stoop down and hug you, immediately making your heart rate increase. I hate her touching me! Get off!

If only you had the courage to push her off, but now was not the appropriate time or place, and you didn’t think you’d ever have the bravery to. Even though you detested her with every fibre of your being, that small child still within you remained powerless against her.

“I can’t believe my dearest niece is finally married! Wouldn’t your father just be so proud.” The woman even retrieved a handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. I can’t believe this! She had the audacity to act like a loving aunt, even when it was common knowledge of just how much she despised you!

“I’m sure your parents are smiling down on you right now,” your great-uncle said, popping up out of nowhere. “I, for one, am immensely proud of you.”

Pretentious bastards. How you wished you were strong—strong like your husband, so they would never be able to harm you or scorn you again. All this showering of praises and flattering—all because they feared your spouse and the destruction he could ensue. Getting rid of these corrupt people would do the world a favour, really. 

“Thank you, great-uncle.” Despite how disgusted you were, you swallowed down your hate and forced a smile. “And thank you, aunt. I am…so grateful for you having taken care of me all these years.”

“Of course.” Your aunt laughed elegantly and coyly waved a hand. Your knuckles grew white as you gripped the armrest of the chair, enraged. “We were only doing our duties, considering your parents’ dying wishes and all!”

Ha, my parents’ ‘dying wishes’. They hated you just as much as everyone else when your incompetence was revealed. With how I’m valued by these people, I could kick the bucket tomorrow and no funeral would be held. Like a treacherous, executed servant, your body would just be quietly disposed of in a ditch somewhere. No gravesite, no flowers, no memory remaining.

Probably for the best. All you had ever wished for was to just disappear. And now, you were shoved into the limelight, put on display for everyone to ridicule, and left to burden an unfortunate man. He might have been acting kind and patient now, but who knows how he will change in the future?

How will he treat me when we are alone? Such a thought made you physically flinch, and your heart began palpitating once again. Oh my god. He’s a very large man, too. I’ll be helpless against him!

Big hands and a towering frame. Hands trained to kill. Towering frame trained to dominate. Should I run away?

No, I should wait. Keep your distance from him, treat him politely but reservedly, outline clear boundaries, and then leave when you knew for sure he wouldn’t even blink at your absence. Terror throbbed in your veins. He said the house is secluded and quiet. Under your breath, you prayed to whichever widely worshipped gods throughout the world you could name to protect you. Jesus, Buddha, Allah—anyone, I don’t care! Just, please, don’t let this man turn against me.

All you asked for was to melt into the background, to just be an unnoticeable wallflower, to be the same person you grew up as. Once your aunt got sick of seeing you, she had finally left you alone, and your teenage years were spent in solitude. Especially after your only handmaid and friend, Noriko, had disappeared.

They said she had been fired. But you knew these people. Perhaps, just out of petty spite, they had purposefully stripped you of the only companion you ever had—just as a reminder that you were on your own here, in this world, and there was no point in trying to make it otherwise.

“Here is your cane.” Your aunt surprised you by extending your beloved walking stick to you. “You both will depart soon, right? For Ginzan Onsen?” She winked. “I know a son is paramount, but give me a girl next time, alright?”

“We’ll see what happens,” Gojo replied, and you reluctantly looked up to see a muscle pulsing in his jaw. “It all depends on what my wife wants.”

“Does it, now?” She arched a brow, smile sharp as a razor. “Well, just a piece of friendly advice, Gojo-kun—you don’t have to stay married to her after she’s had a baby.” The woman cast a cold glance down at you. “We would understand.”

You swallowed, nauseous. We’ll see what happens, he had said. You looked down. Yes…sadly, we will.

“How kind of you,” he sarcastically drawled, crossing his arms. “Throughout this whole arrangement, you’ve been nothing but understanding. Putting my needs above your own, right?” A hand clamped down on your shoulder, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Above your own.”

“Ahem, well, shall we, Chinatsu?” Your great-uncle was always the wiser—the more reasonable one of the bunch, you had found—and now he placed a gentle hand to your aunt’s mid-back to steer her away from you both. “They have many guests to greet, and a long honeymoon ahead of them. Let’s not keep them too long.”

“Ah, silly me, of course!” your aunt laughed airly once more. “Goodness, I remember when I was a newlywed. Couldn’t wait to get my hands on my husband, haha!”

Mortified, you clutched your cane and turned to Gojo once the two had turned away, quietly apologising, “I am so sorry for her behaviour.” And you lowered your head. “Um, I also need to go to the restroom.”

“It’s fine,” he brushed it off. “And I think we should leave now.”

You didn’t ask for any help, but he kindly assisted you in getting to your feet. You tried not to flinch away from his touch. “You go to the bathroom while I grab the car.”

“Alright.” You didn’t look at him. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

“I’ll text you when the car is here. I think I was given your phone number.”

“I have a phone number?” You blinked at him. “I was…I never had a phone.”

Gojo frowned in confusion. “Were you not given one?”

You shook your head. “Never.”

With narrowed eyes, he slowly turned to look over his shoulder in the direction of your clan elders, lips pursed. “Hm. Okay. I see. That’s fine. Can you wait here for a moment? I will go and retrieve your new phone.” As he brushed past, he smiled and patted your shoulder. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

“But I need to go to the…” He had already rushed off into the crowd, leaving you alone. What a spontaneous man. Like a bull at a gate. Sighing, you did as told and sat down again.

You grabbed a ceramic cup of sake and sipped at it, just to occupy yourself in his absence. Despite you being the bride and the star of the show, no one approached you to talk or greet you, and you were tremendously thankful. Without your groom, the one who everyone was really interested in, you were just a pebble on the sidewalk to pass by.

The most interactions you did get were brief flashes of insincere smiles and, more commonly, side-eyes brimming with disdain. The anxiety welled up again. Working out how to bear with it without bursting into tears in front of everybody, and making yourself more of a fool, was somehow impossible. 

You felt nauseous. Your heart leapt and bounded uncontrollably against your ribcage. Hands shaking, you placed the alcohol down, its sickeningly-strong scent augmenting your queasiness even further. Oh, I really need to get out of here. To hell with waiting around for Gojo. Where is the bathroom? I need a moment.

“Ma’am, are you feeling alright?” Abruptly, a female servant abruptly popped up beside you, leaning down toward your seated form with a pinched brow. Here is yet another pretender. Why was everyone so good at feigning concern, even the servants?

“Where is the bathroom?” Forcing authority into your tone was a failure—your voice came out as a pathetic squeak. Your hand fluttered weakly against your chest as you placed it over your heart, desperately trying to calm down. Get a hold of yourself! Stop acting like a wimp! “Please lead me to it.”

The servant’s eyes glimmered like the surrounding guests’—their sights were set on a cornered doe with her leg caught in a beartrap. Smiling in a way that was meant to be polite and amicable, the servant dutifully gestured to your left—through the crowd. “Right over there, ma’am. Would you like me to help you up?”

“No.” You wanted to get away from this mocking young woman as quickly as possible. Help me up and lead me through the crowd? What am I? An old woman? How much more of a fool would these people continue to make you out to be? You gripped your cane and stood on your own without struggle, as you were well-practised with this. You offered her a smile, though it was trembling and empty. “I will be fine on my own. Thank you.”

With that, you dismissed her and quietly made your way through the milling people, fighting to ignore their taunting smiles and stares. Every step was a struggle.

If Gojo did come back to find you gone, you hoped he had the sense to wait. You reached the restroom, pushing open the door with the woman symbol on the front of it, and you hobbled in, heading straight for a stall. 

Swiftly locking yourself inside, you sat down upon the white toilet lid and sighed, putting your face in your hands. Things can only get worse from here.

You had a negative premonition for the future. What will he do when he finds out? Perhaps beat you up, before inevitably throwing you out of the house. Maybe even dump you on your clan’s doorstep. Or, even worse, kill you. I’d rather he end me all than my clan. If your aunt got her hands on you, then…

You clasped both hands on top of your cane and rested your forehead on them, beginning to feel a headache come on. I wonder if I could ask him for an allowance or something, and quietly put that money away for when it’s time to leave. You wondered what countries would be ideal to board a plane for. The States? No, that’d be his first guess…China and South Korea won’t do. Neither will Taiwan or Vietnam. Nowhere in Asia. Considering how there was more jujutsu influence in primarily Asian countries, it wouldn’t be hard to track you down. What about Europe? France, Italy, Spain…Australia? What about somewhere small like Norway, New Zealand or the Pacific Islands? Eastern Europe, perhaps? Somewhere inconspicuous, somewhere he’d never think to look…

As if he’d be that determined. What were you thinking, even considering that the man would ever care enough about you to hunt you down? Maybe, then again, he would—just to kill you for bringing him such embarrassment. Your clan would be more insistent than him. I’ll be on the run for the rest of my life.

Maybe one day, you wouldn’t be so cowardly. Maybe, someday, you’d be able to face these tyrants head-on with no fear. Today was not that day. That day, in fact, was nowhere in the foreseeable future. 

You could never be a match for these people, never for as long as you live. And Gojo? How could you even hope to be free? The revealing of the truth was simply unavoidable. You would be able to put it off, to hide it, for only so long. 

For now, I must bear with it. Bear with him. Maybe, if you treated him coldly, with distant politeness and respect, he would eventually get the message and back off. Whether I like it or not, we will have to consummate. Whether he likes it or not.

You never thought you’d ever wish for it, but you hoped he would find you unappealing and dull, someone he’d eventually lose interest in and never touch again. A man like Gojo would only look right next to a beautiful woman. You were not. With his stunning features and ravishing build, you would only appear even more like a joke at his side than anywhere else.

You had heard the whispers throughout the wedding procession. She is so plain! Poor Satoru, he deserves a woman of grace and beauty, not one so bland and dreary!

How you wished you were at least a little desirable. How kind of him, calling me ‘lovely’, you sarcastically thought, grinning in self-hatred. The words had touched you in the moment, but now you were sure they were just that—words. Empty ones, and spoken just to curry favour, or something of that ilk. 

Resolute, you made the decision to secretly prepare for your inevitable departure in the future, still debating which country to escape to. I’ve seen photos of Norway. It’s so scenic. Perhaps hiding out in a tiny town within a valley somewhere would be ideal, and just spend the rest of your life in peace. 

No more faultfinding elders, you pleasantly mused, thinking of the tranquillity—of the nirvana you would eventually reach. No more loathsome relatives. You got to your feet and unlocked the stall, stepping out. You stopped before the mirror, leaning against the marble of the three-person sink, gazing at your reflection, at your pathetically overdone makeup. No more politics. Then you smiled at yourself—the first genuine smile you had mustered in a very long time. And no more insincere husbands.

Gojo Satoru was very talkative.

Throughout the entire car ride to your new, shared home, he had chatted away to you incessantly about this and that. He constantly and seamlessly switched between topics, making it so natural—even though it was more or less a one-sided conversation. You felt sorry for the man named Ijichi in the front, your chauffeur. It looked like none of this was new to him.

Many times you had tried to put the message across that you weren’t interested; by staring out the window and humming disinterestedly when appropriate, muttering hints about how you have a headache and you’d like some peace and quiet, or just adapting to your first mobile phone ever that he had handed to you earlier.

“It’s an iPhone 4s,” he had happily said, more excited about it than you. “Apple’s latest. You have a phone number now. Once you’ve figured out how to navigate it, hand it to me and I’ll give you my number.”

One of the methods you had opted to use to shut him up was getting him to set the device up for you, but Gojo insisted on showing you every little detail about it and precisely how to use the phone.

And then he handed it back to you after about an hour, smiling. “I’ve put my contact number and name in there for you. I also downloaded Temple Run.”

“‘Temple run’?” you echoed, pressing your thumb to the home button for your fingerprint to be recognised and thus unlock the phone. You were still working the fascinating little thing out. “What is that?”

“It’s a fun video game, recently released as well. Here, see?” And Gojo had taken the phone back and opened the app for you, hitting ‘play’. “It’s basically Indiana Jones, but a game. You swipe up to jump over obstacles and swipe down to slide under them. Like this.”

After he got bored with playing it for you, Gojo handed the phone back and you exited the game to open iMessage. Seconds later, your mobile pinged with a notification from ‘My handsome husband 🥰🔥💕🤩💃’ and a message that read: hey gorgeous. You had silently looked up at him, incredulous.

Gojo held his hands up in surrender, biting his bottom lip to keep from grinning. “What? Am I not allowed to call my new wife ‘gorgeous’?”

Shaking your head, you didn’t bother saying anything in reply, and you had tapped on his profile picture—one he had taken earlier when typing in his contact (and it was a very…flattering photo of his forehead and eyes, having pushed his blindfold up over his hair, comically magnifying his nose)—and, despite finding his antics rather endearing, you deleted all the excessive emojis and renamed him ‘Husband’. But you let the profile picture be, secretly amused.

Now, you sat with your phone in your pocket (previously, you had both gotten changed into more comfortable attire, and his blindfold was back on) and your ears about to be yapped off by your chatterbox of a husband. You were already missing the quietude of your room at the estate, despite your hatred of the place.

“Anyways, so I told the kid not to touch the chocolate. And you know what he did? He pulled the damn packet out of the fridge, tore it open, and took a fat bite out of it. Right in front of me. While looking directly into my eyes,” Gojo was saying, heaving a sigh and shaking his head, running a hand through his spiky white locks in distress. “I’ve taken care of the little brat for almost ten years. Ten years! Not once has he ever hugged me, said a proper thank you or even smiled at me. I feel like a failed father.”

“He sounds like a handful,” you tonelessly replied, interest only slightly piqued. 

“That’s the thing. He never kicks up a fuss. Like, am I raising a robot or what? And whenever I come home after a long day, he just gives me this—this prissy little sniff and goes back to playing Minecraft on his iPad without a single word.”

“How old is he?”

Gojo tapped his chin in thought, humming, before bobbing his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t remember. I think he’s ten this year, I’m not sure.” Then he groaned into his hands. “Imagine what he’ll be like as a hormonal teenager! It’s only a couple of years away! The kid’s already crabby enough. His sister is the only one who can straighten him out, but once she looks away, there he goes, giving me that snotty little glare of his again.”

Despite his complaining, your husband was evidently fond of his almost-surrogate son, Megumi Fushiguro. He’d talked about the boy’s potential—how he showed promise in harnessing the Zen’in clan’s esteemed Ten Shadows technique, and displayed great talent in jujutsu as a whole. 

“He might even grow up to be a match for me one day,” Gojo amusedly commented, grinning to himself. “Heh. That kid won’t be as merciful as me, that’s for sure. And I’m not very merciful at all.” He crossed his arms, peering out the window thoughtfully. “Not with curse users and spirits. Nah, Megumi’s cold. Icy. He’s gonna be real strong.”

“Stronger than you?” you quietly asked, staring at him.

Gojo looked at you, silent for a beat. “…Yeah. I hope so. I want all my students to become stronger than me someday. Ultimately, they’re the future of jujutsu. Somebody’s gotta shoulder everything when I’m dead and gone, right?”

“I suppose so.” You turned your head away and looked down at your manicured nails, picking at the clear polish coating them. “Though, I can’t imagine you dying.”

“Neither can I,” he snorted, shifting his long legs. The back seat was awfully cramped for him. “Remember when I died in high school, Ijichi? That lumbering idiot Toji Fushiguro killed me.”

“Yes, Gojo-sama,” the driver meekly responded, clearly uncomfortable with suddenly being involved in the conversation. “It was, uh, very scary.”

“You were killed?” You were very intrigued now. “And…‘Toji Fushiguro’? Isn’t that the boy’s last name…?”

“Yep.” Gojo popped the P. “That man was Megumi’s father. I killed him. Thanks to him killing me, I learned RCT and came back to life. All at sixteen. His dying wish was for me to find the kid and do whatever I wanted—send him off to the Zen’ins or take him in. I was not about to put two small children into such a harsh and remorseless scene as the Zen’in clan, so I took care of them. Megumi was six. His sister’s a bit older than him, and they’re actually step-siblings. That was just after shit hit the fan for me. The kids’ company made it a bit easier.”

You never expected him to go into such background on his late teenage years, but you felt not to ask about what he meant by ‘shit hitting the fan’ for him especially. The knowledge wouldn’t be of any real import to you in the end, anyway.

“Well, that’s good,” you quietly said after a moment of silence, hoping the conversation had finally ended. You didn’t know what else to say, so you asked the driver, “Um, how far away are we from the house?”

“Almost there, ma’am,” Ijichi answered, and the indicator began ticking. “We are pulling into the driveway now.”

“I really think you’ll like this place,” Gojo smiled. “I picked—uh, I mean, the only good thing about the elders is that they have a reasonable eye for houses.”

You just nodded and stared out the window, taking in the neat, snow-covered driveway and the barren trees lining the access road. He was right when he said it was secluded; an hour’s drive from Tokyo, it was shrewdly located far away from other clans’ estates and had maybe one or two neighbouring properties. You wondered why the elders had selected this area for you both. It was so conveniently far away from them.

Hm. Perhaps they didn’t have as much to do with it as Gojo claimed they did. 

The driveway took a bend and a building entered your line of vision. Single-storied, it was a quaint little minka of authentic Japanese tradition, with a lengthy engawa veranda overlooking the entrance to the property, and it continued on to wrap around the side of the building toward the other wing. The thatched roof was in pristine condition, coated with snow, as were the outer rafters, and its shape was an antiquated, but classy, irimoya frame. 

The car rolled to a stop, and you hastily unbuckled your seatbelt, snatching up your cane. A smooth chuckle sounded from beside you, and Gojo clicked open his door. “I knew you’d like it. Wait there, I’ll open your door for you.”

Seconds later, your door opened and your husband extended a hand inside for you to take hold of. Embarrassed, you shook your head at it. “There’s no need, Gojo-san. I can make do on my own.”

“Is it not a husband’s duty to help his wife out of the car?” He reached for your hand and grasped it anyway, gently guiding you out of the vehicle. “And call me Satoru. It sounds strange to be referred to so formally by my wife.”

Your cane went first and you heaved yourself from the car and out. The winter chill had you shivering.  You turned and slammed the door shut before he could. Well, that went fairly smoothly. Minus the man still holding your hand and insisting on being a gentleman. You didn’t look at him. “…We barely know one another. It’s hardly appropriate to be on a first-name basis when we don’t even know each other’s favourite colours, for example.”

“Well, then, what’s your favourite colour? Mine’s blue.” 

You hadn’t ever really thought about it before, and you didn’t expect him to take the statement seriously. So you avoided his gaze and answered softly, honestly, “…Frankly, I don’t know.”

“What’s your favourite food, then?”

You’d never experienced enough variety of cuisine to have a favourite meal. “I don’t know.”

Gojo was silent for a beat, before asking, “Do you have a favourite movie or song, at least?”

“I like Spirited Away.” 

“Same! You’ll love Ginzan Onsen.” 

He still hadn’t let go of your hand. Beginning to grow a bit irritated, you quietly said, “Please let me go.”

“You don’t want to hold hands with me?”

You squinted up at him, perplexed by his tone. “No. I want to walk on my own.”

Gojo looked taken aback. “Why?”

That confused you further. Tilting your head at him, you furrowed your brows. “Because I can walk fine on my own? I may need a walking stick, Gojo-san, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely disabled. I can get around just fine, you know. I’ve been doing this for years.”

“But I want to be your walking stick.”

Speechless, you gawked up at him. “I—that’s—well, you can’t. You would soon find just how tiring it is having to cart around a cripple like me all the time.”

He shrugged, undaunted. What on earth is up with this man? “And you would soon find how much I don’t mind it. Now, if you don’t start calling me Satoru, I won’t answer you when you say my name.”

Inwardly sighing, you finally accepted defeat. You didn’t have the energy to squabble over this anymore. “Alright, then. Shall we go in? It looks like it might rain.”

“We’ll be staying the night,” he replied, lifting a hand in a wave as there was the sound of gravel and snow crunching under car wheels behind you both, and you turned to see Ijichi politely wave back, driving away. And everything dawned on you right then.

I am now alone. You stared after the car. With this man. Who I met for the first time three weeks ago, and that I married today, and who I hardly know at all. He’s being strangely nice to me, and there’s nobody around for…miles…

Dread gripped you. If he tries anything, it would probably be best not to struggle. His chatter faded into white noise as you subconsciously followed after him toward the house, bile surging up in your throat. You forced it back down, feeling faint. How you wished you could outrun him, even if only for a short while. It’s just marital duty anyway, isn’t it? I’ve never done such a thing with anyone before. What am I expected to do? Lie there and deal with it? I heard it hurts. I also heard it’s supposed to feel good. Probably only for the man. Ha, of course it would. Women always get the short end of the stick in everything, don’t we?

You were abruptly drawn from your thoughts to the sound of Satoru calling your name. “—You listening? Helloooo! Anyone home?” Two gentle taps of his finger to your forehead had you focused on him again. He beamed at you. “Ah, there you are! What were you thinking about so deeply? You were completely silent and I called you, like, four times.”

“I apologise.” Out of habit, you immediately bowed. “I was lost in thought. It won’t happen again.”

“What? No, I don’t mind!” Satoru shook his head at you, smile bright. “This place is peaceful, so you can think as much as you like. Do you like to read? Write? Draw? Paint? Play an instrument? You may do so to your heart’s content here. No one will bother you.”

That’s when you paused and took a good, long look at the building, noting its empty silence. “There are no servants?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t like them.” Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his neck. “I hate their fussing and nagging and the way they look at me. Like they’re either gonna die from fright or have a go at slitting my throat. But I didn’t even think twice about what you wanted! I’m sorry for that. When winter’s passed, there’ll be a gardener who will come every week to trim the hedges and weed the flower beds, and I’ll hire a coo—”

“May I see the garden?” You hardly cared about the absence of servants. You placed a hand on his forearm, staring up at him. “May I see it first before we enter the house, please?”

Satoru had suddenly fallen silent, just gazing down at you for one long moment, lips parted, before he abruptly turned away and hurried ahead, clearing his throat. “Ahem—y-yeah, sure. It’s around—here.”

You blinked at his strange behaviour, wondering at his red ears. What’s with him now? You really could not work the man out.

Trailing after him, you slowly followed as he rounded the side of the house and onto what would be a grassy yard, if not for the dusting of snow, where a cute cobblestone footpath led through the neatly trimmed gardenia bushes and lilacs that lined the path, of which were not yet budding. The sweet, floral scent of winter blossoms drifted about the quiet backyard, and you immediately stopped in your tracks. 

The garden was huge—the path led down to a little, frosted-over man-made stream, with white stepping stones in the water to tread across. The stream led toward the charming little gazebo in the very centre of the garden, where a bare sakura tree towered above its roof. The pavilion was painted white and was built on a small, round island in the middle of the pond where the stream broke out into, thus surrounding the alcove with a pleasant little moat. If it were spring or summer, the moat’s water would be crystal clear, and blooming lotuses would be dotted atop it, where you would maybe spot the odd orange flash of a goldfish darting about the water. Further away from the gazebo was the rest of the area, rowed with varieties of snow-coated flower bushes and bloomless greenery. To stroll about the area in peace and quiet was like a dream, and you could not believe that this was where you were going to reside for the foreseeable future.

“Do you like it?” Your husband came to a stop beside you, tone light. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? Whoever planned this whole area out was a genius.”

“It’s…oh, I’m speechless.” It was all so surreal. Am I deserving of such a blessing? Doubtfully. But you would cherish it all the same, maybe even pick up gardening as a hobby, and you would finally be getting some proper fitness. 

“It’s all for you,” he said, tipping his head up to gaze at the clouds congregating overhead. “You are the lady of the house. All of this is under your jurisdiction now.”

“All…for me?” You really couldn’t believe it. This has to come with a cost. No such gift is given for free. And there was no way he would just give it to you unconditionally.

“All for you,” Satoru repeated, his dimples showing with his smile. “The seats in the gazebo are cushioned and comfortable, so if you wish to read or draw or even sleep, you may do so without any trouble.”

“I…I can’t believe it.” You would never have anticipated such wonderful advantages to come with the marriage. And then you looked a bit closer. Wait. The stream and moat were both visibly shallow despite the ice, no higher than your ankles, and none of the flower bushes had thorns. The sakura tree’s trunk had no low-hanging branches, and therefore was unable to be climbed. That meant…

“Everything here is child proof.” Suddenly, much of your joy was gone. It’s all perfectly designed for a toddler to play about in safely. “…They certainly thought ahead, didn’t they?”

“…They did,” he agreed after a beat of silence. “But we don’t have to worry about that for now, right? Do you want to walk about the garden a bit more, or shall I show you around inside?”

“Let’s go inside.” Yes, that wonder and delight you felt mere minutes ago had faded so swiftly, and the breeze had a bite to it. So you both turned and headed for the steps up onto the veranda, where he slid open one of the doors and you followed in after him.

The both of you slipped off your shoes and put on the inside slippers set neatly out nearby, shuffling into the residence. It was silent, with nothing but the sound of your cane tapping against the wooden floor and your unsteady steps—all in contrast to his confident, unfaltering ones—and the soft buzz of cicadas and birdsong to occupy it. 

It was cosy and warm within the house, and Satoru went ahead to push open a door to the side. “In here is the laundry, with a washing machine and drier.” You peeped inside and soon trailed after him as he continued down the hall. Along with the modern aspects, the interior was very traditional, which you liked—and you noted how, despite its old-fashioned layout, it was so different to the traditionalist design of your clan estate. So astronomically different.

This pleased you. The less you were reminded of that place, the better. 

“In here is one of the bathrooms. Just a toilet with a sink, nothing very interesting.” The more you walked about the place, the more you realised that it was much, much bigger inside than it appeared outside. It would take you a while to adapt to the place, but you didn’t mind. Its homely, welcoming atmosphere was one you instantly fell in love with.

“There are two living rooms—in here is the main one.” Satoru reached forward and slid open the double doors covered with shōji paper. The house was very well-lit, with lots of large windows and air flow. Inside the very spacious sitting room was a more modern-day arrangement, with two beige-and-brown coloured lounge suites situated about the place, and upon a tatami mat in the centre of the room was a kotatsu table, adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and coasters. The primary modern take on the design were the floor-to-ceiling windows, providing a brilliant view of the garden and distant forest. There was also a large 65” Samsung TV in the corner of the living room, and the floors were softly carpeted. 

Off to the side, however, was an inconspicuous window seat well-cushioned and sunlit, where the windowsill was wide enough to comfortably place mugs or glasses down upon while seated. Hobbling over to it, you carefully sat down, strangely fearful of potentially dirtying the lovely, tasselled throw rugs and adorable cushions. 

The seat was so impeccably positioned: in the sun, but not so much it was hot and burning; roomy enough to rest your weak leg upon comfortably, and had such a wonderful view of the sky and garden, perfect for watching the birds flit about. In fact, there was an unfrozen birdbath just before the non-flowering rose bushes, where you could peacefully watch sparrows and robins splash within. 

“The kitchen is through—oh.” You turned your head to see your husband in another doorway. Looking over his shoulder, you saw that the interior of the room he stood before was the kitchen. He strolled toward you. “You like the window seat, huh?”

“I do.” You faced the garden again. “This place is lovely.”

“You haven’t even seen the rest of it yet,” he grinned, seemingly excited. “Shall we?”

The remainder of the house was certainly quite a lot to take in, but when Satoru opened a door to step into the bathroom, your blood went cold, and then hot.

In the centre of the commodious room was an enormous bath, with a large overhead shower built into the ceiling, thus allowing water to cascade down into the tub. There were four drains situated about the marble tiles, and a large double-doored hot water cupboard was filled with multi-coloured fluffy bath towels to the side. Two bathrobes, one large and one smaller, hung nearby, ready to be donned, and you swiftly looked away. Well, what this bathroom’s intended for is pretty clear. How humiliating. 

“Is there another shower anywhere?” Perhaps in an ensuite of a bedroom or something. Yes, he has yet to show me the master bedroom.  

“Too ostentatious for you?” he joked, looking around the room with his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Understandable. I wonder if they had the place purposefully fashioned like this to make it that much more convenient for the odd bit of copulation.”

“Who knows.” You turned away before your burning face could be spotted. You had a feeling this man would be a relentless teaser. “There’s no need for such an exorbitant bathroom. Let’s have it redesigned.”

“Relaxing in a huge bath doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Not when it’s been installed for much less innocent activities, no.” You didn’t wait for him and made your way out of the bathroom. “Do you want to show me the bedrooms?” 

“Yes. This way.” Satoru brushed past you and strode down the hall. “In here.”

He clicked open the nth set of double doors in the house and you hobbled in, looking around, humming to yourself. “Well. The bathroom is certainly the most extravagant room in the house, isn’t it?”

But you didn’t mind. The master bedroom didn’t have a traditional layout, which you were slightly disappointed with. Eh, doesn’t matter. I won’t be sleeping in here anyway. It had a large super king-sized bed in the centre with untold pillows and a thick cream-coloured duvet atop snow white sheets. Both sides of the bed had nightstands with lamps on them, and the dresser up against the wall had an empty photo frame atop it with some incense. There was a ranch slider and terrace beyond it, also facing the garden. 

You wandered over to the closet and pulled the doors open, amazed at what was within. It was a spacious walk-in wardrobe, one side of the racks and shelves lined with shirts, shorts and trousers for men, while the other had blouses, skirts and pants arrayed neatly and ready to be worn. 

Approaching it, you selected one of the blouses and checked its size tag. It was new and of a very expensive brand you had vaguely heard of. You blinked up at your husband. “These fit me.”

“It was made sure you had everything you needed here. Shoes, clothes, hats, you name it.” Satoru swept an arm out, gesturing flamboyantly to the rest of the garments within reach. “All new and all yours.”

You selected another top and checked its label, before almost dropping it in shock. “Versace!” you exclaimed in astoundment. 

He tilted his head at you. “Do you not like Versace?”

“No, I do, of course—it’s just…” How could something so expensive be given to me to wear? Knowing how stingy and venomous the higher-ups were toward you, there was no way this could have been their doing. “Are you absolutely sure it was the elders themselves who organised this entire wardrobe?”

Satoru turned to pick out a shirt of his own in his rack. “…Rest assured. They spared no expense.”

“But why?” You couldn’t work it out. You placed the blouse back while silently swearing to never touch it again. It’s too precious to wear! “I would have been happy with just department store clothes. No need for such lavish attire and spending.”

“You have married the strongest man in the world. It’s only right that you wander around in the best of the best.” Satoru approached yet another door within the closet. “In here are the shoes. They said that heels would do no good for your leg, so you only have ballerina flats and such.”

Ever since you were a little girl, you had always wanted to be able to strut around in stilettos, but your feeble leg would never have allowed you to. At any rate, you were still glad for the lovely rows of shoes before you. “They are nice. Whoever picked all of this out has a wonderful eye.”

“Thank—uh, yes, I agree.” Your husband turned and made his way out of the wardrobe. “Come along! There’s still much to see.”

The kitchen was, much like the entire house, spacious, with a granite-top island bench with stools tucked beneath it, and the dining room was connected to the smaller, humbler lounge right through a yawning doorway. In this living room was a fireplace, with a glass coffee table and single lounge suite arranged around it. The television was also smaller than the other one, and the enormous rug splayed out in the heart of the room was thick and fluffy, where your feet just sank into it. 

And the entire house was fully child proof, identical to the garden. You pursed your lips and tried to be happy about it.

You most certainly loved the house. The garage could fit two large vehicles. The washing line was just outside the laundry. All in all, it was cosy and restful, with that classic homelike atmosphere you had always longed for, even though you hadn’t consciously known it.

Two halls away from the master bedroom was a spare one, with a comfortable queen-sized bed and reasonably large closet. When Satoru wandered off somewhere, you entered, deciding to make this unassuming room yours.

He can have the master, you thought, seated upon the bed, staring out the window. The sun had almost completely disappeared behind the dark rain clouds outside. He’s got long legs, he needs the space.

“We’ll catch the train to—oh, here you are.” You turned to see your husband stop in the doorway and lean against its frame, arms crossed. The sight was frightfully attractive, and you swiftly looked away. “Why are you in this room?”

“I think I’ll sleep here,” you replied, shifting slightly on the mattress. “You can have the master bedroom.”

“What—but, the master is for both of us.” You heard his footsteps pad across the carpeted floor to you. “You don’t need to sleep in here. It’s too small.”

“I am not sleeping in the same bed as you,” you softly explained, watching the window begin to be speckled with drops of rain. “And it’s not small. It’s perfect. You need a big bed like the master bedroom’s one for yourself. I’d rather not bother you.”

“Bother me? No, you don’t bother me.” The mattress dipped with him taking a seat beside you. Satoru sounded almost indignant. “Why would you think that?”

“Gojo-san, we hardly know each other.” Finally, you looked straight at where his eyes would be. It didn’t take long until you dropped your own, though. “For all you know, I may be a horribly demanding wife that will annoy the hell out of you or something. I won’t, but I think it would be best if we kept our distance.” You had never meant to be so blunt, but the man just couldn’t catch a hint. You began staring out the window again, the glass now blurred with rivulets of rain. “This marriage was arranged. Neither of us asked for this, and therefore there is no real reason to be affectionate with one another. Especially not sleeping in the same bed. It’s just unnecessary.” Does he want to sleep in the same bed as me or something? You cringed to yourself. What a strange man. Seems he has no taste in women.

He was silent, and you could feel his eyes boring into the side of your face. “…Are you saying that the arrangement of this marriage means we can’t be friends?”

“How about acquaintances on friendly terms? Friends do not try to have a baby with one another.” The room had gotten rather dark, as it was getting on to late afternoon, early evening, and you stood to switch on one of the bedside lamps. “Please do not expect any love from me. Just as I expect none from you.” You turned and offered him a small, vacant smile. “That’s all I ask.”

The man’s earlier brightness had dimmed to nothing. “…What is your true reason behind this?”

You squinted at him, inwardly alarmed by his brusque question. “Reason? Do I need a reason to please ask you to leave me to my own devices, just as I will leave you to yours? This union is loveless. I’m simply saying that I’m not asking for that to change. You don’t love me. I don’t love you. I don’t mind being cordial, but that’s about it.” You began to limp around the bedside for the doorway. “If we have to consummate, then we have to consummate. That’s all you will get from me for any kind of intimacy, though. Is that alright? If so, then, I’ll get dinner started.”

A large hand grasped your wrist, pulling you back. Gojo Satoru had gotten to his feet and was looming above you, too close. The musky scent of his cologne and body wash made your nerves inexplicably buzz. His words were quiet. “Do you…hate me?”

“Hate you?” you repeated, shocked. “No! I don’t hate you. I don’t like you nor dislike you. In fact, I don’t really have an opinion of you at all. I don’t know you well enough to have one yet.” I’ve never been so straightforward and honest to anyone in all my life. I usually would have broken down into a panic attack by now! Perhaps it was because you sensed no malice from this man, despite being completely alone with him. Softening your voice, you stared up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry if that’s how I made you feel. Rest assured that I blame you for none of this. I know you had no more to do with this than apart from what you were forced to. I will try my best to be a good wife. I can cook and clean and be the proper lady of the house. But I won’t shower you with any affection or beg and pester you to love me. I also ask you to do the same. That’s what I’m saying.”

You had allowed him to keep holding your wrist during your small monologue, if it provided him any comfort, but now you twisted your hand from his grasp. “Is that understandable? I don’t really know how to explain it any further. I’ll leave you to think about it.” Turning away from him, you shuffled for the door. “What would you like for dinner? Is there anything in the pantry?”

“Don’t worry about me.” You felt his body heat behind you as he brushed past and out into the hallway. “I’m not hungry.”

You stared after his broad back as he strode down the hallway. Did I offend him? You couldn’t possibly think of how any of what you said could have rubbed him wrong. I thought I clarified it politely. Was I unkind? 

At a loss as for what to do, you hastily called after him, “W-Well, I’ll leave some leftovers for you anyway! You’ll need them for the long trip tomorrow.” 

He disappeared around the corner and there was no reply. Soon, there was the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house, and you slumped against the wall, heaving a sigh mixed with relief and defeat. Or maybe this was the intended effect. Yes. You laid out distinct boundaries and drew clear lines, saying, Stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. You didn’t want to be friends with him. You didn’t want to be anything with him. Then why do I feel so awful?

None of it sat right with you. Am I being selfish? Were you becoming a miserly, inconsiderate woman in your fight for freedom and life? Is it so wrong to want to live? Not once, throughout my entire lifetime, have I lived for myself. You were finally freed of one prison—and now you were just locked within another, one so much more secure and restricting, despite it appearing comfortable and open, that there was no way out apart from the extreme. And I don’t want a baby. Especially not within a cold marriage like this, and in an environment where the child would only grow up to be a tool for the higher-ups to use for their own agendas. 

Trying for a baby will reveal everything. And what if he found your medication? You had it well-hidden at all times, and you prayed that if he did find it, he wouldn’t understand what it was for. I want to be kind to him, but I can’t when I’m at such risk. And no one here—not him, not anyone—is someone I would put everything at risk for. 

If you had to run away—which you knew you eventually would have no choice but to—you would do so without any qualms. And if that didn’t work, then…

Is death the only way out? You slowly made your way down the hall for the main living area, toward the kitchen. Is that the only plan B? Divorce isn’t an option, and that is guaranteed if I’m exposed. I’ll die either way.

It was a morbid, horrible solution, one you wished you didn’t have to take into consideration, but there really was no choice. Besides, I am no stranger to it. And you’d rather exert upon yourself with your own hands, not any others’. 

I will bear with all of this for now. And once questions were beginning to be asked, you would disappear into thin air, traceless. I don’t really want to die, actually. You thought of the rolling mountains and lush, green valleys of Germany, Switzerland and Norway you had seen in photos. How lovely would it be to live out the rest of my days there? Where curses and strength and social status didn’t matter anymore. And maybe even get married to someone I actually love. Perhaps that isn’t such a pipe dream now.

It was better if you made your husband dislike you than anything else. Then he wouldn’t touch you, try to consummate, and would be averse to the idea of having a child with his decrepit wife. A wife who couldn’t even harness the basics of jujutsu, and was essentially reliant on his strength for survival. How burdening that would be! You could imagine it perfectly. 

He’ll get tired of me, you ruminated, stepping into the kitchen pantry and finding it full of food. And then, hopefully, things will be resolved peacefully and such extremes won’t need to be taken. Grabbing a packet of rice, you looked around for the rice cooker, shaking your head to yourself. Poor guy. He deserves a better woman than I. Someone so far removed from me, he’ll forget in no time. 

Strangely, that was a comforting thought. There wasn’t any reason to resent the man. Gojo Satoru had been nothing but kind to you this entire time. So you smiled to yourself. I wish him all the best.

Chapter Text

You did not expect your husband to be right back to normal the next morning.

It was, in fact, exactly what you were not hoping for. You were hoping for a distant man, one who had decided he no longer liked you so much; alas—the moment he slammed the front door open with a beaming smile and car keys whirling around his long forefinger, you knew all your efforts were wasted.

“The car’s a rental!” he exclaimed joyously, looking very proud of himself. You had been wiping up the kitchen counter after making breakfast for both of you, along with some bento boxes to eat on the way. The trip would be long—six or seven hours in total. Which is why you had gotten up at five to pack and dress cosily. Both suitcases, his and yours, were filled with warm clothes for the wintry climate and sat by the front door, ready to be loaded into the car boot.

“It is?” Unfazed, you went back to placing a clean glass into the cupboard. You had already familiarised yourself with the kitchen and its layout, and found it quite nice. You looked forward to picking up baking as a hobby.

“We won’t be bothering with the train, I’ve decided.” Satoru strode into the kitchen and up to you, gently plucking the glass from your hand and giving you a smile. He wasn’t wearing a blindfold today—it had been replaced by a classy pair of shades where the odd blue flash of his eyes glinted over their rims. You felt his other hand lightly press into the small of your back as he leaned across you, eliciting a soft “’scuse me”—and it was such an unexpected, yet domestic, gesture, that you just froze up. If it was any other man, you would have slapped him right across the face for touching you like so, but his body language held no ill-intent—so you stood there, stunned, as your husband turned to grab the chilled jug of water from the fridge and fill up the glass. “I’ll drive us. It’ll be about a six-or-so-hour drive, but we’ll make plenty of stops. What time is it right now?” He pulled out his phone from his pocket. “Okay. It’s seven, so we’ll be there maybe late afternoon, possibly evening.”

“I made some bento boxes to eat on the way, if you like.” You suddenly felt shy as you also opened the fridge and pulled the containers out, not looking at him. “But, if we’re making stops, then I suppose there was no poi—”

“No, no, we can take them.” He gladly took them out of your hands and grinned. “I think that it was sweet of you to take the time and put these together. Is this one mine?” Satoru held the blue one up and at your nod, he placed them on the island bench and opened his, humming delightedly at the savoury smell. “Mm, fried rice, shrimp onigiri, and two mini kebabs. You spoil me!” He clicked it shut again and ruffled your hair. “I am blessed to have you.”

“You speak too soon,” you huffed an acrimonious laugh and turned away before he could see your warm face. Never, in your life, had you been complimented like that. He’s going to make this hard for me, isn’t he? Make it hard not to crave his attention and presence—especially if he keeps praising you.

“What, am I not allowed to admire my wife’s cooking?” 

You shook your head, your back to him. “You haven’t even tasted it yet, Gojo-san. For all you know, it could be utterly nauseating.”

He groaned. “When will you call me Satoru? We’re married! I know that you don’t want to be too familiar, but you can at least call me by my first name.”

“Apologies. It was out of habit.” You clicked open the dishwasher and turned, stepping around him to grab the glass. “Is it really that big of a deal?”

“To me it is, yes,” he huffed, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the counter, right in front of the glass. You wouldn’t be able to grab it if he didn’t move out of the way. Satoru stared down at you from over the rims of his shades. “Want the glass? Call me Satoru.”

You squinted at him, not stepping any closer. “May I please just have the glass? Surely, it doesn’t matter this much.”

“Call me Satoru, and you may have it.” 

You faltered at his piercing stare, feeling a rush of heat. “I…alright. Satoru, may I have the glass, please?”

He didn’t move for a long few seconds, just gazing at you in a way you couldn’t recognise, and the sudden tension in the room had you clueless as to either run or to stay. Squirming, you gestured unsurely to behind him, other hand tightly clutching at your cane for some kind of grounding. “Uh…?”

The man drew in a deep breath, as if calming himself, and squeezed his eyes shut, finally moving out of the way. “…Yeah. There you go.”

Have I aggravated him? “Thank you,” you said quietly, grabbing the glass and placing it in the dishwasher, unexplainably flustered. 

“I’ll go put the suitcases in the trunk and wait for you in the car. Thank you for packing them.” Satoru’s tone was strangely tight—almost strangled—and you cast a perplexed glance at him from over your shoulder as he extended the luggage’s handles and rolled them out behind him for the door. You doubt he heard your soft squeak of ‘you’re welcome’.

After tidying up the last of the kitchen things, you switched off the lights and grabbed your set of house keys, checking that all the windows were closed and everything was secure, before stepping out of the front door and locking it behind you. As quick as you could, you limped down to where the car was waiting, just as your husband was slamming the boot door shut and opening your door for you.

You offered him an uncertain, polite smile. “Thank you, but you really don’t have to be so courteous.”

“I’m merely doing my duty. A husband only exists for his wife, after all.” 

You stared at Satoru, still not having gotten into the car, and the close proximity made you hyperconscious of the man. The way he leaned one of his arms against the car door frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal veiny, muscled forearms and that shirt drawn tight across his chest, buttons holding on for dear life. We’ve only known each other for a very short time, but I’m already feeling all these weird sensations! Quickly looking away, you chewed on the inside of your cheek nervously. “I…you—you shouldn’t say such things to a woman you don’t love. It’s misleading, you know.”

Satoru’s smile flattened, and you dipped into the vehicle, taking your seat. The door slammed shut as you began buckling your seatbelt, and soon he was in beside you and swerving the car around for the driveway. 

The silence was heavy, and you felt that horrid sensation again—have I done something wrong? What could you have done to offend him? The man you had married was absolutely unfathomable.

“…Where will we be dropping this rental off?” you asked, breaking the tense quietude, fidgeting with your fingers. You noticed how he was dressed rather lightly. “And aren’t you cold? Also, why did you decide not to bother with the train?” Best tone the questions down a bit. He’ll get annoyed with my nagging.

But he didn’t appear very annoyed at all. “It’s a real tedious process, getting on and off trains.” The car came to the end of the access road and turned right, heading in the direction of Tokyo. “All the walking around stations and the like would be hard on your leg. Better to just drive. And I’m fine. Bit hot right now, actually.”

You felt oddly touched at his consideration, and still concerned for his well being, unsure of whether he really was warm enough. “Oh, okay. And thank you. This must have been more expensive than catching a train. I haven’t any money to reimburse you, though, I’m sorry.”

“Reimburse?” Satoru shot you a quizzical look. “Why would you reimburse me? This car is for the both of us, and I wanted to drive, anyway. The scenery’s nice, with the snow and all.” He tapped about the AC on the car’s sat nav and warm air softly began to filter through. “The trains are more inconvenient, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

This is my chance to ask him about an allowance. Somehow, you were nervous. You’d never had money of your own before. And what if he said no? How would you put money away for your escape if you weren’t allowed any?

“Oh, well…I was, um, just thinking,” you began, fiddling with your fingers. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Would it be alright if…I had an allowance?” It’s okay, act cool and composed, it’s not like it’s time just yet. “Just for an emergency or something, you know? I don’t want to be completely reliant on you.”

Satoru was quiet for a beat. “Why don’t you want to be? What’s mine is yours. I can take care of all our funds.”

I knew he’d say no! Would you have to resort to illegal means? You didn’t want to be that desperate. I could just get a job. But that would raise queries even more. “Oh…that doesn’t sit right with me. What if you’re not around, and I need to use money? You know, all those possible contingencies could pop up in the future.”

“Hm. I see what you mean.” 

Hope blossomed, but you kept your face neutral. You glanced over at him, tentative. “…So, is that okay with you?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about doing that anyway.” He shrugged, unbothered. You almost sighed in relief. “Smart of you, taking precautions. Maybe that old woman was right when she said you’d take good care of me. Got to have someone to keep my head screwed on, right?”

“Haha,” you laughed awkwardly, “I suppose so. But, thank you, Satoru.” Thank you for paving the path to both our freedoms even more!

He chuckled, the sound silky. “No problem. Now, wanna hear about my mission?”

For the journey to and through town and out onto the main highway for Obanazawa, Yamagata, where Ginzan Onsen was, your husband filled the silence with chatter about the mission he had been assigned during his honeymoon. You expressed your distaste at such a thing.

“What kind of people make a newly married man do such hazardous work on his two-week honeymoon?” For almost three hours, he’d been telling you stories about past missions and the like, and what his current one involved. You shook your head in disapproval. “You should be relaxing in a hot spring, not running after a special-grade curse deep within a dangerous silver mine.”

“Yes, I should be relaxing in a hot spring with my lovely wife, as you said,” Satoru agreed merrily, taking no notice of your astounded expression. “Don’t worry. It will take me two days, at most, to exorcise it. No sweat.” An hour ago, you’d stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru for a snack, not yet lunchtime, and Satoru had ordered a hot chocolate. You had only requested a coffee. He had a sip from his cup. “And then the rest of the time’s ours. There’s lots of fun things to do in Ginzan Onsen. Apart from the hot springs.”

“I’m quite content to just remain at the hotel if you’re too tired,” you offered, staring out the window to the fields of crops lining the highway. It was a sunny winter’s day today, and the crops were coated with freshly-fallen snow. “I can’t get around much.”

“That’s no fun! We need to go sightseeing and take photos and make memories!” The small town of Nishigo passed by, and the car continued cruising on peacefully. “And if you get tired, I can just carry you.”

You let out a laugh. “Haha! How ridiculous of a sight that would be—this tall, white-haired fellow carting around his decrepit wife!” The thought of it had you shaking your head in disbelief. “Goodness, I can imagine it, and I see why this marriage has made you such a laughingstock. You must be excited for a divorce!”

“Divorce?” His tone was no longer so lighthearted. Satoru stared at you, and you couldn’t see his eyes behind the shades. “You think I want a divorce?”

“Of course you do! Who wouldn’t?” You hardly noticed his cold tone and smiled in amusement, shaking your head. You had a sip of your coffee. “There’s no need for pretences, Satoru. I’ve said this before, but are you really not embarrassed to be married to a woman who can’t even wield jujutsu? As if having a limp leg wasn’t enough! I’m still getting my head around how you agreed to this so readily. You can’t have been in your right mind.”

“I was and am of perfectly sound mind, actually.” His words had a sharp edge to them.

“I don’t believe you,” you snickered to yourself. Just wait until he finds that out! You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be fearful about it at present—this whole situation and just how ludicrous it all was was suddenly very funny. Oh, the irony. “It’s known far and wide that you look down on the weak. How am I any different to a normal human being, to a non-sorcerer?”

“Perhaps it’s the normalcy about you that I enjoy.”

“Right,” you countered sardonically, “because an infirm woman who makes you look like an utter joke is someone you’re fully sure about spending the rest of your life with.” You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Don’t worry. When we get back from the honeymoon, I’ll have the divorce papers prepared in advance, just in case.” Why am I happily suggesting the one thing I can’t have happen?

“Do that, and I’ll burn them.”

Your amusement began to die and you finally looked at him incredulously. “…Are you serious? You cannot be serious. You’re acting as if you love me or something!” Again, you huffed a caustic laugh. “Please. Rest assured that I know you don’t, and there’s absolutely no need to pretend you do. I said last night that I will never ask of you such a thing. I won’t chain you down.”

Satoru didn’t speak for a long moment, just staring out into the road with a set jaw, knuckles white from his one-handed grip on the steering wheel, veins popping along his forearm. You wondered at why he was so solemn, why he appeared to be remarkably offended by your words. So you quietened and softly said after a bit, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mock you. I just find the irony of this whole situation immensely amusing. I’m trying to say that I know you are only acting nice just for the sake of acting nice. There’s no need. Please don’t pity me or anything like that. I don’t want it.”

“I don’t pity you,” he snapped, lifting his free hand and running it through his white locks stiffly. “I just—I…ugh. I can’t explain it. I enjoy your company. Why is that so hard for you to understand? You’re talking as if I’m forcing myself to stomach you or something.”

“Because you are?” You threw up your hands in defeat. “You agreed to this just to get the elders off your back about marriage. Nag, nag, nag—I get it. I know. That’s all they ever do. And you said yourself that you didn’t propose this. Your clan did. How much more do I have to explain it? You didn’t want to marry me. And I didn’t want to marry you. We’re both in very awkward positions right now—you having to get me pregnant so you’ll have an heir and blah, blah, blah—so there’s no need to act happy about it. It’s great if we’re cordial with each other, but that’s about all. But let’s forgo the insincere affection, okay? It evidently makes us both very uncomfortable.”

This will be the last time I bring it up. Satoru didn’t say anything more. And neither of you talked again until you said you needed to go to the toilet, and he wordlessly parked outside a public bathroom and waited for you with the vehicle still running. He didn’t get up to open your door for you, not that you expected him to. And although you didn’t like the tense, awkward atmosphere, you supposed it was good, just like last night. 

You’d make him hate you if you had to, but not so much he really went through with the divorce. You would understand then. Right now, however, with his showering of praises and bright smiles, you couldn’t. Him loving you was simply unfathomable and impossible. There was no chance.

And that’s okay. You settled back into the car and he accelerated before you’d even buckled in your seatbelt. Because then, running away won’t hurt him.

After parking the car in its rental lot, you had both arrived in Ginzan Onsen after a short trip by foot. The journey had taken two more hours than necessary due to traffic, therefore instead of reaching your destination at 1PM like it was estimated, you both arrived at around 3:15. 

The place was crowded, but you had thankfully made it just in time to check into Notoya Ryokan, the hotel you would both be staying at, suitcases in hand. Despite being weary from the long journey, it was nice to stretch your legs and take in the breathtaking sights of the famed Ginzan Onsen buildings.

It would be prettier at night, and you were suddenly feeling enthusiastic for an evening walk.

“Should we have dinner first and then take a stroll around when it’s dark, Satoru?” You found yourself linking arms with the man as you both stood in line for the reception at the hotel, peering up at him. “I’ve heard it’s so pretty when all the lights are on.”

“If you want,” he agreed, adjusting his scarf around his neck and up over his mouth, his blindfold back on. The moment he had stepped out of the car and into the flurrying snow, you’d made him put on a thick, long coat and scarf. You were rather chilly too, and had to muster up a lot of courage to press yourself close to him. And then he circled an arm around your waist and pulled you in even closer. “You’re shivering. Are you sure you want to have a walk? It’ll be colder at night.”

“I’ll just bundle up a bit more.” The previous tense atmosphere between you two was fading into a comfortable lull again, and you appreciated his body warmth, despite being a bit uncomfortable at the close proximity. “We should sleep in tomorrow. When do you plan on heading into the mine?”

Satoru lowered his voice so only you could hear. “Late tomorrow night, with no one around. Ideally, I’ll dispose of the spirit without causing a ruckus.”

You were glad he was agreeing to rest tomorrow instead of racing straight off to deal with the problem. “I was wondering if we could reduce our honeymoon time to only a week. Because it won’t take us an entire fortnight to tour around here, since this place is so small. We could head back and spend the rest of it at the house.”

“Is that what you want to do?” You both moved forward a bit more in the line. At your quiet nod, he hummed. “Hm, alright. What the wife says goes, after all. It’s a good idea, actually. All the spies the higher-ups have planted to keep watch over us will be terribly confused at our abrupt and early departure, haha! They won’t be able to check in and see if we’re having a bit of husband-and-wifely fun.”

You tilted your head at him, puzzled. “Fun? What kind of fun?”

A slow smirk curled up the corners of Satoru’s full mouth. He bent down and sultrily whispered into your ear, “Baby-making.”

Mortified, you reflexively recoiled, but his hold around your waist didn’t let you get very far. You stared open-mouthed up at him, face burning. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh. They’ve already spammed me with about three hundred messages on how to really do it. Like, the best posi—”

“Okay, okay! I get it.” You put your face in your free hand as the other kept hold of your walking stick, humiliated. “I can’t believe they’ve got people to watch us. This is—it’s just outrageous! They’re giving us no privacy!” It’ll all be over for me tomorrow at this rate!

“And they won’t until they get what they want,” he sighed, and you felt him absentmindedly rub your waist through your coat. “I understand that you’re uncomfortable, but…”

You pursed your lips and looked away. “…We need to get it over and done with,” you finished. It was merely marital duty, anyway, you supposed—despite feeling intensely fearful. Might as well resign myself to the inevitable now. “I’ll just warn you that I have no skill when it comes to…such activities.”

There was a surprised silence from your husband. And then, “You’re a vir—?”

“Of course I am!” you cut him off before he could finish his sentence, conscious of those milling around. “I was stuck in that horrible clan and estate my entire life, and they’d never hand you a sullied woman for a wife, would they? Do you really think I would’ve had the chance to get out and knock boots?”

Satoru scratched his cheek awkwardly. “…I see.”

“I’m also nothing to write home about in the assets department, either.” Why did you even care to tell him all this? Wasn’t it your goal to have him be disgusted by you? You had no reason to explain yourself, so why? “So, um…don’t expect much.” 

“I don’t think you understand just how much men don’t care about all that,” he replied, and then he leaned down into your space, nudging his nose against yours, smiling lasciviously. “At least, I don’t. Does that comfort you?”

Utterly tongue-tied, you were so shocked, you couldn’t even move away. Something tingled in an unfamiliar part of your body, and you lowered your head, burning all over. “…You’re an idiot.”

He opened his mouth to say something much more risqué, you were sure, but moving up to the hotel’s front desk for your turn to check in saved you from even more embarrassment. 

“Welcome, are you here to check in?” You felt sorry for the poor receptionist who looked absolutely dog-tired. Without a doubt, business had been crazy all day.

Mustering up your courage and what social skills you had, you took the chance to step out of your husband’s hold and up to the desk, smiling as nicely as you could. “Um, hello, yes. It should be a booking under the name ‘Gojo’.”

The woman muttered ‘Gojo’ and clicked about her computer, before nodding and reaching for a key. “Great. Here is your room key. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” you said and turned back to Satoru. “Let’s head up. It’s room number…” You inspected the key’s tag. “Nine.”

Thank goodness you had a reservation. Considering the crowd and how there were only fifteen rooms in total in the hotel, if it weren’t for the booking, you’d have likely been driving back to the nearest city for the night instead. And you were feeling quite fatigued yourself.

You couldn’t wait to lie down and rest your leg. Despite the bento boxes certainly having provided sufficient energy for the rest of the journey, your stomach was beginning to twist with hunger again.

Because of how spurned you were as a clan member, it got to a point where the servants hardly even bothered to feed you. So, left to fend for yourself, you swiftly learned to cook in the kitchen when no one was around. You’d never taken yourself to have the most stellar of culinary skills, but Satoru seemed to think that you had ‘missed your calling’ as a chef.

He’d wolfed down the fried rice, groaning in delight. “Mmf! You’re a wonderful cook!” And you had to admit that he looked very cute with his cheeks all puffed out like that, full of food.

You didn’t think the food was all that amazing, so you had just hummed in thanks and continued eating. Pushing down those delightful feelings of affirmation was a difficult feat, though—especially with your determination to form no attachment to the man.

Locating the room was not hard, and soon the both of you had shuffled into the warm place and placed your suitcases near your futons. Ah, the beds are separate. That relieved you greatly. Now you didn’t have to worry about sleeping next to a clingy Satoru who probably wouldn’t stop pawing at you.

“I rented a private onsen in advance, by the way,” he said, slipping off his shoes and shoving his socked feet into some slippers, shrugging off his coat and scarf. “For the both of us.”

You glanced at him side-long, guarded. “…Alright. Let’s take turns. You can go first.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I said I wouldn’t try anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Satoru held up his hands in surrender. “I promise. Do you want to go? If so, we’d better head through now, before dinner. I think the onsens shut at six.”

You didn’t exactly trust him, but you relented, knowing he’d pester you until you agreed. “Okay. Good thing I packed my swimsuit!” You dragged your suitcase to open it as you sat on the couch. “I couldn’t find yours at the house, so there isn’t one for you, I’m sorry.”

“Oh…” His quiet tone made you pause. You looked up at him and he bit his lip, avoiding your gaze. “Um, onsen rules state that you can’t wear anything while bathing.”

“…What?” 

“I know,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “But we’ll have to make do. I think they provide a towel for you to wear, if you want.”

Silenced, you stared down at your hands, in which your swimsuit lay. I genuinely think this man will drive me insane before I even have the chance to escape. You’d always taken yourself to be a fairly patient person, but your husband appeared to be a master at getting on your last nerve, and you’d been married for barely two days. Drawing in a deep, controlling breath, you slowly let it out, trying to calm yourself. “…Alright. That’s fine. I’ll just wear the towel.” You shot him a look. “And you will too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He wisely decided not to argue and swivelled around to head out. “I’ll go and confirm our reservation.”

Ten minutes later, Satoru stepped back into the room with two yukatas, towels and obis in hand. “Follow me!”

Well, doesn’t he seem excited. You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head as you trailed after him down the hallway. He seemed to have forgotten that you couldn’t walk the fastest, for soon enough, Satoru’s freakishly long legs had carried him all the way to the other end of the hall, leaving you far behind.

You didn’t bother calling out after him. You weren’t in the mood to go any faster than your normal pace, and you suddenly understood how old people felt when their aged joints kept causing them trouble and why they were always grumbling about young people. I do act like a grouchy old woman sometimes, though. You didn’t want to be, but the deep-rooted frustration with yourself and your useless leg was really quite unbearable at times.

Glancing up, you observed that your husband had realised you weren’t right behind him and was swiftly making his way back to you. “Sorry! Are you alright? You don’t look very pleased.”

“It’s my damn leg,” you grunted, aggravated at the inhibiting, throbbing ache in your muscles. “Sometimes I think I’m just better off without it.”

He paused, staring down at you for a few seconds, before he stepped closer and swept you up into his arms without any warning.

“Woah—Satoru! What are you doing?” Your cane smacked into the nearest wall and knocked a framed photograph to the ground. Flailing, you hastily wrapped your arms around his neck for balance, wide-eyed. “Put me down!”

The man seemed quite at ease—with one arm, he held you to his chest as he stooped to grab the fallen picture frame and put it back on the wall, having put down the yukatas and towels he was holding. You softly squealed at the motion, alarmed that you were going to fall, but his grip on you was secure. “There we go. Comfortable?” He flashed a teasing grin.

Embarrassingly close to his face, you leaned away and huffed, outraged. “I am not so helpless that you need to carry me! Look, there’s a dent in the wall now! At least ask me before just picking me up out of the blue!”

“If I’d have asked, you would have said no.” Satoru continued down the hallway to the onsen area, and he placed the obis, towels and yukatas on your lap. You couldn’t work out how his arm wasn’t shaking with exertion from carrying you so effortlessly. Just how strong is this guy? “The hot spring will be good for your leg, by the way. Onsens are known for how physiotherapeutic they are. Doesn’t that sound relaxing?”

“Do not get used to this,” you replied exasperatedly, one of your hands brushing against his spiky hair as you shifted in his hold. Soft. “Th-This will be the last time you hold me.”

“Nuh-uh,” he countered, and his free hand came up to brush some hair out of your face, and you blinked in surprise. The man grinned that shit-eating grin of his again. “Would you care for a massage, madam? I’ll take good care of your leg.”

“Two days,” you breathed, incensed and blushing. “For barely two days we have been married, but you’re already acting like it’s been two decades! Did I not say that such familiarity was—was best avoided? Why do you insist on such behaviour?”

“Because you’re fun to tease.” Satoru shrugged, tilting his head at you flirtatiously. “And we’re going to be trying for a baby, anyways. Might as well get as comfortable with each other as we can.”

Dumbfounded, you found you had no argument to that—no argument that didn’t result in ratting yourself out, anyway. Outrageous! Utterly outrageous! You couldn’t believe this guy. For a start, he sounded like he was looking forward to ‘making a baby’ with you. He hardly knows me! And I’m not even beautiful! He’s probably just accepted it as a marital duty he has to do, anyway—yeah, that’s it. There’s no way a gorgeous man like him would actually want a woman like me.

Second of all, you thought he was way too comfortable with you already. For all he knows, I could’ve been assigned to assassinate him or something! The man really was too careless for his own good. What am I going to do with him?

After a moment of stunned silence from you and triumphant silence from him, you rolled your eyes and looked away. “W-Well, it’s just a…a…an obligation, anyway. I don’t see why there’s any need for feelings of attachment. How do you think they did it centuries ago? Arranged marriages don’t need love,” you rambled, wracking your brain for the right words to say. You were lying to yourself so blatantly; you knew and fully believed that the most important aspect of marriage was love. But your circumstances refused you such a luxury. “Just—just a…‘once-a-week’ kind of thing. No strings attached, you know?” 

He had fallen silent, and you could feel him gazing at you through his blindfold. “I fail to understand why you’re so adamantly against making this marriage…work.” Satoru tipped his head and gave you an appraising look, his lips pursed. “Is there something you’re not telling me, perhaps?”

Dammit, I’m just digging a deeper hole for myself here! You squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to calm down. This man flusters me way too much. It’ll be fatal if I keep letting him! “No. I just don’t love you, that’s why.”

Icy silence, and his face twitched with an expression you couldn’t read. To remedy it, you hastily continued, “Erm, for example, my parents’ marriage was arranged. They never loved each other, but here I am…even though I didn’t turn out very good. Most marriages in this society are arranged. Ours is no different. Were my parents all buddy-buddy like you’re trying to be with me? No—at least, not from what I remember. From what I do recall, they were more or less acquaintances with each other, always speaking formally and arguing a lot. They died when I was young, though, so my memory fails me. But! The point is, an affinity isn’t needed for this. We can just…keep our distance and go about our lives like they were before we married. I think I’ve explained this to you about three times already, and I don’t plan on doing it again. Do you get it now?”

Satoru, again, didn’t reply, and so you heaved a sigh and left it at that. If he doesn’t want to get it, then there’s nothing I can do. It doesn’t change anything in my plans, anyway. It just made it easier if he forgot about you without difficulty. And you didn’t like speaking to him in such a sharp way, either—from what you could gather, his kindness was sincere. Perhaps that stemmed from your mutual hate for the elders, and therefore something you both had in common with each other. Despite how aggravating he tended to be, Satoru wasn’t someone you wanted to hurt. This is for his own good, really.

Neither of you said another word until you both stopped outside the baths’ doors. He still didn’t put you down.

“Okay, we need to shower before getting into the spring,” Satoru said, tone clipped. The shower area was empty and warm, with another door beyond it to where the onsen was. Finally, he put you down gently, and you immediately stepped away from him to maintain distance. His hand had hovered over the curve of your waist, and strangely clenched into a fist when you withdrew, before flopping down at his side. With a set jaw, he turned away. “I’ll go over here.”

Great, I’ve angered him again. Was there even any point in trying to explain your reasons to him? Or am I making this all about me? The last thing you wanted to be was a demanding wife. Great way to make him sick of you, yes, but you just hated the thought of being viewed as annoying. Watching him stride away with his towel in hand, you lowered your head and blinked back tears. Don’t you start crying now. You’re the one in the wrong here. Quit it with the self-pity! You’d been pathetic all your life, but you weren’t going to be pathetic in that way. 

Alright. Let’s divert from the topic of myself and the marriage whenever he brings it up. Thinking back on everything you had said, it really did just sound like you were whining. How annoying I must be! Maybe I should just shut up and not say anything at all.

Yes, that sounded optimal. You stepped into the shower, drawing the curtain, and pushed the temperature handle up to warm. You washed yourself and your hair, rinsed the suds away, and switched the water off. Wrapping the onsen towel around yourself, you worried your bottom lip at the sight of how short it was.

Hardly even covers anything! The last thing you wanted to do was potentially agitate Satoru. Not that he’d be excited by me, anyway. Still, I feel so immodest, walking around in this.

Peeping around the shower curtain, you heard your husband’s stall shower still running, and took that chance to head for the onsen first. You opened the door and stepped inside, immediately hit with a wall steam.

The sulfuric smell made you cough a bit and your eyes sting, but you padded across the tiled floors for the spring, placing your cane aside, and dipped a toe in. 

It’s warm. You grabbed the railing to use for balance instead of your walking stick, and you stepped into the hot water. With your towel held tightly around your chest, you eased yourself into a sitting position, kneading gently at your weakened leg, and relaxed with a sigh.

This is nice. The water was pleasantly warm, you could lean your head back against the edge of the bath, and your stiff, tired muscles were loosening up.

Another five minutes went by before the door clicked open, and in entered Satoru. Peeking an eye open, you almost leapt out of your skin at the sight of him.

He had no blindfold on and, mercifully, had his towel wrapped securely around his waist—but that did nothing to conceal the contoured, sculpted muscles of his torso and arms, much broader and bulkier than his baggy choices of clothing gave him credit for. His shoulders were wide, waist attractively narrow, his biceps strong, and his chest—well. You couldn’t help but be filled with envy. You looked down at the size of your own bust, and sighed. This man was truly blessed with everything, wasn’t he?

Satoru was already a giant in height. If he had gone into modelling, especially with that striking face of his, he would have shot to stardom overnight. 

To think I was the one who married such a man! One just oozing sex appeal—and one who knew exactly how to flaunt it to his own advantage.

“Enjoying the view?” he crooned, stepping into the hot spring also. Suddenly, ever since he had entered the room, it was a real effort to breathe. And he just had to take a seat close to you, with only some reasonable distance to separate you both, but it wasn’t far enough. So, subtly, you inched away from him, pressing yourself flat against the marble wall of the spring, keeping your eyes off the man. “Um, it’s okay.”

What the hell am I saying? You had never been so on-edge around one person before. And you realised, with a start, that this kind of on-edge was very different to the agitation you felt around the likes of your aunt. You had never experienced it before. This kind of restlessness wasn’t fear—it was the type that made you feel exhilarated, thrilled, and you hated it.

“Why are you moving away from me?” You froze, watching him from the corner of your eye, and the hand holding your towel up tightened its grip. There was the sound of water sloshing, Satoru having casually propped his knee up. And then there was a low chuckle. “What, scared you’ll jump me?”

You snapped your head up to glare at him indignantly. “I’ll have you know that—!” The sight of his posture cut you off: he was so insouciantly leaning his toned arms up against the edge of the bath, head tilted to the side, with a tantalising smirk curling up his shapely lips, droplets of water slowly, gradually rolling down the unsubmerged, muscled planes of his chest, making you hastily look away. I need to get out of here. Air! Air! I can’t breathe! “I’ll—I’ll have you know that I…I’ve always been raised to have—dignity. I am a lady. I would do no such thing.”

“You are a lady, are you?” Refusing to let Satoru irk you, you continued shifting away, not bothering to be sneaky about it anymore. You only stopped and faced him again when you were at the other end of the bath, somewhat surprised he hadn’t tried to stop you. It was a feat to keep your eyes on his face and not let them trail down any lower. But his eyes made your pulse race even more—it was the look in them, the way they stared at you, that had you nonetheless jittery. So blue, framed with long, curly pearl-white lashes that had you, once more, flattening your lips in envy. A lidded gaze, one that unabashedly trailed down over your figure, slow and fervent, and had you curling into yourself even more.

“…Stop,” you whispered and lowered your head, turning your front away from him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” As if you’re going to eat me. You didn’t know whether you liked it or hated it—and his coy act had your blood boiling, nerves already strung out taut. You threw a weak glare at him. “Don’t play dumb.”

He lifted his hands in a shrugging gesture, grin widening. “You were ogling me, but it’s not okay when I admire my wife? Who’s in a hot spring with me, clothed in nothing but a flimsy, short towel?”

You felt like drowning yourself right there with how humiliated you were. “You—You’re just doing it to be annoying. I will leave if you keep this up.”

“Will you, now?” In a blink, Satoru had suddenly disappeared right before your eyes—and then appeared again right next to you. Shrieking, you weren’t able to move away in time before he had pulled you onto his lap. He teleported?! Strong arms coiled around your waist and pressed you to him. One of his hands moved down to massage the outer thigh of your sore leg, grinning up at you. “Still gonna leave? I said I’d give you a massage, didn’t I? You gotta stay for that.”

“I—” It felt good. Very good. His hand was so big and warm, rough with calluses, and gentle. It made no move for your crotch or anywhere else intimate. Satoru was keeping his word from earlier. 

Slowly, despite your inward refusal, you began to relax into him, enjoying his tender caresses, and the relief it gave your leg. The hand on your back began to rub slow circles into your skin, and soon enough, your cheek was resting against his shoulder and you had notably calmed down.

Satoru’s chest rumbled with a soft chuckle. “Feel good?”

“…You had me all flustered for nothing,” you grumbled, and suddenly all your previous determination to not be swayed by this man’s charm had disappeared.

“Flustered?” he echoed, hand moving down to knead your calf. You hummed in delight. “You looked like you were going to murder me.”

“I wasn’t far away from drowning you, no.”

“Aw. I feel so loved.”

You bit back a smile. I suppose this friendly camaraderie is nice. “Oh, shush.” 

And then you realised something. What’s that invisible force field he always has around him? His ‘Infinity’, was it? I’ve…never once been stopped by it. That was weird. Satoru hardly knew you—why would he be comfortable enough with you to turn it off?

“I have a question,” you quietly began, trying not to close your eyes and go to sleep, but his touch really was so enjoyable. You’d never been handled so delicately in all your life, and it was something you easily foresaw as addictive. I need to be more careful. This is the first and last time I’ll let him do this.

Satoru’s hand massaged your thigh again, and you practically watched as your resolve crumbled once more. “Mm?” 

“You have your Infinity always on, right?” He hummed again in affirmation, and you felt his cheek rest against your head. You closely watched the movements of his hand as he caressed your leg. “Why doesn’t it block me out?”

His hand froze, and then it began moving again as quick as it stopped. “…It’s because it’s…automated—like, it can sense the speed and thus the danger of something, but I can also decide what I do or do not let into my space. I deem you no threat, and therefore allow you close to me.”

“You’ve known me for two days,” you softly, lightly reasoned. “How are you absolutely sure I won’t smother you with a pillow in your sleep?”

Satoru’s mouth opened to say something before it closed, as if he thought better of it, chuckling rather hoarsely. “…Three…weeks, actually. We’ve known each other for three weeks.”

“Well, we met once three weeks ago,” you quietly pointed out, eyes beginning to gradually fall shut. At that moment, the brief, wordless exchanging of glances when you were seventeen was forgotten. Hardly worth mentioning, anyway. “We’re still practically strangers.”

“Strangers sit with each other in a hot spring while one massages the other’s leg?”

“You’re making it sound weird.” You turned your face further into his chest to hide your smile. With one hand on his chest, you felt his heartbeat, and its abnormally fast pace.

Straightening, you squinted at him, and Satoru gazed up at you with these big blue eyes, inquisitive. You patted his chest, concerned. “Are you alright? Your heart rate is really quick…”

His eyes widened, and then he turned his face away, ivory bangs brushing over his eyes. There was a pink flush to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. “Oh—um, I’m fine. It’s just a bit…hot in here, is all.”

You tilted your head, unconvinced. Placing a hand to his forehead, you felt his temperature, before feeling his cheek. “Hm. You’re feverish. Did you catch a cold? I told you to dress more warmly, Satoru.”

Azure hues snapped to yours, gaze alarmingly intense, as the hand on your leg moved to grasp your wrist, taking your hand from his face. “Are you oblivious?”

“Huh?” Taken aback, you tried to free your hand of his hold, but his grip wasn’t so lenient. Without blinking, he stared right at you, and you couldn’t get a read on him. Have I upset him again?

Satoru didn’t respond, so you swiftly apologised. “I’m sorry. Did you not want me to touch you? I’ll ask next time.”

“No,” he scoffed, shaking his head and looking away. Your wrist remained in his large hand. “No, you can touch me whenever you like. I’m just—think about it. Why else would I be feverish?”

You pursed your lips, pensive. “Well…the only thing I can think of is the hot spring.” During your time of having a phone, you had familiarised yourself with it, and read a few articles on Ginzan Onsen. Apparently, staying in it for too long wasn’t good for you, and breaks were needed to cool the body temperature. Yeah, that’s why he’s all red. We should probably hop out now. “Should we go back to our room? I heard it’s not ideal to stay in the onsen for more than half an hour, I think. That’s why you’re all hot.”

“It’s been about fifteen minutes,” Satoru countered, and his free hand rubbed over his face. He heaved a sigh. “Do you really think a man would be able to sit in a hot spring with his half-naked wife, and not feel bothered at all?”

Your mouth fell open, freezing up. “I—” Unable to move away, you racked your brains for something to say, something to ease the tense atmosphere. “Well—that’s why we should…go, because you might want to…calm down?” You tried to tug your hand from him, but he still wouldn’t let you go. “Um…maybe I should move away from you. I’m sorry, I don’t know much about this kind of thing.”

Satoru snorted. “Yeah, that much is clear.” Finally, his grasp on your wrist disappeared, and you immediately took that chance to slip off his lap and move away, body trembling and inflamed. You supposed it was only a natural reaction—who wouldn’t look at the man and not find him extremely appealing, especially when he looked at you in such a way?

“Well, um—if you want to stay in here a little longer…” You kept your towel tightly wrapped around yourself as you moved to the other end of the onsen again, where your cane was. “I’ll, uh, head back to the hotel room. Feeling kind of tired.” You faked a yawn. “See? Yeah. Don’t spend too long. I’ll request for our meal to be delivered to our room. Sound okay?” I need to get away from him. He was too good at scattering your wits.

“Still want to go for a walk later?” Satoru watched your every move as you grabbed the railing and hobbled out of the pool. You burned with embarrassment, wanting to snap at him to look away. I look so goddamn pathetic like this, limping around as if I’m eighty, not twenty! And to think he’d have already tolerated you for two days! He would leave soon enough, you were sure—and you hoped so.

“Um, I’ll see how I feel after eating.” Not once did you look at him as you snatched up your walking stick and limped toward the door, trying not to slip on the wet tiles. You doubted you’d be able to handle any more embarrassment than you were already afflicted with. Jumping off a cliff sounds very enticing right now. “…Enjoy the rest of your bath.”

There was no reply except for a rather hoarse chuckle, and the moment you were back in the hotel room after showering and putting in a request for dinner, you slumped into one of the futons, almost in tears from the humiliation. This is going to come back to haunt me every year now. And that only made you more determined to get out of the marriage faster. 

You’d never met such a frustrating man. Satoru made you tingly all over and knew how to rile you up, and you’d only been married for barely two days! Imagine what an entire year would be like!

Groaning into the pillow, you half-hoped he wouldn’t come back from the onsen, that he had accidentally drowned himself or something, but that was much too far-fetched a fantasy. Let’s pray the man grows weary of me—not to the point where he demands a divorce, but to the point where he won’t pay me any attention, will forget I even exist, and then my quiet departure will go unnoticed.

If only it were that simple. And with the way the man kept insisting on acting toward you, even when you had raised your points to him multiple times, you knew that all of it would be much easier said than done.

Chapter Text

During the remainder of the honeymoon, you eventually just accepted that your husband was a very huggy person.

Despite your hopes, sleeping on separate futons was unavailing at keeping him away—all he did was slide your futon over so it was connected to his, and then promptly gathered you into his arms and massaged your leg again.

Goddammit. The blasted man knew that this was your new weakness. And you hated how you could not resist such relief to your leg. Those big hands of his, so warm and strong, gently kneading at the flesh of your thigh. In the end, you allowed him to clutch you into his chest and fall asleep with his chin on your head. 

You laid awake, however, just listening to his soft, deep breathing and the beats of his heart. You were warm and comfortable, completely relaxed and feeling very safe in his secure hold, but sleep did not grace you. 

Seems like everything I say to try and distance us just goes through one ear and out the other with this guy, huh? Why? Why did he appear to like you so much?

If he’s acting, he is one cruel man. You buried your face further into his front, squeezing your eyes shut. I’d never forgive him if he was.

“Can’t sleep?” Abruptly, Satoru’s chest rumbled as he groggily shifted about so he could look at you. Sleepy cerulean eyes blinked open slowly, and then he yawned. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Only about half an hour,” you lied. You subtly squinted in the darkness to the analog clock behind him, the time reading 3:41AM. You’d been awake and he had been sleeping since ten. Patting his arm, you turned around, your back to him. “Go back to sleep. You need it.”

He didn’t get the hint from you turning away and instead circled his arms around your middle, pressing your back into his chest. Your bodies slotted together almost perfectly; your rear niched into his crotch exactly, legs entwined as he placed his chin on your shoulder. “We could go out for a walk if you’re not tired.”

“Go back to sleep, Satoru,” you gently repeated, closing your eyes and trying to relax. “I don’t feel like getting up. You probably don’t, either.”

“I had a good sleep,” your husband replied, chest vibrating against your back as he spoke. “You’re very soft and warm. Haven’t slept like that in a while.”

You decided to ignore his drowsy praises. “And you can continue to. We’ll have a walk tomorrow, okay?”

“Mm,” he hummed in reply, dozing off once more. You were glad. You weren’t in the mood for his chatter. 

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you did eventually—and when you woke up, you could instantly tell it was nearing afternoon. 

Stirring, you immediately felt the lack of warmth that was wrapped around you all night, your husband absent from the bed. You yawned and stretched, joints popping, as you rubbed your eyes and finally sat up.

Where is he? You couldn’t sense anyone in the room with you. Fumbling around for your phone, you switched it on and opened messages.

The time read 12:18PM, and there were two texts from Satoru, with their timestamps as 11:02AM. 

morning baby, i headed out early to deal with the curse, they read. will probably be back after lunch ❤️

Without replying, you shut your phone off and rolled out of bed, hissing at the stiffness of your leg. At this point, I’m going to have to make Satoru my personal masseur! And then you promptly discarded that thought, face heating. No, that’s exactly what he wants. The idiot. He’s more scheming than he looks, isn’t he?

Grabbing your cane, it clicked across the floor as you padded into the tiny hotel room kitchen, opening up the poor excuse for a fridge situated below the granite counter. Inside was a bottle of milk, some leftovers from your dinner the night before, and a small carton of eggs. You took the milk and placed it on the bench, filling the kettle with water and setting it to boil. After scavenging about the cupboards for a minute or so, you found some instant coffee and fixed yourself a cup.

I’ll wait until Satoru gets back to eat. You hobbled back into the main living area and grabbed your phone, sending him a quick message. 

Would you like to have lunch when you get back? I’ll wait for you.

Pursing your lips, you wondered if that was a bit cold and impersonal. Then you typed and sent: 

Please be safe.

The messages were instantly read, which surprised you, and the small three-dotted bubble popped up.

the curse is almost dead. want a photo? 😇

No, I don’t need a photo.

That emoji feels ominous, for some reason.

probably because i just brutally mutilated a special-grade curse to beyond recognition

it kinda pissed me off bc i was tryna quickly kill it but it decided to be difficult

like?? i’ve got my beautiful wife waiting for me back at the hotel i need to hurry up thank you

You’re an idiot.

He didn’t respond for a about ten minutes, and then:

:( 

i’ve still got my beautiful wife waiting for me back at the hotel tho

You shook your head and switched off your phone, sipping at your coffee, turning on the hotel room’s tiny TV. He’ll change his mind eventually.

And when he arrived back from the mission, you knew Satoru was just pretending to be exhausted so he would be pampered.

The only way to get him to quit whining was to humour him. This man has been spoiled rotten his entire life, it’s clear. Twenty-two years old, and still with the puppy-eyed stare of a child.

Presently, he sat on the small, two-person couch, clad in a loose-fitting yukata with the obi laxly tied, leaving the garment open at the chest and exposing his sculpted front. Satoru was clearly doing it on purpose. He had that glint in his eye you found he always took on whenever an onslaught of teasing and affection was on its way.

“I have a bruise.” Your husband grasped your wrist and gazed up at you woefully, those striking blue eyes of his just full of innocence. But you knew better. Only the night before did those same eyes look at you with the most carnal stare you believed was humanly possible. It wasn’t one you could easily forget.

You arched a brow, nerves buzzing at the memory of it. “RCT would come in handy, then, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m too tired to use it,” Satoru sighed, lowering and shaking his head in exaggerated sorrow. “It costs so much cursed energy. Even for a mere bruise.”

“Satoru, do you think I’m stupid?” You gently lifted his chin and inspected his pretty face anyway, despite you knowing he was merely being silly. “Your Infinity would never let a single hit land. You’re fine.”

“I never said where I had a bruise,” he hastily insisted, pulling you back when you tried to turn away again. “Um…it’s mental. The curse was…psychologically taxing! Making me think all these things that really hurt my feelings…”

Unamused by his childishness, you tried not to visibly cringe and narrowed your eyes. “If that’s the case, what do you want me to do?”

In answer, Satoru yanked you forward so you were situated nicely on his lap, and that innocent stare was gone. “Oh, maybe you could sweet-talk me better.” One of his hands brushed tenderly across your cheek, that smirk of his broadening at your wide eyes. “What better comfort is there for a man, other than his lovely wife? Aren’t we on honeymoon? Why not…bask in each other’s arms for a little while?”

“I—” He’s crazy! You straightened and scrambled from his lap, avoiding his questions. “Stop being silly! Let’s just have lu—oh!”

Your husband, as usual, would not let you go so easily. Satoru leaned in way too close, lips ghosting over your ear. “Sorry for this. We’ve got company.”

Your hand gripped his shoulder. Oh. “Are—Are we being watched?”

“They’ve sent in harmless shikigami and planted them as cameras.” One of his hands met your thigh and eased up under the yukata. Gasping, you squirmed and tried to push at his chest. “Wait—you’re not actually—?”

“No.” Satoru’s hand continued until it grasped your hip, lips ghosting over your ear. “We won’t go that far, don’t worry. But let’s give them a show anyway, shall we?”

And then he was placing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his free hand grasping your other leg, pulling you against him, until his abdomen was pressed to your groin. With hardly any idea where to put your hands, let alone yourself, you opted to just wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in close, his chest against yours. 

Wits scattered, you managed enough to peep over his shoulder and looked about the room to try and spot any shikigami, or anything with a particularly large amount of cursed energy in one spot, before Satoru rumbled against your nape, “Over there, sitting on the windowsill above the kitchen sink.”

Immediately, you spotted it—an oversized cockroach with two large eyes that peered at you both intently. You clutched him tighter, nails digging into his back, stomach coiling in revulsion. “Oh, gross—please, get rid of it, Satoru.”

“Done.” And it was—without moving an inch or even looking, the man burst the creature into pieces, nothing but purple muck splattered all across the glass and kitchen counter as remains. 

Disgusted, you looked away, unwrapping your arms from around his shoulders and patting his chest, quivering. “Uh—alright, well, I suppose that’s enou—mmh!”

You flinched as Satoru suddenly bit into your neck and sucked, lips hot against your skin, soothing over the aching area with his tongue. His ivory locks grazed softly across your cheek as he moved lower, nibbling lightly at the skin of your throat.

“Satoru—” Wriggling about, you managed to sneak a hand up and to his face, pressing it over his mouth. He halted in his movements, peering up at you, gaze intense and silently questioning. You were panting heavily, mind muddled. “Th-There’s no more of those little cameras, or whatever they were. You don’t need to…do any more.”

And then he nipped at your hand, slipping his from your hips to the small of your back, lifting you up so he was sitting, and you were straddling him. The stretch on your leg was sharp, and you let out a soft sound of pain. “Ow—what are you doing now?”

“I think I got a little caught up in the moment,” Satoru airily observed, eyes roving over the pink-and-blue marks on your neck, one of his hands moving to your sore limb and beginning to massage again, looking very pleased. The pain assuaged. His mouth was swollen and rosy, and twitched with a grin. “My apologies. I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again, though.”

His words had heat flushing through you. “I—you—are you out of your mind? You make it sound as if you’re eager to have a child, even though you said there won’t be one if we decide not to have one…!”

Your husband looked you dead in the eye, silent, unmoving except for the hand on your thigh. “…You…are so blind.”

What is that supposed to mean? You frowned. Eventually, I will have to let him have his way with me. How do I put it off for longer? “Maybe stop speaking in riddles, and then I’ll understand.”

His lips pursed, and Satoru abruptly grasped your waist and lifted you from his lap. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“You already had one th—” But the tiny bathroom door slammed shut. Taken aback, you remained seated on the sofa, staring after him. What have I done now? There was the sound of water running, and you sighed. 

I don’t think I’ll ever work this man out. But, then again, in the end, there would be no need. Soon enough, we’ll be continents apart. Even if it took a few years.

The pain never abated.

It was like having a chainsaw slowly sliced through your gut. You sat, trembling, against the bathroom sink, curled in on yourself, your yukata damp with tears. 

Endometriosis was the catalyst for much of your present agony from when you were a teen. Being diagnosed with it wasn’t extremely horrifying at first, but the pain that ensued made you regret even living. Your hands were clenched against the sink edge, white-knuckled, as you lifted yourself up to swallow the pill. You had been in here for at least half an hour already, muffling your groans of pain into your arm and robe, all while Satoru was asleep. 

I miss out on taking this pill for two days. Even when ever-dutiful in taking your pills, the previous two days had been so hectic, you couldn’t find any time to take your daily medication. Now, you were suffering the consequences.

It also explained why you had been so grouchy lately—two-to-three days before your period, you were always particularly irritable. It was unlike you: your usual self was quiet, reserved and polite, never one to lose your head easily. Satoru proved you wrong.

Not my fault he’s annoying. Even then, those weren’t your typical thoughts. But he didn’t deserve being talked to that way. I should apologise.

Gripping the basin, you heaved yourself to your feet, weak leg shaking and numb. Sharp, agonising bolts of pain flashed across your abdomen, but you kept yourself upright. I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

There was a tap on the door. “Are you alright in there? It’s been ages.”

Panicking, you swiftly snatched up your medication and stuffed it into your toiletries bag, before splashing some water on your face to wash away the tear stains. I was sure he was asleep! “I’m—I’m fine! Just, uh, had a little bit of food poisoning, is all.”

There were a few seconds of silence. “Do you think a locked bathroom door can keep me out?” And then, in a flash, a messy-haired Gojo Satoru was standing before you, staring down intently at your state. His eyes narrowed. “You look haggard. You sure it was food poisoning?”

“Very sure!” You forced a trembling smile, keeping your makeup bag behind your back, awkwardly leaning against the sink. “Don’t worry, it’s passed now.” Miraculously, you managed to suppress your winces of pain. “We—you can go back to bed.”

Satoru remained silent, just gazing down at you, before he slowly reached forward and around your side, right into your space, plucking your toiletries bag from your hands before you could react. He unzipped it, reaching in. “What are—”

“It—it’s just paracetamol!” You hastily yanked the bag from his hands, backing away, stumbling. Dammit, I’m overreacting! I need to calm down! “And—there’s…personal stuff in there! You can’t just rummage about a woman’s sanitary items.”

If he sees the medication and reads the prescription, I’m done for! But now, with your frazzled state, Satoru would probably begin to suspect anyway. Where can I hide this so he won’t find it? Why does this guy have to be so nosy?!

Your husband crossed his arms. “I can see that you’re in a lot of discomfort. Do we need to go to the hospital? Is it so bad you have to take pain killers?”

Taking a deep breath, you tried to appreciate his concern. “Satoru. It’s just my period. I am one of the many unlucky women to have a very painful monthly cycle. I’ve been dealing with this since I was a teenager. It’s nothing to worry yourself about.”

The upside of this is that he won’t bother me to consummate. It wasn’t like he had been—but you had a good idea of how men worked. Your husband wasn’t much different. Males and their bloody hormones. Can’t control it for the life of them!

“Do you need a hot water bottle?” Satoru asked gently this time, uncrossing his arms. “A cup of warm milk? Or would going for a walk help?”

A massage would be nice, actually. Like hell you were going to voice that, though. But his soft tone and considerate suggestions touched you.

And then you started crying. You sat on the toilet lid and put your face in your hands. Of all damn times to start bawling like a baby. Could this get any worse? 

“Hey, hey…” Satoru was kneeling in front of you and gently grasping your wrists, pulling your hands from your face. Blue eyes stared up at you, full of concern. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to encroach on your space. So don’t cry, alright?” A thumb brushed against your lashes. “You’re fine. It’s my fault. Don’t cry.”

“No, it’s not your fault.” You breathed in deep to try and get a hold of yourself. I look like I’m vying for attention. Why am I always like this? “It’s mine. I’ve been very unkind to you lately. I’ve been snapping at you and ordering you around, and just—ugh. I’m sorry. I said I’d be a good wife when we were at the house. I’ll try harder. There’s no excuse for my behaviour. I’m sorry.” Please don’t divorce me! I was such a goddamn idiot for even suggesting it. 

Satoru blinked at you. “I—no. All of this has been a lot of pressure for you, and this marriage was just so—”

“Satoru.” You rubbed your eyes dry and fixed him with a firm look, attempting a smile. “It’s my fault. Please don’t make excuses for me.” I have to distract him from the pain I’m in. Your abdomen still felt like it was being relentlessly stabbed at, and it was a real fight to keep a straight face. Besides, he was no fool—you had long learned that. He’d soon suspect there was more to it than just a painful period. So, taking his hands in yours, you gave them a squeeze. “It’s been a lot of pressure for you, too. But do my struggles outweigh yours? Not at all. I’ve just been plain rude. And I’m very sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Satoru gazed up at you with an azure stare you couldn’t read—his eyes seemed to sparkle, cheeks lightly pink, and then he turned away as if bashful. Taken aback, you wondered at his silence. “Are you alright? Did I say something wrong?”

“No. No.” Satoru shook his head, still not looking at you—but the grips on your hands were tight and secure. “Um.” The man looked desperate for something to say. What’s going on? “Do—do you want to go for a walk? Maybe that will—help you.”

He’s really sweet sometimes. You could tell that he was clueless as to how to ease your discomfort, and was strangely flustered. So you squeezed his hands again. “Yeah. It would.”

So you both bundled up into thick layers of clothes with scarves and gloves, and quietly headed out into the dimly lit and snowy streets of Ginzan Onsen at two-thirty in the morning. The night air was absolutely glacial, but you and your husband stuck close to each other and shared body warmth. 

You had to make sure the topic of conversation had nothing to do with what just happened in the bathroom. “…Were you telling the truth when you said that curse you dealt with was ‘psychologically taxing’?”

“Nah. I was just pulling your leg.” Probably one of your favourite aspects of the man was his hands—how big they were, how they enveloped your own entirely, regardless of their size. And they were warm. Satoru’s eyes twinkled. “I was just doing that for attention.”

“I figured,” you tonelessly replied. He wasn’t hard to work out in that regard. “Let me tell you right now, Gojo Satoru—if you think I’m going to coddle and baby you, you are sorely mistaken, no matter how much you whine and carry on.”

“Why not?” He stopped in his tracks and clung to the hand that wasn’t grasping your cane, eyebrows pinched. “What if I really do need to be comforted? Are you just gonna coldly tell me to suck it up?”

You freed that hand and held up a forefinger. “One: it’s impossible for you to be injured, so you can’t ask me for pampering in that regard. Two: you’re a grown man. Six-foot-something, immeasurably strong and way too confident for your own good, and in your early-twenties. But…if someone close to you died or you lost your pet cat, then I’d let you mope on my shoulder.”

“I don’t have a pet cat, though.”

You tilted your head, masking your amusement. “Oh, well, then, you won’t be needing any of my comfort at all any time soon, will you?”

“What about when Megumi gets snotty with me again?”

“Didn’t you say he’s always like that? You don’t look too wounded by it.”

“That’s—that’s because I’m used to it. And no parental figure should be used to their kid’s snotty behaviour. Do you know how much it hurts when he finds my candy stash?” Satoru wiped away an invisible tear. “And he always eats the snake gummies. I really like the snake gummies.”

“How many cavities do you have?”

He shrugged, suddenly not so teary anymore. “Don’t need a dentist. I’ve got RCT.”

You blinked. “That’s…really clever.”

Satoru immediately lit up at your rare words of affirmation. “You think so?” Then he beamed a toothy grin, showing off all his pearly whites. “It’s why I’ve got great teeth. Don’t you think I’ve got great teeth?”

“Yes, Satoru. You’ve got very nice teeth.” You burned with envy. To think I’m jealous of a man. Am I pathetic or what?

“But I think your smile is prettier. You should smile more.” Your husband suddenly grabbed your cheeks and pulled them up. “Turn that frown upside down!”

Rolling your eyes, you batted his hands away, pulling your scarf up to cover your mouth, cheeks warm. “Don’t be silly. Should we walk around? It’s too cold to just stand still.”

Satoru grasped your free hand again and pulled you into his side, slowly strolling along with you. You appreciated how he always matched your speed, inhibited by your limp leg. “Let’s take some photos. See, look. It’s lightly snowing.” You both stopped under some lights and he pulled out his phone, opening the camera roll. Then he held it up far away from him so you were in the shot also, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you to him. “Cheese!”

He beamed brightly as he hit the button multiple times, and you tried to smile, but it came out rather awkward. You hadn’t taken a photo like this with someone before. So you just kept one half of your face hidden beneath the scarf as you looked at Satoru and the camera, unsure of where to put yourself.

“Come on, give me a smile!” he insisted, peering down at you. “You look so unimpressed.”

“I’m cold, Satoru,” you mumbled into the scarf, hesitantly wrapping your own arm around his middle. “And I don’t know how to smile for photos.”

“It’s easy. Like this!” And he was grinning cheesily again, you standing blankly at his side in the shot, the phone blinking with each picture he snapped. “See? Here, you try.”

Satoru handed you the phone, and you reluctantly accepted it, frowning at the reflection of your face. “I look horrible. Why would you want a photo of me in this state?”

“I think you always look gorgeous,” he casually replied, shrugging, and he reached over with his forefinger to hit the white camera button three times, effectively taking three photos of your frowning face. Satoru smirked at you. “Looks like I’ve finally got a suitable wallpaper now.”

“Do not set that as your wallpaper.” Immediately, you opened gallery to delete them. “Look at me! I look like some kind of grim haunting that stole your phone.”

“Not at all.” Your husband snatched the device from your hands before you could actually delete the photos. Affronted, you moved to reach up for it, but the damned idiot was way too tall. Satoru seemed to find your struggling immensely amusing. “Satoru! Hand it over!”

“Nuh-uh!” He hovered the phone far above your head. “Too bad you can’t reach, huh? I’m keeping those photos forever.”

“Ugh!” Damn my leg! If it weren’t for its frailty, you would’ve tried to jump and snatch it, but all you could do was hobble after him. “Keep those pictures and I’ll take one of you drooling in your sleep!”

That only served to heighten his amusement even more. His eyes lit up with glee, and you immediately knew you’d made a terrible mistake. “What a wonderful idea! That’s a perfect one to take of you!”

Fuming, you opted to smack his hip with your cane. “Not even your Infinity will save you, Gojo Satoru!”

The both of you probably woke the entire area up with your squabbling—Satoru’s laughter was bright and hearty, and your raging exclamations had him grabbing your cane and yanking it from your hold. You stumbled right into his chest. “Give me back my walking stick, Satoru.”

“Nah.” And he swept you up into his arms with a wide smile, leaving you even more immobile. “I think my life is actually at risk when you swing that thing around. My hip’s throbbing.”

“If you ever die, it’ll be by my hands,” you promised, wagging a forefinger under his nose. “You hear me? Your hip is nowhere near the worst of it.”

“Ooh, scary,” he sniggered, eyes sparkling under the lights. “Half an hour ago, you were apologising for being mean to me. What’s this, then?”

“I—” When he wasn’t riling you up, you were really quite a shy, unassuming woman, not one prone to smacking your tree of a husband—or anyone, for that matter—around with a walking stick, like some kind of ill-tempered old lady. Maybe the reason why you were so reactionary to his teasing was because you’d never been teased before. At least, not in a lighthearted way. The young servant girls at the clan estate had seemed to find making your preteen and adolescent years miserable terribly fun.

“That was—! Well, you’re always poking fun at me. It gets a little frustrating, you know! It’s clear you’ve never known the consequences for your actions.”

Satoru rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You’ve always been like this.”

You paused, blinking. What does he mean by that? “Sorry?”

“Oh, um…” He suddenly seemed to think he’d said something he shouldn’t have. “Nothing. I mean, you gave off the impression you’d be—fun to tease. Even when we…first met.”

“Is that so?” You lifted a brow. You still wondered at his cryptic and stilted words, but you let it slide. “What if I just ignored you? Would it be as fun then?”

“I think I’d die if you ignored me.” Satoru appeared genuinely upset at the suggestion. “Your attention is a need.”

“A need?” you echoed, dumbfounded. “You…I really cannot get a read on you.”

“Nah. You’re just blind,” he countered, turning around with you in his hold to continue down the street. “Anyways! Wanna throw snowballs at each other?”

You hadn’t had fun in the snow with someone before—at least, not in a very long time. I think it was when I was a kid?Only just before all hell broke loose on you. With someone else—a girl my age…who was it again?

Shrugging it off, you patted his shoulder. “Sure. Your Infinity stays off, though. And go easy on me.”

“If you smack me in the face with a snowball, I am going to do the same to you,” Satoru said matter-of-factly. “The difference between us is that you’d probably knock my teeth out. I won’t.”

“I’m not that strong, Satoru. Most I’d give you is a bruise.”

“Or a bloody nose.”

“I…” You couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside at his faith in your ‘strength’—even if it involved accidentally smashing his face in, which would not happen. Turning your face away, you bit back a smile. “You’re an idiot.”

“Usually, I’d be insulted when called that.” He tilted his head at you and grinned. “But if you say I’m an idiot, then I’m an idiot. I’d say I’m more your idiot.”

Smacking his upper arm, you buried your face further into your scarf, face much too hot. “…You have a way with words,” you mumbled into its soft wool. “A very tacky way. Are you going to put me down? I thought you wanted a snowball fight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru immediately placed you gently on your feet and handed you your cane, before backing away, hands up in surrender. At your puzzled look, he shrugged sheepishly. “I need to stay out of the range of that weapon you’ve got there. Wanna ice my hip for me later?”

“I’ll do it right now.” Stooping, you scooped some snow into a ball and flung it at his midriff—of which he easily dodged. You cocked your head, feigning confusion. “Why’d you move away? I thought you wanted your hip iced, Satoru.”

“I don’t want my crotch iced, too,” he jested, grabbing some snow himself. Beaming, Satoru aimed and threw, smacking you in the shoulder. With a grunt, you swiped the excess snow off of your coat, lifting and pointing your cane at him. “Like I said earlier, not even your Infinity will save you.”

“Says the person who hasn’t landed a single hit yet!” And then yet another snowball was flying in your direction, of which you hastened to dodge, narrowly missing being hit in the stomach. This shows just how much my leg slows me up!But, despite that, you were enjoying yourself. You were having fun.

You had to be quick about grabbing snow and tossing it at him—the man was too agile and quick, and didn’t seem to want to let you succeed in giving him a mouthful of snow. So, you opted for a dirtier trick.

“Ugh, Satoru, I’m getting tired…” you huffed, pretending to stumble and wince at your leg, easing yourself to the ground. Behind your back, your hand gathered some snow together. “My…my leg…I can’t…”

Immediately, Satoru dropped his next snowball and rushed to your side, gentle hands on your upper arms to help you up, his brow pinched. “Okay, I think I overexerted you. I’m sorr—mmph!”

You felt a tad bit bad at taking advantage of his open concern for you, but you stuffed the snow into his mouth regardless, bursting out in laughter. “Haha! Got you!”

Satoru spat the snow out, blinking rapidly, before he chuckled. Then he tackled you into the ground, getting snow in your hair, strong arms around your middle. “You little minx. I never thought you would resort to such underhanded tactics!”

“You’ve taught me a couple of things these past few days,” you countered, your previous worries forgotten. “How’s the taste of your own medicine?”

“No, you’re certainly not to be underestimated,” Satoru agreed, nuzzling you. Then he tapped your forehead. “A big brain you've got there.”

You tapped his forehead in return. “A bird brain you’ve got there.”

Satoru gaped in mock offence. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’m very good at physics—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, Einstein, get off me now.” He was leaning on your leg, and it was getting a bit much. “We’ll catch a cold if we keep lying in this snow. My scarf’s wet.”

“I can’t catch colds.”

“Well, I can. And I’m much sicklier than you. You’re not sickly at all.”

“Is that why you’re always taking medication?” You stilled, humour gone—when did he notice? You had been extremely subtle; always taking it whenever you were in the bathroom after your shower or when he wasn’t nearby. Unsure of how to respond, you quietly said, “Well…I don’t always take medication. Only when I’m feeling unwell, my leg’s acting up or my period is particularly painful.”

Satoru squinted at you. “Are you sure?”

You didn’t like that sceptical look of his. “Of course I’m sure,” you insisted, frowning at him. “How could I not be? It’s been like this for almost a decade.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound convinced. “You seemed to be in quite a lot of pain.”

You shrugged dismissively, looking away. “Yeah, well, billions of women go through the same thing as I do every month. Like I said before, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“If you say so.” Shuffling, Satoru finally removed himself from on top of you and lifted you up so you were standing. Hand clutching your cane, you pursed your lips at the sharp throbbing in your leg. Why does he always pry? Was it merely out of concern for you? Does he suspect me?

You had to make sure your medication remained very well-hidden—more so than it was before. Somewhere he won’t think to look. Because your overreaction from earlier was sure to be lingering on his mind, and the disbelieving, appraising looks he was presently giving was making you much more jittery than usual.

“Do you want to head back? I’m feeling better now,” you said awkwardly, the heavy silence between you both making you uncomfortable. “We need to get some sleep.”

“Alright,” he answered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, eyes on your leg. “Want me to carry you?”

“…Yes, please.” Usually, you would decline, but you really had strained your leg a bit. And I’d rather not, but I’ll probably have to ask him to massage it again. If you could swallow your pride for long enough. 

So your husband swept you up into his arms and happily carried you back to the hotel. Once inside your shared room, Satoru set you down on a chair and unwound your scarf from your neck for you. “One second. I’ll go hang this up.”

“Thank you.” Unzipping your coat, you laid it out on the couch to be put away in the morning. Only two more days, and you both would head back to Tokyo. You, frankly, couldn’t wait. Wandering about the garden and baking cupcakes in the kitchen was very appealing.

Back in your warm pyjamas, you settled down into your futon, letting Satoru wrap his arms around you again and bury his face into your neck.

You wanted to ask why he kept doing this, as if you were both a loving couple, but something held you back. Perhaps it’s because I would be picking an unnecessary fight and drawing out unneeded tension again. Besides, pushing him away had proved no good multiple times already. He’s probably like this with everyone.

Satoru always seemed to be the huggy type. It was just part of his personality. So you relaxed and closed your eyes, soothed by his presence. He’s not that bad, anyway. He seems pretty sincere. 

Your resolve remained unshaken, however. The medication sat safely hidden in an inconspicuous compartment of your suitcase, somewhere the man hopefully wouldn’t think much about. Satoru may be sincere now, but that would be bound to change the moment he finds those pills.

Best to keep an eye on him. A sharp eye on him. For there was one main and alarming aspect about Gojo Satoru: he was as unpredictable as the weather.

Chapter Text

The following few days flew by in a peaceful type of lull. No hiccups, except for your husband not leaving you alone for a second. The only times you got any peace and quiet was whenever he took a bathroom break.

Many times, your fluctuating hormones and moods had you almost throttling the guy, but you remained stiffly in control of yourself as best you could. 

This guy will take a long time to get used to, you had thought while eating lunch in a restaurant with him, letting his unceasing chatter fade into white noise. Might as well just let him get it out.

But you found his incessant prattling great for tuning out your own incessant thoughts. Your worries, fears and doubts—all momentarily forgotten as you listened to Satoru jabber on about this and that.

You were the listener, he was the yapper. You were rather content with it, after a while. 

His stories about Megumi and past missions (definitely over-exaggerated for more dramatic effect) were quite amusing to hear as the car cruised along the relatively empty highway. It wasn’t exactly holiday season any more, so there wasn’t too much traffic—certainly not as much that held you both up at the beginning of your trip—and the snowfall had eased to a light, fluttering descent. But, there were quite a lot of new sheets of it blanketing the roads and trees—this morning, you had both trekked back to the car after a night of heavy snow, only to find the car practically invisible against the white all around. It only confirmed that making your way back to the house was wiser than staying in Ginzan Onsen, and then being stuck behind due to the heavy snow needing to be shovelled aside.

The main upside about his constant chatter was that the topics were rarely ever about you. They were either about himself, his younger years, Megumi’s antics, ranting about the elders, and missions. You didn’t mind him talking about himself a lot in the least. As long as you weren’t the centre of attention and subject of conversation, you were content.

Of course, however, that did not always last very long. After Satoru seemed to tired of speaking about whatever or hadn’t any more stories to tell, he’d opt to ask you a question.

“What was your childhood like?”

Troubled at the abrupt question, you did your best to mask the disquiet you felt and tried to convince yourself it was fine, you only had to throw in a few white lies and remember this was a perfectly normal question to ask someone you’re getting to know. Satoru had gladly divulged you about many (what you presumed to be tall) tales from his early years, so what was strange about you doing the same?

“Oh, it was…you know.” You forced a shrug. “Average. Had absolutely nothing on the endless adventures you experienced as a kid.”

“You didn’t have any ‘adventures’ yourself?” he asked, sending you a puzzled look. “Doesn’t every child, at least once? Splashing about lakes, exploring forests, throwing snowballs at each other, making friends?” 

“No, not really.” You sifted about your memory as far back as you could remember, the majority of flashbacks negative and with one main overarching character within them—your aunt. Amongst the dark ones was a milder one—one of meeting a little girl you couldn’t recall the features of, and one you faintly remembered throwing an entire lilypad at in anger. But that was hardly noteworthy enough to mention. “I don’t remember much of my childhood.” Because it wasn’t something you wanted to think or reminisce about in the least. 

“Nothing at all?”

“…There’s the odd bits and pieces, but, no—nothing of import.” With your elbow resting against the ledge of the car door and your cheek in your hand, you gazed out the window to the brisk world outside. “My childhood was very boring. I grew up sheltered.”

“I figured,” Satoru remarked, but you paid his tone no heed. You were used to his almost-grating quips by now. “But, I mean, every kid has at least one core memory, right?” From your periphery, you saw him shoot a bright smile your way. “I do.”

“Yes, I know you do, Satoru.” He had, over the past few hours, made it his life purpose of virtually telling you his entire, up-to-date biography. Moments of when he tormented the fretting servants at his family estate, pulled pranks on his mentors, parents and elders, and his favourite brand of confectionery when he was a kid. If he died suddenly and hadn’t kept a diary, you were sure you were now well-equipped and knowledgeable enough about the man to write a full chronicled account of his life. 

“Find it hard to believe you don’t, though.” His insistence only served to mystify you further. “Haven’t you got at least one?”

What ‘core memories’ you did have were all ones you wished to forget. Sighing, you stiffly replied, “No.”

Satoru finally seemed to get the message and fell silent. To occupy yourself, you tapped about your phone and scrolled through the photos your husband had sent you the day before—he had taken a lot more than you thought he did, some you didn’t even see him taking, and most were of you and were very unflattering, in your humble opinion. He looked dazzling and perfectly photogenic, as usual, but you could not say the same about yourself. 

“Wanna get maccas?” 

“You eat way too much McDonald’s, Satoru. You will get fat.”

“I have high metabolism, so I can’t get fat. I could actually do push-ups with you sitting on my back, no sweat.”

“Oh, I believe you.” Just seeing how toned he is all over was proof enough for you. “But it’s still terribly unhealthy. If you want a treat, I can bake you some cookies or a pie. Homemade is much better than fast food.”

“You’d bake for me?” Satoru sounded delighted and rather moved. “Oh, I’ve won. I can die happy and without regrets now. I married a woman who will bake sweets for me! I think I might cry.”

His tone was playful, but you sensed no sarcasm. Inwardly amused, you continued, “I’m not the best at it. Do you like apple pies with French vanilla ice cre—”

“Hell yeah!” Satoru exclaimed, almost swerving into a ditch in his excitement. “Should we stop by the supermarket and grab some ingredients? Do you need piping bags? Trays? Pastry? I don’t think the kitchen already has all of that. Will you let me lick the spoon when you’re done with it?”

“Raw egg can get you very si—”

“I ate an entire bowl of uncooked cookie dough with raw egg in it once, and I was fine,” he rebutted, beaming. “I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.”

“…Alright.” And so, once in Tokyo, you both stopped at an AEON mall and headed for the grocery section, Satoru happily pushing the trolley as you inspected items and produce. Although the pantry was relatively full, it had been a week since you were there last, so you supposed it would pay to get some fresh food.

You were both stopped before the large freezers where all the chilled foodstuffs were kept after having selected the groceries for that night’s dinner, and you reached in to grab a tub of normal vanilla ice cream. “What would you like for dessert?” 

“Apple pie,” Satoru immediately answered, seemingly very eager for your previous suggestion in the car. “Haven’t had a good apple pie in ages. Would you like me to cook dinner? All that standing around in the kitchen will be hard on your leg.”

“I will be fine.” It wasn’t like you were unable to handle being on your feet for hours on end. You could bear with the discomfort. You refused to let your inhibition hinder you all the time. Besides, giving yourself something to do helped to get your mind off the intense pain in your abdomen. “You’re probably tired from all that driving. I’ve been sitting around and doing nothing for long enough.”

“You could laze around all day if you wanted, and I wouldn’t mind.”

“I would. There’s housework to be done, gardening to do—all of that. It would be terribly pathetic letting my leg impede me from doing even the most basic of activities all the time. I think I will be perfectly occupied for the foreseeable future.”

Satoru pursed his lips and considered you for a moment, eyes obscured by his blindfold. “Can I at least help out with the cooking?”

“Because you want to lick the spoon?” You arched a brow at him, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “You may, just as long as you don’t mess around and get in my way.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You say you are good at everything, right? Are you good at making beds?”

“Uh…” Beneath that blindfold, he was probably avoiding your eyes. “Yeah…? Um, I can vacuum.”

You stared at him and then shook your head, placing the ice cream in the rather stacked shopping cart. “You’ve never had to make your own bed in your life, have you?”

“I have! I lived alone before I married you.” Satoru followed after you with the trolley as you moved along, heading toward the checkout. “I just…well, I never really saw the point in it if you’re just going to sleep in it again later…”

“It’s about being tidy, Satoru.” Under no circumstances were you going to allow the man to just throw his mess everywhere, because he was used to people picking up after him. “You put your dirty laundry in the hamper, wipe up the bench after making yourself a sandwich, and throw your candy wrappers in the bin. It’s that simple.”

“And if I don’t?” he teased, apparently thinking you weren’t being serious.

“I will confiscate your candy jar,” you deadpanned. “If you wish to be treated like a child, a child you will be treated as. But, remember, I am not your mother. I am your wife. Not your servant.”

“Yes, you are my wife.” Satoru leaned in close, unworried about those milling around. “If anything, I am your servant, no? You’re the queen of the house. I only live to serve at your beck and call.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” You gave him a warning glare. “And move away from me. We are in public. Have some decency!”

He obeyed, straightening once more, but he wrapped an arm around your middle and pulled you into his side instead. At your soft exclamation of surprise, Satoru squeezed you to him and grinned. “I don’t just say things I don’t mean. Married life is supposed to be filled with pleasure and comfort! I can give you both very easily.”

“Is that so?” You tilted your head up at him, sardonic. “If I said I wanted an expensive leather purse from, say…Chanel, would you be my loyal servant and immediately go and buy it for me?”

Satoru mimicked your stance, tilting his head at you also. “I can buy you as many as you like. Want everything in the shop? Just say the word.”

You shook your head and huffed out a laugh, trying to move away from him, but you were no match for his grip around your waist. So you looked away instead. “I’m only joking. If you did go and do such a thing, I’d strangle you.”

“Be in for a surprise on your birthday.”

“Not much of a surprise now, is it?” You both moved forward in the checkout line. You hadn’t received a birthday gift since you were only little, so his words touched you a bit. “And I’d never accept it. You’ll have to think of something else to get me.”

“That’s easy.” Judging by his tone, you could tell a whole lot of teasing and double entendres were on their way. “Another idea is that we could spend all day in be—”

“Are you suicidal?” you hurriedly cut him off, seeing the stares being thrown your way, glowering murderously up at him. “Because I’m more than happy to fulfil your death wish.”

Satoru laughed brightly. “Oh, I live for your reactions! You’re terribly fun to tease. With each day, I’m becoming more and more glad that I married you.”

For some reason, that made you flush with heat. “…Stop your lying. I’ll make you do the laundry for a week if you don’t.”

“Oh, I’m utterly petrified,” he drawled, finally letting you go and beginning to place the groceries onto the checkout counter to be scanned. “How will I survive? Punished for only telling the truth! What a cruel woman you are.”

You smacked his shoulder. “Hush. Give me your wallet. Will getting you a candy bar quiet you down? At least for ten minutes?”

He immediately pulled out his wallet and handed it to you so you could pay. “Here you are, ma’am. I’m blessed to have such a benevolent wife. What’s mine is yours.”

Rolling your eyes at his flirting and turning your warm face away, you were both soon out of the supermarket with your bagged groceries stacked in the cart, ready to be loaded into the car. Satoru was chewing on his chocolate bar, contentedly silent like a little kid who finally got his way, and you slipped the change back into his wallet, handing it to him. “Happy?”

“Very!” he exclaimed, cheeks stuffed with chocolate. “I am the luckiest man in the world.”

“Well, since you got that chocolate bar, I suppose you won’t really be needing any apple p—”

“Want me to do the laundry for the whole week? Done! I can do all the dishes and I can draw you up a nice warm bath and massage your leg again, ma’am. Your wish is my command!”

Biting back a smile, you lifted the car key fob and pressed the button, unlocking the vehicle. “A bath sounds lovely. And a massage, you say? Well, dear me. I suppose an extra cavity can’t do you too much harm.”

Of course, you weren’t being serious—but he gawked at you, lips parted, as if utterly unable to believe his ears. “Wait—you’ll let me have a bath with y—”

“Do you want to drop me off at the house first and then go and return this car?” you interrupted him before he could reallyget his hopes up, sending him a disapproving look. “That way I can unpack our things, get a load of laundry on, and start cooking dinner.” You rummaged about one of the bags. “How will you get back?”

Satoru was busy placing the bagged groceries in the boot when he straightened and then clapped his hands, grinning rather devilishly. “I have this amazing thing called teleportation.”

“You can teleport such a great distance?” 

“Easily. I could teleport right to Kyoto, if I wanted.”

“The strongest, huh?” You had to admit you were rather envious. “I bet you can fly, too. What’s next? Poof! You can grant three wishes?”

“Jealous?” As usual, he saw right through you. “Understandable; I’d be jealous of me t—ow!”

“Your mistake for not turning off that oh-so-awesome Infinity of yours around me,” you grumbled, lowering the roll of newspaper you had smacked him in the nose with at his bragging. “I did say that if you ever die, it’ll be by my hands.”

Satoru chuckled, rubbing his nose. “You pack quite the punch. That hurt.”

“Poor baby,” you mocked, jutting your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, placing the newspaper back into a bag. “Need me to kiss it better? Next time I’ll make sure it’s my walking stick, don’t worry.”

“It’d be great if you could kiss it better.” In the middle of the supermarket parking lot, he leaned right into your space, head tilted teasingly and flashing you an exaggerated pout of his own. “Here, see?” Satoru tapped his shapely, unharmed nose. “I think my perfect nose is broken. How could you treat your poor husband in such a way? First my hip, and now this!”

Just to get him to quit his whining and teasing, you grabbed his collar and pulled him in closer, inexplicably emboldened, and placed a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. Then you hurriedly shoved him away, face blazing with heat. “There! Now, give—give me that last bag.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence from the man towering above you, who made no move or sound to obey as he just wordlessly stared down at you. Lips parted and hand hovering over his nose, the fabric of his blindfold twitched as he blinked rapidly beneath it. “I—you—that—”

“Bag,” you shakily enunciated, refusing to look at him directly, humiliated by your own actions. But you caught a glimpse of his fiery-red ears and pink cheeks, and desperately, silently prayed for the ground to open and swallow you up right there. “Please hand me that bag.”

Then Satoru chuckled, hoarse and strained, turning away with a hand over his mouth. “I—I can’t…” He shook his head, smile wide and dumbstruck. “I can’t believe I got to marry you. I’m still getting my head around it.”

“Okay, Romeo, you can hand me that bag now,” you said for the third time, voice small. You couldn’t look at him. “It’s getting late and we have a long drive back. The bag’s heavy. Please give it to me.”

“You asked for this, you know?” It was after the 5PM rush hour; the parking lot was relatively deserted, for you had both parked some distance from the supermarket, and therefore no witnesses were around to see a tall, blindfolded man stepping toward his stunned wife, grabbing her face and bending down. 

With the front of his shirt balled into your hand, you squeaked in great surprise when a pair of full lips slotted to yours, one of his hands moving to grip your waist and press you flush against him, while the other cradled your cheek tenderly. Utterly astounded, you had no idea what to do or where to put yourself, so you clung to his shirt and tried to pull back. But Satoru was not so relenting, his hold on you too strong to break free of, and he tipped your chin up further for a better angle on your mouth.

I don’t know how to kiss! What is one supposed to do when abruptly embraced like so? Especially when one is entirely inexperienced like you, and when you have a man so avidly moving his mouth against your own? You hadn’t meant to provoke him—you had only meant to take him so off-guard, he would stop teasing you. But, you should have long known this man was as capricious as the wind—Satoru dipped his head toward you to deepen the kiss, opening your mouth with his own, and you felt the hand on your cheek slide down to grasp your hip as he backed you up against the car.

“Sato—” He gave you hardly any room to breathe as you finally managed to break away before he had you again, and you beat a hand against his chest, protesting into his mouth, words muffled. This idiot! What the hell has come over him?!

Warm tongue brushing against yours, your husband hummed consolingly into the kiss, delighted, one of his hands lifted to brush some hair out of your eyes and cup the back of your head. There was a chuckle, and he finally detached his mouth from yours with an audible smack. “Ooh…” Satoru smiled lazily, as if rather caught up in the moment. “Now that was something.”

“Are—Are you out of your mind?!” If it were anybody else, you would have slapped him silly. Your lips throbbed and burned, heart about to pound out of your chest, and it greatly aggravated you how you couldn’t see his eyes right now. “What the hell was that? In public, too! I just—I cannot belie—”

He shut you up with another long, slow smooch, that shit-eating grin of his leaving you speechless again. “Mm…I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

“You…what?” Your heart skipped three beats and then plummeted. “Satoru—it’s been barely a—”

“How indecent!” An unfamiliar, high-pitched voice cut you off, and you both turned to see an elderly couple standing a few metres away, staring at you two with wide, reproachful eyes, shopping cart unmoving before them. The woman waggled her boney old forefinger at you both. “Young people these days! You kids have no consideration whatsoever for your surroundings!”

You rushed to explain. “Oh, he was just—”

“Come on, old lady—don’t lie and say that you didn’t do such a thing with your dear husband here when you were our age,” Satoru interrupted you, leaning away and out of your space and crossing his arms. You could finally breathe again, but you were slack against the car, legs immobile. His grin widened at the woman’s affronted expression. “And what harm were we doing, just having a nice little moment to ourselves, on our honeymoon? There wasn’t anybody around.”

The woman opened her mouth to protest before she was stopped by her husband, who placed a light hand on her forearm. “Come along, dear. Let’s leave this young couple to it.”

“But—!”

“What a wise husband you’ve got there!” he quipped, laughing. You had finally recollected yourself enough to step in and cut off his blatant disrespect before he went too far. Satoru continued, “Old people like you are always poking your nose into other people’s busin—”

“Satoru, that’s enough.” You placed a trembling hand on his shoulder and smiled apologetically at the lady. “My apologies for my husband’s behaviour. It won’t—” You shot him a look. “—happen again.”

“Well, at least one of you has even a sliver of dignity!” she huffed and shook her head, fuming. “I’ve never been so appalled in all my life! Keep a short leash on this one, missy.” She jutted a finger at you. “Men like him know no bounds.”

“I’m sure you have better things to make use of what time you have left other than worrying about other people’s affairs.” Satoru was smiling, but there was a sharpness to it he used only around the likes of clan elders. Evidently, your husband was one who was not fond of old people at all. “It’s best not to lose sleep over, frankly, trivial things like this.”

“Satoru,” you warned. 

“What? Just because they’re old means I can’t tell them when to mind their own business?” he objected, defensive. “We already have a whole lot of others on our asses twenty-four-seven. Being elderly does not exempt you from having basic manners.”

He had a very good point, but you shook your head, anyway. “Again, I apologise on his behalf. Have a good night.”

The woman huffed indignantly once more, grumbling, as she trailed after her sighing husband. Once they were out of earshot, you whirled on Satoru. “You are insufferab—mmph!”

For the third damn time, he was clutching your face and pressing a deep kiss to your mouth, wrenching the air from your lungs with a grin. Then Satoru abruptly pulled away and picked up the last bag, placing it into the boot and slamming it shut, as if nothing happened. “Hm? You were saying?”

“I—!” You hadn’t the slightest clue what to say. You wanted to go off on an entire tangent about how improper he was, about how he should have asked you first—and demand to know how, where, on earth he learned to kiss like that. Satoru left you thrilled and tingling and shaking all over, head spinning—and, although your first one, it didn’t take any experience to know he was an exceptional kisser.

“Enjoyed it, did you?” The damned man had barely a wrinkle in his clothes—apart from where you clutched at his shirt—and was so cool and suave and unaffected compared to your frazzled state. Your husband beamed at you and opened your car door. “Do hop in, my dear. It’s cold out and I can’t have you catching a chill.”

“You’ll be on death’s door by the time I’m finished with you!” you exclaimed, incensed, throwing up your free hand. “At least—if you really can’t control yourself, you idiot—do such a…a thing when we’re in the privacy of our home!”

Satoru immediately brightened, and strolled toward you with a roguish grin. “Oh? Are you saying I may kiss you as much as I want in the privacy of our home?”

“That’s—” You’d made a mistake, you were sure. Taking a stumbling step back, you worried even your cane would fail to provide you the steadiness you needed right now. “You…you can’t—not—”

“I can’t?” He tilted his head at you, and he left hardly any space left between you both, hands shoved languidly into his pockets. The man was way too tall, too much for you, and you could feel the body heat emanating from him, stark against the cold evening air around. “I’ve kissed you three times already in barely ten minutes. And you liked it, I can tell. Why deny yourself another?”

“Be—Because…” Of what it could lead to! You knew it would happen sooner or later, but you wanted to hold it off for as long as you could. The persistent, sharp ache in your abdomen is a lasting reminder of what you were risking. “I just—” Dammit, I don’t have a reasonable excuse! What do I say?

“You liked it,” Satoru said again, softer this time, and he raised one hand to lift his blindfold from his eyes. They were sapphire when it was evening, an untainted blue that gazed at you gently. “Didn’t you?”

Stunned, you hadn’t the slightest clue what to say. “That’s…!” 

“If you’re scared I’ll try and push you into something further than you’re clearly uncomfortable with…” His knuckles brushed tenderly across your cheek. “I won’t. Not until you say you are ready yourself.”

“Why do you act as if you want to? I don’t understand.”

Something you couldn’t read flashed across Satoru’s face—something that made his reassuring, soft smile look brittle. “Oh…I suppose you’ll work it out eventually.” He tipped your chin up and leaned down. “You’re smart.”

To think he’d dare to kiss you for a fourth time—but now it was gentler, more affectionate than passionate. Comforting and tender, you didn’t know what else to do other than to just relax and let your eyes slide closed. Satoru hummed approvingly into your mouth and tilted his head to deepen it even more, his lips slow and sensual and warm. 

Your lungs screamed for air, and you attempted to pull back and have room to breathe. Groaning something like his name into his mouth, you gripped the collar of his shirt and sought to break away. “Satoru—I can’t—mmph.” He allowed you a single breath before diving in again, your chest flush against his, and you didn’t know if the rapid thumping against your bosom was his heartbeat or yours. 

How he managed to go on and on and not stop for oxygen was beyond you, and soon you had to forcibly push his face away. “E-Enough!” Breathless, you dipped your face down and away and out of his reach, forehead pressed to his chest. Satoru’s heart rate was concerningly high, pounding against your brow, and your blood rushed with heat at the realisation you had got him all worked up. “Give—Give me a moment to catch my breath…”

A large, warm hand rested gently on the back of your head, softly stroking your hair. Chest vibrating with a low, ragged chuckle, your husband allowed himself to take a breather also. “You learn quickly, huh? Had me a bit winded there.”

“Thought I was about to suffocate,” you grumbled, mouth throbbing. You felt dizzy and disoriented, reliant on him for grounding. Something he wanted. Perhaps that’s why he never stopped taking you off-guard. 

“Wanna go home now?” he murmured, lips brushing against the crown of your head, breath fanning back your hair. “We’ve got milk in the car. Can’t let it go sour.”

“Now you finally want to go home?” you questioned, somewhat teasing. “I thought you were planning on keeping us here all night, embarrassing yourself.”

“Embarrassed? Oh, no. I’m actually quite content, now that I got what I wanted.”

You humoured him. “And what was that?”

“A kiss from my lovely wife,” Satoru airily replied, playing along. “In fact—four kisses! Been dying for one for ages.”

“Is that so?” That made your stomach jump, and you carefully kept your head down, voice faintly quavering. “I…I find that terribly hard to believe.”

“I’ll give you another one and show you just how honest I’m being,” he lightheartedly threatened, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek and turn your face up to him again. “And I’ll make sure you’ll never question it aga—”

“Let’s go home!” You really didn’t believe you’d be able to handle another one for a long while. Pushing away from him, you hurried over to the car as fast as your limp could carry you. “We’ve got dinner and an apple pie to get in the oven!”

Laughing, Satoru followed after you and you refused to look at him for the rest of the journey home, tuning out his chatter. You doubted you’d be able to sleep that night—the phantom sensations of his hands on your cheek, waist, hips and back were too much to forget, and your lips still burned. 

“Let’s make a deal,” he suddenly chirped, one hand rested relaxedly upon the steering wheel while the other held his cheek. Satoru’s head was tilted toward the window, but his smirk was turned to you. And he hadn’t slipped his blindfold back on, either—a pair of striking, lidded blue eyes gazed at you through long lashes impishly. Oh, no. This can’t be good. 

Wary, you looked away and back down at your hands on your lap. “…What is it?”

“Every time I do a chore or help you with something, my reward is a kiss.”

“No,” you immediately answered. Your face blazed with heat again. 

“Hear me out! It doesn’t have to be on the lips.” Satoru sounded desperate. “It could be on the cheek, or the forehead! But…a kiss to the lips would be gre—”

“I have an idea,” you sharply interrupted, “how about this: every time you annoy me, I make you do the laundry for a week.”

“That’s so mean! I’ll be doing laundry every week.” 

“Exactly, so I would advise you to—”

“But, in the end, if I get a kiss, it’ll all be worth it.”

An empty takeaway coffee cup smacked into the invisible wall surrounding Satoru, and the car rang with his laughter. You refused to say another word the entire ride home, your stomach twisting and tightening. I am going to murder this man. But your silent, internal threats toward his life were empty. As they always had been. And, really, as they always would be.

The peace and quiet was a nice reprieve from all his incessant yabbering when he headed back into town to return the car. During the hour or so Satoru was away, you aired out the house, despite it being nighttime, and went outside to grab some firewood for the fireplace. Flicking your wrist to light the match, you threw it into the hearth and poked at the wood—which had been sheltered and out of the wet weather—until it had risen to a blaze. You clicked the mantel’s little door shut and watched the orange flames scintillate behind the murky fire-proof glass. Soon enough, the living room was cosy and warm, and you shut the windows to keep the warmth inside.

You got dinner started, happy to finally have something to do. Cooking let you think, and you just listened to the faint crackling of the wood in the hearth and the thunking of the chopping knife against the board. Scraping the diced onions into the pot, you let them sizzle in the oil as you turned to slice the carrot and potatoes, before turning back to sauté the onion. 

“Smells yummy!”

You shrieked, almost knocking the pot off the element and narrowly missing a third-degree burn. Whirling around, you pressed a hand over your heart, eyes wide. “Gojo Satoru!”

The idiot held up his hands in surrender, grinning. His blindfold was still absent, sparkling blue eyes that caught the light now partially concealed by a pair of shades. “Woah, the full name treatment. My bad! I just happened to pop up right in the kitchen. Good thing it wasn’t in the fireplace, haha!”

Shaking your head exasperatedly, you turned back to the pot and grabbed the chopping board, scraping the vegetables into the pan with the onions. “Please don’t sneak up on me like that again, especially when I’m handling hot food. Your recklessness is not welcome when I’m cooking.”

Two strong arms wrapped around your middle as a wide chest pressed to your back. “I’m not mocking you about gender stereotypes when I say this, but…it really is a nice sight to see you cooking in the kitchen.”

You weren’t offended. It was something you liked to do, anyway, and his tone was kind. You shrugged, much too aware of his touch and how the massive man was practically leaning his entire weight onto you. “Get off me. I need to add the curry roux.”

“Oh! You’re making chicken katsu curry!” Satoru didn’t move. His chin rested on the dip between your neck and shoulder and his breath brushed against your ear. You shivered. And you could tell he noticed. You didn’t have to look to know he had that shit-eating grin slathered across his pretty face again. “I love chicken katsu curry.”

Disgruntled, you vaguely gestured behind him. “Could you please cut up the chicken for me? I have to watch this pot.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Finally, Satoru let you go and moved to the island bench where you had put the unopened packet of chicken breasts atop the counter. There was the sound of him sliding open multiple drawers for a knife before you said, “The second one down, to your left.”

He heeded your words and then there was just companionable silence, save for the bubbling of the pot and the scrapes of his knife against the chopping board. Previously, you had put the rice cooker on and poured rice into it, and you now opened it up to check the steaming grain. Satisfied, you stooped to grab a pan and began making the batter for the chicken.

It was rather nice, this unexpectedly domestic scene. Just quietly cooking together, where he finally had something to occupy himself with other than talking your ears off. 

Satoru happily assisted you with making the rest of the meal, and then told you to go sit down while he served it up.

“Let’s eat in the lounge,” he suggested, retrieving some chopsticks from the drawer. “And see what movies are on TV. We should watch Shrek.”

“Shrek?” You had vaguely heard of the name. “I’ve never seen it.”

Satoru looked genuinely horrified. “I can’t believe my ears. Am I hard of hearing at twenty-two? You haven’t seen Shrek?”

You shrugged. “Nope.”

He placed his bowl and chopsticks on the coffee table before opening the TV cabinet. And he pulled out a DVD. “Good thing I thought ahead!”

You paused and turned your head to stare at him. “You…thought ahead?”

“The other day I had someone bring a whole heap of DVDs over from my place,” Satoru explained, hitting the DVD player’s open button and he placed the disc inside it. “I think anyone who does not have Shrek in the house is a public hazard.”

“Says Gojo Satoru,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You can watch it if you like. I’ve got that apple pie to make—oh!”

His only response was to make his way over to the couch, grab you by the waist, pull you onto his lap and confiscate your cane. “Nope. You’re sitting right here with me and watching the movie. We can make the apple pie and then watch Shrek 2 together.”

“You…” A year from now and you doubted you’d understand him any more than you already do. And that, already, was next to nothing. Squirming on his lap, you unfortunately found it very comfortable to lean your back against his chest like that, with his chin on your shoulder. “Aren’t I heavy? Why can’t I just sit next to you?”

“Because I want you on my lap,” Satoru replied simply, and hit the play button with the remote, turning up the TV volume. “Isn’t this amazing! I get to eat a wonderful dinner my beautiful wife made me while watching Shrek. This is a dream come true for me, I am not lying.”

You flushed all over at his words, your heart involuntarily swelling with his praises. You smacked his knee and grabbed a piece of chicken out of your bowl with your chopsticks, turning to shove it into his mouth. “Be quiet and eat.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up and he hummed delightedly, grinning. You turned back around and began eating your food silently, nerves buzzing and hyper-aware of even the slightest of movements below you. This idiot. He’s going to be the death of me someday! You stiffly watched as a distinctly accented voice narrated the fairytale of a princess under spell, locked away in a tower and guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. 

Your husband’s arms were wrapped around your waist, and he comfortably settled his hands holding his bowl on your lap, and you shifted about. “This is why I should sit beside you and not on you. You’re not able to eat properly like this.”

“I’m quite fine.” In fact, he was already halfway through his food. “Delicious, by the way. Am I allowed seconds?”

You shrugged, relenting. “Go ahead. Don’t complain when you’re too full for dessert, though.”

“I won’t be!” Satoru scraped at his bowl. “My stomach’s a black hole. In case that wasn’t obvious.”

You fought a smile. “No, you’ve made that abundantly clear these past few days. You eat enough for ten men.”

“Not my fault my wife’s cooking is to die for.” He squeezed you to him, nuzzling you. “I can’t believe I’m so blessed. What did I do to deserve you?”

What do I even say to that? Satoru declares all these flowery praises left and right and effectively renders you speechless each time. After years of nothing but vitriol, how are you expected to react?

You then opted to not reply at all. You just grabbed his finished bowl, putting yours down, and slipped off his lap, before promptly stumbling due to the absence of your cane. “Ugh!”

You were promptly caught by a strong arm winding around your waist and righting you. “Are you alright?” He sounded half-amused, and half-concerned. 

“I am perfectly fine, thank you very much.” Flustered and agitated, you accepted your walking stick he held out to you with an unintended snatch. “You can sit here and watch Shrek. I’ll make the apple pie.”

“We can pause the movie! It’s too good for you to miss. The Muffin Man part hasn’t even come on yet.”

“Will you behave yourself in my kitchen?” You narrowed your eyes at him, and your husband held up his hands in surrender, fighting not to grin too widely. “I swear!”

Huffing, you relented, knowing he’d just pester you anyway. “Fine. Pause it and you can help with chopping up the apples.”

Like a little kid, he pumped the air with his fist in victory and trailed after you into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist and reading the recipe book with his chin on your shoulder. Then he kissed your cheek. 

Your heart leapt almost painfully. “What—What was that for?”

Satoru grinned devilishly at you. “I dunno. I just felt like it.” 

“Sucking up to me for another kiss won’t work.” But you turned around and pecked his lips before he could start whining anyway. What is up with me? You swore not to entertain his wishes!

He stared down at you with wide, intense eyes. “…Woah.”

You forced a shrug, feeling like a bird with her feathers all ruffled. “Please go and preheat the oven for me.”

“To what?” Satoru reluctantly let you go and moved to turn the oven dials.

“To 225 degrees celsius, the book says.” You stooped to grab a sizable mixing bowl and reached for the apples. You also pulled out a tray to place the pastry, when made, within, along with the sliced fruit. “While you’re there, you could melt the butter for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

It didn’t take long until the kitchen, and most of the living area, was filled with the beautiful aroma of apples and pastry baking in the oven. Your leg and abdomen pulsed with pain, but you stomached it; kept your poker face up and running, and told Satoru to sit down while you set a timer for the pie. The look he shot you as he hesitantly obeyed did not go unnoticed, and you ignored it.

“Is your leg sore?” he asked once you had taken a seat on the couch beside him again, the man not yet hitting play for the movie to resume. “You’ve been on your feet for hours. I can do the dishes and clean everything up.”

“Does Your Highness know how to operate a dishwasher?”

“You grew up way more sheltered than me! You do not give me enough credit in terms of household chores. Yes, I know how to work a dishwasher; yes, I know how to hand-wash the chopping knives—and yes, I know how to sharpen them.”

You fixed him with a small, teasing smile. “My goodness. You’re a responsible adult. I won’t have to supervise you toomuch from now on. Congratulations.”

Satoru rolled his eyes and threw the remote down on the coffee table, grabbing your one unimpaired leg and wrenching you to him. “C’mere, you.”

You supposed allowing yourself to indulge in his apparently sincere affection was rather nice; eating apple pie with him, watching Shrek, and constantly smacking his shoulder at his relentless teasing wasn’t intolerable. 

You tuned out his chatter and stared unseeingly at the TV after he was done refusing you oxygen. It just dampened your mood indefinitely, is all. Prevented you from truly enjoying it. It was just something you knew would draw to a close soon. Maybe tomorrow, the next day, next month, or next year—it would be inevitable. 

And that was sad.

Chapter Text

“We’ve got a problem.”

You paused in wiping up the bench, blinking up at your husband. Satoru had his typical all-black uniform and blindfold on, waiting for Ijichi to arrive and drive him to Jujutsu Tech. You’d just fed him a hearty breakfast of pancakes and bacon and earned yourself an unexpected, but utterly head-spinning, kiss. It had become routine since the last two weeks, it seemed. 

“What is it?”

He sighed, leaning against the counter. “The elders have requested our presence at a meeting. Like, the ones I’m usually forced to attend, they want you there. Probably to barrage us about an heir.”

You rinsed the cloth under hot tap water, wringing it out. “We don’t have to go, right?”

“They won’t get off our backs about it if we don’t. We go, and they’ll leave us alone for a little while. Put it off, and they will keep nagging us.”

Will either of us ever have a choice? It was a lose-lose situation, really. The elders would never leave you alone until they got what they wanted. 

If only having a baby wasn’t so complicated. Society made it sound so simple. And maybe it could be that simple—perhaps it was just your personal situation making it more difficult than it ever needed to be.

You sneaked a wary glance at Satoru, who was closely inspecting a banana, for some reason. What would he think if I told him? The man was so flamboyant, unpredictable—would he be mad? Would he resent you, throw you out?

Considering how…unopposed he appeared to be toward having a child, you couldn’t even hope to gauge any outcome. Only a single sure, assured one: death. 

“…When is the meeting?” You placed the neatly folded cloth beside the tap and washed your hands, before grabbing your cane and limping around the kitchen island, heading for the window seat. There was the faint pop of a banana being cracked open and peeled as Satoru trailed after you. “Next week. On Tuesday.”

Today was a Monday, a week since your honeymoon ended. You settled down onto the cushions and picked up your book, acting unruffled. “I see. You have a full day of teaching today, don’t you?”

“Yes.” You moved so he could sit beside you with reasonable distance, but he pulled you into his side, hand relaxed on the dip of your waist. He swallowed the piece of banana he was chewing on and rested his cheek against your head. “I’ll make sure I’m back by five, though, at the latest. I can bring some takeout home.”

“You don’t want me to cook?”

“You don’t have to tonight. Aren’t you tired of it? Why not take a break? If you want.”

You liked cooking, as it occupied your mind, but the thought of relaxing with takeout instead was rather appealing. “Alright. I have no preferences. Bring whatever you’d like home.”

“Mac—”

“No. Anything but that. Maybe street food? How about yakisoba?”

“Yakisoba it is, then.” Satoru patted your knee and shifted to get to his feet, before pausing, lifting one half of his blindfold to wink at you. “Can I have a goodbye kiss?”

You sighed, the corners of your mouth twitching, closing your book. “What is your obsession with them?”

He shrugged. “You’re a good kisser.”

You blinked twice in astonishment. This man is beyond hope. “I…am?”

“Yep.” Satoru leaned in and didn’t let you get another word out. And, as usual, he jumped to take it much too far, with you pressed into the cushions behind you, his big hands gripping your hips. 

He hummed delightedly into your mouth, nibbling on your lower lip, one of his hands beginning to bunch up your shirt around your waist. His fingertips brushed across your skin, and you shuddered, your right hand sliding up the wide expanse of his back and gripping the cloth of his uniform, white-knuckled. 

Mumbling his name, you felt him shiver and his chest vibrate with a groan of his own, the man suddenly pulling away with heaving shoulders, his face flushed and lips swollen. “…Any more, and I won’t be leaving at all.”

“Well—go, then.” You pushed at Satoru’s chest as you sought to calm down. “You’re satisfied now, right? Go. Ijichi’s probably waiting for you or something.”

“I’m never satisfied.” He straightened out his clothes and finally got to his feet, and the blindfold might as well have not existed with how penetrating his gaze felt. “Never. Just know that.”

You sat, slumped against the cushions, hair messy and clothing crumpled, as Satoru abruptly turned away and tugged at his wide, loose-fitting collar, as if it was tight around his neck. “I’ll see you later. Have a good day.”

The front door slammed shut behind him, and you were left there, dazed, mind swirling and dumbfounded. …‘Never’? 

Your stomach tightened, heart in your throat. I really don’t understand him. You were plain, you had a limp, you couldn’t wield jujutsu, your personality wasn’t the most agreeable—and yet. And yet the man wouldn’t leave you alone. Satoru nagged you constantly for kisses. He constantly showered you with praises and compliments that left you inarticulate. He’d even managed to get you to sleep in the main bedroom with him, instead of the humble room you had selected at first! And the way he touched you implied desire, but it was not pressuring, selfish or coercing. It was patient and sweet, like he was prepared to wait for decades. 

You covered your face with your hands and curled in on yourself, utterly conflicted. Was it wrong to reciprocate? But then you paused—what if I’m just overthinking this? What if you were wrong, and he wanted nothing more than just an innocent peck on the lips?

Oh, grow up, you idiot. Even a dead person would be able to understand his clear intentions. Intentions which put images in your mind that had you flushing from head to toe. It’s not fair! If he wasn’t so attractive, I wouldn’t have this problem!

You were, however, still very determined to keep your distance and put the inevitable deed off for as long as you could manage. And considering how we have that meeting with the elders next week… Well, you couldn’t help but fear it’d speed the process up a great deal. 

And you couldn’t see your husband complaining too much about that. It made you both bristle and flush. 

If only I was strong enough to not let this fear inhibit me worse than my leg. Fearing for one’s life made a person do nonsensical things when in desperation. And it was a paralysing, restrictive fear, one that had you gripped with worry and sleepless at night. How long until he starts asking questions a lot more adamantly? Until he starts looking around, starts watching me closely?

Drawing in a deep breath, you decided that was enough angsting and overthinking for the day, and that you needed to get your mind on something else. Namely, where your future residence would be once it was time for you to leave.

You got to your feet and your cane softly tapped across the floor as you made your way through the halls for your room—the one you had initially chosen, with the soft queen-sized bed and closet. Not the flashest, and Satoru had not hesitated in expressing his disapproval of you residing in such an ‘unfitting room’ two weeks ago, the night you had both arrived home.

“Just sleep in with me,” he demanded, grasping your wrist. “If you don’t come with me yourself, I’ll pick you up and hide your cane. Can’t have that, can we?”

“Are you serious?” Your question was swiftly answered when Satoru swept you up and, for the second time that night, confiscated your cane, before carrying you off to the master bedroom, looking very pleased with himself. “Very serious. I sleep sound when you’re next to me. And it’s cold. There’s no heater in that room.”

“It has an electric blanke—”

“I’m a better heater, anyway,” your husband cut you off flippantly, ignoring your protests. “And who’s gonna massage your leg when you’re alone? Don’t you start denying how much you like it, now.” Satoru walked into the spacious room and set you down on the bed. You sharply reached for your cane, hoping to take him by surprise, but he was much too quick for you. Grinning, the man strode over to the wardrobe, opened it, and placed the stick inside before closing the door behind him. You would not be able to grab it without, really, crawling across the floor. And the damned brat understood that much too well. “There. Now! Shall we bathe?”

You managed to keep your murderous urge to throttle him at bay and crossed your arms, refusing to move from the bed. “You can go first. I’ll wait.”

“You hardly know me at all if you think I’m just going to settle for that.” Satoru grabbed you again and had you sat in one arm, uncaring of your squirming. “If you’re worried I’ll try anything, I won’t unless you ask me to. It’ll be just like that night in the onsen!”

“Why can’t we just use one of the spare bedrooms’ showers?” He entered the bathroom and went to press the little control panel in the wall. He clicked about it like a curious little kid, watching the ceiling shower head turn on and off. Satoru only turned on the taps in the bath to run the water, however. Then he grinned at you. “Because I want to have a bath.”

“Then have a bath on your own,” you retorted, but you soon became resigned. Once this man set his mind on something, there wasn’t much you could do to deter him. “We don’t need to have it together.”

“We do,” he countered, and he strolled over to one of the benches. The bathroom didn’t feel like a bathroom—it felt like a luxury hotel’s private bathing and sauna area, not somewhere that would fit into the traditional layout and design of your house. Much too high-tech, you thought, squinting up at the motionless shower head. How much did all of this cost the elders? Steam rose from the hot water rising in the bath. You couldn’t work out how those stingy so-and-sos actually agreed to spend so much money on this one room.

Satoru set you down gently on the seat, before turning away and grabbing his shirt, wrenching it off. Your eyes went wide and you hastily looked elsewhere, inhaling sharply. He’s unashamedly getting undressed right in front of me! This idiot! He always knew exactly what buttons to push!

“What’s wrong?” The bastard had the guts to act all coy, too. “Embarrassed at a little skin? Come on, you’ve seen me worse than this.”

“Hardly! I can’t believe—” You whirled around to reproach him, before hurriedly turning away again at the sight of him in his boxers. “You—you will wear a towel again this time, too. I am not…bathing with you with nothing on!”

“Suit yourself.” Your vision went blank as a fluffy bath towel was thrown over your head, startling you. There was the sound of feet padding across the tiled floor and away from you, and then the splashing of water. “You can bathe in your clothes, if you want. But I’m not crazy like that.”

“Are you—?!” He isn’t, is he? You pulled the towel off of your head, mussing your hair, and was greeted with the sight of your husband leaning quite relaxedly back against the edge of the bath, muscled back and shoulders on full display. He ran a wet hand through his ivory locks, slicking them back, and his head then tilted in your direction. “Yes, I am. Put my blindfold on, if you’re that shy about it.”

You could see the damned man smirking, and you swore to one day drown him. With shaking hands, you placed the towel aside as you reluctantly got undressed. At least he made sure his back was to me. Perhaps, despite his incessant teasing, he did respect your dignity. 

Wrapped in the towel, you inwardly lamented at how scarcely it covered you, much like the one at the onsens, and got to your feet. Then you promptly sat back down again, limp leg giving out.

“What’s taking you so long?” Satoru didn’t face you, his head lolled back languidly, tone mocking. “Do you detest the thought of bathing with your unclothed husband that much?”

“No, idiot. Because somebody took my cane off me…” You tried to flex your weak leg, the limb unable to handle your body weight without your walking stick. So you remained sitting. “I can’t walk.”

There was a pause, and then he half-turned to you, peering at you from over his shoulder. Blue eyes raked up your form, and you recoiled into yourself, face warming. Then his full lips curled up. “Oh, my. What a terrible state of affairs. How will you get over here?”

“I’ll stay right here until you get out,” you snapped, aggravated and embarrassed. “And preferably bring me my walking stick.” With the words out of your mouth, you realised how fussy and childish you sounded, and you paused and added a soft, “Please.”

“Goodness. All men are helpless in the face of their wives’ demands, aren’t they?” You had covered your eyes just in time when he emerged from the water. “Gojo Satoru! Have some propriety!”

“I do recall saying that I wanted to be your walking stick,” was his silky reply, completely ignoring your reprimand, and his shadow fell over you. “Why do you think I took your cane away?”

“You—” There was no chance to respond, as your husband grabbed you and brought you up into his hold, turning to enter the bath again. You kept your hands over your face, burning from head to toe. “It’s only a husband’s job, isn’t it?” he purred in your ear, voice low and deep and velvety. “He lives to pleasure his wife.”

“I’ll kill you.” Your threat was weak and muffled by your hands. Satoru stepped into the bath, bringing you down with him to sit on his thighs, and you immediately scrambled to jump from his lap. But his hold wasn’t so pliant; he involuntarily gripped the flap of your towel—and the edge of it, wrapped around your chest, came undone as you pulled away.

You wanted to die. The cloth fell, and you immediately dove to sit so the water covered you to your shoulders, arms clasped across your chest, gasping in mortification.

And Satoru was laughing. The moron was laughing. He was absolutely wheezing, one hand over his face as he wiped tears from his sparkling blue eyes, his dimples showing, and he reached for you with a wide and fond and teasing grin. “Oh, you’re really something, you know that?” And then he was cackling again, throwing his head back in great delight, the bathroom echoing with his roars of laughter.

“Be—Be quiet!” You rejected his outstretched hand and snatched up the sopping towel, wrapping it back around yourself as much as possible. “I—I swear, Gojo Satoru, one of these days, I’ll wipe that stupid grin off your face!”

You avoided that bathroom like it was the plague after that. You adamantly refused to bathe with him, much too embarrassed, and he always looked torn between apologising and laughing whenever you vehemently shook your head at the suggestion. What an idiot. But which one of you was the true ‘idiot’ here?

You sat down on the bed, forgetting what you had entered this room for. Why’d he have to make you feel things you’d rather not feel? 

Ugh, whatever! You wouldn’t allow him to bug you any longer. You just simply wouldn’t. Shaking off your worries, you reached forward to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer, grabbing your journal.

Time to start researching ideal places to live. Although the first place he’d be likely to guess (if he bothered to hunt you down), the United States was a very big place. It would take him, if he cared, years to pinpoint your location. And by then, you would have changed your name, possibly even your appearance, and perhaps settled down with somebody you actually loved. And who actually loved you. 

And maybe, just maybe, you would someday be able to have a baby of your own—in a stable, loving marriage unafflicted by the pressures of politics in jujutsu society and nagging elders. Where the child would grow up in a steady household and not be raised as a tool. You were not stupid—if you were to fall pregnant and give birth to Gojo Satoru’s child, it’d only be a given that the baby would likely grow up to potentially match its father in strength. The next generation of ‘the strongest sorcerer’. And you, seeing the corruption and ugliness and cruelty in jujutsu society—and the inherent, miniscule, yet telltale signs of its effect on the current strongest sorcerer himself—did not want your child to be exposed to such a noxious environment.

You had witnessed and experienced the corruption and ugliness and cruelty of this world first-hand. Satoru had, too. He hated it, as did you. But, unlike you, he had no escape.

That made you feel a bit bad for him, in that regard. Would he agree to running away with me? Not likely. As if you’d ask him to, anyway. This was something to do on your own.

Were you selfish? Yes. Being unfair to him? Probably. And did you care? Not entirely.

You hardly knew the guy. Sure, he was rather nice and treated you well, but that’s about as deep as it went, really. Minus the sexual tension and random kisses. They didn’t amount to much.

Opening up to a random page, you jotted all kinds of notes down, placing question marks next to different states to consider. You wanted to avoid ones like California and Texas, and go for one a bit more peaceful, like Minnesota or Maine. Somewhere he, perhaps, wouldn’t guess. 

And during his absence throughout the day, you really familiarised yourself with your surroundings—all the nooks and crannies and exceptional hiding spots to conceal your journal so it would not be found, along with the textbooks you’d have to buy to learn English. You had made a list in the notebook of all the necessary aspects and things to consider, i.e., house prices, estimation of how much in the savings bank account you would need, cultural differences and etiquette—the like. Your house had wifi, and you had a phone. If only there was a computer—but then, you supposed, that wouldn’t be ideal if your dear husband were to unintentionally fall upon your search history, and it would be suspiciously comprised of frequent visitations to American real estate and apartment renting sites, basics on learning English, and U.S. economic predictions for the next five years. It wouldn’t be ideal at all, if he were to start asking questions. 

Soon, you had scribbled about ten pages worth of notes and ideas and plenty of scratched-out thoughts. Only three were circled in red, all decided on to consider, and were mostly questions: how to be taught English by an actual person without raising suspicion? Would the request be too sceptical? Main goal: try to learn English within a year. 

Pen pressed thoughtfully to your lips, you mulled over the plethora of other things to worry about that were related; the idea popped into your head, and you hastily scrawled: maybe start up a business of some sort? But no ideas of what the business would exactly be came to mind, and you, frustrated after hours of fretting and working your poor hand to stinging numbness, snapped the notebook shut and stared out the window. 

It had been sunny this morning, but it was a bit overcast now. What does he do at Jujutsu Tech? Teach, of course, you knew that—but you were curious as to what his students were like. If he enjoyed his job. If instructing kids about a very life-threatening world and how to fight in it got a bit much at times. And then, you paused and realised, hold on, why am I thinking about him and his job?

It didn’t concern you, and really was none of your business. So you shook your head and grabbed your cane, moving to stand from the window seat you had been snugly sitting upon, and headed into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat. 

You glanced at the clock. 1:26PM. You’d missed lunch, while stressing over funds. Maths was always a bit too much for you, especially when your clan never cared for your education enough to assign you a proper tutor. 

Noriko was smart. Very smart. Being the handmaiden of a reject was not at all her calling in life, and you had felt very bad for her as a teen, when she cheerily instructed you on the square root of pi, though you can’t remember it for the life of you now. She should’ve been a teacher or something. Maybe a mathematician.

Noriko taught you much of what you knew today, and you missed her. I don’t even know where she’s buried. Since they’d have surely killed her quietly when they took her away from me. Being unable to pay back a dead person you were sorely indebted to weighed on you, and it helped nothing at all. You already had way too much to worry about. I miss her. The only sister you ever had, regardless of blood relation or not. 

With your chopsticks, you mixed the sachet flavourings into your bowl of ramen and held it in one hand as the other braced upon your cane. Hobbling back over to the window seat, you sat, turning to stare out the window and at the bathing birds. 

How cute. It was relaxing, watching the robins and sparrows splash about the water, before flitting off to the sky again. Was it a bit cheesy that you wished you were one of them? Merely a free little bird, with no impairments, just like them?

Baby birds with broken wings do not survive in the wild. You’d seen a whole David Attenborough documentary on it once a little while ago. Very interesting. You brought some hot noodles to your mouth and blew, following one particular sparrow as it ruffled the water from its feathers. Perhaps I should get a pet bird. 

Maybe a canary, or a parakeet? Much easier to manage and care for than a cat or dog, you’d surmised. One you could possibly hand-rear, so it’d sit quietly on your shoulder and preen its feathers and snooze while you wrote in your journal or read a book. With a faint smile at the thought of having a pet for the first time, you grabbed your phone and did a quick Google search on ideal birds as pets.

So many recommendations came up, and you decided on either a few canaries or budgerigars to keep in a sizable, comfortable cage near your window seat. I’d better get them as chicks, and then learn how to hand-rear them. Would Satoru approve? He seemed like the type to prefer a pet like a puppy or kitten. I’ll have to discuss this with him. And, seeing how your phone battery was almost drained, you moved to grab your charger.

Your phone buzzed, an iMessage notification having come in. Opening it, you frowned at your husband’s text.

we’ve got some special guests coming for dinner tonight

Who?

He didn’t reply for another five minutes.

you’ll see ☺️

You nibbled on the nail of your thumb, agitated. 

It’s not my aunt or something, right?

hell no. i’d never invite her to dinner. these two are much better company, don’t you worry 🩷

You connected your phone to your charger, biting on the inside of your lower lip. Perhaps they’re some friends of his. You swiftly typed out another text.

Are you sure you don’t want me to cook dinner?

i asked them and they agreed on getting takeout, so it’s all good. how much ice cream have we got left, by the way?

Less than a quarter of a tub. You are no longer allowed four massive scoops. Three, minimum.

hehe

okay i’ll grab some more. they’ll probably want chocolate or something

Can’t you just tell me who they are?

nuh-uh 

it’s a surprise. they’re excited to meet you 🎉

You left him on read and turned to grab your empty bowl, heading to place it in the dishwasher. Well, this is short notice. They’ll probably have to stay the night. Sighing, you grabbed your notebook and cane and limped back to your room, placing the journal in its assigned hiding place you doubted he’d ever bother to look—under the mattress. Far under the mattress. It was, in fact, a bother to lift it up and grab it out, especially with a weak leg to brace against. I’ll have to find somewhere better. No point in putting a lock or something on it. A mini padlock for diaries would do nothing to keep a person like Satoru at bay from nosing about in it. 

You heaved another sigh through your nose and straightened, staring out the window. What am I going to do?

There was the sound of a car door slamming, followed by two more and then chatter. Bookmarking the page you were on, you placed your book aside and grabbed your cane, hurriedly getting to your feet and shuffling for the front door. Satoru’s laughter echoed, and then a high-pitched giggle from a child. You paused, confused.

Did he bring home his students? You put on a warm cardigan to ward off the cold and laid out some slippers for them, turning to open the door. How old are they?

You opened the door just as your husband had grabbed out his keys to unlock it, and he blinked down at you from behind his shades. Then he beamed. “Baby!”

You squinted at him, puzzled by the sudden pet name. “Hello, Satoru. You’re home.”

“I am.” He abruptly leaned down and took your face in his hands, pressing a long, slow smooch to your mouth. Satoru hummed happily as you clutched his shirt in surprise. Pulling away, his smile became lazy. “How’re you?”

You were out of breath. “I…I’m fi—”

“Ew,” remarked an unfamiliar, unimpressed and young voice. “Gojo. You’re gross.”

“No ice cream for you tonight, Megumi,” Satoru mock-reprimanded, turning around to usher in the two short figures and wave Ijichi goodbye. You stood to the side, staring down at the two children, shocked. And then he ruffled the spiky-haired, blank-faced kid’s hair. “It’s not polite to say that first thing upon meeting your new mother.”

“You are not my dad,” the kid named Megumi tonelessly replied, before his small, chubby face turned to peer up at you. And then he shyly looked away. “…Hello.”

“Oh, uh, hello,” you greeted back, still taken by surprise. You looked up at your husband. “These…were the two special guests?”

“Yep!” he excitedly confirmed, and then he stepped aside so the timid little girl—who was hiding behind Satoru, clinging to his slacks and looked older than the boy—could say hello to you. 

What the hell do I do? You had no experience with taking care of children whatsoever. You didn’t know if you liked them or hated them. And you most certainly did not know how to take care of them. So you awkwardly lifted your hand and waved, attempting a smile. “Hello. What’s your name?”

Her big brown eyes turned to look up at Satoru, who gave her an encouraging smile. Am I really that scary? Imagine being a woman hobbling around with a walking stick, while simultaneously being intimidating to what appeared to be a ten or eleven-year-old girl. 

At his assuring nod, she hesitantly stepped out from behind Satoru, who patted her head approvingly, and she bowed respectfully. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Fushiguro Tsumiki.”

Shocked by her formality, you glanced helplessly up at your husband before turning to the child again. “Oh—no need to bow, honey.” You gave her your name. “Feel free to call me by it. It’s lovely to meet you as well, Tsumiki-chan.”

Then you turned to, who you surmised to be her brother, Megumi. “You are Megumi, right? Nice to meet you, Megumi.”

The boy rubbed his nose, side-eyeing you. And suddenly, you understood what Satoru meant when he was fondly lamenting about the boy in the car after the wedding, and faintly recalled him saying that these two were step-siblings. Then Megumi dropped his eyes and nodded. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“There we have it!” Satoru happily exclaimed, turning to grab two big sports duffle bags. You blinked. He hoisted them over his shoulders and strolled into the main living area, the two children trailing after him. “Thankfully, one of the spare bedrooms has twin beds!” And he turned back to you. “I think there are some bags of groceries by the door. Would you like to grab them?”

“Is the food in there?” You decided not to ask questions about how he didn’t let you know in advance to prepare the beds for the children, but you made a note to give him a good telling off later. He called back a ‘yes!’, and you brought the bags in one by one, placing them on the counter, pulling the items out. Takeout cartons loaded with street food filled the kitchen with divine smells, and you turned to grab some plates. It was almost 6PM, and the kids were sure to be hungry after a long drive from Tokyo.

You could hear Satoru’s deep, playful voice unintelligibly bantering with Megumi at the other end of the house, and you involuntarily smiled to yourself. So these are the kids he took in when he was sixteen, huh? He acted more like a good-natured, merry uncle who always had a generous candy stash at hand than an adoptive father. The uncle everyone either loved or hated. I’m an aunt now, am I?

Satoru told them to shower and get into their pyjamas first before eating. You had finished setting out the food to be selected from when the three trailed back into the kitchen, Tsumiki happily bouncing about Satoru, while Megimi followed along silently and with that rather sullen look on his face, both comfortably clad in their fuzzy jammies. He’s, what, eight or nine? Was it normal for a kid to look so…moody?

Maybe it was his resting face. It wasn’t your place to ask questions. You met the kid barely an hour ago. So you shrugged it off, opened up the bottle of Coca-Cola and grabbed some glasses. 

Satoru rounded the island bench and circled an arm around your waist, taking you off-guard and pulling you flush against him. You had two glasses in your hands, and was therefore defenceless against the onslaught of kisses he issued to your lips, cheeks and jaw. 

“Sato—!”

A chorus of “ewwww”s ensued, and then it was clear why the idiot was doing this—all for the kids’ reactions, and your own. It was so annoying how good of a kisser he was, the way he massaged your mouth so sensually. You could feel the glasses slipping from your hold.

“Mmh,” he hummed, deep in his chest, as if the kids weren’t there, and currently having their poor innocence stripped of them. Your face was piping hot with embarrassment, and you held the glasses above his shoulders as he gripped your waist with both hands, big and warm and firm. And then he let you go.

“Replenished!” he said joyfully, lips glistening. You hastily backed away, breathless, and placed the glasses on the bench, half-flustered, half-enraged. And Satoru’s grin widened at your reaction. “That was amazing. I feel like myself again, after a long day of work.”

“You—you…!” You hastily glanced at the children, and noticed how Tsumiki, as the older one, had covered Megumi’s eyes with her hands, her own eyes squeezed shut. Both their small faces were bright red. And you felt like jumping off the Tokyo Skytree. “Gojo Satoru! I cannot believe you!”

The man, apparently utterly unbothered, plucked one of the glasses from your hands, and poured himself a drink. “What’s that, dear?”

You had more than half a mind to smack some sense into him. “Not in front of the children! You just—I can’t—ugh! Megumi, Tsumiki.” You whirled around to face the children, who were gawking at you both with wide, horrified eyes. The words on your tongue died and were replaced with new, angrier ones. “Look! Look at them, the poor things! They’re traumatised!”

“And this, kiddos…” The damn idiot actually had the balls (which you were going to surgically remove soon without anaesthetic) to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his side, smiling at them widely. “Is my wife.”

You could not work out a suitable threat to get him to hastily whine an apology with. Confiscating his candy jar (of which he had recently hidden, and you accidentally found today) wouldn’t work, refusing him his yakisoba and ice cream probably wouldn’t work, and a kiss ban wouldn’t work, either. He’d just take you by surprise again. 

“Why weren’t we invited to the wedding?” Suddenly, Tsumiki’s utterly overwhelmed expression had melted into one of mischief, and she giggled. “The ‘you-may-kiss-the-bride’ part must’ve been a show!”

You blinked in horror. “Oh, there was no such thing as tha—”

“Absolutely!” Satoru interjected, cutting you off. “Almost had all the old people dropping to the ground in a faint! Isn’t that right, darling?” He lifted a hand and slid his shades down his nose and placed them on the counter, those striking azure eyes sparkling gleefully as he winked at you. “Your aunt could’ve gone into cardiac arrest.”

You inadvertently snorted. “If only.”

Megumi glanced from you to Satoru and back, multiple times, before fixing your husband with a deadpan stare, much too deadpan for what you believe to be a nine-year-old. “Is this the woman you’ve been going on about for ye—”

“Megumi! Do you want some yakisoba!” Each of you, except for the boy, jumped at Satoru’s sudden exclamation, and his hurried attempt to spill some food onto a plate for Megumi. “Not too much, though! And not too much Cola, either—can’t have you up all night because of the sugar, haha!”

The young boy arched a brow at Satoru. Is this kid really nine or however old he is? And then Megumi looked at you. “Please manage his sugar intake.”

Speechless, you slowly turned, wide-eyed, to your husband. “How old is he?” 

“I’m eleven!” Tsumiki said, beaming. “He’s my step-brother. He just turned nine, like a month ago.”

“Don’t worry, he’s like that.” If still a bit strangely flustered, Satoru appeared to be back to normal. “He called me a freak when we first met.” He sniffed. “Not my fault he looks way too much like his dad.”

“You knew his dad?” You blinked, and then you remembered what he'd said about Toji Fushiguro in the car just after the wedding. And Satoru replied with nothing but a grin, like he found it all very amusing.

“It’s because of your stupid eyes,” Megumi grumbled, climbing up the stool with his hands and feet to sit on it. His pudgy hand reached for the chopsticks Satoru held out to him, and Tsumiki took a seat beside her brother. The boy stared at his yakisoba, big green eyes faintly sparkling, and you realised that was the first hint of emotion other than nothing you’d seen so far from him. Megumi shoved some noodles into his mouth, squinting at Satoru, who was trying to sneak open the ice cream container while you weren’t looking. “He’s opening the ice cream before eating dinner.”

“Satoru!” You sharply turned around and smacked his hand away. “You eat something proper first before dessert! What are you, twelve?”

Satoru sent an indignant look Megumi’s way before whining. “I already ate, though! I had my yakisoba in the car.”

“No, he didn’t,” Tsumiki cheerfully ratted him out, smiling at you with that toothy, innocent beam of hers. “Ijichi never lets us eat in the car.”

“Tsumiki!” your husband bemoaned. “Not you, too! I thought at least you and I were a team!”

You swiftly grabbed Satoru’s small container of yakisoba he had poorly hidden and spooned it onto a plate, placing some chopsticks in his hands. “Eat, please, Satoru.”

He stared at you for a long pause. “Well, then, when you say it so sweetly like that.” The man shrugged, surrendering, as if glad to surrender, and sat down next to Megumi. “I’m utterly unable to refuse you.”

You rolled your eyes, turning away, concealing your smile. “Just eat your food.”

And you turned around for five seconds before there was an exclamation of, ‘hey!’. You spun to see Satoru giggling at the nine-year-old boy next to him, who looked more than ready to stab the man with his chopsticks. “That was mine! You have your own food!”

“That’s what you get for being a little snitch.” Your husband booped the boy’s nose. “Eat up before I hide your plate.”

“Do that, and I’ll summon my Demon Dogs,” Megumi huffed, making a strange shape with his hands. “They may be puppies right now, but I’ll make them eat you!”

Satoru burst out in laughter, before wrapping the kid in a headlock so only his spiky, sable locks were visible, and then ruffled his hair affectionately. “Oh, kiddo, shelve that for when you’re older and stronger than me! And considering your potential, you probably will be, haha!”

Tsumiki watched the banter unfold with twinkling eyes and a small grin, and you couldn’t bring yourself to scold them for their silly behaviour during dinner. It was too cute a sight, seeing a little boy fearlessly threaten his, essentially, adoptive dad he was less than half the height of. And the three were a charming little family, most certainly very familiar with each other, and laughter came easily. Except for little Megumi. But even you could see he respected Satoru as a young apprentice would revere his mentor.

Perhaps Megumi will attend Jujutsu Tech one day, when he’s old enough. You didn’t know much about it exactly, but you could sense the boy’s strength and cursed energy output—as Satoru had previously mentioned in passing two times before, as you recalled. And if he already had a cursed technique, which you guessed his ‘Demon Dogs’ to be, then the boy was well on his way to becoming a very formidable jujutsu sorcerer.

When they were almost finished their yakisoba, you opened up the dishwasher and suggested, “How about we all watch a movie?”

Tsumiki and Satoru cheered, while Megumi hopped down from his stool and rounded the counter, holding up his bowl to rinse it. You laughed, finding him and his small height and efforts to help terribly endearing. “Here, Megumi-kun, I’ll take it. You go with Satoru and Tsumiki-chan to watch the movie.”

The boy obeyed, shyly looking away. “Okay.”

Tsumiki was busy exclaiming, “Tangled! Tangled! Tangled!” as her choice of film, while Megumi rushed into the living room and indignantly declared, “No! I want to watch Cars!”

You hobbled into the lounge after cleaning up the bench to see Satoru pitting the siblings against each other in multiple rounds of rock-paper-scissors. You sat, amusedly watching it unfold, only for Tsumiki to cheer and jump in happiness at winning. Satoru and Megumi looked rather disappointed, but soon the Tangled DVD was in the player and you were all squeezed together on the couch with bowls of ice cream, and watching Mother Gothel abduct baby Rapunzel. 

And, of course, your moron of a husband just had to have you on his lap, his strong arms squeezed around your middle, chin on your shoulder as he blankly listened to Rapunzel sing about when her life would begin. Tsumiki was utterly enraptured with the film, and you found yourself to be quite enjoying it also. There were a lot of Disney films you’d never seen before. To think you finally had the freedom to watch them to your heart’s content!

Rapunzel and Eugene were serenading each other on the lake when something soft rested against your shoulder. You turned to see little Megumi fast asleep, one half of his face pressed into your arm. You smiled. How cute!

“He’s asleep, huh?” Satoru whispered into your ear, those blue eyes twinkling against the dimness of the room and the TV. “He’s had a long day.”

“It was a long drive, huh?” You made sure not to move too much and risk awakening him. “Poor little guy. You tease him too much.”

“He likes you.” Satoru adjusted his hold on you a bit, peering over to look at Tsumiki, who hadn’t noticed a thing, too hooked on the movie to care. Then he glanced at the snoozing Megumi, and patted your waist. “He doesn’t take to people that easily.”

“Megumi’s a bit stoic for such a young boy, don’t you think?” You softly patted the child’s head. “Kids his age should be laughing and playing with their Hot Wheels.”

“Yeah.” Satoru sounded a bit sad. Then he gently lifted you off him so he could stand. “I’d better get the little dude to bed.”

“I think I turned the heater on in there before I sat down.” You shuffled around a bit on the couch, where your husband was just seated. “It ought to be nice and warm for them.”

Satoru surprised you by tipping your chin up and kissing your cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

You blinked rapidly, flustered, as your husband gently lifted the young boy into his arms and carried him off down the hall to put him to bed. You calmed yourself—not without internally berating yourself, also. Why on earth are you all giddy over a peck on the cheek? You needed to get over yourself, honestly. 

Reaching forward, you smiled and gently took Tsumiki’s empty bowl for her. “Is this your favourite movie, Tsumiki-chan?”

“Yes!” she cheerily exclaimed in reply, but she did not take her eyes off the TV screen. “Gojo took me to see it when it came out. He will never admit it, but he likes the songs. I heard him humming them after we left the cinema.”

Laughing softly, you grabbed your cane and got to your feet. “I think I like this movie too. Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please!” Tsumiki hugged a cushion to her chest and smiled up at you. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, honey.” You decided that these two children were certainly well-raised and taken care of. Did Satoru shoulder it all on his own? You turned to stare at him when he emerged from the hall, hand over his mouth as he yawned widely. The man made his way over to you, eyes droopy. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Did you raise these two children all on your own?” You reached up and brushed some hair out of his eyes, slivers of piercing blue peeping through long, snowy lashes. “At sixteen years old?”

“I was nineteen, actually,” he mumbled, and melted into your touch like a purring cat. “Imagine becoming a dad at nineteen. Sometimes I forget I did not, in fact, birth that little brat.”

“He’s not a brat,” you softly defended Megumi, biting back a smile. “What were you like when you were nine?”

Satoru’s eyes opened and bored straight into yours. He didn’t say a word. Perturbed by the intensity of his stare, you backed up slightly. “…Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry.”

“Do you really not…?” he trailed off, his hand grasping yours, before he dropped his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind. No, you didn’t. And yes, I was a brat.”

“Still are.” You suddenly remembered Tsumiki’s hot chocolate and spun around to boil the kettle. “This is why I don’t spoil you.”

“May I have a hot chocolate?” he asked politely. 

With narrowed eyes, you shot him a look over your shoulder, pursing your lips at his puppy eyes and twitching mouth. So now I can’t refuse the bastard? Those damn eyes. You reluctantly reached for another cup and spooned some of the drinking chocolate into the mug. “…Go sit down with Tsumiki.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru spun around and went to take a seat next to Tsumiki, who greeted him happily. Your husband offered to braid her hair, and the girl immediately cheered at the suggestion. You smiled to yourself again. 

By the time the hot chocolates were made, Satoru had finished braiding her brown locks and she was now gathering his short, shaggy tufts of hair up into little pigtails on his head, having run off to grab her ties and clips and other accessories from her bag. Two pink bows held Satoru’s hair up, and he complimented Tsumiki profusely on her hairstyling skills when she gave him a mirror. Giggling at the sight, you sneaked out your phone and took three photos. 

He spotted you and threw up a peace sign, grinning, unashamed. Tsumiki beamed for the camera, and the movie credits were rolling as you laughed at Satoru’s (very cute) hair. 

“We need to do his makeup,” Tsumiki announced, and turned to you before he could protest. “Do you have any makeup?”

You shook your head apologetically. “I have yet to buy any, I’m sorry, Tsumiki, darling. Maybe next time.” Glancing at the time on your phone clock, you smiled and hobbled to your feet. “Time for all of us to head off to bed, I think.” You reached over and patted her nicely braided hair. “Especially for young growing girls like you. You need your beauty sleep.”

“This princess has to have his nightly bath.” Satoru pointed to himself, getting to his feet. You tried not to snort at the sight of his little white pigtails bouncing with the movement. And he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “So does Prince Charming here.”

“You’re Prince Charming,” Tsumiki corrected matter-of-factly. Then she gestured to you. “And this is your Cinderella.”

“She is, isn’t she?” He tugged you that much closer, just so you had to lean on him, and not your walking stick. You didn’t want to like feeling his steady, muscled frame beneath you so much. I’m beginning to let my heart rule my head. 

“Ahem, yes—well…” You awkwardly patted his chest and attempted to put distance between you both. Can’t have him pulling another stunt in front of Tsumiki! “Best get to bed! Let’s go, Tsumiki-chan.”

She chirped an ‘okay!’ and rushed off, while you stepped away to hobble and grab the cups. “I’ll pop these in the dishwasher. You go ahead and shower.”

“I think you’ve run around after us enough for one day,” Satoru softly said, gently taking the cups from your hands. Sapphire eyes peered sweetly into yours. “You can go first. I’ll take care of the rest of the dishes.”

“But it’s just two—”

“You look tired.” The man turned to enter the kitchen. “And it’s quite late.” The dishwasher creaked open, and he dutifully loaded the cups into it, turning to then wipe up the counter. He shot you a warning, but playful, look. “I’ll pick you up and carry you myself if you don’t go now.”

“Alright, alright,” you grumbled, no bite to your tone. “I’ll go tuck Tsumiki in.”

The girl was busy brushing her teeth, and you were pleasantly surprised with how she hadn’t needed to be told. Goodness, Satoru is very good with kids! “Oh, how good of you, Tsumiki! Taking the initiative.”

And once she was done and crawling into her bed, her brother fast asleep in the other one across the room, you sat on her bedside and reached to turn off the lamp. “You two must be very tired. And you have to get up early tomorrow to go to school!”

“It’s okay. We’ve both heard so much about you, we begged to come meet you.” She grinned, shuffling about under the covers until she was comfy. “You’re all Gojo talks about. Apparently his students at Jujutsu Tech are getting sick of it.”

Your lips parted, shocked. He…talks about me? You thought the moment he was away from you, you’d disappear from his mind. And you had preferred it that way. “Is that…so?”

“Yeah! He goes on and on about how ‘beautiful’ his wife is.” Then she moved to sit up and leaned forward to whisper in your ear, “And he was right! You’re very pretty.”

“Oh…” You couldn’t help but feel bashful. I’m sure she’s just saying that. It was quite clear you were not conventionally attractive at all—not a day went by, once, when you lived at the clan estate, when you weren’t constantly reminded of that fact. “Well…I think that he’s…a little crazy.” You made a circle motion beside your ear, stomach fluttering.

Tsumiki rolled her eyes and nodded in agreement. “Tell me about it. You need to ask Megumi about what happened when they first met.” She shook her head, and you were struck with how mature and dignified she was for an eleven-year-old. “He’s an idiot.”

“He certainly is.” But you said it fondly, and you stood. Tsumiki settled down in her covers, and you patted her head. “Goodnight, Tsumiki-chan. Have a good sleep.”

“You, too.” She yawned and brought the duvet up to her chin, closing her eyes. “Gojo is lucky to have you…”

You froze in your footsteps, turning around to stare at her sleeping face. You clutched your cane, dropping your eyes to your feet, and shook your head. Children say the strangest things sometimes.

And you shuffled out of their room, pulling their door only just ajar, almost smacking right into a wide chest. Two hands gripped your upper arms to steady you, and you blinked up at Satoru. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“Kids are known for being brutally honest, you know.” His stare was way too piercing. Such a dazzling sky-blue, flecked with white and silver, pupils dilated. You wanted to step back, out of his reach, but he hadn’t let you go. He must’ve taken out the pigtails a few minutes ago. Oh, no—did he hear everything?

“Um…” You broke stares first, looking away. “Well…they’re also known to lie.”

He tilted his head, and you felt rather cornered. “Tsumiki is not a liar.”

Your eyes snapped to his, and you flattened your lips out into a thin, nervous line. “Were you…eavesdropping?”

Satoru kept his voice low, just a deep rumble, and didn’t answer your question. “Nothing she said was untrue.”

“You’re speaking in riddles again.” You were easily frustrated whenever he had you like this. “And she’s too nice a girl to say anything other than what she did. Let’s go to bed.”

Your husband held you in place. “She ratted me out for the second time today, and you still don’t get it?”

You were no fool—however, you did not want to hear him admit it. It would throw a terrible, painful wrench into your plans. And you understood the girl’s implications—but you were also not so foolish enough to believe an eleven-year-old’s ramblings, especially from one you had only just met. You pursed your lips at him. “There’s nothing to ‘get’. You’re irritable and I think you need to sleep.”

“I’m irritable?” There was a crease to his brow, indignant. “I’m just amazed at how much you’re in deni—”

“Let’s not fight right now,” you sharply cut him off. “Especially not outside the kids’ room. Why are you bringing it up at this time? Let’s just go to bed and leave it alone. I’m really not in the mood.”

The man huffed a caustic laugh and released you. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“You don’t have to do anything.” You strode down the hall for your room—not the main chambers. “Except go to bed. And sleep. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, don’t you?” Then you turned around and gave the man a thorough once-over. “And you look tired. It’s been getting worse, ever since school opened up again. You can’t teach when running on two or three hours of sleep.”

“Sleep in with me.” He still sounded aggravated. “I sleep best with you next to me.”

You frowned at him deeply, jaw clenched, and you relented, defeatedly turning in the direction of the master bedroom. “Fine. But you go straight to sleep.”

There was no reply, except for the man picking you up and striding into the room himself. “You’re really damn difficult at times.”

You barked a laugh. “Ha! And you wonder why. Sometimes, I think I’m constantly baby-sitting a six-foot-whatever, twenty-two-year-old child who throws a hissy when he doesn’t get his way.” You sharply poked his chest with your forefinger, and reciprocated his glare readily. “I thought I’d made it clear many times, Gojo Satoru—but I will not baby you. Ever. So you either get that spoiled attitude of yours sorted out quick, or there won’t be any more tolerance from me.”

“You’re ballsy, thinking you can lecture me.” He wasn’t very gentle when he dumped you down on the bed, standing with his arms crossed above you. Oh, so he’s trying to intimidate me now, is he? “Usually, I’d say I like it, but your attitude toward me grates on my nerves sometimes. Is it my fault you have great trouble letting go of your pride and just admitting to things?”

“Pride!” you exclaimed, laughing, covering your face with one hand. “Oho—you’re telling me about pride right now, Satoru? Are you hearing yourself!” 

“Loud and clear. And it’s time for you to be quiet.” He grabbed your arms, wrenched you to your feet with a single, effortless pull, and kissed you. It was exasperated, like he couldn’t think of any other way to react to this, and hungry. Satoru cupped the back of your head while one arm wound around your middle, and he didn’t allow you to breathe. “You’re so…damn…” he mumbled into your mouth, eyes half-open and almost drowsy. One of your hands gripped at his wide back, while the other threaded through his ivory locks, tugging at his hair, and he groaned. “Damn—Damn you. D’you know how hard you make things for me at times?”

“Because I don’t put up with your little tantrums?” He tasted like marshmallows and hot chocolate, which made sense, really. “I did say I wouldn’t pamper you.”

“You already pamper me,” he retorted, and his mouth twitched with a grin. “More than you think.”

You hadn’t anything to say to that, because he was right, in a way. It was hard to refuse the guy. And it was getting harder. “…I know where your candy jar is.”

“What?!” Satoru’s eyes went wide with surprise and dismay. “But—! I hid it really well!”

“I will take it and eat them all if you don’t behave yourself.” You let him go, but he didn’t let you go. You rested your hands on his chest and fixed him with a firm look, fighting to remain outwardly grave. “That means stop acting like a child. And no PDA in front of the kids.”

His cheeks puffed out in a pout, and he glanced away. “You’re really mean to me sometimes.”

“Because I don’t want you traumatising those poor children any more than you already have?” You were rather incredulous, but glad you had eased the tense, irked atmosphere. “Satoru. Be serious. Put yourself in a nine-year-old’s shoes—would you like to witness your caregivers getting it on right in front of you?”

“We weren’t ‘getting it on’,” he objected rather indignantly. “It was just a kiss.”

“You were backing me up against the—”

“It was just a kiss! A mere peck.” At your arched brow, Satoru chewed on his lower lip and avoided your eyes. “With maybe a…tad bit of tongue.”

“A tad, you say?”

“Fine! It was a French kiss.” He gave you that beseeching look of his he always took on to make you relent. That puppy-dog stare you had a terribly hard time denying. “But I always get carried away with you. You don’t understand how irresistible you are.”

You rolled your eyes and snorted at his flowery words. “Yeah, I think that’s enough for one day. Let’s go to bed now. Go brush your teeth.”

“Are you saying I have bad breath?”

“You will in the morning if you don’t brush your teeth right now.” You unwound his arms from around you and gently steered him in the direction of the ensuite. “I won’t let you kiss me if that happens.”

He didn’t need any more steering the moment you said that. Soon, you had both settled under the covers, the man wrapped around you like a koala, one of his hands massaging your leg, and you appreciated his warmth. The idiot really was a nice, big heater—especially during the winter. It was presently snowing outside, and you hadn’t closed the ranch slider’s blinds, which meant you could see the gentle snowfall as you faced the glass. 

“Your hair’s the same colour as the snow,” you drowsily remarked, tenderly scratching his scalp with your nails. His locks were so soft and they smelt nice. Why am I doing this? “It’s pretty.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Satoru murmured into your shoulder, practically purring in delight at your gentle caresses. 

“…Yeah.” No point in not admitting it. “I think you’re really pretty.” Then you quietly chuckled. “I’m a bit jealous.”

“I think you’re prettier.” He squeezed you. “The prettiest.”

“Shall we agree to disagree?” Satoru was as docile as a sleepy kitten whenever you treated him like this. The domesticity of it perturbed you somewhat, as you were beginning to tread on dangerous territory, but it was nice to let yourself relax. To think that the strongest man alive, one who had killed, would kill, and had even been killed, was your husband, and reduced to mere putty for you. You didn’t quite know what to make of it.

His hand was still massaging your thigh, and his thumb dug to loosen a particularly tight knot in your leg. It felt wonderful, and you pondered whether if he kneaded your thigh muscles for long enough, they might regain the strength to carry your weight someday, without a cane. 

“I’ll keep bugging you about it until you do agree,” Satoru countered, and he smiled into your neck. “You’re pamperingme right now, by the way.”

“I am, am I?” You didn’t stop softly scratching his scalp. “What a terrible state of affairs. I must stop right away.”

“Yeah. You’d better.” Your eyes slid shut, relaxing into him. His hold was tight, warm and secure. No harm could come to you as long as he was around. The man continued to gently knead your thigh. “You wouldn’t wanna get used to it.”

“No.” It had never been so easy to fall asleep so fast. “Wouldn’t be very good, would it?”

“Mm.” His breathing began to slow, and he muttered something.

“What’s that?” Satoru’s hand on your thigh slowed down until it stopped, just resting warmly against your skin instead, and you remained silent, not pushing for an answer, knowing he was asleep. This idiot. Why does he have to make things hard for me?

You would prefer it if he treated you horribly, like you were the scum of the earth, just like how everyone else had. But he was sweet. And he appeared to enjoy your company. Was this what being liked felt like?

It was a nice feeling. Very nice. All wrapped up in warmth, with a strangely affectionate husband. And what scared you was that you would begin to reconsider escaping. Which would be disastrous—because, what would you do when he inevitably found out about your endometriosis? And thus the elders did? Would you be able to handle seeing that lovely blue gaze turn into something that stared coldly at you with hatred?

You shut your eyes and breathed in his husky scent, trying to relax and put your worries aside. It’s okay. It’ll be fine. I’ve outlined a thorough plan—which does still need some refinements, but that’s alright—and we’ll be out of here by this time next year, ideally. Gone, without a trace.

Faking your death would be easier. And something to consider. But, for now, you wanted to sleep. Because there was no point in living in tomorrow or next year when it was only today. 

So you slept. Fitfully. And worried about it the next day.

Chapter Text

Satoru bit his bottom lip as he grinned. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.”

You warily peeped up at that…crazed glint in his eye behind his shades as he stared at the ancient double doors standing before you both. He had your hand grasped in his, grip tight and secure, and then his eyes met yours. “You won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll deal with these old coots.”

You looked away, down at your feet. You were dressed in a kimono, of which you had carefully selected that morning, as it was your first meeting with the elders. However, when you presented yourself to your husband, he had burst out laughing and amusedly told you there was no reason for you to dress so formally. As if to prove his point, he was clad in an unironed, rather tight-fitting button-down and faded jeans, with old, beat-up converse on his feet. And when you dejectedly—somewhat stung by his laughter—went to change, Satoru had stopped you and gently said that you should keep it on for him, because you were ‘a sight for sore eyes’ in that kimono. 

What you were most nervous about was how to hold yourself in the presence of so many elders. Some you had never met before, and some you had. Some you were related to. Ones like your aunt.

Would you be able to hold your ground and refuse to let them walk all over you? You were married to the strongest sorcerer known—but you, yourself, were not. Satoru couldn’t be around and act as your bodyguard all the time. You gripped your cane tighter and glared at it. If it weren’t for my damn leg.

You were only four, and your mother had passively said it’d heal as you grew, but it didn’t. And the family doctor, without much concern in his tone, had announced you wouldn’t ever be able to walk freely on it, without some kind of support, again. That meant your training was permanently halted. And your label as a defect was set in stone.

“Well…I’ll stay quiet and let you do the talking.” You palms grew clammy; why didn’t he let go? It was if he didn’t care if your hand was slick with sweat. So you tried to wriggle your hand out of his grasp, but Satoru just tightened it, and took that chance to pull you in closer. The lens of his sunglasses were completely black, and you couldn’t see his eyes. “Speak up whenever you wish to. If you have a question to ask, ask it. Compared to you, the elders have little authority. Because you’re my wife.”

“I…” Perhaps he was just trying to be encouraging. Nevertheless, you knew that what he was suggesting simply wasn’t feasible. You turned your face away. “I’ll remain silent.”

Satoru stared at your side profile, and you tried not to squirm under his intense scrutiny. “Don’t let these boneheads intimidate you. You’re my wife! And therefore the most powerful woman in jujutsu society.”

You tried not to scorn his words. “Haha. That’s a funny joke. Now, shall we stop dawdling and get this over with?”

“Nah, let ’em wait for a little longer.” He turned you around so you fully faced him again, and leaned right in. “Keeps them on their toes. And, I wasn’t joking. No one can touch you as long as you’re married to me.”

“I make you look like a jo—mmf!” The idiot shut you up with his soft, full mouth pressed to yours, before he pulled away as quick as he came, beaming. “There. Now do you believe me?”

Stunned, your grip on your cane fumbled a bit as you staggered for balance. “You…” 

“Let’s go in now!” And Satoru took your hand again and dragged you along to kick the doors open. Of which he legitimately did—he merrily lifted one leg and booted the rickety old doors wide, and the quiet chattering inside the room abruptly ceased. 

You stared; in a circle before the centre of the room, were screens, behind which unrecognisable shadows sat. Satoru matched your pace as he gently led you into the room, toward the open middle, where a bright, overhead light shone down. And then you both stopped, standing before the elders—all hiding behind their screens like cowards. For that was your immediate thought upon entering this room: I am communing with a bunch of corrupt miscreants. This is what Satoru has to deal with every week or so?

“We shall get straight to the point,” an elder you did not recognise the voice of suddenly spoke up. “Is there any sign of an heir yet?”

“Wow! No ‘hello, how are you, would you like some kikufuku?’ for your favourite young sorcerer and his wife?” Satoru tilted his head and looked straight at the paper shade behind which the old man sat. The elder’s silhouette shifted a bit at your husband’s intent stare—doubtlessly, that screen concealing the man was futile before Gojo Satoru’s Six Eyes. “Goodness. It seems that with old age comes bad manners.”

A woman scoffed. “Aren’t you one to talk. We gave you a month, with a two-week honeymoon and a house to yourselves. Is she pregnant yet?”

You had never been so insulted in all your life. You ground your teeth, seething, this is all I am to these people. A mere baby-making machine! And you gripped Satoru’s hand with a tightening hold, and cursed your anxiety. Dammit. If only I had the guts to smack that woman over the head with my cane!

It seemed your husband would be doing plenty of the smacking for you, however—in the form of smooth, daggered words. “Yes, you gave us a month. Of course, no regard for letting us get to know each other and be comfortable enough to actually engage in such amorous acts.” He squeezed your hand, a silent gesture of reassurance. “Do you really think so low of me as to force her? No. We’ve mutually decided to take things slow.”

Your head snapped up to look at him, and murmurs rippled about the room. And there was a chuckle from behind you both. “Oho, I see. Do you love her, Gojo Satoru?”

Everyone went quiet, and then there was laughter. Your heart dropped, and you warily side-eyed him, anticipating his response. The man’s expression was completely unreadable, but his jaw was set, clenched, and a muscle twitched in his cheek. You frowned, uneasy. Did that elder hit a nerve?

“…Love is not the issue here. I’m talking about treating her with the decency she deserves. Which means, when she says no to having a child, then there will be no child. Simple.”

“What?” Immediately, every muscle in your body stiffened and was drawn out tight. Of course she’d be here. Your aunt puppeted the strings of much behind the scenes in this society. “What do you mean, when she says no? She has no right to!”

“Am I hearing you right?” His tone remained jovial, but it sharpened greatly, and he turned to face the screen behind which your aunt likely sat. “My ears cannot be functioning correctly. Are you asking me why she said no, and why I didn’t have my way regardless? Is that really what you’re asking? Have you gone senile?”

“No, what I am asking is why…” Your aunt snapped your name. “Have you said no? It is your duty, as Gojo Satoru’s wife, to bear his heir. And you’re out here telling him no?”

You swallowed with great struggle, hastily racking your brains for the right words to say. “It’s—”

“Not only has my wife said no, but so have I,” he cut in, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. You clicked your mouth shut and hid behind your hair as he continued, “We agreed upon no heir long before we actually married. Your mistake, allowing me to speak with her alone. For us to draw up some terms and conditions ourselves. Such a shame that your agenda won’t be followed through with.”

Chinatsu was silent for a beat, before she sputtered a scoff. “I…I cannot believe it. You—you really married her even after you dishonestly sneaked that ‘no heir’ rule into the equation? This marriage was specifically arranged so that you would have an heir. You need one. I never knew you were this slow, Gojo Satoru. It appears that you have had nothing but air in that skull of yours since the beginning.”

“Why, aren’t you blunt,” he sneered. “It appears you have had no respect for your own kith and kin and even gender ever since the beginning. I am sincerely appalled that you even suggested marital rape just now. Have you been taking your meds, old woman?”

“I never suggested marital rape!” she exclaimed, sounding quite appalled herself. “How dare you! I am merely inquiring why you have both ‘agreed’ to no heir. Do you think this marriage was officiated because it was meant to be a new, happy little lifestyle for you? No. That girl”—The shadow of her hand came up and she jutted a finger in your direction—“Ishere for your pleasure, but her main purpose is to provide you and your clan a successor. So, I will ask again, niece…” You braced yourself. “Why have you refused to put that thing of yours between your legs to good use?”

“Woman, I swear to—” Placing a hand on his arm to silence him, you gently shook off Satoru’s grip and faced your aunt’s silhouette with one hand grasping your cane, the other primly pressed to your obi, and you sucked in a deep, readying breath. Do not stutter! “…Because, aunt, as my husband previously said: I do not want a child.”

Silence. And then each and every elder, who had been, with wordless entertainment, quietly watching the histrionics unfold, burst into raucous laughter. The entire room echoed with it, all so scornful and mocking, and your whole body burned with humiliation. The only person, other than you, who did not share the elders’ amusement, was your husband—and he, with flashing eyes and tightly clenched fists, thundered, “Quiet!”

The laughter immediately died. But, the attitude and atmosphere did not change—each person behind those paper screens sat teeming with scorn, regarding you with the utmost of contempt, and only backed off in fear of Satoru. And you tried not to take a step back, to cower behind his tall, imposing form, and revert back to your younger self. You were a grown woman now, married to the strongest sorcerer alive, even if it was something unsolicited. You could no longer afford to be a wimp. 

Satoru suddenly wiped that menacing expression from his face and replaced it with an icily pleasant smile. “Great! Now that you’ve all shut your traps, you can allow us to speak.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tugged you into his side. “My wife and I will not be having a child. At least, not any time soon. So, how about you stop pressuring us?” And then he paused, tilted his head up to the ceiling, and hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, there’s no point in saying that. You’ll still pressure us regardless. Oh, well! You still won’t get what you want, anywa—”

“We will speak with her alone,” yet another new voice commanded. “Leave, Gojo.”

“Ha! You really think you can order me around?” He swiftly turned to face the screen behind which the elder sat. “You all know I’m too strong for you t—”

Your aunt snapped your name. “Tell him to leave.” Her tone deepened dangerously. “Now.”

Oh, how you hated when she used that tone. It was always a dark one—one promising great punishment and pain, and you could never say no to it for fear of your own sorry hide. And it was almost like she had a hold on your mind you couldn’t fight; you placed a gentle hand on Satoru’s upper arm, attempting to soothe him. “Let them speak to me alone, Satoru.”

“What?” He looked at you like you’d grown another head. “Are you serious? No. No, I won’t. Do you think I’d leave you alone in here with this lot? Do you know what they’re capable o—”

“I do.” Oh, how you did. “It will be brief. Please. Just…ten minutes.”

Satoru stood before you, unmoving, gazing down at you, for a long pause. “…Alright.” He faced the elders again. “If you harm a single hair on her head…”

Your husband let the threat hang midair before swivelling around and striding out, leaving you in the centre of that stuffy room, alone under the light, exposed before many higher-ups, at their mercy. 

“First name basis, huh?” Chinatsu sneered. “My goodness. You have gotten familiar with each other. Have you been busy warming his bed as you’re meant to?”

It was reflexive, the way you meekly lowered your head, hiding behind your hair. “…Yes.” If you didn’t lie, what else would your fate be?

“Even so, you’re not pregnant yet.” Her silhouette shifted behind the screen; your aunt crossed her arms. “Are you on birth control? Is he using protection? What is going on? You should be in the early stages of your pregnancy right now. What are you doing wrong?”

“I…” He won’t touch me any more than I want him to. And you had restricted it to kisses. Satoru’s respecting of your wishes touched you deeply, but you knew it’d get you into trouble sooner or later.

Because, although they could not touch him, they could most certainly harm you. And they could easily do it without his intervention. You knew this. Defenceless women, and people in general, were useless in this realm. But they’d always find some use for you. Like you being married off to him.

“Well? Speak, girl,” the old man from before ordered. “What have you been doing wrong?”

“I, um…” You drew in a deep breath. Pinning the blame on Satoru likely wouldn’t work, despite his claims from earlier. They’d merely laugh. “I—I’ll try harder. I am truly trying my best. It’s just…” What would be a satisfactory lie? Pursing your lips, you reluctantly continued, “He…won’t touch me.”

“What?” Murmurs filtered about the room. Your aunt’s shadow visibly stiffened behind her screen. “He won’t touch you? Do you mean to say…” And then she scoffed. “Oh, goodness me, you poor thing. Are you so undesirable, not even he will take you into his arms?” She sounded so apathetically entertained. “Well, at least we know he has some taste. However, this just won’t do.”

You watched as she got to her feet and stepped out from behind the shade, emerging from the shadows and approaching you. Oh no. No, no, no, no. You took a quavering step back and attempted to school your expression into something neutral. No other elder came to your aid—no. This was likely very amusing for them. 

Chinatsu halted in her tracks before you, and smiled coldly. “Chihiro.”

A servant you hadn’t noticed beforehand snapped to attention. “Yes, mistress.”

“Bring me my gift.” Your aunt tilted her head, not once breaking eye contact with you. “The gift I prepared for my dearest niece.”

“Yes, mistress.” The servant bowed and rushed out. You stood there, stunned, trying to brave that sinister gaze. Why was such a warm hazel colour so cold, compared to his icy blue, which was clear and soft and bright like a cloudless midsummer’s day?

“I prepared a sweet treat for you,” she smiled without a hint of emotion. “Something your dear husband is notorious for enjoying.”

The servant was remarkably fast: within minutes, they had returned with a thin object in hand, and bowed as they handed it to your aunt. She gladly took it, held it under the light, and extended it toward you.

“Share it with him.” It was…a bar of chocolate? You frowned and blinked up at her, nauseously uneasy. Chinatsu didn’t stop smiling. It was an expression that suited her pretty face, but it was menacing, insidious. She lifted a manicured hand and pushed it further into your chest, forcing you to take it. “Share this chocolate with him tonight. The effects of it will take hold in minutes.” And then that manicured hand went to your shoulder, and her nails dug harshly into your flesh. “I don’t care what you have to do to get him to consummate. Just do something. Make him want you.” Chinatsu sniffed and looked you up and down. “If only you inherited your father’s looks. You are absolutely nothing to write home about, but men are easily swayed when faced with feminine temptation, no matter who.”

“What…is in the chocolate?” you shakily asked, voice small, and you knew you weren’t far from the verge of tears. Is it some kind of…drug? You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to coerce Satoru into this. You didn’t want to drug him and impel him into taking you. What do I do? What do I do?

Chinatsu quirked a brow. “You don’t know what an aphrodisiac is?

You nervously fidgeted with a loose edge of the chocolate bar’s wrapper. Noriko never mentioned such a thing to me. “I…no.” 

“Hmph.” The woman let your shoulder go, and you barely kept yourself from releasing a breath of relief. She pointed at the chocolate. “It will enhance arousal. He’s a deprived, starved man. It’s visible in the way he acts toward you. From the wedding and now.” Your aunt crossed her arms and inclined her head toward you placidly. “Use it sparingly. If you are not ovulating right now, use it again when you are. You absolutely must become pregnant. When we see each other again next month, and you are still not with child…” Her head tilted up, and she gazed down at you from above her dainty nose, eyes wintry. “There will be consequences.”

“Remember, Gojo Satoru will not always be around to protect you,” another elder spoke up from the sidelines. “And you are always replaceable.”

“…I know.” What the hell do I do? Everything, especially since the wedding, has been speedily descending in a direct nosedive for rock bottom. This makes everything so much worse. Do I run away now? But, I can’t! I haven’t got the funds or lingual knowledge to get by…

You felt like crying, you were so distraught. Should I just tell him everything that went on in here? That would be best. You didn’t want to drug him when he expressed no consent toward bedding you. What a sticky situation this has put us both in! What am I to do?

And then there was your endometriosis. Even with the aphrodisiac and ovulation, your chances of falling pregnant was low. For the prescribed pills toward treating your illness were birth control.

But it’s not a potent pill… Aygestin was not a true contraceptive, according to your gynaecologist when she decided to prescribe you them a year ago now. It lowered the chances of pregnancy, but not so much as actual birth control. It’s going to be painful, as well, and shine the light on this final inadequacy. What will your husband say? Why did you care about his opinion the most?

“And do not,” your aunt began once more, holding up a forefinger. “Tell Gojo. Do not. I swear—if you do, repercussions will be catastrophic for you.”

“Make a binding vow,” some higher-up suggested. “Enter into a binding vow with one another, and make this achievement irrevocable.”

“No!” you exclaimed, stumbling a step back, panic piercing through you. “No, please! Please, not a binding vow—I’ll do it! I won’t tell him, I swear. I’ll give him the drug and I’ll be with child by—by tonight! Just—no, I beg of you, not a binding vow!”

“You swear, do you?” Your aunt flashed a mocking smile. “How honourable, niece. Unfortunately”—She shot forward and gripped your wrist, and you very nearly screamed—“You are untrustworthy. A binding vow is an excellent idea! Let’s begin, shall we?”

You attempted to struggle and refuse; the hand over your mouth kept you from shrieking Satoru’s name for help—and the higher-up who proposed the horrid idea got to their feet and stepped forward, lifting a hand. “Fighting this will make it worse.” 

Immediately, you felt your limbs begin to relax and go numb, your mind weakened. Oh my god, he’s using his technique on me! Mind control! The elder stared coldly down at you. “Once you give birth, the vow will be fulfilled. Until then, you cannot speak of or work against the vow—if you do, death shall greet you prematurely.”

What were you thinking, letting them speak with you alone—letting that woman have her way over you, as usual? How could you have never expected these vile people to not try anything when your only source of protection was so conveniently absent? Tears pooled at your waterline and spilled. I’m done for. This is my own fault. How could I have been so stupid? Your thoughts began to melt away as the elder’s technique usurped your mind, and your consciousness took the backseat of your body as the higher-up seized control of you, forcing you to consent to the vow. In some far-away place, you heard your own voice express agreement, and the binding vow was activated.

Gradually, you returned to yourself. You blearily watched as the writing on your wrist glowed and then faded, signifying a year-long time limit. If I am not pregnant within a year… What were you going to do? I will die…

Somehow, during the process, you had dropped to the ground, and you found yourself being wrenched to your feet and your cane harshly pushed back into your hand. Chinatsu tugged her kimono sleeve down, under which the smooth skin of her wrist glowed and faded with the binding vow’s age-old script. She huffed a smile. “There! Now, an heir is finally secured.”

They couldn’t hope to control Satoru. It was an excruciating effort not to collapse and burst into tears. So they will seek to control his child, and me, instead.

“You say you will be with child by tonight?” your aunt smiled, tilting her head at you. “Excellent. I expect wonderful news this time next month, then. You now know what to do with that chocolate.”

Before you could get a word in, she turned to the servant standing nearby and sharply nodded her head to the door. “Bring him back in.”

You should’ve known the room would have been soundproof, despite its clear old age. The doors creaked open, and your husband, who was standing just out in the hallway, turned to stare in. He immediately strode toward you, gaze trailing up and down over your frame. Satoru stopped, staring, and then slowly lifted his arctic gaze to your aunt. “What did you do?”

“We…” She stepped forward, strangely unintimidated, and placed a hand on your shoulder. You barely kept from jumping out of your skin, and she smiled sweetly up at the man. “Came to an agreement.”

“Is that so?” Satoru, without moving his head, flicked his stony stare down to you. “Does she lie?”

“…No.” It was like your tongue had turned to lead in your mouth, incapable of forming the words binding vow or a plea for help. Your aunt didn’t need to squeeze your shoulder in warning. The writing on your wrist was warning enough. You couldn’t hold his gaze. “She tells the truth.”

“What is this agreement?” he asked instead, casting a glance in the other elder’s, who was standing nearby, direction. “Is it something I need to force out of you?”

“No,” you answered, and you attempted a smile. “It’s all perfectly fine. It was a…” You swallowed down bile. “Mutual agreement.”

He stared long and hard at you from behind those shades, mouth flat and unsmiling. “…Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You stepped forward to take his hand, and you were fully expecting him to recoil. But he didn’t; Satoru let you grasp his hand, but he didn’t reciprocate the hold, hand limp in yours, and his eyes didn’t waver from your face. You forced your smile to look genuine. “Everything is okay.”

He didn’t move for a pause, just staring at you, and then at your aunt. “…Well, then. If my wife says everything is okay, then everything must be okay.” Satoru looked utterly unconvinced, and angry that whatever had gone awry, you refused to tell him. “The meeting is over, right? We’ll take our leave now.”

“Of course,” Chinatsu said pleasantly. “Enjoy your little treat.”

Satoru halted in his tracks, you at his side, and cast a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder, blue flashing like ice beneath those shades. “What treat?”

You shakily held up the chocolate bar. “Oh, my aunt was…generous enough to give us a small gift. Just to…” You looked down and bit your lip, eyes stinging with distressed tears. Blinking them back, you barely regained control of yourself. “Celebrate our union and the heir to come.”

“That’s right.” Your aunt beamed, clapping her hands joyfully. “We are all so excited! Soon, the sound of newborn cries will grace the halls of the Gojo clan, the heir’s heir born! The boy will grow up to be as strong as his father.” Then she coyly tilted her head to the side, tapping her chin in mock-thought. “Or…perhaps stronger.”

“What makes you so sure it will be a boy?” Your husband sounded none too pleased. “Boy or girl, doesn’t matter—not one of you will have the chance to sink your fangs into my child. If we have one.” Satoru gripped your hand and turned, continuing to head for the door. “And we’ll be throwing that chocolate out. God knows what you’ve laced it with.”

The doors clanged shut behind you both before your aunt could get in another word, and you almost audibly released a heavy sigh of relief—both at finally being out of there, and your husband’s apt presumption at what the chocolate really was. Your wrist was unharmed, but it was like you could feel every single engraving of the binding vow searing into your skin.

“What the hell happened in there?” Once far enough away, Satoru whirled on you. He gripped your upper arms tightly, almost bruising, and his hands were shaking. “What the fuck did they do to you?”

“N—” Your voice broke off, the lump in your throat stinging with each breath in and word out. “Nothing…”

“Bullshit.” You hadn’t heard him use such language as this before. The man backed you up against the wall and had you completely cornered. He plucked the chocolate bar out of your hands, and squinted at the back label. “Just looks like normal chocolate to me.” And then it suddenly crushed and shrunk in his hold, until it disappeared. Not being able to see those eyes disquieted you more than you already were. “What was in this?”

“An…” Would the binding vow allow you to mention the aphrodisiac? You tried and tasted the word, before forcing it out in one great rush, braced for the repercussions. “It—It was an aphrodisiac.”

Nothing. You were unharmed. No pain. You were fine. Perhaps that wasn’t in the clauses of it? You tried the words ‘binding vow’ on your tongue with no voice, but a sharp, brief bolt of pain shot through your skull, akin to an ice pick headache, and you suppressed a wince. I really can’t say anything at all. You wanted to throw up.

Satoru scoffed and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Ha! Yeah. As I thought.” Then he shook his head and placed his hands on his hips, regarding you with a sharp look down his nose. “And why did you accept it?”

“What was I going to do? Supposed to do?” you snapped, and choked back a sob. “Decline? I—I’m not powerful like you, Gojo Satoru. I can’t afford to disobey the elders. They already…” And you couldn’t fucking say it because of the damn thing on your wrist. So you shook your head defeatedly, whispering, “I’m such a damn fool. What was I thinking?”

“Whatever they did to you…” There was something gentler in his voice now, and he drew closer again. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. I can walk right back in there”—He pointed down the hall, back toward the room—“And slaughter them all in under a minute. For you. For harming you. Of which…” Satoru gave you a once over, but he focused on your face. “They…clearly did.”

You shrugged, drawing in a deep breath to calm yourself down and keep the tears back. “…Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry yourself about me.” Other than the fact that I’m going to have to ask you to consummate with me, and I fear that will make you wildly uncomfortable. 

Were you even ready to take that step, let alone be the one to initiate it?  No, you could confirm with conviction. It wasn’t a step you ever intended on taking. And you knew Satoru would be more than willing to help you, but… 

You couldn’t say anything. At least, not until you gave birth. Doing the very thing I don’t want to do is the only way I can be released from this?

You needed to test it out and see if there were any loopholes. You couldn’t recall ‘moving to another country in secret while pregnant’ being a forbidden clause. At any cost, you could not have your supposed infertility exposed.

It was pointless to hope in all the medical confirmations that getting pregnant and having a child remedied much of the symptoms of endometriosis. How could you, when your doctor had told you early on that your chances of ever falling pregnant were close to zero? Everything was already excruciating enough as it was. And now you must put yourself through something even worse, just to save your own sorry hide?

Satoru doesn’t deserve this. None of it. He deserved a wife who loved him, who was powerful and strong and capable, and able to handle her own. A woman who would gladly raise a child with him. Someone unafraid of the elders, and able to move on from her past without qualms or difficulties or obstacles.

You reached up and his Infinity let you in. You took hold of his shades and slipped them off his nose, looking up into those azure eyes. “You just need to focus on yourself and your students and the two siblings. You don’t need any more on your plate than you already have.”

“Are you telling me to back off?” Satoru grasped your hands, keeping you still. Something like pain flickered in his gaze. “Why? Why can’t you tell me? Why don’t you ever let me help?”

“Because you don’t need to.” You plastered your best reassuring smile on your face, but it was so unconvincingly shaky. “Because we’ve all got our own battles. Yours just happen to be a lot more hefty than my own. Which is why I’m telling you to rest easy. I’ll be fine!” You barely kept from choking on your own words. “I—promise.”

He softly said your name. “Please. At least give me something here. Something to work with. Something to help you outwith. Do you want me to interrogate your aunt? All of those elders? And then kill them? That can be arranged. I can do it right now. I can—”

“No.” If your aunt was killed, it was likely you would be too. You didn’t know what clauses applied to her. You doubted it was anything harmful, unlike your circumstances. And you had no intention of taking any chances. “No. Don’t do anything. Just let me handle this. Give me the opportunity to put those elders in their place, alright?” Perhaps, when the baby was born and you were freed of the vow, you could slip some poison into your aunt’s tea. Get rid of her for good. You weren’t above murder. Especially not when it came to her. “Let me…do something for you.”

Satoru’s brow creased. “And you talk to me about speaking in riddles.” 

You only did it to get him off your back and move on from the topic, but you reached up onto your toes and pecked his lips. “Perhaps you’re rubbing off on me.”

He returned the kiss and deepened it, yet—there was the taste of…fear in it. You gripped his shirt with an unsteady hand. Fear? What on earth did this man have to fear? “Maybe…I am. Don’t think I’m too fond of it, though.”

You let him have his way and relaxed into his touch. The man pushed you up against the wall once more, his hands gripping your waist like steel. He sucked the oxygen from your lungs, and your hair was getting messy as he lifted a hand to run his fingers through it. This is how I should invite him to consummate. Get him in the mood. None of this sat right with you. Your thoughts didn’t sit right with you. You hated how you were forced to coerce him, even if he didn’t know it, and even if he thought he wanted it. Above all, you detested how selfish you were forced to be—how selfish sheer survival instinct made you. 

A string of saliva stretched across the narrow gap between your mouths, and you were much more out of breath than he. Chiefly, the thing that had your stomach coiling and twisting and flipping the most was the fact you couldn’t tell him anything. Consummation was always inevitable—but like this? None of this was right. 

“It’s all so wrong…” you murmured, weakened. “It’s all…so wrong…”

“What is?” His nose brushed against yours—an affectionate gesture, one that made your nausea worse. 

“This.” You subtly turned your face away, mouth out of his reach, a silent message that permitted no more. “Everything.”

Blue eyes full of understanding. Unfathomable, all the same. “It’s not your fault.” 

You flinched roughly, like he’d shot you. “…What?”

“It’s not your fault,” Satoru repeated. And there was something terribly…crestfallen about his gaze. His eyes darted away, obscured by long lashes and ivory bangs, and he nibbled on his bottom lip. “…It’s mine.”

No one had ever told you something wasn’t your fault before—not even Noriko. Because she wasn’t there to comfort you like that. Neither of you were on that kind of wavelength. Perhaps you could’ve been, if she wasn’t torn from you. But this man…he understood you on a dreadfully personal level. Did you understand him the same?

No. You couldn’t. No one could. How could you? One so helpless against the elders’ chains, compared to another who was never shackled by them in the first place? A man strong beyond comprehension. How could you ever understand him?

But, if so—why did you understand that terrible look on his face so well? And why did you gently place a palm to his cheek and resolutely turn his face back to yours?

“No,” you firmly said. “It’s not your fault, either. Did you want this? Any of this? At all? No. Neither of us did. Don’t blame yourself. You’ve had a say…but have you ever had a say?”

Satoru’s mouth hung open, simply staring at you for a few, drawn out seconds, and he looked away again. “I…Let’s just go. Get out of this miserable place. I can’t stand—” There was a break to his voice. “…Being here any longer.”

You quite agreed. But that expression on his face didn’t go unnoticed. And it never went forgotten. Because it looked too similar to that of guilt to ever wipe from memory.

You gave it a week and a half before you mustered up enough courage to make your move.

This was to ensure the aygestin would likely have no more effect, as you hadn’t been taking it—and, thanks to this, the pain had been much worse in recent days. Even though you were almost fully sure you weren’t capable of falling pregnant, it was something you hadn’t any other choice but to try. Or things would go much more awry for you than they already had. 

It was also to make sure Satoru had mostly forgotten about the meeting, wouldn’t immediately guess your reasons behind suggesting consummation and thus connect the dots, come to a conclusion, and then subsequently slaughter your aunt, possibly killing you also in the process. On any other day, and in any other situation, you wouldn’t stop him. In fact, you’d encourage him and love to do the honours. But today was not that day. And it wouldn’t be for a long while yet. 

Perhaps the day would come eventually. When you weren’t so miserable anymore, and this helplessness faded into more simple, manageable sentiments of anger and vengeance. No more fear. 

Right now, you loitered in the bathroom, one hand clutching the tie of your robe, the other gripping your cane so tightly, your fingernails were beginning to bend back. There was no aphrodisiac, nothing to lull him into a state of vulnerability—and you would never do such a thing, anyway. That would be lowering yourself down to something only the elders would encourage and enforce. You had morals. They didn’t.

The internet provided enough tips for a wife on seducing her husband. Your stomach squeezed, and you felt faint. I don’t want to do this. I really don’t. What choice do I have?

You could die, if you wanted. You felt terribly inclined to that right now. Anxiety and dread and fear kept you far away from opening that door and stepping into the bedroom, saying the words you’d rehearsed many times. What will his reaction be? You sat on the toilet lid and let your cane drop, with a clatter, to the tiled floor, and put your head in your hands. What if he says no? What would you do then?

Worse, what if he says yes? This was a cruel gamble, and there was no way out in sight. How would you brave anymore than just his mouth on yours?

Questions, questions, questions. And worries. And fears. It was all you had. All you were good for. Would he understand?

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to tell him so bad. You’d tried everything—writing it down, only to be assaulted with a headache so horrible, it was like you’d been pierced with a bullet, missing your brain, letting you live. 

There was a tap on the door, making you jump. “Are you okay in there? I need to brush my teeth.”

“Oh, sorry.” You grabbed your cane and got to your feet. How long have I been in here? You clicked open the door, face-to-chest with your husband, and you kept your eyes down low. “There you go. I was just…um, moisturising my face.” 

You could feel his warmth as he brushed by, and you swiftly moved away. He kept the door open as he entered and reached for his toothbrush. “Yeah? You using my stuff?”

“So you do have skincare.” You lingered in the doorway, and his blue eyes were trained on you in the mirror’s reflection. This idle talk was a nice diversion for yourself—from what you’d have to propose in mere minutes. You shrugged, hoping you looked natural. “I supposed I’d give whatever gives you such glorious skin a try.”

After a moment, he spat out the last of the toothpaste and rinsed the toothbrush off, before placing it back in the cup and patting his face dry. Then he strode by, giving a wink and grin as he passed you. “It’s all in the genetics, baby.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.” You followed after him as he rounded to his side of the bed, picking up his phone and pausing to look at it. Satoru tapped about the screen for a little bit, and you tried to keep your trembling hands still as you drew in a breath, hesitantly glancing up at his side profile, before just resolving to get it over with. It’s okay. Just say it! 

It was an endeavour. You bit on the inside of your cheek.  “…Satoru. Let’s consummate.”

Immediately, he froze, and his head slowly turned to you, whatever he was doing on his phone forgotten. His eyes were as big as plates. “…What?”

You felt a tiny bit better, a bit more encouraged that since you’d taken him so completely off-guard, he was left inarticulate and you could speak without any interruptions. Sucking in another deep breath, you brushed aside the urge to throw up from the anxiety and continued, “Let’s consummate. I think we’ve…” You swallowed, looking away. “Waited long enough.”

“Woah, woah, woah, okay—hold on.” He put his phone down on the bedside table and waved his hands in front of him, shaking his head as if to clear a fog. “Let me—let me get this straight. You…want to consummate? As in, have sex? Dance the devil’s tango? Get down and dirty? Have marital relations? Knock boots? Fu—”

“You don’t need to list all kinds of synonyms for it, thank you!” Running a hand down your face, you groaned, mortified. “I just think…it’s time we, well, did our duty and got it over with. Just once.” You held up a forefinger. “We don’t have to do it again afterwards.”

Satoru’s brows lifted, and he gave you a look. “You think we wouldn’t have to do it again afterwards?”

“Well…no?” He put his hands on his hips and you stared at him quizzically. “The point is to get me pregnant, right? Once I do, that’s it. That’s all that’s needed. No reason to do it again.”

His expression eased from one of disbelief and shock to appraisal and faint amusement. Then he crossed his arms, and stared at you with this lidded gaze that had you almost making a run for it. As if you’d get very far.  The bed stood between you both, keeping the distance, but it wasn’t enough. What am I getting myself into? One corner of his mouth curled up. “The point isn’t entirely a baby.”

You’d heard stories, of course, about what else the deed entailed, but it only really sounded very advantageous and enjoyable for the male counterpart most of the time. You fidgeted with the worn handle of your cane, unsure. “Well…in our case, there is no other point. At least, not one I can see. Why would you want to, with me, anyway?”

Satoru cocked a brow. “…Because you’re my wife? And it’s my job to pleasure you?”

That made you flush with heat. “W-Well—there isn’t any…need for it! You just have to…” You couldn’t voice it. It was much too embarrassing. So you vaguely gestured to his lower region, turning your face away. “You—you know, a-and…that’s the job done. And then we can go to sleep.”

There was a beat of silence. “I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so eager to consummate when you’ve been spending the last month adamantly putting it off.”

You twisted at the hem of your robe sleeve, keeping your eyes on your socked feet. “I just…well…I think we should get it out of our hair. That way, we won’t be bothered by the elders for a good long while.”

“Is that what it is?” Satoru’s arms uncrossed and relaxed by his sides, into the pockets of his sweatpants. “You’re asking to do this because the elders want you to, not because you want to?”

You frowned up at him, taking in that rather sullen look of his. He didn’t appear so amused anymore. “Of course not. I wanted none of this. Neither did you, right? It’s just marital duty at the end of the day, anyway. Nothing to get all worked up about.”

Satoru tilted his head at you in an almost mocking fashion. “You like playing things off, don’t you? You say all that while having this look on your face like you’re on death row. Do you really find me so disgusting?”

“I don’t find you disgusting!” you shrilly objected, upset. It’s our circumstances! How this is being forced upon us! “I think you’re very handsome. I’m so fortunate to have such an attractive husband as you. But…that doesn’t make me any less…” Uncomfortable. If you said it, he’d say no. Because he was always so damn respectful of your wishes. And you wouldn’t be able to persuade him otherwise afterward.

His eyes narrowed. “Any less…?”

“Ugh! Whatever! Just—I don’t know!” You had no idea how to put it into words. This whole debacle with the elders really has thrown a massive wrench into my plans! I might have to leave next month, instead of next year!

“I’m not going to touch you unless you explicitly state that you want it.” Satoru turned away, making to round the bed and head out of the bedroom. “Not because of some ‘marital duty’. If you’re uncomfortable, we’re not doing anything.”

“No!” As fast as your limp could carry you, you hobbled after him and gripped his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “It may not look like it, but—I trust you with my life. You get me? I know you mean no harm. I know that you’d never hurt me. It’s just…it’s my first time, our circumstances aren’t the most ideal, and, I, uh…”

The man stared at you for a long pause, before he fully faced you, and sighed. “It’s just a hunch, but I believe the elders made some kind of threat to you in that room, while I was gone, and you’re scared. I can see it in your eyes. And I can’t do anything to you when you’re doing it out of fear, do you understand me?”

It was impulsive and stupid and you probably shouldn’t have done it, but you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, like it was some kind of cheesy, melodramatic love story, and kissed him. He made a soft sound of surprise, fumbling for balance for a beat, before he gripped your upper arms and wrenched you away from him, shaking his head, breathing hard. His eyes were wide, shocked, but gentle. “No. No. You don’t want this, at all. You’ve done nothing but make that clear over the past month and a half. You can try and work me up as much as you like, but it won’t work. I won’t do it.”

You slumped, the hope whipped from you, desperation worse than ever—but it was, involuntarily, mixed with relief. And you didn’t have the guts or heart to try again. If Satoru said no, then you just had to respect that. Like he did with you. You wouldn’t force him, just as he wouldn’t force you.

“Maybe some other time,” he said softly, one of his thumbs tenderly brushing against your cheek. “When it’s clear you genuinely want it.”

“But I said yes,” you protested, weakly. “I said yes. You can have me. We can consummate. Consent is all that’s needed, right? We can get it over with.”

“‘We can get it over with’,” Satoru repeated, bringing one of your hands to his lips. “That’s an immediate give away. To you, it’s something to get out of your hair. ‘Get it over with’, so you don’t have to put yourself through it again. Do you think I’m going to take advantage of your empty words like some kind of animal, when I know that you wouldn’t enjoy it for a single moment?”

Why are you like this? you wanted to ask. Why are you so kind to me, even when I’ve been so horrible to you? For the past twenty minutes, you’d done nothing but pressure him. Why wasn’t he mad? Indignant? Hurt? Insulted? No—he was hurt, you could see it in that strained expression of his, but he was putting his own sentiments aside out of consideration for you. I am a shitty person, aren’t I?

“I’m sorry.” You hung your head. “I’m sorry, Satoru.”

“It’s not your fault.” Again with that. Making excuses for you. Was he an idiot? How could he not see that this was all on you and your stupidity? If you hadn’t agreed to speaking with the elders alone, neither of you would be in this situation. This man is painfully blind. So blind. 

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better,” you softly chided, shaking your head, pushing his hand away. “I’m sorry. That’s all there is to it. It’s my fault, not yours. I’m just…God, I make everything about myself, don’t I?” You gripped your cane and swivelled around. “Let’s just go to bed. Forget this ever happened.”

There was no protest from the man behind you, but a hand to your shoulder had you halted in your steps. Satoru slowly, gently, turned you around, and leaned down until he was level with you. “Baby steps, yeah? Let me help you out, teach you a few things. Let you warm up to it. Show you that it isn’t just about putting an heir in you. Convince you that it’s for us, not the elders, or even the child.” Those pink lips curled up into a sweet smile. “The kid’s just a part of it. You don’t have to feel pressured, like your life is on the line if you’re not popping out a baby nine months from now.”

You almost laughed in his face. Oh, God—if only he knew. If only he knew that your life was on the line here, that your damn aunt essentially had you on a tighter leash than ever now—and she was, fundamentally, controlling and directing your every move, by using her favourite tactic: fear, desperation, intimidation, all to steer her victims down into the ditch, forcing them to do her bidding, while she suffered no consequences.

That’s why you wanted to try, even though you were sure it wouldn’t work. Just imagine the pain you’d have to bear whilst carrying a child. Let alone getting pregnant. As your gynaecologist had said—it was unlikely it would happen, anyway.

That meant you needed to go for a check-up. Tell Satoru it’s ‘annual’. He’d understand. What’s suspicious about going to the doctor? Maybe ask them to prescribe you some medicine that heightened your chances of getting pregnant and then get this damn binding vow out of the way. After that, perhaps you could obtain vengeance. You may not be physically capable or strong, but you’d be able to get rid of her by proxy. You were far past caring about potentially getting blood on your hands. You were wholly cold toward that wicked woman, and you wanted to dispose of her yourself, not with your husband’s help, not with anyone’s. And then, you’d be free. Free to leave. Leave everything behind. Finally have the chance to move on.

Once. Only once. That was all that was needed. Time it right and your body would do the rest for you. But, first, you had to persuade Satoru, and he could be really damn stubborn when he wanted to be. ‘Baby steps’, he’d said.

Yeah. You could work with that.

“Okay.” You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Alright. Start out slow.”

“Start out slow,” he echoed, sounding pleased. “Understand that your comfort is my top priority.” And then he drew you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. “Thank god you weren’t married off to the likes of Naoya Zen’in. You’d be ten times more miserable than you are now.”

You shuddered. Everyone knew what that bastard was like. Marrying Satoru was, really, like striking the jackpot in jujutsu society. Returning his embrace, you buried your face into his strong chest, relishing his warmth. “Yeah.” Your words were muffled. “You’re the only reasonable man out of the bunch.”

“I am?” he chuckled, chest rumbling. It was soothing. “Goodness. What a compliment. Should get that on a t-shirt.”

More often than not, you found yourself pondering how glad you really were at marrying this man. He had his faults, but he was kind and considerate and patient with you. Amazingly patient with you. You could learn a thing or two from him.

You went to bed and got up the next morning with the perfect idea of an apology gift for him. Something to surprise him with when he got back from work. And, you found, you were much more accepting of his blatant affections after that night. 

Baby steps, you thought as Satoru finished ravishing your mouth one morning and then headed off for Jujutsu Tech. You continued reading over the kikufuku recipe on your phone, smiling faintly. Baby steps.

Chapter Text

“Satoru, what do you think about getting a pet?”

Your husband, presently dozing on your chest, shifted so he could squint up at you. “A pet?”

“Yeah.” You continued threading your fingers through his soft hair, doing your best to ease the headache he was previously complaining of. My eyes hurt, he’d said, and then proceeded to lean pretty much his entire weight on you the moment he got home. I’m tired.

It was Friday night. So you let him lie on you, face buried into your bosom, and massaged his scalp. The idiot looked quite ready to fall asleep. Arms coiled securely around your middle, he clutched you tightly to him, curled into your side. The window seat was barely enough to fit you both, but you managed somehow. And now, droopy blue eyes peered up at you attentively, lashes fluttering whenever you scratched his scalp just right. “I thought it’d be nice to have something to keep me company while you’re off at the school.”

“You can do anything you like.” Satoru buried his face back into your chest. “Do you want a kitten? Or a puppy? We can make a stop by the pet store tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“I was thinking a pet bird…” you trailed off, unsure. If he didn’t like it, then there wouldn’t be any point to getting one. “I’ll—I’ll take good care of it, I assure you. You won’t have to worry about it. I can feed it and change its water and—”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to explain yourself to me.” His words were muffled by the cloth of your shirt. “If you want a pet bird, you may have a pet bird. And it’s easier and cheaper to take care of than a dog or cat. You think ahead, don’t you?”

Silent, you turned to stare out the window, blurred with rain, the sky a deep grey. It was getting onto evening, and, according to the forecast, the weather would be unideal for the rest of the week. That was alright with you. Baking and planning your departure, despite the binding vow, was nice company. 

Satoru nuzzled you, dissatisfied with your silence. “What kind of bird will you get?”

“Hm,” you hummed in contemplation. “I’ve been doing some research, and…I thought about a canary or parakeet…just as a little companion to sing away while I read a book or something.”

“Am I not enough for you?” he joked. 

“You’re not here most of the time,” you reasoned. “And that’s okay. I don’t mind the quiet.”

“You aren’t lonely?”

You were, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. It was like your time spent in your room or wandering the back, run-down gardens of your home estate; no company, just your thoughts. You were more miserable then. You were a different type of miserable now, but it was a bit easier with this man.

Again, you didn’t reply, taking your time to sift through your thoughts and piece together an appropriate answer. “…From time to time, I suppose. Not commonly, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“I can call you during the day,” Satoru suggested, one eye peeping out and up at you from your chest. It was soft. “And we can talk. Maybe my students could say hi.”

“Perhaps I could visit Jujutsu Tech.” You leaned your head back against the beam behind you, staring out the window, not looking at him. “If you want.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Of course you can. My students would like to meet you.”

“Why, have you been yabbering on to them about me or something? Like you did with the siblings?” Your smile was small, but it was amused. “Going on about how ‘beautiful’ I am? Maybe we should book an appointment with an optometrist for you.”

“My eyes are quite fine,” Satoru said plainly. “I have 20/20 vision. I think I’d be able to tell when my wife is beautiful or not.”

“You’d say that even if I was horrendously ugly,” you returned, still threading your fingers through his hair. “Because you’re an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot because I like looking at my wife?”

“You’re an idiot because you have strange taste in women.”

“The only ‘women’ I have taste in is my wife.”

You scoffed, and he could probably feel and hear your heart drumming frenetically against your ribs. You still refused to look at him. “Perhaps you should remarry and tell your new wife that, and then you won’t be lying anymore.”

“When will you be fully convinced I’m not lying at all?”

“Lying to yourself. What if you’re fully convinced you’re not lying?”

“If I was lying to you, you would know—because I wouldn’t lie at all. I don’t pretend to like someone. If I don’t like them, or if they’re not my type, I let them know. Directly or indirectly, depends on the relationship I have with that person.”

Somehow, you believed him. And you wanted to drop the topic, but you were rather curious, nonetheless. “…Am I your type?”

“Yes,” Satoru immediately answered with such conviction, you snapped your eyes down to stare at him. “I didn’t know you were my type until I met you.”

If either of you were anywhere else, living any other life, under any other circumstances, you would’ve taken that as something like a confession of love. But, considering your situation, that was rather unfeasible. So you smiled contritely. “I suppose I could say the same about you.”

“I’m your type?” He lit up.

“I think you’re everyone’s type.” You shrugged. “Are you oblivious to the stares you get in public? Apart from ones wondering at your blindfold. But when you don’t wear it, all eyes are on you, admiring.”

“Had that my whole life.” There wasn’t any arrogance or hubris in his tone. He just sounded tired. “That’s why I like this quiet place, with you. You don’t fawn over or try to suck up to me. In fact, you give me the impression that you rather wouldn’t be around me. Why do you think I’m always so clingy?”

“At least you’re self-aware,” you jested, lightheartedly. But, internally, you were completely grave. This man is opening up to me a little, isn’t he? Maybe he was just so comfortable and relaxed, things just came out. You didn’t know what to do with the information, or what use it would be to you, but you kept it close anyway. And you shifted to kiss the top of his head. “You’re very handsome, yes, but I think you’re a kind man. With how you’ve tolerated me for this long, how could I not feel indebted to you?”

There was a soft, sharp inhalation of his breath from the man below you when you pecked him, barely audible, but you caught it anyway—and immediately moved to apologise. Satoru was very touchy, but he didn’t seem exactly inclined to being touched. Why else, apart from protecting himself from danger, was his Infinity always up? Except around you? “Uh, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me…”

“Oh, baby, you can kiss me whenever you like.” With the way he buried his face into your midriff, you’d think he was a lost child who’d returned to his mother, and just wouldn’t let her go. “Only you get to do that. You see? This is why, out of everyone, I prefer your company the best.”

The question was out before you could think twice; an automatic reaction, a reflex. “Why?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” Only his silky locks of white were visible, words muffled by the soft fat of your tummy—something he seemed to delight in, strangely. “Time will tell.”

“Will time tell when you stop talking in riddles?”

Satoru chuckled. “That’s a long way off.”

And so, the next day, despite it bucketing down outside, Satoru had Ijichi come and pick you both up and drive you into the city. 

“We’ll be getting our own car soon,” he said as Ijichi pulled into the property. “I feel a bit sorry for having Ijichi drive us back and forth such a distance.”

“You feel sorry for Ijichi?” It was rather common knowledge that Satoru liked to pick on the poor man a little bit, but he didn’t mean much by it. Satoru evidently considered Ijichi a friend.

“What? I’m not that mean to him!” he huffed, crossing his arms. “See? If I didn’t like Ijichi, I wouldn’t be taking him into consideration right now.” 

You’d both been standing under the house’s eaves, out of the rain, as you waited for Ijichi (even though you could’ve just waited inside), and Satoru lifted the umbrella and opened it. Circling an arm around your waist, he pressed you closely to him as you both walked out into the downpour. “Besides, I’d like to be alone with you in the car.”

“Is that so?” You pursed your lips, and then an idea hit you. Oh my goodness! Why didn’t I think of this before? “If…we do get our own car, would you be able to teach me how to drive?”

“Yeah, if you want.” Satoru clicked open the car door for you. “But I’m happy to act as your chauffeur everywhere.”

“You don’t need to do that.” You shook your head and slid into the car. “You can’t be doing everything. Now, hurry along and get in. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And he shut the door, rounded the car, and hopped into the seat beside you in the back. He greeted Ijichi with a friendly punch to the man’s shoulder. “Ijichi! How’s it going this fine morning?”

Ijichi pointedly looked at the rapidly swerving windshield wipers on the car. “Uh…I’m alright, thank you, Gojo-sama. The weather’s not the best.”

“No, it isn’t, is it!” Satoru clicked on his seatbelt and Ijichi began backing out and around, U-turning for the driveway. “Probably should’ve stayed home. Oh well! The wife here wants a pet.”

“I see,” was all Ijichi replied with, and you felt sorry for the poor man. It appeared that the guy was always quite put on the spot by Satoru’s overbearing chatter, but your husband didn’t seem to mind. You patted his forearm as a silent gesture to quiet down.

The journey into town was spent with Satoru peering over your shoulder at your phone as you showed him all the different species of birds to consider. Budgies, canaries, cockatiels—eventually, you settled on a canary, as you liked the colour and how it had an allegedly lovely song. Also, easy to take care of, and inexpensive in terms of food and shelter.

“Should we get two?” you suggested, tapping on a Google page to have a look at another breed of canary. “Because having only one would make it lonely, wouldn’t it? It needs a companion.”

“Wouldn’t you be its companion, if you plan on hand-rearing it?” Satoru had his cheek rested on your shoulder as he stared at your phone, before pointing at the colourful image of a red factor canary. “Ooh, I like that one. It will sit on your shoulder and sing away. It wouldn’t be lonely with you.”

“Hm,” you mulled, tapping on a website about caring for a pet bird. “I suppose you’re right. If we were to get two, they’d have to be male and female, and I don’t want them to breed. I wonder if they have canary chicks in store?” You squinted at the article on your phone. “It says that it’s best to rear them when they’re babies, so they’re accustomed to your touch from the get-go.”

“It’s a lot of work and patience, you know.”

“That’s fine. All I have is time. I won’t be bored.”

Once you arrived at the pet store, you were both led by the clerk to the bird cages area, where they had an entire selection of birds to choose from. Their cages were spacious, the animals well-treated, and very noisy. The entire room echoed with a cacophony of varying birdsong; from the caws of Australian parrots, the warbling bouncy parakeets and to the soft chirps of tiny finches. You politely asked if there were any canary chicks available to hand-rear.

“Oh, you might have to wait a little while,” the woman said apologetically. “The chicks we do have at present are too old to hand-rear. The best way to nurture them is to hand-feed them when they’re very young, as canaries are different from parakeets. That way, they will become accustomed to your touch and rely on you as if you’re their mother. Canaries are much harder to bond with than the likes of a cockatiel or budgie.”

“That’s alright. How long will I have to wait?”

“Canaries breed in about late-winter, early spring, so you will have to wait until March, ideally.” The woman continued to lead you throughout display enclosures. “It’s best to tame them as soon as possible, so hand-feeding them in the first week of their lives is optimal.” She turned to you again. “If I may, I would recommend a parakeet for a pet, as they are friendlier and easier to tame. A budgie, say, will happily sit on your shoulder and play with you, while a canary is more averse to human touch.”

You turned to Satoru, who’d been quietly following along and allowing you to do the talking. “What do you think?”

He adjusted his shades insouciantly, humming in thought. “It’s up to you. Budgies and cockatiels are known for their personalities, aren’t they? They’d prove to be very good company while I’m out during the week.”

You covered your mouth with your right hand in a thoughtful pose, the other clutching the cane. Staring at the ground in contemplation, you eventually opted to go with your initial choice. It was nice to finally have the freedom to make your own choice, you thought. “I think…canaries are quieter than parakeets, yes? I’d just like a little bird to chirp away and sit on my hand from time to time. Are you alright with that, Satoru?”

He shrugged. “I’m happy with whatever you’re happy with.”

“Alright, well…” You turned and smiled politely at the clerk again. “Would it be fine if I gave you my phone number and you could contact me when some canary chicks are ready to hatch? I’d be more than happy to come in and purchase one for a pet.”

“Of course.” She nodded and turned to lead you both out of the pet bird area. “What breed would you like?”

“Oh…” You quite liked the normal yellow ones and their soft, bright eyes and pretty feathers. “I suppose the domestic canary—the yellow ones. Now I just have to think of a name…”

“I shall leave you both to peruse the selection of cages to choose from.” The woman had guided you to the bird necessities aisle. She bowed and smiled. “I am happy to take your phone number once you have come to a decision. Please take your time.”

You thanked her and turned to have a look at all the toys and hutches displayed on the shelves. “I don’t want the bird to feel trapped or suffocated, so maybe we could get a sizable cage, large enough for it to happily fly around without discomfort?”

“Whichever you like, sweetheart,” Satoru said, snaking a hand down to clasp your free hand. His was so big and warm. He then pointed up at a cage. “That’s a nicely-sized one. Which living room do you plan on keeping it in?”

“Near the window seat, so it’s in the sun and by me,” you replied, stepping closer to have a better look at the cage. It was high up, and you couldn’t reach it, but you managed. “Hm. This one looks good.” 

“Want to buy it later?” Satoru peered down at you. “Let’s go eat. You’ll have to wait until March. That’s about a month away.”

“Okay.” You let him lead you to the front of the store to exit. After giving the clerk your phone number, you smiled and politely bid the woman farewell. You both stepped outside to where the wind had a wintry bite to it, but at least the rain had assuaged. Now it was just a light drizzle, and the car was parked just nearby. “Where will we eat?”

“I dunno.” He didn’t seem to be intent on letting your hand go any time soon. “Street food? Wander around and just grab a few snacks.”

“Alright.” It sounded like he was keen on doing so, so you opted to forget about the exertion constant walking would put on your leg and humour him. The poor man hardly had any free time these days, anyway. “You’ll have to act as my tour guide for the day, then.”

Satoru grinned at you. “I know the perfect place to take you to first.”

He requested Ijichi to drop you both off at Yoyogi Park, and you blinked at him. “It’s winter, though. The trees won’t be blooming, snow will be everywhere, and there won’t be any people around.”

“Exactly.” Satoru held up a forefinger matter-of-factly, grinning. “We can stroll along without anybody bothering us.”

Still perplexed, you blinked at him. “Why would anybody bother us?”

He patted your hand in what you supposed was meant to be a reassuring manner. “Just trust me. I know how much you like peace and quiet.”

He said that and then proceeded to chat the entire ride, and then yap some more when you both hopped out of the car and he grasped your hand, matching your speed as you limped along with your cane. You could feel the stares from all around you. What is that handsome young man doing with a woman with a walking stick?

You felt like an old lady; him easing you along like a caregiver, chatting away to you like nothing else was important, having to adjust his speed so greatly to only short little steps so they aligned with yours. Satoru must’ve been dying to stride away at full capacity with those too-long legs of his, but he was instead stuck with you. 

Sometimes, your self-consciousness got to be so much, it became far more crippling than your leg ever did. It hindered you much more greatly than a physical disability. You cursed yourself under your breath. This is why I should just stay at home and away from everyone!

You were drawn from your inward grumbling when Satoru asked you a question. Blinking, you looked up at him. “Uh, sorry? What was that?”

He tilted his head at you, and pointed to a little stall just on the other side of the street. The area you were in wasn’t bustling nearly as much as it would be if it were kinder weather and in the spring-summer seasons, but there were the odd passersby—mainly couples, like you two. Puddles and sleet blanketed the tarmac and sidewalk, curbs flooded with both rainwater and clumps of snow. At least the rain had completely abated, only its earthy scent and humid atmosphere left, and Yoyogi Park was visible from where you both stood, the bloomless trees dusted with the white of snow. “Do you want to get some ramen from that stall, or go for a walk first?”

“Uh, we’ll get a stitch if we eat and then walk, won’t we?” you softly pointed out, easing a bit more into him and his warmth when an especially cold breeze brushed by. You shivered. “Oh, are you sure you want to stroll in this cold? Shall we go into a cosy café or something like that?”

“Is that what you’d like to do?” Satoru didn’t appear to be feeling the cold: his shirt was a white tee that sat rather tight across his broad chest, some faded album image of a band splayed across the back of it. He had black trousers on at least, with expensive-looking lace-up boots on his feet. Instead of answering his question, you began fussing over him. “Did you forget your coat in the car, Satoru? Did you even bring one? Oh, I should’ve grabbed one out the door for you just in case. Must I dress you myself, Satoru, like I’m some kind of nanny? It’s absolutely freezing! You’ll catch a horrible chill at this ra—”

As usual, the man seemed to revel in your attention. He cut you off by placing a quick, playful peck to your lips, grinning. “Goodness, I love it when you fret over me. But I’m fine, I promise.” He shrugged. “I’m not cold. At least, not right now.”

“But you will be later,” you sighed, shaking your head at him. “My coat isn’t nearly big enough for you to wear comfortably.” You then patted Satoru’s bicep. “Let’s head to a café. We can walk around Yoyogi another day, perhaps when it’s spring.”

“If you like,” Satoru agreed, allowing you to steer him and head down the street. “We should book a hotel or somethi—”

Out of nowhere, your husband stopped sharply in his tracks, and you practically watched as the hackles on the back of his neck stood right on end. Your eyes immediately widened. What on earth had he sensed to suddenly alert him like so?

It had to have been bad if even he was alarmed. No—he wasn’t alarmed, per se, he seemed more…angry, disgruntled, than spooked. Hesitantly, you placed a hand gently on his elbow, nervous. “…Satoru? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

There was a long, tense pause where he didn’t reply and just continued to stare up—up to a building over yonder, up at something you couldn’t spot. And then, suddenly, he relaxed just as quickly as he stiffened. But, even as Satoru grabbed your hand and began to pull you away, his eyes didn’t stray from whatever he was gazing up at for an instant. “It's fine. Let’s go. You want to go to a café, right?” Then he gripped your shoulders and began pushing you in the opposite direction, finally turning his back on whatever he’d seen. “Let’s go to a café, then. Now. Right now.”

His uncharacteristically agitated behaviour only worsened your worry. “What is it, Satoru? Is it—is it a curse?”

“No,” was his hollow reply, and you barely kept yourself from stumbling as he nudged you along. “Someone worse.”

Someone? You sneaked a look back, but Satoru kept you firmly facing front. “No. Don’t look. He’s—it’s gone. Let’s just go.”

“Is it someone you kn—”

“Let’s just go.” His tone brooked no room for arguments or any more questions. “Into a café. Preferably far away from here.”

So you let him finally release your shoulders and take your hand instead, briskly striding along the pavement, away from Yoyogi Park. You didn’t complain of your pained leg. Whatever it was that unnerved this man, you surmised, must’ve had good reason to. 

You peeked up at your husband’s unsmiling, taut expression and opted to remain silent, shelving your own panic and disquiet at his totally foreign behaviour. What did he see that caused him to react like that?

His grip on your hand was too tight, and you bit your tongue. It must be bad. Remaining silent was for the best right now. You’d ask your questions later. 

Satoru hailed a cab and directed the driver to drop you both off at Akihabara Station, and you silently frowned at him as he thanked the man and relaxed back into his seat. He let out a noticeable breath, peering out the window, away from you.

You knew not to bring it up now, especially not in a taxi. You wondered if there ever would be an appropriate time. Perhaps later tonight, when you were back at the house, alone, and he could finally explain himself. 

Picking at your nails, you bore with the tense silence the entire ten minute ride. Satoru didn’t look away from the window once. What did he see…?

He mentioned ‘someone’. You supposed it could’ve only been someone he once knew, or knows, and maybe someone he doesn’t want to see. This situation was a good wake-up call to just how little you knew about him. Yes, you’d internally assured yourself that you wouldn’t take any of his past into account or care, for it would be of no use to you in the long run, but the curiosity was getting a bit much. Now, more than ever. What was your strangely affectionate husband’s childhood and adolescence like? He had told you a couple of tales, but they were all happy ones, good memories. What were the bad ones?

Considering the terse look on his face right now, you could only guess. Maybe it would always be an off-limits aspect of his being. A Pandora’s Box.

“Do you want to just…stroll around the city?” you tentatively asked, sneaking a look his way. “I’m not sure if I’m too hungry anymore.”

Satoru finally looked at you, but there was a blankness to his expression that was disconcertingly unfamiliar. “Yeah, if you want. We could go to an arcade or somewhere like that.”

You straightened, suddenly rather excited, a good excuse to move on from the tension. “I’ve never been to an arcade before!”

He smiled; close-lipped. “Let’s do that, then.”

Once the taxi driver had dropped you both off, Satoru took your hand and led you through the bustling streets. It occurred to you then that this man had to have been very familiar with Tokyo and its entire layout. Well, considering his eyes, you mused, casting a glance up at his side profile, I suppose he needs only get to some elevated area, and everything’s visible.

“Did you used to wander these streets as a teen?” you queried, taking a more subtle route to get answers. “You seem to know this area well.”

“Yeah,” he answered. That grin of his still hadn’t returned fully, sincerely. “Me and my friends used to hang out in internet cafés and sneak into bars all the time.”

“Sneak into bars?” Your brows lifted. “Goodness. Did you have a fake I.D., too?”

“My height proved to be more than enough of an ‘I.D.’.” Satoru chuckled a bit. “Along with—” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. “Suguru. Shoko had to be a lot more subtle, though.”

“Who were they?” There was an inkling creeping in that you’d fallen across something very significant about him.

“Oh, they were my high school friends.” He said it like it was no big deal. And maybe it wouldn’t have been, if he didn’t have that pinch to his brow as he spoke. “We all attended Jujutsu Tech together. Same year.”

“Where are they now?”

Satoru glanced down at you, eyes obscured by his shades. His mouth was a flat line for a beat, and then he answered you. “Shoko works as the school’s doctor. Suguru is…well, I don’t know where he is, in all honesty.”

“Is that so?” You noted how he referred to each person by their first name. They must be—well. You gave him a long, searching look. Must have been close. “What happened?”

“Wow, you’re full of questions today!” Satoru laughed, steering you to the right, rounding a corner and heading down another street. “The arcade’s up ahead here. We could get some food afterwards.”

The topic had been dropped. You got the hint and quietened down. Back off, he was saying, and you understood. There were a lot of questions you didn’t want people asking you, too.

You weren’t done pestering him, however. You’d just continue drawing answers from him later.

Your hand clasped in his, Satoru led you into an arcade, the bass of the music pounding in your eardrums like this was a nightclub, and it wasn’t as full as you expected it to be. School students would likely be at home, studying, as classes had begun again, instead of hanging out at an arcade. There was the odd group of teens loitering around, however. As you stepped into the threshold of the building, you spotted some kids having a smoke and quietly chatting just outside the doors.

You blinked. Growing up sheltered left you ignorant to many things, except the knowledge you’d derived from books. You looked up at Satoru, and didn’t remember to think twice about asking, “Did you used to smoke as a teen, too?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” he replied, leading you past some claw machines pulsing with neon lights and upbeat music. “I mean, I had a puff once, but I wasn’t super amazed by it. Shoko did, though. I think Suguru had the odd one from time-to-time, too.”

“Interesting.” You wondered what attending school was like. Was it fun having lots of friends to fool around with? 

“What do you wanna try first?” Satoru had pulled out his wallet as you both approached the front desk. The cashier behind the counter stood nearby, waiting.

“Um, I’m not sure. You’re going to have to show me around.” 

“Alrighty.” He turned to the clerk. “Two keycards, please.”

Once the money had been put on the arcade cards, Satoru led you over to a two-seater Mario Kart match. He grinned at you and winked. “Here begins your very first driving lesson.”

Unsurely, you settled into your seat and adjusted your legs so they rested on two pedals below you, hands brushing against the steering wheel. Satoru was having much more trouble fitting his stupidly long legs into his spot, and you tried not to laugh. “Need some help?”

“This is designed for short people,” he grumbled, finally settling in best he could. “There.”

“Most people in this country are short,” you pointed out, trying not to be too outwardly amused by his comical struggling. “You are the minority, you know.”

Satoru just grumbled some more before selecting his Mario character: Princess Peach. You narrowed your eyes at him, faintly amused. “…I wanted to play as her.”

He blinked at you, eyes wide and innocent. “Is that so?”

You wordlessly turned back to your screen, and selected the green one named ‘Yoshi’. “He’s adorable,” you commented.

“Everyone loves Yoshi,” Satoru pleasantly said, and after the randomiser on the console selected your power-ups, the countdown for the race finally began. And your husband shot you a roguish smile. “Your lack of driving skills will come in handy here for me.”

You found the accelerator at your feet and pushed down, sending your chosen character in his little car racing forward, neck-and-neck with Princess Peach. “What if I’m a natural?”

He snorted. “Please! Just because you’re a newbie, doesn’t mean I’ll be going easy on you.”

His laughter didn’t last very long. Three defeats and one win later, Satoru turned to you with a gaunt expression. “Let’s go home.”

You laughed a little, patting his shoulder. “Not to worry, Satoru—at least you can now trust me with your life when I’m behind the wheel.”

He got to his feet and put his hands on his hips, staring down his nose at you with an exaggerated pout. “Yeah, well, I bet you suck at claw machines.”

Satoru’s wealth came in handy at the arcade—you both likely blew hundreds of dollars on the place and possibly now considered the most generous clients in a long while, but you had fun. You had so much fun. 

You waited until you’d both had dinner at the restaurant and checked into a hotel for the night before asking him about the entire previous ordeal. 

“Why were you so adamant on getting away from the park today, Satoru?”

He paused, blinking up at you from his mug of hot chocolate you’d made him. He didn’t appear to have expected the question. “What was that?”

Patiently, you repeated, “What happened today, Satoru?”

Your husband dropped his gaze and his mug to the counter. The hotel room wasn’t luxurious: it was just something you’d both hurriedly booked, for it was a bit too late to call on Ijichi or a cab back for the house, but it was sufficient. It, unfortunately, didn’t have two separate beds—not that he’d settle for that, anyway. Satoru got to his feet. “It was an enemy.”

You quietly assessed him. “An old one?” you offered.

“S’pose you could say that.” His tone was airy, but there wasn’t much joy behind it. “Just somebody I used to know.”

Despite knowing it was probably best not to, you pushed it a little. “A friend?”

He relented, somewhat, at that, at least. “Yeah.”

One-worded answers were rare for a man that used a lot of them. So you nodded and grabbed his mug, putting it on the bench to be cleaned in the morning. “Let’s wash up and go to bed.”

You never mentioned the way he restlessly slept that night. The mutters, and pleas, and the tear tracks down his temples. You just comforted him through his sleep, almost unable to understand the name he sighed over and over, and the soft, hardly coherent pleading to never leave him.

Racked with guilt, you threaded your fingers through his hair and he slowly quietened down. You wouldn’t ask him about this later, and you wouldn’t encroach on his territory again.

But you kept that name close, wondering who it was, and why Satoru murmured the name with such distress. You tasted the word, the familiarity of it, who they meant to him, Satoru’s earlier mentioning of him today. 

And he muttered in his sleep once more, burying his face into your neck, and drew in a stuttering breath.

“Suguru.”

Fushiguro Tsumiki sat at one of the kitchen island’s stools, green crayon in her little hand, neatly drawing away. You’d found her some spare paper to scribble on, and she proved to be quite the little artist. And she was quiet when occupied, not that you minded her chatter, and so well-behaved. By nature, Tsumiki was a kind, gentle soul.

You offered to let her ice the batch of cupcakes you’d made, but she shook her head no and insisted she’d mess it up. “That kind of thing is for the adults,” she reasoned, selecting an orange crayon from the packet she’d brought over from her residence. “And I don’t want to waste any icing.”

“You wouldn’t be at all, Tsumiki,” you softly said, smiling at her, piping bag poised in your hold. A swirl of pink and blue frosting sat within its plastic, and you were twisting neat, frilly icing on top of a chocolate cupcake. “There’s a first time for everything. You know, it took me several tries to get this right.” You pushed three wonky, messily-iced cupcakes in her direction as demonstration. “And several rewatches of YouTube videos on cake art to memorise it. It’s my very first time trying this out, too.”

She blinked up at you, considering it for a moment. “You don’t have many to go, though. Maybe I could…add the sprinkles?”

“Of course!” you happily agreed, glad at finally convincing her to do something fun. Tsumiki, while sweet, was shy and—from what you’d gathered—deathly afraid of making a mistake. You didn’t know why, so you just chalked it up to her displaying perfectionist qualities at a young age, much like you. You just hoped it wasn’t something deeper, and that she was having and had a miserable start to her childhood. If that was so, you would inform Satoru first, pull her and Megumi out of whatever foster home they were in, and have them live here. You simply prayed that wasn’t the case.

You let her eat the three practice cupcakes before handing her the sprinkles’ shaker. They were tiny gold beads, and Tsumiki was very particular about making sure they didn’t spray everywhere, and were neatly arranged on top of the icing. The batch of twelve cupcakes were soon all iced and sprinkled and ready, and you placed them on a little display rack. “There! Don’t they look wonderful?”

The girl clapped her hands joyfully. “I can’t wait until Gojo and Megumi see them!” Then she turned to you, grasping one of your hands. “Shall we bake together more often?”

“Oh, yes, we should.” You squeezed her hand. “What shall we bake next? Cookies? A cake? Brownies? Slices? Lemon or caramel? I think I have some caramel in the cupboard here somewhere…”

And, so, you both whiled the rest of the afternoon away whisking eggs into batter and drizzling caramel sauce over the top of the baked biscuit base, and then putting it away into the fridge to set. Then you prepared dinner, left it to simmer on the stove, and you both sat down and watched a Barbie movie, munching on cupcakes.

Satoru and Megumi were off somewhere, maybe training, and you made sure there were enough cupcakes left over for them to enjoy when they got back. You restricted Satoru’s to only two—you’d taken Megumi’s request to ‘manage his sugar intake’ to heart, for he was more prone to bouncing off the walls on a sugar high than the two children.

With every week that passed, he continued to prove to you just how much of a manchild he was. But that was okay. He was a sweet manchild. And you liked taking care of him.

The guilt hadn’t faded at all. Why does this have to be so much more easier said than done? You felt indebted—weren’t you? Selfishness was a rotten, destroying thing, one readily exhausting you, and you didn’t know how to rip yourself free of it. Perhaps you couldn’t. And right now, you didn’t want to think about it.

It was around about seven in the evening when the two finally came back, shuffling into the house and murmuring to each other. Well, it was more Satoru commenting on the warmth of the home, and Megumi shoving off his shoes. You got up, leaving Tsumiki to continue enjoying Barbie: Fairytopia, and went to welcome them in.

Satoru was shrugging off his coat when you rounded the corner, and Megumi greeted you with a small hello. You patted his head and smiled. “Hello, Megumi. There’s some food waiting for you in the kitchen, and your sister’s in the lounge.”

He nodded and hurried off, and two large hands grasped your waist and pulled you flush against a warm, solid body. Satoru nudged your nose with his, before murmuring against your mouth, “S’nice and warm in here. Smells good, too. You been baking? You smell like caramel.”

“Yes,” you softly affirmed, clueless as to where to put your hands, so you just rested them on his chest. “Tsumiki and I made caramel slice. It’s setting in the fridge now.” You gave him a sharp look. “Do not touch it until tomorrow.”

His full mouth curled up into a grin, and he chuckled. “Got the gist of me, have you?”

“Pretty much.” You lowered your head as he began to move in closer. Satoru gave a low whine in his throat, before he tipped your chin up with a hand. “Don’t avoid me. I wanna kiss my wife.”

“Maybe later—mmph!” As usual, he paid your words no heed and pressed a kiss to your mouth, deep and avid. And it wasn’t ever something easy to grow accustomed to—each one felt new, stripping you of all oxygen, clinging to him for a breath, as he decided when to allow you one. That’s the way Gojo Satoru liked to kiss. Passionate, too much for you. Much like him in general. 

If the children weren’t in the house, he probably would’ve backed you up against the wall or something and dragged it out for far longer than necessary, but Satoru finally gave you a rest and grinned down at you, lips swollen. “…Ah, there we go. Y’know, it’s the highlight of my day, coming home to get a nice meal, shower and warm bed with my pretty, prettywife.” He was in one of his flattering moods again—but you remained silent and let him get it out, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Satoru nuzzled his face into your nape. “I’ll admit I haven’t been the best of persons my entire life, so I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

He broke away from your shoulder as you clicked your tongue and really did roll your eyes at him. “No, you’re not getting that caramel slice until tomorrow, so stop sucking up to me.”

“But I’m not,” he whined petulantly, trailing after you as you turned for the kitchen again. Megumi was busy grabbing some utensils from the drawer, his food on a plate on the bench, and the boy shot Satoru a disapproving look. Your husband clutched at your hand as you limped over to the stove and checked the bubbling food, Megumi hurrying off to sit beside his sister. You wondered how the boy was able to reach, but he’d seemed to have managed. “Why does complimenting you equate to me always wanting something?”

You reached up to grab a plate, but Satoru beat you to it, essentially pushing and caging you up against the counter, chest pressed to your back. Your face heated, his free hand ghosted along your waist, before resting on your hip comfortably as he placed the plate on the counter. He grabbed the large spoon and took the lid off the pot, scooping the food onto his plate. You, ruffled, subtly inched away from his hand. “…Because you only ever do that when you want something.”

“I do not!”

“You do,” chimed in Megumi from the lounge.

“No, young man, you don’t get a say!” Satoru exclaimed in offence. “You haven’t been around here with us for long enough to make an accurate observation.”

“You only ever flatter me when you want a kiss or something.” You masked your amusement with a deadpan expression. “God knows why.”

“It’d be weirder if I didn’t want you around at all!”

It’d be easier, you thought, biting on the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. “It’d be understandable.”

“See?” he groaned. “This is what I mean! You can’t take a compliment!”

“Not when it’s a bald-faced lie.”

“Stop! I’ll keep complimenting you until you believe me.”

Your back was to him, so he couldn’t see the grin twitching at your mouth. He’s so fun to tease. “The more you do, the more I’ll ignore you.”

After Satoru had finished his whining and you’d all eaten your food, he swiftly put the kids to bed, and then sat down at the kitchen table with a mountain of paperwork.

“What is all of that?” You stared in horror. You hadn’t even noticed the bag he’d brought home. And with a weary sigh, your husband clicked a pen and grabbed the first piece of paper on top of the pile. “Assignments from students to mark, assignments to prepare for students, reports to approve and present to the school directors—a.k.a., the damn higher-ups—and more.”

You took a seat at the chair just diagonal of him. Satoru was already reading over a student’s work and adding little annotations with cute chibis and poorly drawn thumbs-ups. Watching him silently for a moment, you eventually said, “You won’t stay up all night, will you?”

“This all needs to be done by tomorrow,” he answered, cheek in hand. “Damn idiots. Who do they think they are, giving me this the very day before it’s due? Lucky I care about my students. They want their test results back. Who am I to refuse?”

Worried, your eyes darted about the room for a moment, wondering what to do to help. “…Would you like a cup of coffee, just to keep you awake? I can fix you one.”

“Thanks, sweetheart, but you can head off to bed.” Satoru circled and scribbled a little note with a question mark beside some answer on the paper, offering you a rather weak grin. “You can’t stay up with me all night.”

“You won’t be this busy tomorrow night, will you?” you softly, gently asked. 

“Hopefully. It really depends.” 

After a brief pause, you decided to leave him to it. Making your way past, you patted his shoulder in an awkward attempt at what you meant to be comfort and encouragement. “Alright, well. The caramel slice should be mostly set by now, so…”

“Oh, you sweet thing.” Satoru grinned up at you. “I saw the cupcakes, too. You really giving me permission to pig out on all the baked goods you made today?” He laughed and shook his head. “Baby, you should open a bakery! I’ll be your first and biggest customer.”

You’d frozen, rooted to the spot, as you stared with wide eyes down at your husband. “Satoru…”

He was still chuckling when he blinked back up at you. “Yeah?”

“You’re a genius.” What luck! Creating my own baking brand is brilliant! It was the perfect way for you to make and save up money for your departure, without raising suspicion! You beamed at him and took his face into your hands, placing a long kiss to his forehead. “An utter genius! You wonderful man!”

“I…am?” Satoru blinked dazedly a few times, ears strangely flushed and azure hues wide. “Oh…well, that’s rare praise. And from my wife! I really must be a genius, then.”

“You are!” You couldn’t contain your excitement. Why didn’t I think of this before? And shouldn’t you have felt at least a little bad that you were using his innocent suggestion for something far more underhanded? In that moment, you didn’t. Perhaps you would later. But, really, in the long run, not only were you doing yourself a favour, but you were doing him one also. You pinched his pink cheek. “You can be my taste tester for everything I bake. First up, first served!”

Satoru’s arms wound their way around your waist, drawing you close, and he rested his chin on your tummy, grinning up at you. “Do I get a discount?”

“All free,” you replied joyfully, elated. If it’s successful, the money will come pouring in, and I won’t have to worry about travel costs, visa fees and housing! By making it an online bakery, you could close up shop at any convenient time, and disappear off the face of the earth. Yes, there were many legal aspects that went into your whole unprecedented departure—but as long as you left the divorce papers for him to sign, which he doubtlessly would, things would fall into place on their own.

If only we were able to sign a prenuptial agreement. You’d worry about that in a while and carefully bring it up with him at a later time. Something had to be done in regard to assets, otherwise he’d be able to sue the hell out of you if you were found. Things must be settled within the year, so you could, ideally, escape while in the early stages of your pregnancy—if you were able to fall pregnant—without any legal issues and mishaps that forced you to be stuck here, exposed, and susceptible to the inevitable wrath of not only the elders and your aunt, but Gojo Satoru also.

Would you have the funds to possibly hire a lawyer? Your bakery would have to be very successful to afford that. In no way could you use Satoru’s money—the most you would do with it was use the allowance he’d provided you as means to begin your business, but that was as far as you were willing to push it. Why do you need a lawyer? he’d ask, and things would unravel from there.

The pressure was accumulating, and you still hadn’t the slightest clue how to manage it without arousing suspicion, but you’d gotten this far. Not very far, but somewhere. Next, you needed to book an appointment with the gynaecologist, work out some way to fend off your endometriosis enough for pregnancy to be possible, no longer just a gamble, and convince your idiot husband to sleep with you. It sounded ridiculous and—as your aunt had so kindly put it many times in the past—pathetic, but a drowning woman will always thrash to cling to something, be it a straw or string or nothing.

“And you can’t sell anything without my stamp of approval?”

“I can’t sell anything without your stamp of approval,” you playfully affirmed, brushing some hair from his eyes, allowing yourself a good long look into those gorgeous cerulean hues. “You’re the most reliable set of taste buds around here, yes?”

“The one and only,” Satoru chuckled. “Will you let me bake with you?”

“When you can,” you hummed, hands resting on his broad shoulders. “You won’t be here to lick the spoon. Isn’t that a shame?”

“You’ll just have to make me an exclusive batch, yeah?” His eyes sparked with mirth. “Limited edition. Only for Gojo Satoru.”

“If you insist.” You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip to keep from smiling too widely. Guilt knifed at your gut, but you brushed it aside, casting your eyes elsewhere. Am I being cruel to him? Was that even a question? The answer was clear, but were you ready to admit such a fault?

“Will you make kikufuku too?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Yes! Goodness, I can just imagine how your little business will blow up. Look at my wife, being a strong, independent woman!”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Just to tease him, you arched a brow.

“No!” Satoru looked mortified at even the mention of it. “Not at all! Imagine the looks on the elders’ faces when Gojo Satoru’s wife is suddenly extremely successful in something else other than jujutsu. Remember when I said you were strong?”

“Well, I must be if the strongest says so.” You gently pushed away from him and grabbed your cane, which you had laid against the table, and turned to head for the hallway. But you remained paused in front of him for a moment more, and considered your next words carefully. “…Uh, thank you, Satoru, for the suggestion. It was very kind of you.”

“Kind?” He tilted his head to the side a bit. Then he, with utterly uncharacteristic awkwardness, scratched the back of nape almost bashfully. “Oh, well, it wasn’t much. I just thought it’d bring some further purpose to your cute hobby.”

“Oh, my. Is the Gojo Satoru being humble right now?”

“For you? Yeah.” Satoru grinned, winking. “Do you know how lovely you look, waltzing around in that apron with flour on your hands? It gets me going, I tell you.”

You shook your head, flushed. “Wh—Whatever. I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up too late, alright? It’s fine if you take a nap. What are the higher-ups gonna do? Give you time-out in the corner?”

“Yaga’s scarier than the elders, let me tell you.” The man picked up his pen again and turned back to his paperwork. “He’d give me more than a time-out. To that guy, I’m still an irresponsible teen.”

“Maybe because you’re an irresponsible adult?”

“Wow! No one loves me!” Satoru fake-sobbed, wiping an imaginary tear away. “Everyone thinks the worst of me! Even my own wife! And the kids I took in! I can’t go on like this.”

You took his words to heart. Somehow, you didn’t think he was joking. So, with the guilt finally hitting you fully like a tidal wave, you slowly reached forward and patted his head. He blinked up at you questioningly, and you tried not to let your smile look too wobbly and guilt-ridden. “No, I don’t think we do. Well, if it’s any comfort, I don’t. I may not have known you for very long, but I’ve seen how hard you try.” You bobbed your head to the stack of paper on the tabletop. “That’s an example. You are a kind man. I think you’re rather misunderstood.”

Wasn't it ironic, you spouting such heartfelt words while longing for the day you desert him? Had you no shame? If only you had the strength to steel yourself against the chagrin you held that he was so pathetically unaware of, and meet those sapphire hues without reluctance. Perhaps it conveyed that you weren’t made of stone yet. Maybe you had some semblance of a heart for this man, even if it was only a sliver.

And he stared at you, long and hard, expression blank. For a beat, you wondered if you’d offended him, the opposite of your intentions, before he smiled. It wasn’t a big smile; it was small, almost infinitesimal, secretive, only just curling up a single corner of his mouth. It was more natural of a grin than his wide ones, something a touch more intimate. “You know, no one’s said that to me in a good long while.”

You retracted your hand from his head, letting it hang limp at your side, the other gripping your cane. “Is that so? Who said it to you last?”

“A very good old friend.” That little smile didn’t fade, even as he faced his paperwork again. “Someone I long for a lot. It’s nice to have someone get it, even if it’s just a little, just like he did.”

Such a deep turn of conversation wasn’t one you’d expected, and it wasn’t one you wanted. It felt like you were encroaching on his space, on the bounds vividly drawn out, territory that was no-man’s land. And, with your deceitful actions and motives, what right would you ever have to, anyway? Your free hand clenched, nails biting into your palm, and you cleared your throat. “…Well. I shouldn’t distract you any more. I’ll head off now. Try to take a nap during your break tomorrow at least, alright? I’ll call you.”

“You’ll call me? That’s a first.”

“I’ll knock you over the head with a pan just to put you to sleep,” you threatened, hobbling for the hallway, no bite to your words. “I’ll call to make sure you do have a nap. A text won’t work. You won’t see it until later.”

“Whenever I see a message from you, I instantly reply!”

“I know. It’s silly.” You stopped at the hall’s large door frame and glanced back. He was hunched over the paper, scribbling away. “But I don’t mind. Goodnight, Satoru.”

“Aw. ’Night, sweetheart. You alright with the kids staying this weekend?”

“Of course they can.” You’d be able to bake with Tsumiki, and maybe even Megumi, if you could manage to convince him to unstick himself from the TV screen and whatever animal documentary he would be intently watching. “They’re a joy. See you in the morning.”

The shame clenching at your lungs was only scratching the surface. It was getting harder to want this. Wasn’t that the danger from the start? 

It wasn’t really like you could go back now, anyway. Had you gone beyond the point of return, or is that what you liked to believe? With this binding vow on your wrist, what could you believe?

Him? No—he was too much of an enigma to even attempt at deciphering. The strongest. Unreachable. Even that was an understatement.

The journal sat under the mattress in that room. The binding vow sat scrawled into your wrist. The man sat at the dining table, working away late into the night, ignorant to it all. And he was the only one you knew could help, but you didn’t want him to. Maybe that was what you refused to see.

Chapter Text

𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟓, 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍

“Noriko, have you ever been overseas?”

What a silly question. Of course she hadn’t. Servants did not travel. Especially ones assigned to defects—what their master was, they were a reflection.

Kobayashi Noriko was seven years your senior. With a warm smile, bubbly disposition and stunning intellect, you’d always been initially bewildered at having scored such a good companion. To you, she wasn’t your servant, no—she was your dearest and only friend.

What likely ended her up with you was her penchant for breaking things, unbefitting of an average maid. Somehow, despite displeasing your aunt when accidentally knocking over her favourite vase, Noriko managed to keep her head undetached from her shoulders and, as punishment, was reassigned to your quarters. Barren, dusty—rumours spread that only a ghost resided there. That ghost was you, one with a limp and plain face, the clan’s greatest regret. Teenage servant girls with nothing else to do once found grand entertainment in disparaging you to your face, but their interest didn’t last long. Perhaps the weighty quietude left in the wake of their departure had been a bit less comforting than you’d initially thought.

Noriko’s ditzy exterior was something you soon came to understand as a mere act. She was lethally sharp-witted, her talents wasted on such a miserable occupation as a maid. She had cursed energy, as well—enough to perhaps land her a spot at the jujutsu-exclusive high school you’d overheard about from the gossiping servant girls your age—and she laughed a lot. You laughed a lot with her around, too. Finally, you weren’t just hearing the buzz of your own thoughts all the time. Noriko taught you to play chess and Monopoly, and introduced you to the romance genre.

You were a bit young for the things presented in the fiction she’d placed in piles on your little desk in your room, thinking back. But that worked out for the better, as you weren’t so clueless anymore.

Presently, you and Noriko were seated on the mossy, rickety old porch swing lost within the abandoned gardens of your family estate. The chains suspending it above the ground were brown with rust, and creaked in a way that always had you watching them from the corner of your eye. No one had stepped foot here in a long while, perhaps decades, and that was perfectly fine with you. The natural stream running through the estate grounds passed by here, and, although in desperate need of a clean-up, the place was peaceful with birdsong and sighing verdure. 

Noriko paused at your question, half-eaten wagashi hovering above her mouth, one cheek puffed out with her mouthful. She hummed, blinking up at the bright spring sky, and finished chewing. “Hm. No, I haven’t. But, oh, it’s a dream of mine.”

Your uninjured leg was tucked up under your chin, while the other hung relaxed over the swing’s edge. You rested your cheek against your knee, picking at some moss between your thighs. The pretty little box of wagashi Noriko had dishonestly swiped from the servants’ quarters sat in the middle of you both, and you’d had one. She’d grinned when she presented them to you with flourish, confidently claiming that they would go unnoticed, as they’d been sitting there for a few days already, untouched. You tried not to think about the poor person who’d bought those as a treat for themselves later, only to find it missing and long scoffed down by a certain twenty-one-year-old sitting beside you. 

She finished her last mouthful and brushed her hands together clean. Noriko closed the lid of the box, leaving half of the treats inside for you, and placed it elsewhere. She shuffled over so she could rest her head on your shoulder. “Why do you ask?” And then that mischievous twinkle sparked to life in her brown eyes again. “Wanna escape together? Let’s go to the Bahamas!”

Sometimes, you wondered who the older one really was in your friendship. Maybe the best way to put it was that you were the ‘calm’ to her ‘storm’, say. Storm in the good way. “I’d love to. Could you show me a picture of the Bahamas?”

“Absolutely! Let’s go there next week.” Noriko shifted about, and you lowered your leg so she could lie her head on your lap. She beamed up at you. “And then the Maldives. I’ll show you pictures of that, too. It’s so pretty. Oh! Can’t forget Hawaii. And then there’s Bali, Costa Rica, Tahiti, the like. We’ll have to learn how to speak Spanish and French!”

“We should tour the Tropics together.” You threaded your fingers through her hair absentmindedly, but you couldn’t quite match her excitement. This was like dreaming about the outside world while confined within a maximum security prison. No way out, realistically. “Or, better yet, move there.”

“Oh, how wonderful would that be,” she sighed. “You have to be rich, though. How will we get the money?”

“By next week?” You playfully squinted at the sky, tapping your chin. “We’ll have to rob a bank.”

“Or! Your aunt’s jewellery box,” Noriko pointed out excitedly. “There’s enough gems and gold in there to fund our retirements to the Bahamas. She’ll never miss it.”

You snickered. “Throw in a few of her Prada purses and leopard furs.” 

“Better get rid of her Givenchy perfumes.” Noriko’s nose scrunched. “They’re way too strong. She smells like a human perfume shop whenever she walks by.”

You knew her smell too well. A stench, more like. In the future, if you ever were able to purchase your very own bottle of perfume, you would never buy from Givenchy. Nothing associated with her.

“How long will our little holiday be?” Noriko’s hair was long and soft, and you loved braiding it. She sat up so you could do as you liked, and she hummed thoughtfully again. “How about…forever?”

“Never come back?”

“Never come back.”

“We will grow old together.”

“I could adopt you!” she enthusiastically said, throwing you a grin over her shoulder. “It’s a shame they don’t do sibling adoptions. It should be a thing. You could adopt someone as your brother or sister. How cool would that be?”

“I wouldn’t mind you as my mother.” She was more of a sister, but you were happy with whatever you could get.

Noriko snorted. “Oh, no, I could never be a mother. I don’t want kids. You should see how terrible I am with them. I only make them cry, and they’re annoying, anyway.”

“But you’re fine around me.”

“That’s because you’re fourteen, not four. You’re an adolescent! A few more years and you can get a licence.”

“A few?” Your mouth twitched with a grin. “I have a while yet. I doubt I’ll…” And you didn’t finish that sentence, because you didn’t want to dampen the mood.

“You’ll be out of here.” Abruptly, Noriko turned around and faced you, taking your hands, fixing you with a determined, resolute look. “We’ll be out of here. Out of this society. And if I’m not around, for whatever reason, you’ll get out, and then we’ll go to the Bahamas.”

“But, if you’re not around, how will we go together?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” She shrugged, unfazed. “I may be a little reckless, but death isn’t knocking on my door yet. If I’m not around, we’ll find each other.”

“We will?” You didn’t like how small your voice was and how you felt as you squeaked out those words. You were beginning to hope, and that wasn’t exactly optimal in a place like this. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure.” Noriko smiled softly and brushed a thumb across one of your cheeks. “Even if it takes me a little while, we’ll reunite.”

“That sounds cheesy.”

“Blame it on all the Pixar movies we’ve been watching.” A week ago, Noriko had sneaked in a portable DVD player from only God knows where, along with five movie discs—Ice Age, Howl’s Moving Castle, Monsters, Inc., Steamboy and Spirited Away. None of them were Pixar films, but you supposed Noriko didn’t care about the difference. Out of all of them, you liked Spirited Away especially, and you didn’t quite know why.

Maybe it was the wonderful art and graphics? Or perhaps it was the storytelling, the music. Movies were new to you, and you felt like a hermit compared to the swiftly-and-ever-advancing world around you. The clan and jujutsu society was strictly traditional, but evolution was inevitable, and had to eventually be accepted. The elders gradually did so begrudgingly. 

“Are we going to rewatch Howl’s Moving Castle for the hundredth time this evening?” you amusedly asked, weaving Noriko’s long, dark tresses into delicate plaits. And her shoulders shook with a giggle. “It’s not my fault Howl’s hot! He is the standard. Look for a guy like him when you’re my age. You won’t go wrong.”

“You have a boyfriend you’re not telling me about?”

“Well, no—that is! A girl doesn’t need a boyfriend to be able to tell when a man is said boyfriend material,” she hastily corrected, holding up a forefinger matter-of-factly. “That’s a factor of life. I’m happy single! But, marriage would be such a nice excuse to get out of here.”

You gripped her forearm, suddenly overcome with panic. “No, Noriko. Please don’t leave. Not yet. Not yet.” 

Noriko paused, assessing you with a quiet look, before she hugged you tight. “Don’t worry. I won’t. Who’s going to make sure you take your pills? Take you to your doctor appointments?”

The urgency of your pain these past few months had led to Noriko virtually risking her life getting you treatment. Her cousin was a doctor, she had told you, and then left to make a phone call. It was done in secret. Why would the defect’s personal maid need to make an appointment? All servants went to the clan physician for whatever ailment they had. Doctor appointments were not needed. It would spark suspicion, so Noriko did all she could in stealth.

You didn’t want anyone else knowing anyway—especially not the elders, or your aunt. They wouldn’t care enough to help you, and they’d write it off as period pain. As most people did. As most doctors did. 

You will never forgive Noriko for using all her life’s savings to get you that laparoscopy. You will never forgive her adamancy on getting you the medication you needed, at such great cost to her. You had both argued, one evening.

“I’d rather spend the rest of my youth undiagnosed and in pain,” you had begun, jutting a finger at her, “than knowing that you spent thousands of yen on that surgery, without ever even telling me! How did you even get the paperwork to pass off as my legal guardian? That’s your life’s savings, Noriko! Everything you’ve earned, everything you needed to get out of here! And you spend it on me?”

“Do you think I was just going to let you be rendered bedridden from something far more serious than period cramps?” she’d fired back, hands on her hips. “It was completely incapacitating you! Nothing could get your mind off it! Even now, with the diagnosis and the medication, you’re still in agony! It’s my job to care for you! About you! You’re the little sister I’ve always wanted! I can always earn that money back!”

“How?” you had exclaimed, tears hot on your cheeks. “The clan pays you all barely enough for a bowl of rice! I’m grateful, Noriko, I really am—but, like this? At least you have a future ahead of you! Now, it’s gone, because you thought it wise to blow your money away on a defect like me!”

“You’re a human being. That’s what you are. A person, who experiences physical pain just like the rest of us.” Her hands grasped your shoulders. “But you have it a bit worse. Endometriosis is notoriously underdiagnosed, no one takes it seriously, and you’re a fool to think I was going to repeat such a mistake. Money will come and go. At least I used it on something worthwhile.”

You’d crumpled into her, and she cradled your head patiently while you wept. You still didn’t forgive her. But you would repay her kindness in full, some day.

For now, you shook your head in disapproval at her. “That was foolish, Noriko.”

“Oh, now, don’t you start with that one again. I did what was needed and that’s that.” Perhaps it was a bit convenient, how she managed to constantly and dutifully pick up your prescription pills every month when they were ready for retrieval, but servants were allowed to leave the estate. You weren’t. Your aunt had forbidden it long ago.

“How did you even come to the conclusion it was endometriosis?”

“If I wasn’t stuck in this horrid place—no offence to you; you make things a goddamn lot easier and enjoyable—I’d have pursued some kind of career that made me look smart and made me money. Maybe a nurse. I like maths and taking care of people.”

“What about a teacher?” you suggested, gently tying the end of a braid. “You would make a good teacher. If you aren’t fond of children, then maybe you could be a high school maths or science teacher.”

“You’re onto something there,” she agreed, nodding, both to herself and you. “Elementary school teacher? Never. I’d be a horrible influence on the kids.”

One thing you’d always appreciated about Noriko was how she never treated you like you were a child. A seven-year age difference didn’t seem to bother her; she talked and joked with you like you were her age, beyond your years, not some recluse of a fourteen-year-old who stammered around anyone that wasn’t her. Noriko was a sister, mentor, counsellor and friend all in one package.

At that time, you didn’t quite know what you’d do without her. It wasn’t something you wished to dwell on, for it gripped you with fear each time the notion crossed your mind. What if she was reassigned elsewhere, leaving you with no one once again? You could do your own laundry and cooking and dusting when needed, but what about her company? The only social interaction you’d had in a very long while?

This couldn’t have been healthy. Noriko said so. She said that everyone needs to be exposed to a positive influence and companion in their lives, preferably more than one, and she cursed your clan for their cruelty to you. But you didn’t mind. Noriko was more than enough.

“It’s thanks to you that I know how to calculate the circumference of a DVD disc now,” you snorted. Where she learned it all, beat you. “Did you attend high school, or something? How’d you learn?”

“My mother,” she supplied, reaching back a hand to feel at her newly-braided hair, giving a sound of approval. “She went to school, lucky her. And then my family came here. They still won’t tell me why, and I’m a bloody adult. Anyway, she homeschooled me in everything I needed to know, and perhaps I got my affinity for arithmetic from her.”

“Interesting.” If you held power here, you’d have helped her investigate her family’s reasons for slaving away at this awful place, and perhaps even helped them get out. Maybe it was something simple, like a repayment of debt, nothing complex. “My aunt allowed me to be educated up until I was about…” You squinted up at the sky, contemplating. “Eleven? It was after that big event where all the clans communed and got drunk, I think. I don’t know what I did, but soon my tutor no longer showed up.”

“Y’know, if I was strong”—Noriko pulled up the sleeve of her kimono and exaggeratedly flexed her (nonexistent) bicep—“I would have long beaten that woman to a pulp. Beaten everyone into a pulp. That was the event where the Gojo boy turned up, right?”

“Who?” 

“What’s his name? Gojo Satoshi? Satosuo? I dunno—anyways, the rest of the servants love gossiping about him, especially the girls your age. Apparently he’s super strong or whatever. I don’t remember his name because he has no business with peasants like us. He was at that event, I think. Not too sure.”

“Is that so,” you hummed, recalling a very faint memory of a kid with remarkably white hair, and that was it. It was quite long ago, after all, and you were young. Or, was there a bit more? You couldn’t put your finger on it. “…I think I saw him wandering about the room.” 

“Rumour has it that you two were spotted talking.”

“What?” This was the first you were hearing of anything. If you had talked, surely you would have remembered. Everything from that period of your life was so foggy and vague. Was there some kind of medical term for it? Noriko would know. But you didn’t think asking her would be exactly wise—and you trusted her with all you had. Maybe you didn’t want to know. “That’s…that can’t be. I loosely recall him, but…nothing so familiar as that.”

“Yeah, I don’t know much either, because I don’t stick around to listen to what those gaggles of turkeys have got to say about some teen.” She shrugged. “But, well…your aunt was pissed. Yet, when is she not? Lady’s got some issues, man. What the hell is her problem with you? Want me to, I don’t know, poison her tea, perhaps? I can do the dirty work.”

Maybe, hopefully, she was only half-joking, but you didn’t want Noriko being executed for assassinating a highly-revered elder of the jujutsu world. Not for you. You’d rather do that yourself, anyway, but would a coward like you ever manage it? You bit your lip. Unlikely.

“Best keep quiet about those kinds of things around here, Noriko,” you lowered your voice to almost a whisper. “The walls have ears.”

“In this area?” She gestured around the isolated, neglected gardens. “No one’s around for a good long while. And no one but you and I step foot here. We could scream our lungs out, and no one would come.”

That sounded a bit more ominous than it needed to, but she was right. “Yeah.”

“Perfect place for a nice little burial, right?” Noriko grinned, and you were rather taken aback by her sudden morbid mood. You’d never quite understood her more dark turns of humour. “Of a certain aunt of yours. No one would know.”

You found yourself beginning to smile a bit, as if you both weren’t presently plotting the murder of a very affluent, but cruel, woman. A face you never wished to lay eyes on again, and forever wipe from memory. And you knew you weren’t joking. “No one would know.”

“Well, there you have it!” Noriko announced with a flourish. “Once that old hag’s dead and buried, we’ll catch the first flight out to the Bahamas!”

You mulled over your apparent conversing with the Gojo heir for a little bit afterwards, wondering why you couldn’t remember such a significant thing. Surely, you’d be able to recall more than just white hair? With the image so fuzzy, it wouldn’t take long until you forgot that one, too. And, maybe, considering your childhood, leaving it forgotten may have been the best route. You didn’t really know.

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘

“…Megumi’s suspended?”

“I know!” Satoru whinged over the phone, apparently devastated. “That boy, my son, suspended?! Unheard of!”

“And you say Ijichi’s on his way here right now”—You glanced at the clock on the wall, the time reading 1:12PM—“to pick me up so I can pick him up from school?”

“Yep.” He popped the P, suddenly normal again. “I would, but I’m up here in Hokkaido right now. Won’t be back until tomorrow, late, probably.”

You got to your feet, cane in hand, making for the hallway to get your purse and shoes on. “Alright. I can go get him. You’d better send me his foster home address.”

“Oh, Ijichi already knows,” Satoru sing-songed. “Tsumiki won’t be a problem, either.”

You paused, confused. “Satoru, if he already knows where to drop them off, why am I needed?”

“Because you need to give Megumi a scolding,” he said, like it was obvious. “I would if I was there, but I kind of suck at telling kids off. I always feel bad mid-lecture and then buy them a McFlurry. Megumi’s kind of impossible in that regard.”

“Does he throw a tantrum?” It was not something you could picture that boy doing. 

“Nah, he just sits there all silent and sulky, and refuses to talk for the rest of the ride or day.” There was a sigh on the other line. “And it drives me up the wall. And I can’t find it in myself to raise my voice at him—so! Because you’re a lot less nice than me, you can do it!”

You didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. It felt like neither. “What makes you think I can? I have way less experience with children than you do. It’s not like I can just march up to the kid and give him a good telling-off. I don’t think I’d have the heart either.”

“You’ll work it out!” You pursed your lips. Flippant as ever, you inwardly groaned. “Hey, I gotta go now, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” There was the rather grotesque sound of lips smacking from the other end, and you winced. “That was my goodbye kiss. Pretend I just gave you a big smooch. Mwah! Anyways! Bye!”

You stared at your phone screen for a beat longer, before switching it off and shoving it in your pocket, sighing. I’ll never get a read on that guy.

Entering your shared bedroom, you grabbed your purse and opened the wardrobe to put on a warmer outer layer for your trip to town. It was getting onto the final weeks of February, and the snow had begun to assuage, but the wind was still terribly cold. Satoru was out on some mission, the details he did not indulge you of because, according to him, it was ‘pretty gnarly’, as if you hadn’t once watched your aunt torture and execute a particularly gruesome cursed spirit right in front of your eyes. You were eight.

As he was up in Hokkaido until tomorrow, it made things terribly convenient as you had your gynaecologist appointment at 2PM. If Satoru wasn’t going to be back until late, there would be no need to let him know of your location and, ultimately, the reason why you had to see the doctor.

If he did end up asking, you’d just use the ‘annual check-up’ excuse. Hopefully, ideally, he wouldn’t question it further. What business did a man have knowing about a woman’s reproductive system, anyway?

You’d pull that card if he wasn’t your husband and you weren’t under pressure for an heir. Subconsciously, you rubbed the wrist with the binding vow etched into it, and rummaged about your handbag for your purse. Satoru had kept his word of providing you an allowance and pushed a thick wad of money into your palms just before he left yesterday, proudly proclaiming that you were now in possession of ¥500,000. Spend it well! he’d said, beaming. Knock yourself out.

You were rather overwhelmed with the sheer, almost excessive amount of money he’d just nonchalantly handed you, and although you knew it was a great starting point for saving, you had still handed him back 400k of it. “I don’t need that much.” 

“Do you want more?” And then Satoru had pulled his wallet out again and opened it, handing you yet another ¥500,000. “How much is this in American money? About ten grand, I think. I might be wrong. Anyways, enjoy your ten grand or so!”

“No!” You’d pushed his hand away, baffled at his generosity. Does he just casually carry around one million yen on a daily basis? And considering how there was still a good amount of cash notes left in his wallet, he probably carted around much more. “One-hundred thousand yen is more than enough, Satoru, I don’t need five hundred.”

“It’s yours now.” He had conceded to your refusal of the extra and put what he’d offered back into his wallet, but did not take back what you held out to him. “You said you wanted some makeup, right? Next time we go into town, we’ll head straight to the mall and have a look around. Not like you need it, though.”

“I…” You had stared down at the notes in your hand, flushed at his words. I really can’t refuse, though. This could help with starting up the bakery, the appointment fees, and eventually leaving. So you kissed his cheek, resolved. “Thank you, Satoru. This was very kind of you.”

And now, as you wiggled your feet into your shoes and locked up the house, heading out to meet Ijichi, you felt that same guilt having plagued you for a long while begin to inch in. Essentially, you were taking advantage of him in all aspects. His money, his affection—and, eventually, which you most dreaded—his body. You settled into the car, offered your greetings to Ijichi, and stared out the window. This is all so cruel, but am I any better?

Jujutsu society was cruel to Gojo Satoru, too. Crueller. You couldn’t hold a candle to the things he had to deal with on the daily, and you understood that good and well. This would be so much easier if he just kept his distance, like I suggested. We’ve both got enough on our own plates as it is.

What could you do to make this easier for him? Humouring him was all you could presently think of, but you doubted it’d prove wise in the long run. Maybe giving him the cold shoulder would suffice—that is, appearing completely cold. Yet, he would then get the message and wouldn’t touch you at all. It wasn’t long until your aunt would be checking in on you, prodding to see if you were with child yet, and if you wanted to be free of the binding vow, you needed to give birth as soon as possible. Once you had calmed down days after the little fiasco with the elders and forced yourself to think rationally, you remembered you didn’t have to pop out a child within a year. You simply couldn’t speak a word of it, or you’d be killed. You gnawed on your thumbnail. How the hell am I going to do this?

Seducing him made you cringe at the mere thought. You were already awkward enough as it was. All that was left was using his penchant for kissing you out of the blue to keep it going, until things got too heated for the man to resist anymore. If he could keep going once he saw you without clothes. You hugged yourself. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it if he was disgusted at the sight of me. But, really, as long as the deed was finally done, there would be no more need to subject yourself to any further embarrassment.

The best thing you could do right now was continue researching how a wife should behave behind bedroom doors. Perhaps you should go to the bookstore and derive more knowledge from the romance genre that way, even if the things you’d already read had made you burn with humiliation and shame.

Farmland and forest and the country began to fade into more evident signs of civilisation, and Tokyo soon eased into the horizon. Putting pressing thoughts of consummation and the binding vow aside, you grabbed your phone and opened your messages with Satoru.

Did they tell you what he has been suspended for?

You never took the boy to be such a troublemaker. Megumi was always placid and quiet, yet obedient and never complained when you asked him to put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. His fondness and trust for his sister was evident, and he liked to peacefully read an animal picture book in the sun from time to time. Just what had he done?

You didn’t expect your husband to reply so fast, but your phone buzzed with a notification only two minutes after the text had been sent. 

yeah the school told me he beat up some punk around the back of the school or something

dunno why 

where’d he learn it from? is my question

I have a good idea of who.

is that so 🧐

and why didn’t they just call their foster home instea dd of me

dw i told the school and hisfoster mother you would be comiggn

anyways if he didn’t summon his demon dogs then dpn’t go too hard on hiim

don’t*

hmi*

hii*

him*

srory currently pummeling a currse&^5

ill call u lat322er 😘&@_👺!,[

It didn’t take much to decipher his hurried typos and emojis, so you sent a thumbs-up in reply and thanked Ijichi as he rolled to a stop in the school’s parking lot. You hopped out and hobbled for the facility’s foyer, hoping no one would take too much notice of your limp and cause you even more embarrassment. How embarrassing, this being your very first time entering a school—not as a parent, but as a guardian of sorts, as an awkward, shuffling woman. 

Pushing open one of the double doors, you plastered your most pleasant smile on your face and willed your voice not to shake or stutter. “Hello.” You introduced yourself. “I’m here to pick up Fushiguro Megumi.”

The receptionist looked up, and she quickly nodded in understanding, still wildly typing at her computer. “Wonderful. I’ll just send a quick message to the school counsellor to send him over. Feel free to take a seat.”

You thanked her politely, turning to ease into a chair, frowning. School counsellor? Was Megumi already turning into a delinquent at such a young age? Worry filled you, and you nibbled on your thumbnail again. I must discuss this further with Satoru when he gets back. 

Ten minutes passed, and soon an average-heighted man pushed open the set of doors behind the receptionist’s desk and ushered out a shorter, spiky-haired figure, apparently just in the middle of saying something. “—Unacceptable. Resolving spats with your fists is not the way to go, young man.”

You hastily stood, wondering how on earth to mitigate the situation. You took note of Megumi’s blank, unremorseful expression, and hurried over to them, bowing. “Excuse me, apologies for interrupting. I’m here to take this boy home.”

The man, who you assumed to be the school counsellor, looked you up and down, and then nodded, returning your bow. “I see. Gojo’s wife, I presume? He said you would turn up.”

“That’s correct,” you affirmed, unsure of what to make of his tone, so you turned to the child at the man’s side instead. “Come here, Megumi.”

The boy, without meeting your eyes, obediently shuffled over to you, and you held out your hand for him to take. His smaller one clasped yours, and you bowed once more. “I apologise for the commotion he has caused. Would you mind telling me what exactly happened?”

The counsellor sighed, crossing his arms. “This kid’s a good student, but he tends to retaliate to verbal insults and such with violence. Today, he punched one of his classmates in the face three times during recess.”

“Why?” You blinked in shock.

“Because he dropped bark down the back of Misaki’s shirt, and then threw some in her face. I told you that already,” Megumi grumbled before the counsellor could reply. “I just gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

“On any other day, Megumi, I would commend you for standing up for one of your classmates,” the man said, unimpressed. “But physical violence is simply not tolerable here. You know that. And this is the fourth time.”

Fourth time? The nine-year-old huffed, and you jumped in to alleviate the tension. “I understand now. How long is his suspension?”

“One week. A teacher will make visits to his foster home to ensure he continues completing his schoolwork, unless…?”

“Oh, no, I am only here in place of my husband, as he is presently away. I’ll make sure he is dropped off at the foster home safely. He won’t be returning with me.”

“But I want to stay with you,” Megumi protested, and you curtly shook your head at the boy, silencing him.

“Understood.” The counsellor nodded. “Well, that about wraps things up. You just have to sign this form here, and you can be on your way.”

“Thank you,” you said, bobbing one final bow. “Again, I apologise.”

“Well! You are certainly much more polite than your husband,” the man laughed. “Gojo-san usually encourages Megumi in his antics. Perhaps that is the root of the problem.”

You forced a smile, displeased at his informality. “Yes. Perhaps it is.”

After you’d scrawled your signature on the form pushed toward you, you bid your goodbyes and exited the school, Megumi trailing after you silently, heading toward the awaiting car. You cast a glance down at him. “Fourth time, he says.”

There was no reply, and you came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, facing the boy. “Megumi, is it true Gojo encourages you in your violence?”

“I only beat up people that pick on others,” Megumi grouched, crossing his little arms. He looked away, cheeks puffed out into a pout. “Gojo said that it’s okay. That’s what we jujutsu sorcerers do.”

You rubbed your eyes with your thumb and forefinger. “…Alright. I see. Well, I still don’t think it’s a good habit to get into. What if you get hurt? Violence isn’t…always the answer.”

“That’s exactly what Tsumiki says.” Megumi looked even more unimpressed than usual. “Always a peacemaker. I don’t care about that. I care about justice.”

Is this kid really nine years old? You gave him a long, assessing look. Then you extended your hand for him to grasp again. “Well. Gojo’s methods are rather unconventional, but he’s got you on the right path, I suppose. Just don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

You didn’t know how to tell kids off, but you hoped that this would, at least, suffice as something like a lecture. You didn’t agree nor disagree with Megumi’s approaches to injustice, but he, at any rate, meant well. And, considering how it wouldn’t be long until he was thrown head-first into the deep end of jujutsu society and all the horrors that came with it, you supposed his current habits would come in rather handy later on. 

So you both got in the car and headed for the foster home. You decided you would stay with Megumi until the school day ended for Tsumiki and go and pick her up. Megumi then offered to show you around their foster home.

“It’s usually Gojo who comes around,” he explained, rubbing one of his eyes. Poor little dude was tired. “He barges into my room and forces me to play Snakes and Ladders with him.”

“Good thing he’s in Hokkaido, then, yeah?” you amusedly said, having just finished sending said man a text to tell him everything had been peacefully resolved. “I won’t make you play Snakes and Ladders if you don’t want to.”

He then mumbled something along the lines of, ‘this is why I like you better’, to which you just pretended not to hear, feeling warm on the inside. Instead, you reached out and ruffled his messy raven locks affectionately. “You know, I’m thinking of starting up a little bakery. Would you like to help me make animal-shaped cookies?”

Megumi’s eyes brightened, and his expression lost a touch of its usual tension. “Will you really?”

You nodded pleasantly. “Only if you make them with me, though. You get to choose the shapes, icing flavours and colours. How does that sound?”

“We can make ones that look like my Divine Dogs,” he suggested, visibly trying to keep his excitement at bay. “And my rabbits.”

“Oh? You have rabbit shikigami?” You were beginning to understand why Satoru saw so much potential in this young boy. With his stoic, thoughtful and rational nature, and the seemingly unending supply of shikigami he had up his sleeve, Megumi would undoubtedly become one of the most formidable jujutsu sorcerers of the modern era. He might even grow up to be a match for me one day, Gojo had said the day of your wedding. Megumi’s cold. Icy. He’s gonna be real strong.

“I also have Nue, a big snake, frogs and an elephant,” he said proudly. “And then there’s Mahoraga, but Gojo told me to never summon him unless absolutely necessary.”

“Why is that?” 

Megumi thought about it for a beat. “Because…he said no user of the Ten Shadows Technique has ever tamed it. And I will die if I try.”

Well. If Satoru himself warned the boy against calling upon this apparently feral shikigami, then you supposed the man believed, knew, it was more than just a threat to Megumi’s life. Far more.

The kid didn’t seem too fazed, though. Nothing fazed Megumi, you’d quickly learned. Nine-year-olds shouldn’t have anything other than school and friends to be fazed about at that age, anyway.

“Then we should make cookies for each of your shikigami then,” you smiled. “And you can take a container to school, if you like.”

“Gojo can’t have any,” Megumi said firmly. “He will eat them all before they’re even out of the oven.”

That made you think. What other things could you make that weren’t all sweets, but would still sell well? That Gojo wouldn’t constantly poke and prod and whine at you for, where he wouldn’t eat the entire thing before it had a chance to be sold? That caramel slice you and Tsumiki had made didn’t last long at all. In two days, it was gone. Not a crumb left.

“I know where to hide them, don’t worry.” The man himself wasn’t very good at hiding things—three times already, you had found his secret candy stash, and every time you fell across it, you indulged yourself in a gummy or two. You amusedly wondered just how long it would take until he noticed. It was rather surprising how he hadn’t already.

Finally, the car turned down a street and cruised into a suburban area, where the houses were of a more modern style, and rather upper-middle-class. Ijichi slowed until he had stopped outside of a nice home with a white picket fence, trimmed front yard and flower beds out front, and completely peaceful.

However, once you and Megumi had gotten out of the car, the front door opened, and a middle-aged woman stood in the doorway. Three other small faces peeped out and around her legs, and then they brightened. “Megumi!”

The boy sighed. “Don’t mind them. Those are my foster mother’s actual kids.”

With his school bag straps clutched in his two hands, Megumi led you up the house front path and to the steps. You felt rather nervous at having to greet this woman, so you steeled yourself to try and make the best impression you could. “Good afternoon! I am Gojo Satoru’s wife, and here to drop Megumi off.”

The woman looked very surprised. “Goodness! So he does have a wife!”

Megumi pointedly avoided his foster mother and brushed past her to head up into the house, to which she made no reaction. Likely a normal occurrence, and she approached you and bowed. “Thank you for picking him up for me. I understand that he has now been suspended for…” She sighed and squinted up at the sky in thought. “Third, fourth time?” Then the woman shook her head. “I really don’t know what to do with that boy. Anyway! My name is Nakamura Emi. And I apologise if I offended you. You see, Gojo tends to be a bit eccentric, so I rarely believe everything he says.”

“Not at all! That’s completely understandable.” You were very relieved that this woman was good-natured and welcoming. Your smile turned genuine. “We only recently wedded. Early January. It was rather…unprecedented. But, either way, I had the joy of meeting the Fushiguro siblings. They’re both wonderful kids.”

“They are! Megumi’s usually very well-behaved.” Nakamura sighed. “I am sorry for inconveniencing you so. Usually I would be the one to bring him home, but they called Gojo instead, for some reason. And then he texted me the situation, saying you were on your way. Now that you’re here, you must come on in. I’ll brew a pot of tea.”

“Oh, I really wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Nonsense! Welcome Ijichi in, too, dear. Can’t leave him all alone in the car. Kids! Inside! Now!”

The children frolicking about the front yard groaned and obeyed, rushing up the front porch steps and into the house. You, rather taken aback, hastily shuffled for the car and tapped on the window. Ijichi hurried to roll it down, placing his newspaper aside, and you smiled. “Mrs. Nakamura has invited us in for some tea, Ijichi.”

Once inside, the woman sat you down at the dining table and flitted about the kitchen, preparing the tea, while the children were occupied with the awkward Ijichi, and she grinned at you. “I’ve only just met you, but the difference between you and Gojo is stark! I am glad to see he finally has a good wife to keep him on a leash because, boy, does that young man need one.”

You laughed. “That’s what everybody says. Satoru is rather…outgoing. He, at least, keeps life interesting.”

Mrs. Nakamura was busy whisking the matcha in a teacup as she replied. “I’ve known that boy since he was, what, nineteen? When he first brought the Fushiguro siblings here, I think. I vaguely remember him mentioning his great intent to marry, once.”

That surprised you. You sat up straighter. “Is that so? I’d always gotten the impression that he was wholly uninterested in marriage.” 

“I know! Such a rambunctious young lad, you’d think a wedding would be the last thing on his mind. But, no—once, about a year or two ago? He was here with Megumi and Tsumiki for Christmas dinner, and Megumi made an idle comment about some young woman he’d been raving on and on about for the past year or so. Of course, I was terribly curious, so I pressed it, and I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Gojo look so embarrassed! His cheeks and ears were all red and he mumbled something about her ‘not even knowing he existed’, or something along those lines.” She set the freshly-brewed cup of matcha down before you, and then turned to retrieve some snacks from the cupboard. “I was like, ‘how can that be?’ Because, well, he’s popular with the ladies, that one. Then he said in an awfully curt tone, ‘I don’t think she remembers me’, then he laughed and went, ‘Me! Can you imagine it?’ And I was so confused. It’s not like he’s famous or anything, right? And then, well, that was it. I’ve always been a little curious since, but I never brought it up again.”

You fidgeted with the cup, and you felt your blood pounding in your ears. It had to be a coincidence. You crossed paths with him once, when you were seventeen. That was what you were sure of. 

Or…were you? Again with that feeling of forgetting something. Sometimes, it was a real bother that much of your childhood was all a dark, gruesome, unpleasant blur. Bits and pieces flicked by, but the rest was blocked out by your brain. Were things that horrible? Yes.

The woman set a plate arrayed with all kinds of delicious treats down before you both, and then took a seat herself, cup of matcha in hand. She smiled. “And, well, perhaps all that angsting of his paid off in the end. Here you are! Married to Gojo Satoru. He must be so happy!”

“Oh, well…” What on earth were you supposed to say? That your marriage was arranged, unwarranted—unwanted by the both of you? That it was very unlikely you were the woman he was thinking about? Perhaps someone from his high school days. Someone strong and pretty, someone, unfortunately, long gone, someone deserving of more than his acknowledgement. More than his respect. Someone deserving of the strongest’s love.

That just left you to wonder why on earth he was so affectionate. Maybe he was just trying to make the most out of this inconvenient, unwelcome marriage, and make things a bit more bearable. It didn’t help when his constant ‘I can’t believe I got to marry you’s frequently popped into your head. What’s his deal, really?

You were in denial. Deep down, you knew that, but hope was a fickle thing, and a luxury you presently couldn’t afford.

“Tell me, where did you both go for your honeymoon?” She took a sip of her tea. “It must have been wonderful! Ah, the honeymoon phase. Make sure you don’t ever get out of it!”

“Oh, we went to Ginzan Onsen,” you supplied, lifting your own cup to your lips. “Very relaxing.”

“Ginzan Onsen! Oh, how lucky you were,” Mrs. Nakamura sighed, staring up at the ceiling wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to visit there. I heard the hot springs are just lovely. Did you enjoy it?”

“…Yes.” You tried not to flush at the memories that followed with her words. “It was very…” What did Satoru call it? “…Physiotherapeutic.”

Before she could say anything more, Megumi entered the kitchen and headed straight for the fridge. Mrs. Nakamura immediately turned and sharply said, “Nope, no Ramune for you, Megumi. Not after being suspended for an entire week.”

The boy sighed in a way much too long-suffering for a nine-year-old kid who, as his foster mother said, had just been suspended from school, and then you heard him mutter something about how this is why he wanted to go back to you and Satoru’s place. You stifled a laugh.

“You can go to your room and stay there until dinner,” the woman continued, fixing him with a disapproving look. “And do your homework while you’re at it, too.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he turned to you with that deadpan stare. “Do you wanna see my room.”

It wasn’t a question. Just a statement. So you looked at his foster mother, who sighed and nodded. “Don’t keep her in there forever, Megumi.”

The boy replied with nothing but taking your hand and leading you down the hall, before stopping before an ajar door and pushing it open. You didn’t really know what to expect when you entered, but it was a pleasant surprise to see such a neat room.

No mess, just a mountain of animal plushies and soft toys piled on his bed, and a Lightning McQueen duvet cover. In the centre of the room was a road-map themed mat, and he even had a desk and chair to himself. There was a bookshelf, packed with books, and the sun was streaming in from behind sheer curtains. Megumi strode over to his closet, pulled it open, and grabbed out a rectangular box. He turned to you with a rather shy expression on his small face. “…Snakes and Ladders would be more fun with you.”

“Oh…” You could play Monopoly and chess, but not Snakes and Ladders. The boy sat down on the map and opened up the box, laying out the game’s board, dice, and many different multi-coloured counters to choose from. You reluctantly sat down. “I, uh, Megumi, you might have to teach me how to play.”

“That’s okay,” he said, spiky hair bobbing with his nods. “It’s easy. We both begin here”—He tapped a forefinger on the ‘Start Here’ square—“and roll the dice. If it’s your turn and the dice lands on a three, for example, you move forward three spaces. If you land on a square that has a ladder, you get to jump up an entire row. If you land on a snake, you’re taken back however many spaces.”

You reached out and grabbed the blue-coloured counter, following his instructions and placing it on the ‘Start Here’ square. “Okay. I think I’ve got it.” It sounded fairly simple. 

It proved to be a good pastime as you waited until you had to go and pick Tsumiki up. And then Megumi told you she usually catches the bus home from school—as does he—and then, when he grew bored with Snakes and Ladders after multiple rounds, got up and grabbed out the card game Sushi Go.

Once Tsumiki had arrived home, you decided you’d long overstayed your welcome and it was time to leave. Megumi, in his usual standoffish, but childlike way, clung to your leg and asked you to stay the night. You laughed and patted his head, smiling apologetically, and told him to behave for the rest of the week. 

And then you headed back to the house, bid Ijichi a lovely rest of his evening, and fixed yourself some dinner. All you had left to do, now, was mentally prepare yourself for your gynaecologist appointment the next day, and pray Satoru wouldn’t be back until late tomorrow night. 

The gynaecologist appointment had gone surprisingly well, and you’d found that you hadn’t had anything to initially worry about. It was simply a brief examination on whether your endometriosis had worsened, and it had not. The doctor had kindly and patiently answered your questions, assuredly having seen many women with the same condition like you in her years, and prescribed you some potent painkillers, ones that wouldn’t inhibit fertility, when you explained your intent for a baby. Then she’d asked you where your husband was, and you had replied ‘on a business trip’. Then you said you’d rather it if he remained uninformed of your entire debacle, and it looked like she’d heard that one before, too.

Which was relieving, because you walked out feeling a bit better after paying the medical fee. The doctor had answered your questions about whether your endometriosis would lessen once you give birth to a baby, and gave you plenty of warnings, also, to spare.

You hobbled out of the pharmacy, of which you’d picked up your pills from, only to see Satoru leaning against a street sign on the sidewalk, blindfolded—which garnered him a few more second glances than usual—and waiting for you.

Thank god I put my pills in my handbag! You jumped in surprise, nonetheless, and you hoped you didn’t look too guilty. Schooling your expression in one of neutrality best you could, you continued forward as he looked up, spotted you and beamed. 

“Hey!” he greeted you, coming to your side and grabbing your free hand. It was clutching at your handbag strap, but it now laid limp at your side, and he entwined his fingers with yours, pulling you in close. “How are you?”

“You’re back early,” was all you replied with, and you didn’t mean to sound so unenthusiastic. What if he was sitting in the clinic’s waiting room? I would’ve immediately had a panic attack! “Uh—that is, welcome back. I’m glad to see you unharmed.”

“Goodness, sounds like you were just dying for my presence,” he drawled sarcastically, beginning to lead you down the street to where you supposed the car would be waiting. Did Ijichi drop me off and then go get Satoru? Can’t have. It’d take him hours. “What were you in the pharmacy for?” he continued. It was always unideal when you couldn’t see his eyes, because that meant you hadn’t the faintest idea what he was thinking, and if he was suspicious of you.

You decided not to lie too much. “Just some painkillers. Period’s been a bit heavy lately.”

“Is that so?” You didn’t know what to make of his tone. Was that scepticism you heard, or were you imagining things? You swallowed. It’s fine, it has to be. He’s probably sick of hearing the period excuse. Fair enough.

Valid as it was, you could only pull that card so many times before it got a bit excessive, borderline suspicious. And Gojo Satoru was no fool. He liked to act like one, but he was much more intelligent than people gave him credit for. You think. 

“Yeah. Did you teleport here?” you changed the subject, readjusting the scarf around your neck. Now you had to think about where to hide your pills, just so he wouldn’t snoop at the bottle’s prescription and thus blow your cover. How much longer will I be able to keep this charade up for?

“I did,” Satoru airily replied, sounding rather impressed with himself. “Called Ijichi and asked where you were, since you weren’t at home, and you didn’t answer any of my texts. I even called you. Do you have your phone on silent or something?”

You stopped in your tracks to open your handbag, reaching in for the device. After rummaging around for a little bit, you pulled it out, and switched it on. Your lock screen greeted you with an onslaught of unread messages. “Oh. Sorry.”

“If you were just in there for pills, why didn’t you answer for an hour?” 

There it is. The beginning of the very interrogation you wanted to avoid. What the hell do I say? All kinds of excuses rushed through your head, before you realised that wording your reason for visiting the clinic right would, hopefully, suffice.

You sighed. “I had a gynaecologist appointment. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d insist on coming, and it was booked during your mission in Hokkaido. It was a small check-up and…” You gulped again, looking away, shrinking in on yourself in embarrassment. “I asked some questions about, uh, um…”

“Baby-making?” he offered, but there was a teasing lilt to his voice now.

“…Yeah,” you went with that. “Just…what to prepare for, if it’ll hurt, what pregnancy’s like, all that…”

“That’s the kind of thing you discuss with the husband in question, you know,” Satoru playfully chastised, and you still refused to meet his eyes. “I’d be more than happy to…educate you.”

You smacked his arm. “Why do you always make everything vulgar!”

“What? How else will you learn—ow, ow, okay! Not my ear! Stop twisting! I’ll shut up now!”

Satoru’s left earlobe was concerningly bright red after that, and he had a petulant, subdued expression on his face their entire car ride home, of which you stifled your snickers at. “Your fault for keeping your Infinity off around me.”

“You’re so mean to me,” he sniffed, arms crossed. “I was just trying to help you.”

“You can do that when we’re at home.”

He whipped around to gawk at you. “Wha—”

“Not like that!” God, you really needed to watch how you phrased things around this man. “Well, ye—” Then you remembered Ijichi’s presence in the car, and vehemently shook your head again. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Gojo Satoru! Honestly, what am I going to do with you?”

You bickered some more as the poor, blushing Ijichi finally pulled into the driveway, and you continued squabbling as you both shuffled into the house. You slid off your shoes and put them neatly aside, while he just threw them off and left them crooked and upside down on the shoe rack. “No! You put your shoes back tidily!”

“Yes, mother,” he grumbled, complying, and you clicked your tongue as you hobbled past. “I baby you too much, Satoru. Do I have to refuse you dessert like you’re a kid?”

“That’s okay, because I’ve got a different kind of dessert in mind.” A hand grasped your wrist, and you were pushed up against a wall in a flash. In fact, Satoru even hiked you up so your legs were around his waist, completely off the ground. Your cane fell to the floor with a clatter, and your husband buried his face into your neck. “Two days,” he mumbled. “Felt like I was about to die.”

“What—” His hands had gripped you beneath your thighs, keeping you securely pressed against him, and you couldn’t move. Satoru nibbled at your neck, and you subconsciously tilted your head to the side to allow him more room to move. “Mm!”

“And seeing you make all these efforts towards producing an heir…” he continued, and Satoru began pressing butterfly kisses to your jaw. “God, it shouldn’t get me going, considering our circumstances, but…ugh, you’re driving me up the wall.”

Then he snickered, a hand left one of your thighs to rip off his blindfold, and he tossed it somewhere, lidded blue eyes peering up at you in return. “No pun intended.”

“Let’s—let’s have dinner fir—oh!” Your entire body jolted when he suddenly pressed his crotch to yours with such friction, and you began to throb all over. It was strangely thrilling, despite being foreign, and intense. White-hot, like the way his mouth and tongue burned on the skin of your nape, leaving pink-and-blue marks in his lips’ wake. He’d nibble, suck, and soothe the light sting with his tongue, before moving on. Satoru continued to grind into you, and you tugged at his ivory hair, writhing.

“Think I’ve got a perfectly good meal right here,” he breathed, and you could feel him grin against your neck. “D’you know how irresistible you are?” Satoru emerged from your nape and moved in for your mouth. “Don’t think I’ll be able to keep myself under control for much longer, sweetheart.”

“Not—hm! Not h-here…” Up against the wall, in the foyer? You hadn’t even got the fire started in the mantel yet, and it was rather chilly inside the house. Well, it was—now, though, it felt like you were burning up all over, especially with his broad form caging you to the wall, pressed close, too close, so close you could feel each rumble of a groan and sigh from his chest. He was panting, breaths hot and fast against your mouth, and his lips brushed yours lightly, tantalisingly, and you frustratedly closed the gap. There was a chuckle, and the damned man knew what he was doing, but he delightedly indulged you, tongue pushing past the seam of your mouth and in. You gasped at the sheer passion of it, his ardency taking you completely off-guard, and you fully relaxed into his arms, limbless. Satoru hummed, pleased, and pushed you up the wall a bit further, grinding into you a bit more. And you could feel him, feel him swelling against you, and you flushed with molten heat from head to toe. 

“Not…hah…here?” he murmured between kisses, and you took every chance to steal a breath in, head spinning. It was messy, all over the place, leaving you both intensely dishevelled, and you were enjoying it immensely, as was he. “Just a little bit more?”

“We—We should get changed and—oh! Mmf…have dinner and—” You felt like both running away and shoving himagainst the wall simultaneously. You ran your hands through his hair and over the expanse of his shoulders, searching for something to hold onto securely, and began inadvertently pulling at his shirt. “And—go to bed…”

“Go to bed, hm?” Satoru’s nose nudged against yours, and his teeth tugged at your lower lip, mouth curling up into another grin. You were lucid enough to meet his gaze through your lashes, a cerulean like that of the summer sky reduced to a deep-sea, midnight blue, speckled with stars. Ready to wrench you beneath the waves, into its glorious abyss, gently cradling you as you go down, down and down. Shadowed, unsated. You didn’t know where to put yourself, and he took full advantage of your inarticulacy. “Continue this little venture there?”

“If…” you began, trying to gather your scattered, disordered wits, breathing hard. “If you want…”

Because it didn’t really feel like an obligation or a mere duty anymore, not after him pressing up into you, pelvises slotted together. Leaving much more to be had. 

“Yeah?” Satoru softly rumbled, against your neck again, lashes fluttering against your skin. “You sure? Don’t have to force yourself, y’know.”

“After you did that?” To demonstrate, you lightly shifted against his groin. “Look, we’re both all messy and flustered.”

He groaned, grip on your thighs tightening even more than they already had. “Don’t do that, or I’ll take you right against this wall.”

You froze, shocked, aware he wasn’t joking around. The man took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself before finally, with great reluctance, pulling away from you. Satoru set you down on your feet, stooped to grab your cane with a wince, and kissed your cheek. “I’ll cook dinner, because I need something to distract me for the time being.”

“Oh…okay.” If you weren’t so bewildered and abashed, you would’ve laughed a little at how his hair stuck up in all directions like he’d just rolled out of bed, shapely lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Satoru turned away, movements stiff. “First, though, I’m going to take a cold shower.”

Then he popped out of sight right before your eyes, making you startle a bit, and then you realised he’d teleported to the bathroom. You composed yourself as much as you could, tingling all over, and limped into the living room, collapsing into your window seat. 

Perhaps this is why all those romance novels always described these encounters so passionately, so feverishly, something that made you put your face in your hands or scream into a pillow. It doesn’t help that he's eager. Or were you beginning to contradict yourself now? You could hardly tell left from right anymore.

You straightened out your crumpled clothing and hobbled down the halls, for the main bedroom, into the wardrobe. You changed into your bathrobe, ready to take a shower after Satoru, and sat down on the bed. And then you, anxious, did some last-minute research on your phone about the deed. When that did no good, you resisted hurling your device through the bedroom’s ranch slider glass and left it on the bed, shuffling back into the lounge. 

You resigned yourself to it. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and you were glad Satoru had made such thoughtful attempts to help you feel comfortable around him. You just hoped all those stories you’d read about it being ‘an acting career’ were false, and you’d be fine.

Hold on. No. You had missed something. If I get pregnant so early, I won’t have time to open the bakery, save up funds, learn English, and get out! How could you have forgotten? All because of some silly little make-out session? Stupid! You idiot! You needed to put this off as long as you possibly could—until you were ready, and able to catch the first flight out for the States the moment that pregnancy test showed positive. 

You didn’t want to disappoint Satoru, though. Well, as long as there’s protection or I’m on birth control… Perhaps you could negotiate this with him, because you didn’t think he was all that keen on having a child. Who’d want a kid at twenty-two? And he’s only recently become a teacher!

That, and he had the Fushiguro siblings he sometimes took care of. No, you needed to think things through a bit more clearly, flesh out your plans some more. Not getting pregnant within the year won’t kill you, as you’d first mistakenly thought, and the binding vow will be fulfilled when you give birth. You could give birth in two, three, four years, and you’d be fine—as if you’d wait that long, though. 

At least, you hoped that was the case.

You still had so much to do—organise English lessons without Satoru or anyone else asking questions, start up your bakery (hope for the best in that regard) and save up as much as you can so housing, immigration fees, visas, all of that, wouldn’t be a problem. 

Then there was shouldering pressure from the elders and your aunt to consider. I need to write this all down, but I can’t when he’s here. 

That’s when he rounded the corner, into the kitchen, apparently not having noticed you seated on the couch, and you moved to get up. Let’s hope this doesn’t disappoint him too bad.

And, throughout it all, you dearly hope his positive attitude toward you remained the same for the time being. He could hate you, for all you cared, after you left, but just not now. Not when you get closer to your goal everyday, to a life where happiness isn’t such a pipe dream anymore.

Chapter Text

It had taken a little while to finally peel Megumi from his book and convince him to join you and his sister for baking; he was finally persuaded when you said that you’d all be making animal cookies, and then he asked, “Can we do my Divine Dogs like you said last week?”

You’d smiled. “Sure. What colour do you want the icing to be? We could do multiple ones.”

“Black and white!” Tsumiki had excitedly suggested. “And little red and yellow dots for their eyes, you know? Oh! We could also do your bunnies, Megumi! Your bunny shikigamis are so cute!”

Her little brother tried to cover up his cheeks puffing out in pride with annoyance. He crossed his arms. “…Fine,” he grumbled, as if he was only agreeing to get you two off his back.

You grinned a bit at the boy, before turning and hobbling into the kitchen. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Earlier, you had commanded Satoru to go and take a nap. You get hardly enough sleep, you’d said, free hand on your hip. I don’t care if you’re ‘the strongest’ or whatever. You need rest.

Only when you agreed to bake him a chocolate mud cake did he obey, and you still somehow doubted he was actually sleeping. He was probably lying in bed, scrolling through his phone, and you supposed that was enough. The man needed to wind down sometimes, take a break, let himself relax. So you turned to the children and instructed them to grab out some bowls, measuring spoons and measuring cups as you preheated the oven, and refrained from going and checking up on him.

“We’ll make the cookies first, and then we’ll get started on the cake,” you said, opening the cookbook Satoru had once come home with and presented to you weeks ago. You were overjoyed, and so was he when he realised that gave him full permission to shove you up against the kitchen counter and smother your mouth with his own. “Good thing I made Satoru buy cookie cutters, huh?”

Tsumiki tittered an excited affirmation, while Megumi carefully inspected said cookie cutters with pursed lips. “None of these look like my dogs.”

“Why’s that?” You turned and reached out a hand, silently asking him to hand you the items he was scrutinising, and had a look at it yourself. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

He pointed to where the ears were. “They’re floppy. My dogs look like wolves. Pointy ears.”

“Oh, I see.” You nodded, setting the cutters down on the counter. “I’m sure I can work something out with shaping the dough. Would you grab me the flour, Megumi?”

He obediently turned and reached for it, while Tsumiki read the recipe with rapt attention. “Okay, we need to beat the sugar, butter, vanilla and egg into one bowl. Should we melt the butter?”

“Does the recipe say to?” These moments with the children was a good opportunity to teach them how to manage themselves in the kitchen, while making it very enjoyable for you. It was nice, baking with two little helpers. Ones that were responsible and didn’t kick up a fuss.

Tsumiki squinted at the page. “It doesn’t say to or not to.” She blinked up at you. “What do you think?”

“It’s easier to mix everything together when the butter is melted,” you supplied, glancing at the recipe yourself. “A cup of butter. Hm. Okay.”

Good thing you had gotten the butter out of the fridge earlier so it was soft when ready to be used. “Here, pass me the measuring up there, please, Megumi.” He quickly handed it to you as you unwrapped the stick of butter and slowly sliced through its soft texture. Soon, the butter was melted, and you let Tsumiki beat the sugar and butter with the electric mixer, steadying her hold on the bowl and slightly adjusting her rotations of the beater through the ingredients. “Hold it like this, and keep the whisks deep into the mixture so none will spray everywhere. That’s it! You get the hang of things quickly, don’t you?”

After adding in the egg and vanilla, you assigned Megumi to grabbing out the sieve and dusting the cups of flour into the bowl, along with the baking soda and powder. Soon, the entire mixture was a smooth dough, ready to be rolled out flat on the floured counter with the rolling pin, and you allowed both of the children to press the cutters into it. “Here, Megumi, let me use some spare dough to make the dogs have pointy ears.”

The boy was visibly pleased—a refreshing expression that differed greatly from his usual sullen look. Tsumiki began teasing him with her flour-coated hands, and Megumi grabbed one of the spatulas as a weapon. “Get back!”

You let them fool around for a little bit as you made sure as little dough as possible was wasted, and then placed the shaped cookies on a baking-paper-lined tray and slid them into the oven. “There!” You smiled and clapped your mittened hands together, casting a glance at the clock. “Now we wait for around ten minutes. In the meantime, we can make the frosting!”

The food colourings available were orange, pink, white and black, and Tsumiki tugged on your apron and asked if the bunnies could be pink. Megumi fixed her with an unimpressed look. “My bunnies are white, though.”

“So? These cookies aren’t yours. They’re for all of us.”

“Yeah, but they’re my shikigami—”

“They can be both.” You could see the petty argument on its way, and swiftly shut it down before they could begin squabbling. “We made quite a few, so one half of the bunny-shaped cookies can be white, while the others can be pink, alright? Should we add sprinkles?”

Tsumiki and Megumi agreed to add sprinkles to the pink ones, while leaving the dog ones plain with their black and white icing. They began bickering about whether to add little dots for eyes on the cookies, and you jumped as two arms wound their way around your waist.

A chin settled on your shoulder. “Smells amazing.”

You relaxed when you quickly realised it was just Satoru. You continued mixing the black frosting together in its own bowl, the other two set aside and completed. “We made sugar cookies. Megumi wanted them to look like his shikigami.”

Satoru nudged your nape softly with his nose. “I was a bit worried those two would get out of hand and blow up the kitchen.”

“They’re good kids. They won’t do that.” It was rather hard to move around with him clinging to you like a koala. “Please let me go. I need to take the tray out of the oven.”

He yawned and unwound himself from you, picking up the mittens off the counter. “I’ll grab it. Megumi, Tsumiki, put that down before you hurt yourselves.”

The siblings halted in their tracks of smacking each other over the head with a pot the boy had seemed to have found, and they both petulantly obeyed. Once Satoru opened the oven, however, and the delicious scent of baked sugar cookies flared out, they were soon crowding around your husband and trying to have a peek at the golden treats on the tray.

Megumi took one look and sighed. “They don’t even look like my shikigami anymore.”

“We’ll make do,” you reassured, patting his head. “Once the icing’s on them, they’ll look perfect.”

After getting Satoru to hold the piping bags open as you poured the icing into them, you attempted the first cookie with great focus. Keeping your hands as steady as you could, you slowly outlined the shape of the biscuit first, all three others crowded around you and watching with rapt interest.

“Everyone, move away.” You felt like a bug under a microscope—the pressure was intense, and their scrutiny wasn’t helping. “You’ll make me mess up.”

“Let me have a go.” Satoru held out his hands for the piping bag. “I’m good at everything, so I’ll be good at this too!”

Megumi scrunched his nose at the man like he smelled something particularly repugnant. “I bet you’ll mess it up immediately.”

“I won’t!” Your husband held the bag in one hand as he exaggeratedly flexed a bicep. “You underestimate me sorely, Megumi.”

The end result was a messily, wonkily-iced sugar cookie, to which Megumi heaved a long suffering sigh, and fixed you with an unimpressed look. “Why did you let him have the bag?”

Again, the boy managed to surprise you with just how beyond his years he looked when he had such an expression on his face. You shrugged. “You know what he’s like.”

Satoru let out an offended, “hey!” in response, before placing his hands on his hips. “I don’t know about you guys, but that cookie is masterfully iced. You wouldn’t be able to recognise art if it hit you in the face.”

Megumi rolled his eyes while you patted Satoru’s shoulder in mock-comfort. “You poor thing. It seems you’ve already got too much talent in everything else for any to be spared for baking.”

“I made these amazing blueberry muffins when I was seventeen, thank you, and they were perfect!” 

You all spent the next three hours icing the rest of the cookies before the strain on your leg became too much for you. Regardless, you told the trio to go and sit down while you cleaned up the kitchen, biscuits in the fridge and setting, before you got ready to start on the chocolate cake.

The kids were in the lounge and watching TV when Satoru rounded the island bench and picked you up out of the blue. 

“What—Satoru! I told you to go and sit down!”

“After you’ve been on your feet for hours, running around after us?” He passed the living room and headed down the hall for your bedroom, clicking his tongue. “Not happening. You look like you’re about to collapse. Why do you always overwork yourself when your leg can’t handle it?”

“My leg is fine. I’m not weak, and you said you wanted a chocolate cake—”

“Never mind the chocolate cake.” He entered the bedroom and set you down on the bed, taking your cane from you, and then got to his knees. Blue eyes peered up at you over the rims of his shades intently, and you immediately opened your mouth to protest, but he cut in before you could get a word out. “And when did I even insinuate that you were weak?” Satoru shook his head, ivory hair bobbing with the movement. “No. You’re sitting right here, and I’m going to massage your leg.”

“You don’t need to get on your knees to do tha—”

You had a warm, ankle-length skirt on that day, perfectly modest, but you flushed from head to toe with intense heat when he casually pushed your skirt up until it bunched around your waist and eased your slippers off your socked feet. You hardly even had the time to exclaim in embarrassment when he, with gentle fingers, began kneading the flesh of your calf, easing his way up your leg gradually, and you almost groaned in relief. Satoru even had the audacity to cock his head coyly at you. “I don’t need to get on my knees for what?”

“For—For…” you stammered, involuntarily, physically thawing at the lovely alleviation he was rubbing into your upper calf, at the bend of your knee. Your hands pressed back into the mattress below you. “This…oh.”

He chuckled silkily, and the damned man just knew what he was doing. “Is that so? I don’t see you complaining, sweetheart.” He lifted your leg up so it was bent and the underside of your thigh was reachable. “In fact, you appear to be enjoying this quite a bit.”

“I’ll kick you if you keep being smart,” you grumbled, rather weakly, and your head lolled back when his big hands massaged the plush of your thigh. “Mm, oh…you idiot…you know exactly how to play me, don’t you?”

You’d half-expected him to push you back into the bed and reach for your most intimate spots, but he was still extremely respectful of your boundaries. Last week, however, when you’d had that impromptu, almost-tryst against the wall, and had agreed to continue things later, you had still backed out.

The look on his face was something like disappointment, exasperation, and had also appeared completely unsurprised. Like he’d expected you to renege. Now, you dropped your eyes, making a show of closing them, because you didn’t want to see his own, the glint in them, and the temptation that came with it.

Satoru’s fingers dug into your skin and kneaded a knot in the muscle away. “You’re like a grumpy cat. Pat it right and it’ll begrudgingly curl up into you and snooze later on.”

You half-opened your eyes and squinted at him. “That’s a strange analogy. I’d say the real grumpy cat here is Megumi.”

Your husband snorted in agreement, and his hands slid down to your calf again. “Yeah. But you should see yourself in the mornings sometimes. Dozing away like a housecat in the sun. It’s cute.”

You blinked. Cute? “I usually wake up before you do.” 

“Sometimes I turn your alarm off so you can sleep in,” Satoru confides casually. “It must get tiring, waking up at the crack of dawn and fixing me breakfast. You don’t have to, you know.”

“Of course I do. It’s what a wife does.”

“I don’t want to hear all that old-fashioned bullshit.” He lifted one hand and playfully waggled a forefinger at you. “If I had that mindset, I wouldn’t be eagerly instructing my female students on how to really kick ass. I want them to become strong enough to even kick my ass one day.” Satoru squinted up at the ceiling, humming. “I’ll have to be old and wrinkly and stiff for that to happen, though.”

You bit back a sigh of pleasure when he kneaded a particularly tight knot out of your thigh. “You’ll be eighty and still as sprightly as you are now.” It must have been nice, being fully able-bodied and fit enough to prance around however he liked. You glanced at your leg, watching his hands, and pursed your lips. Yeah. Must be really nice.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so foolish, you wouldn’t be here right now, envious of your husband’s natural, honed strength and the privilege he had of being able to move around however he pleased, whenever he pleased, for as long as he pleased. You were only little when it happened, but it was a dire mistake nonetheless, and ended you up here, being attended to by the strongest sorcerer alive like he was some kind of dutiful handmaiden. You were ashamed.

“You’re right. I will be,” he agreed, scrunching his nose so his shades slid up. “But if I die, I want to go out with a bang.”

“As in, in some great battle or something?”

“Yeah. And if I am killed—which I won’t be, by the way—my opponent has to be pretty damn good. So strong, I actually wouldn’t mind it. Managing to kill me? The strongest? Not even Toji Fushiguro could do that!”

“Didn’t you say you very nearly died?”

“Cut me some slack! I was, like, sixteen.” He squeezed your calf in gentle pumps. “And still extremely strong. Old man hardly had time to think before I sent my Hollow Purple plowing into him.”

You shivered a bit at the draught on your bare legs and the warmth of his hands. “And you mastered RCT then, yes?” 

“You remember! I knew you were listening to me during that car ride.” He grinned up at you. “Acting all unbothered and tired of me already. I thought it was funny.”

You rolled your eyes at him, rather embarrassed. “You raved on and on about it. I bet you kiss your reflection goodnight when I’m not looking.”

“Why would I need to do that when I’ve got you?” That’s when he got up and placed a knee between your legs and hovered above you, making you back away and down into the mattress. “I’ve got something much prettier to kiss right here.”

You, despite being thrown off-guard and flustered, lifted a brow at him. “I’m prettier than you?”

“Well, maybe not quite as pretty as me,” he teased, playfully poking your cheek. “But I could still stare at you all day and not get tired.”

You shook your head, resigned, and relaxed into the bed. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Satoru. Are you going to get off me now?”

“Nope!” Satoru slowly pushed your leg up so it was fully bent. “I’m basically a qualified chiropractor. We have to do stretches!”

“Chiropractors don’t work with muscles and ligaments, silly. That’s an orthopaedic.”

“Same thing. Anyway! How does that feel?” The strain on your leg burned, but it was a rather nice stretch. You grimaced nonetheless, and then remembered with a flush that your skirt was fully bunched around your waist and he could see your undergarments. Hurriedly, you adjusted your clothing so that everything was covered, scowling at that knowing grin of his. “Wipe that smirk off your face! You’re being annoying on purpose, aren’t you?”

“What’d I do?” he innocently queried in reply, still grinning. “Am I not allowed to admire my pretty wife when she’s splayed on the bed like this?”

You flushed even more. “Are you a pervert? You’re doing this as an excu—ouch! Careful!”

One of his hands adjusted the position of your other leg while he slowly straightened out your weak one, maybe a bit too quickly, for a bolt of pain shot through your calf and thigh muscles. He jumped to apologise. “Sorry! And how is a husband a pervert when he’s admiring the woman he’s married to?”

Your hands came up and over your face, and you groaned. “You’re such an idiot. Why am I letting you do all this?”

“Because, as much as you deny it, you like me.”

“I’d like you better if your mouth was sewed shut.”

“You’d like me better if my mouth was on yours.”

“Be quiet!” You bolted up and smacked his shoulder, shoving his face away. “That’s it! My leg feels great now, thank you! It’s almost six, isn’t it? I’ll go put dinner on!”

“You’re staying right here.” In amongst his sniggering, he managed to grasp your wrists together, toss you back onto the bed, and then proceed to use the duvet to wrap you up. “You’ve been up on your feet all day, and I won’t have you falling over because you don’t know when to stop.” Everything was blurry as he rolled you over and made sure the blanket was snugly swaddled around you. “There! Aw, you look like a sushi roll!” Satoru grabbed his phone out. “Say cheese!”

“You’re so annoying!” He probably couldn’t hear you, as your words were muffled by the comforter. “Let me out! Are you really trapping me in here, like this? Give me my cane!”

“You’ll beat me up with it!” Satoru whined in protest, and sparkling blue eyes peered down at you from above. You were so tightly wrapped up, you couldn’t move your hands to punch at him. “I’ll go make dinner. Nice and warm, right? Have a sleep and I’ll wake you up when the meal’s served!”

“No!” Your objections fell on deaf ears as his mop of white hair disappeared from view and you could hear him padding for the door, giggling. “Gojo Satoru! Get back here, or I’ll do way worse than beat you over the head with my cane! At least put me out in the lounge!”

Spring finally arrived, but the wintry chill in the air still had you making sure Satoru left the house with an extra layer. Except, today, on a sunny Sunday morning in early March, your husband had you seated in the car he had just driven into the driveway, announcing this was your new, shared vehicle.

“Today,” he began excitedly, smile wide and beaming, “is your first driving lesson!”

“I don’t know if I will be able to do this…” Previous hopes of learning how to drive deflated once you had sat in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel, feet on the pedals. It strained your weak limb quite a bit. “My leg isn’t strong enough.”

“You’ll be fine!” Satoru insisted, and his hands gently guided your feet so your left foot was on the clutch, and your right one was on the brake. “It doesn’t take too much strength. Now! Shift your foot so it’s on the accelerator.”

You did as told, and your grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles white. Why is this so scary? You pressed your lips together and willed the nausea coiling in your stomach away. “…What if I crash the car, Satoru?”

He snorted. “You won’t crash the car. We’ll start off slow, at your pace. Now, press down on the accelerator and move the car forward.”

Very delicately, you pushed the pedal and gritted your teeth, nails digging into the leather of the wheel, and the vehicle began to advance.

“You can go a bit faster, you know.” The idiot beside you looked quite relaxed and right at home, one elbow propped up on the car door and cheek in hand. Satoru was blindfolded today, ivory locks all spiked up, and his knit sweater hugged those broad shoulders very nicely. “We won’t crash.”

“This speed is good,” you said shortly, sweat beading above your upper lip. “Perfectly fine.”

The car eased along the pavement toward the driveway. Satoru sighed. “You don’t have to absolutely floor it, baby. Just go a little bit faster, yeah?”

It was like your entire body was locked up from the anxiety. “No.” 

“People walk faster than this speed.”

“Stop! You’re making me even more nervous.” The car hadn’t even reached the driveway yet. “I am not about to send this vehicle into a tree.”

“And you won’t.” He was being surprisingly patient and genial. “Here—if I put one hand on the steering wheel with you, will that make you feel a bit more comfortable?”

Shakily, you dropped your left hand from the wheel and let his take its place, before drawing in a deep breath and applying a tiny bit more pressure to the accelerator. Too much, it seemed, though—the car jerked forward, almost throwing both you and Satoru through the windshield, and you immediately yanked your foot away from the pedal with heavy breaths. “I can’t do this!”

Your husband’s mouth wobbled, cheeks pink. You scowled. “Don’t you dare laugh! I didn’t know that was going to happen, and I was being careful!”

He bit down on his bottom lip in an attempt to refrain from laughing. “It’s—hm!” Satoru’s hand came up to cover his mouth, shoulders shaking. “I’m…I’m sorry. It’s just—your face! The look on your face!”

You smacked his shoulder. “Stop it! Is this what you do whenever your students make a mistake? You’re a horrible teacher!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” He grabbed your hand, still chuckling, and kissed it in a cheesy effort to soothe you. “I’m sorry. Are you alright? Good thing we had our seatbelts on!”

You rolled your eyes with the petulance a twenty-year-old shouldn’t have, rivalling Satoru’s. “This makes me half-wish you were sent flying.”

“Even then, I would be unharmed,” he smugly shot back, crossing his arms. “All you need to do now is just relax.” Satoru’s hand came up and he tucked a stray strand of hair, plastered to your sweaty forehead, behind your ear gently. “That way, you really won’t crash us.”

“I…ugh.” You blinked rapidly and got a hold of yourself. “Okay—okay. Just…don’t talk unless you absolutely have to, alright?”

He let out a whine. “But why? How else am I supposed to help you calm do—”

“Your yapping isn’t helping!” you exclaimed, exasperated and flustered. You held up a forefinger and fixed him with a stern look. “Teasing me will make it worse. If I’m doing something wrong, tell me—but, apart from that, please don’t annoy me.”

Satoru stared at you and pursed his lips. “Alright, you win.” He made a show of zipping up his mouth. “I’ll be quiet!”

You nodded and turned back to face the wheel. “Okay, good. Please put your hand on the wheel again.”

He silently obeyed, but you could still feel the amusement emanating from him. You gritted your teeth in irritation and let it slide, easing your foot down on the accelerator again. Your limp leg was rather strained from using it in such an unfamiliar fashion, but you forced yourself to suck it up and get the car moving.

It began crawling forward again, and you added some more pressure, speeding it up. Your free hand, subconsciously, came up and gripped his over the steering wheel, and his steady hold helped you relax a little.

“Here, let’s do it like this.” Satoru wriggled his hand out from under yours, your left one now clasping the wheel freely, and he placed his on top, warm and stable. “If you start to veer off or something, I’ll guide you back on track, sound good?”

“…Yeah,” you shakily agreed. This is absolutely nerve-wracking, and we’re so far away from actual traffic! The main road the driveway turned into was usually completely deserted—the perfect place for a driving lesson without any mishaps or collisions with fellow drivers. Still, you were deathly afraid you’d accidentally drive you both into a tree or something. I need to calm down. It’s okay. He’s here, we’ll be fine.

Satoru’s hold on your hand eased you a bit, and you relaxed into your seat further, before allowing the car to move forward at a reasonable pace, following the curves of your home’s access road. He mostly allowed you to turn the wheel accordingly, but sometimes he made sure the car steered a bit further this way or that, just to make sure the vehicle didn’t go right into the bush and trees lining the driveway.

“Okay, now you need to slowly brake and come to a stop just at the end of the road,” he instructed, pointing to where the driveway ended and the main road began. “Then turn on your indicator, check if there’s any—slow down, slow down, baby.” Your entire form was locked up, and you could hardly make your foot move to the brake and press down. But he smiled reassuringly, completely calm, and rubbed your knuckles with his thumb. “Slow down a bit, yeah? Otherwise you’ll stop right out in the middle of the road. If there’s cars coming, it’ll be a problem.”

“I’m trying!” you choked out, and you forced your limp leg to move. “It’s my leg. It’s not working!”

“It’s okay. Relax for me, alright, sweetheart? Just slowly push down on the brake and stop the car.”

You sucked in a deep breath and forced your leg to move, biting down on your bottom lip. “Satoru, I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can. You can, just try to calm down and—”

“Stop telling me to calm down!” you snapped, voice strangled, much too harsh. You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second before opening them again. God, this is awful! “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m trying, I really am—it’s just my leg. And I’m scared I’m going to kill us!”

“I’ve put some Infinity up around the car, so even if you do go off the road, we won’t be hurt,” he soothed, and didn’t sound offended. “And I can always take your seat and back us out. We’ll be fine.”

“What if there’s a bank around here somewhere I could accidentally drive us over?” you fretted. “What could you do then?”

“You need to trust me on this one, alright?” He watched as you finally inched the vehicle to a halt, and you slumped in relief. “There!”

“Well done.” He brought your left hand from the wheel and to his lips, placing a chaste, congratulatory kiss to your knuckles. “And there’s the odd ditch, but not enough to hurt us or be a massive emergency. I’m here, remember?” Satoru jutted his thumb at himself proudly. “I’d be able to show off my super-strength if something like that did happen!”

You let out something like a snort, too nervous to think straight. “What, are you Superman or something?” 

“Pretty much.” He entwined his fingers with yours. “Now, you wanna try driving along the road or is this enough for the day?”

“This is enough for the day,” you immediately affirmed, shaking your head. “Let’s—Let’s try that another time.”

“Alright.” Satoru let your hand go and turned to open his door. “Let’s swap seats and I’ll reverse us back into the garage.” 

You went slack against the car when you stepped out of it, weak leg numb, and you felt like throwing up. How on earth am I supposed to learn how to drive when I’m like this, especially when the time comes for me to leave? Perhaps you’d just have to hail a cab or something. Yes, that would be more convenient.

But you also needed your licence for when you opened your online bakery. Trips into town would become necessary, especially for in-person discussions with clients if needed, and for organising delivery means. Using a taxi or having Ijichi come and pick you up every day or so would not be practical in the long run.

Hands gripped your waist, pulled you forward, and then you were in the air. “Pretty tiring, huh?”

You didn’t have much energy left in you, so you just went limp in his arms and rested your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes. “I got stressed out and overreacted. Sorry.”

“You’re fine.” Satoru held you comfortably in one arm as he opened the door that connected the garage to the main house and entered. “Things take time to adjust to. Soon, you’ll have your licence before you even know it! Then you can run your aunt over with the car.”

You let out a rather unladylike snort that had your husband snickering also. “You say the darndest things sometimes, Satoru.”

“What? I’m only speaking the truth.” His free hand dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, and his tone sobered. “Because…we may have a small problem.”

Your amusement died. “…What is it?”

Satoru opened messages on his phone and tapped on one contact, showing you the latest text message. “We’ve been invited—well, ordered, really—to have dinner with your aunt, your clan’s chief and your grandfather, at your family estate later this week.”

You swallowed. You took a breath. Then you took another. “…When, exactly?”

“Wednesday.” The phone was in your hands, and he continued further into the house, heading for the main living area. The words on screen didn’t really register in your brain. “We all know what it’s going to be about.”

You switched it off and turned your face into his neck. “Seems I can’t put this off for much longer, huh?”

“Nope.” Satoru flopped down on a sofa with you right across his lap, and he spread his legs so you could sit in the space between them, his arms around your middle. He accepted his phone back. “Are you scared?”

His tone was gentle, if a bit playful, but there was no detectable mockery or derision in his voice. Yes, you were scared—frightened, even, but your main reason was completely different. This was inevitable, though, I suppose. So you shrugged halfheartedly. “I guess so.”

“Don’t be. It’s supposed to be a husband and wife’s happy time!” Satoru gave you a squeeze and nuzzled your nape. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I just do.” You felt him shrug. “I don’t understand why people are all so hush-hush about it. How d’you think you and I got here?”

You leaned back into him. “The elders certainly haven’t been very hush-hush about our private life.”

“Eh. I just have to scare them a little and they’ll leave us alone.” He held up one hand in front of you, his right one, and made a sign with it. Thumb on his middle finger, Satoru made a flicking motion as he whispered pah! in your ear. “And then, boom! Hollow Purple saves the day yet again.”

“You’ll throw a massive, purple orb at them just to shut them up?”

“It’ll permanently shut them up, because they’ll be blown to bits.” You didn’t have to turn to see and know he was grinning widely. “I can’t wait until that day comes!”

That made you a little unsettled, but you agreed with him more than not. “Yes. Good riddance.”

Satoru drew you in close again, chin on your shoulder. “I have an idea. Let’s poison your aunt’s wine.”

“Goodness, Satoru!” You couldn’t help a laugh this time. “Do you always think about different ways to kill off the elders one by one?”

“All the time,” he affirmed with a snicker. “They don’t ever seem to have any qualms about sending so many young, bright sorcerers to their deaths, so why should I have qualms about sending them to theirs?”

You patted his forearm, coiled around your middle. “And who can stop you?”

“Exactly.” The man placed a smooch to the skin of your nape, before lightly nibbling. “So, really, although we’ll have to bend to their will for this one small thing, it’ll all pay off in the long run! You can do the honours when it comes to your aunt.”

One small thing? You weren’t too fond of this morbid turn of conversation, so you pursed your lips and switched topics. “Yeah. Anyway, shall I get dinner on?”

“I can cook!” he said, adjusting himself so his strong thighs had you well and truly locked in place. This idiot. Why is he so clingy? “Your leg must be sore after all that. And it’s only half-past three, anyway. Way too early to eat yet.”

“I thought you liked to eat.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

You turned your head away a bit so he couldn’t see your grin. “Am I?”

He huffed in exaggerated offence. “If I’m fat, then it’s your fault! I’m hardly the reason why your cooking is so good.”

“Well, then, I suppose you can go without all those desserts I whip up you, if you’re so worried—”

“No need!” Satoru used one hand to turn your face his way and then promptly placed a quick peck to your mouth. “I’m perfectly healthy, not an ounce overweight. So you can keep fattening me up with your apple pies all day.”

You wished you could relate. How nice it would be to have fast metabolism. You looked away, shifting a bit in his hold. Imagine how dreadful I’ll look when I get pregnant! You wouldn’t blame the man if he took that chance to get rid of you then—which would be, despite the hurt it would inflict, optimal.

“I know that look. What’re you troubling yourself about now?” He tilted his head and tipped your chin up so you had to look at him again. “Whatever it is, worry about it later. Or never. Now, give me a kiss.”

“You idiot, wai—mmph!” 

He’s always been good at getting your mind off things, and perhaps that was one of those instances; he had a good idea about how much you hated and dreaded your aunt, so he pushed you into the couch and pressed your middle flush against his, stealing every breath from you, just so you would forget about the scheduled dinner for a little while. You appreciated that about him. 

“Feeling better?” Satoru’s blindfold was dangling around his neck, pretty blue eyes sparkling, mouth pink and swollen. “Want me to make you feel even more better?”

You smacked his shoulder and turned away, abashed. “Oh, put a cork in it, you big oaf. Now get off me. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“One small problem.” He didn’t look very worried. “You don’t have your cane on you.”

“Then go get it for me.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

“I will punch you.”

“So scary! Might be even worse of a fate than being impaled by a certain someone’s walking stick.”

Huffing, you began to get up and pushed at his solid frame to force him back. “Satoru, I actually need to go to the bathroom. We can…” You averted your eyes. “Resume once I’ve gone.”

“Deal!” He jumped up and tugged his blindfold back on. “Stay there. I’ll be right back!”

You relaxed into the sofa and closed your eyes as he rushed off, exhausted. Your fatigue had been getting worse of late, borderline chronic, and endometriosis pains helped nothing. Regardless, you pushed forward, because freedom was in reach. 

Just a few more obstacles to go, I suppose. You rubbed your eyes and yawned. Just a little bit more.

Chapter Text

Asuka, despite you having rarely ever seen her when you did live on estate grounds, had gotten taller.

She must be almost sixteen. Her birthday was in May, as far as you could recall, and she was growing into far more than just a promising young woman. Asuka was pretty, something your aunt seemed to delight in holding over your head, but more than that, she was strong. You looked like a right joke next to her. But, regardless, you never compared the girl to her mother, nor did you ever fault her for your aunt’s heinous deeds toward you. Asuka was only a pawn to the woman, anyway; all your aunt cared about was honing the pride of your clan into something to be used by her and feared by others.

Great-uncle said they were financially struggling, didn’t they? If assets and value dropped, reputation would soon follow. Your marriage to the Gojo clan’s own pride, Gojo Satoru, would have drastically increased your family’s standing within the jujutsu world. To add to that, Asuka was well on her way to becoming a force to be reckoned with, and that was evident in the way Satoru regarded her.

He took one look and pursed his lips thoughtfully, before leaning down and whispering to you, “Any chance she could be enrolled at Jujutsu Tech and I’d be able to take her under my wing?”

“Why?” you inquired, blinking up at him. “Do you think she’d make a good student?”

“I can feel her cursed energy. Absolutely overflowing.” He shrugged casually, as if he were only commenting on the weather. “Even now, despite not having attended the school at all, I can tell she’s already one formidable sorceress. And considering your clan’s technique, she might even pose a threat to me someday.”

The girl was busy speaking with some other guest: turns out, the ‘dinner’ you’d both been invited to was a massive gathering between multiple clan heads and sorcerers, even some from foreign countries. You frowned. What on earth is the occasion to call for such an event to this multitude?

You cast another glance your cousin’s way. “I could ask her, if you’d like. Asuka’s a nice girl. I think she’d like to get away from her mother.”

“Great! She’ll be my second third-year.” Satoru had swapped out his black blindfold for white bandages today, but you could tell his eyes were dancing beneath it. “In fact, it might pay to just push her up another year already. She’s at least a Grade 1 sorcerer at the moment.”

Your eyes went wide. “Truly? Last time I was here, she was only Semi-Grade 2!”

He seemed to be in a rather jovial mood: perhaps the prospect of taking in another pupil, and a strong, talented one at that, made him happy. “Well on her way to Special Grade. Kid’s gonna be strong. Up there with Megumi.”

“You must enjoy teaching a lot,” you remarked, tilting your head up at him. “You always look cheerful every time you speak of your students.”

“I feel like a proud dad whenever I watch them beat up a curse!” The man was pressed close to you and didn’t seem to notice the strange looks he was getting, simply because you were both murmuring amiably to each other. Why is the strongest being affectionate and conversational with the defect of jujutsu society? was the question plastered all over the guests’ faces. You were intensely uncomfortable under all their scrutiny—it was a given such would happen, considering your husband’s fame, and the curiosity these people would have towards just what kind of woman his wife would be. The disappointment was visible on all their faces.

Plain. Weak. An absolute joke. What on earth was the Gojo clan thinking? they ask. What sorcerer in their right mind, especially one of his calibre and sheer power, would take the hand of a defect in marriage?

Fair enough, you thought. You still wished none of this ever happened. Yes, he was affectionate and kind to you, but it was, you agreed, more or less strange. 

He was yabbering away about something in your ear, but you’d long zoned out, contemplating how to get out of here as soon as possible. Then there was a tug on your hand, entwined with his, and he whined, “Why are you ignoring me?”

It was loud enough for numerous surrounding guests to hear, and you felt the warmth crawl up your neck from the side-eyes and curled lips. Embarrassed, you frowned and hissed at him, “be a bit quieter! There are many ears here, Satoru.”

“So? Why would I care?” The man tilted his head at you in genuine puzzlement, like the notion of taking bystanders and their opinions into consideration was utterly, completely foreign and ridiculous. “Am I not allowed to chat with my wife, no matter the location? Is that a crime now?”

“N…No,” you conceded, lowering your head. “But…there’s just…a lot of people here that are looking for any kind of opening to get to you.”

“And you’re that opening?”

“…I suppose.”

“Well, then! We’ll just have to make a statement, won’t we?” Satoru flashed a grin and leaned into your space. “Show that no one is to touch Gojo Satoru’s beloved wife, yeah?”

“Wai—” And he kissed you deeply right in front of at least a hundred guests, gripping your waist and pulling you in close. Amusement simply oozed from him; he was grinning into your mouth, prying your lips open, and his tongue dove in. You couldn’t hear anything around you, only the soft noises of delight he was making and your muffled squeaks. Clutching at his light blue kimono, as everyone, except for the foreigners, were dressed in traditional garb, you could feel his hand inching for the tie of your obi, and you immediately panicked. Is this guy insane? Was he really going to take this so far as to even pretend to undress you, in front of everyone, just to assert dominance over them all—as if that was ever even needed in the first place?

“Sa—Satoru!” you managed out, forcibly detaching your mouth from his. I swear, he’s going to eat my entire face off someday! What on earth made him so passionate? You fought for breath and broke away, lowering your head so, even as he leaned even further into your space, following your mouth, he couldn’t have another try. The room was so silent, you could hear a pin drop. “Enough!”

All eyes were turned to the latest, most unexpected couple—Gojo Satoru and you, his wife. And their mouths were agape, as yours would be too if you just witnessed a wedded pair start making out in front of everyone. Your face and neck and ears were on fire, and you had gone mostly limp against the arm that had encircled your waist. And Satoru looked extremely proud of himself.

He turned to the crowd. “Enjoyed the show?”

With a whole lot of clearing of throats and flustered blinks, everybody gradually returned to their previous conversations and business. The atmosphere was excruciatingly awkward and tense, and you felt like you could simply disintegrate and fade away right then. Mouth throbbing, you turned and fixed your husband with a sharp look—well, as sharp as you could manage, as you were shaking all over. “Gojo Satoru.”

“Uh-oh.” He bit down on his swollen bottom lip to keep from smiling. “Am I in trouble?”

“Do you have a death wish?” You tugged harshly at his kimono sleeve. “Why must you always embarrass me in front of everyone? Are you incapable of leaving it alone until we’re behind doors?”

“I was simply making a point,” he replied, shrugging. “Not too big of a deal. I’ll do it again if you keep scolding me.”

“I’ll scold you until you get it through your—oh! Satoru—mm—” The idiot continuously pecked at your lips over and over, cutting you off. Could he possibly humiliate you any more? “Stop—hm!” You pounded a chest against his chest. Air! I can’t breathe! “Mmph—Gojo Satoru, I’ll kill y—”

Mercifully, two sharp claps broke through the thick, awkward tension in the room, and you immediately took that chance to jump away and put a good three metres of distance between you and your husband. He immediately whined in protest, trailing after you, but you held a hand out and stopped him at arms’ length, breathing heavily. “No.”

Satoru huffed a “fine” just as a voice spoke above all the murmuring in the room. “If I could have your attention, everyone!” The murmuring throughout the hall faded, and your great-uncle, an unsmiling man, attempted an accommodating one. “Thank you. Welcome! It is a great pleasure to have you all here this evening. This occasion calls for great celebration within this age-old clan—a commemorative dinner honouring the recent marriage of my dearest grand-niece, to the great pride of the Gojo clan, Gojo Satoru!”

You were half-expecting an entire spotlight to suddenly shine on you both with how each and every face turned toward you, and you looked up at Satoru in great astoundment. And horror. We weren’t informed of this at all!

He stared back behind his bandages in equal surprise, before shrugging and plastering a wide, phoney smile across his pretty face, and drew you into his side with an arm around your middle. “Goodness! Certainly does call for celebration, doesn’t it?”

Of course you weren’t informed of it. You’d have refused to attend if they had. Awkward applause filtered throughout the room as the speaker, your great-uncle, continued. “Aha…yes! A celebration of the clear, uh, affection that you evidently have for my grand-niece. A heartwarming sight…indeed.”

Equally awkward mumbles of agreement rippled throughout the area, before being abruptly cut off by two doors slamming open. Everyone whirled around, and in sauntered Chinatsu, your aunt. You held back a sigh. A dramatic entrance. Typical.

“Well!” she beamed, dolled up and dressed to the nines in her silken, floral kimono and woven, ebony hair. “Isn’t this quite the gathering? How wonderful it is to have you all in attendance tonight!”

Subconsciously, you clutched at Satoru just a bit tighter, before forcing yourself to relax. That damn woman. When will I stop bristling like a threatened cat at the mere sight of her? Perhaps on the day she dies. You smiled sardonically to yourself. Satoru better hurry up with his plan on slaughtering all these old coots.

Your aunt’s true nature was rather obscure to the outside world. To everyone else, she had perfected the front of a generous, extraverted woman who loved hosting events for people, for giving gifts to people, for letting the wine and sake and beer overflow all night. Something she had always done for as long as you could remember. 

Such events were an optimal route and method for not only displaying you as the defect of your clan and, thus, the entirety of jujutsu society, but as a way of embarrassing you to your core. Was her hate for you really quite so deep?

You never understood why she despised you as she always has. Chinatsu had a daughter that outshone you by miles—one that even the strongest sorcerer was considering scouting for Jujutsu Tech and tutoring himself. You, with hardly any cursed energy worth mentioning and a weak leg, could never hope for such an opportunity. Without an affinity for the clan’s technique, you were an outcast there, and thus an outcast everywhere.

It also meant you were harmless, never a threat to her and her power, never a threat to anyone. Had you done something to her when you were young that planted a seed of resentment and bitterness for you in her heart? Or were you just an easy target, a punching bag, the only thing in reach that would be fit for taking her anger out on, because everyone would turn a blind eye to the harrowing abuse a defect would endure? A defect—not a child, not a human?

That was okay, though. It meant your departure would hurt nothing, really—despite your current role as a mere vessel to carry and bear Satoru’s child. Each elder was on the edge of their seats, you could tell, just awaiting the pregnancy announcement with great anticipation and praying it would be a boy. 

It made you pettishly hope for, regardless of your aversion to having a child in general, a girl instead. And when you inevitably did give birth, you would make sure the baby was kept far away from jujutsu society, and its father, as a whole. Just to spite them, and to protect the child.

To spite him, too, perhaps?

Your aunt clapped her hands joyfully. “Now! Let’s all file into the dining hall and feast! We’ve quite the meal laid out for you all. Enjoy yourselves!”

With polite undertones of thanks, all guests were soon heading into the expansive dining room, and amiable chatter began filtering throughout the foyer again. There was a tap to your shoulder, and you turned, almost leaping out of your skin. There Chinatsu stood, smiling, arms crossed. “You two will be joining us and a couple of other individuals in a separate area.”

“Is that so?” His hand was steady on the dip of your waist. “Along with all you fossils who intend on nagging us for an heir?”

Chinatsu blinked, mouth working open and shut silently, before it clicked closed fully and she gave a stiff smile. “So blunt, it hurts. I suppose there won’t be any more need for pleasantries between us.”

Satoru’s smile was sharper. “Oh, yes, quite.”

“Let’s forgo them, then.” Her eyes turned to you, and she coldly greeted you with barely a nod. “Niece.”

With that, your aunt turned and began leading you both in the opposite direction of the main hall where all the other guests were dining. You exchanged glances with Satoru, before the two of you followed after her.

There were no words spoken, no other sounds than three sets of footsteps padding along the wooden flooring, and the tap of your cane upon the ground. His arm was strong around your middle, grip almost possessive. You found yourself glad for Satoru’s unwavering, confident presence.

You knew these halls. The moon was beginning to show her face at this time of evening, and ivory beams, reminiscent of his hair, contrasted against the warm orange glow of the candles flickering in the sconces on the walls. There would probably be frost layering the grass outside in the morning, or perhaps even the last of the snow would flutter down overnight.

Chinatsu finally stopped before two double doors, and they were swiftly opened for her by the guards standing to attention on either side. The polite chatter in the room beyond ceased, and the three of you entered.

She stopped to present you both like commodities. “Our honoured guests have arrived.”

Not one elder stood, but they offered their greetings. Low and forced and grumbling, they were, but it would suffice. Satoru didn’t seem like he wanted to slaughter them all over just that for now—not that he was the type to do that, anyway. You wouldn’t have stopped him even if he was.

There were three empty cushions to be seated upon yet, and Chinatsu strode forward to take hers, in between your grandfather and great-uncle. With a gentle tap to the small of his back, you silently gestured for Satoru to lead you both ahead to your seats.

The room was filled with the divine aroma of all kinds of traditional dishes, hot and ready to be eaten, carefully prepared. If you had an appetite, your stomach might have rumbled, but only nausea settled in your belly at the sight of every wizened old man and woman waiting for you both.

Satoru lifted a hand and ran it through his spiky hair. “Isn’t this quite the feast! Seems you all really did go out of your way to impress us enough, and hopefully soften my wife and I up for the inevitable conversation we’ll be having tonight.”

“Sit down, you two,” an elder snapped, brows bushy and low and sullen over his dark eyes, “and eat.”

“If you say so.” Satoru shrugged, utterly unfazed, and finally led you both forward, toward your designated cushions at the head of the table, your backs to the door. He smiled down at you, before whispering in your ear, “Shall we put on another show?”

You stiffened. “No. Don’t even start.”

But, knowing this man, no is never an answer he respected when it came to such things as this. That shit-eating grin of his widened even more. “Aw, don’t be like that! It’ll be f—”

“What are you two whispering about over there? Hurry up and sit!” The table rattled with the two smacks a woman dealt to it, snapping you both to attention. “The food is going cold!”

“You’ll all have shrivelled up like raisins and died before that would happen,” your husband retorted, nonetheless complying, and you both lowered into your seats. “Considering how each one of you look, you could fade away into the wind with a single breath.” Satoru held up his right hand, and made his Hollow Purple sign with it. “Or, would this be more effective?”

Even the mere suggestion made them all tense and exchange unsure glances, murmuring amongst themselves unintelligibly. The old woman swiftly, but begrudgingly, retreated. You smiled into your cup of sake.

“Now!” Satoru began again, making them all jump in surprise at his sudden exclamation, and you found your cup being plucked out of your hands, set down on the table, and then you were in the air. With a startled yelp, you were swiftly deposited on top of two strong thighs, back against a solid, muscled chest, and a cheek rested upon the crown of your head. “Why don’t you all get your nagging over and done with before I lose my patience?”

Stunned motionless, you watched as Satoru reached for your cup of sake and lifted it to his own lips, sipping right from where your mouth just was on the rim, before handing it to you. Then he sniffed. “Cheap sake, huh?” He plucked it out of your hands again in a spontaneous shift in decision. “No wife of mine will be drinking such poor quality alcohol. Not that I like it, anyway.”

Each elder looked at each other again, whispering, while you finally had enough wits about you to turn and fix him with a scathing glare. “What on earth are you doing?” you hissed.

“Like I said! Putting on a show!” he playfully whispered back, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and squeezing. “Isn’t it delightful? Look at their faces!”

Before you could say anything more, Satoru reached for the bowl of grapes on the table, selected one, and held it in front of your lips. “Open wide!”

Flushed with humiliation, you squirmed against the man, pushing his hand away. “Stop! You’re embarrassing me! Are you crazy?”

“A little,” he giggled, voice soft in your ear, nudging your tightly shut lips with the fruit. “Come on! We’re absolutely mortifying the elders here. Don’t you want to embarrass them?”

With a quick glance around, you soon understood just how true his words were: every higher-up sitting around the table were either staring at you both with wide, horrified eyes, or huffing and muttering to each other about how ‘shameless young people are nowadays’. Your eyes met your aunt’s, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her bright red, fuming face. 

Why on earth is that man being affectionate with my embarrassment of a niece? she was evidently, silently seething, her own cup of sake trembling in her hand. Swiftly averting your gaze, you then decided to play along with Satoru, and opened your mouth.

Delighted at your acquiescence, your husband popped the grape into your mouth, and you begrudgingly chewed, only faintly pleased with its sweetness. You feared that you would throw up later.

He grabbed another one, adjusting his legs a little so you sat directly on his lap, instead of in between his thighs, and Satoru’s left arm was wound fully around your waist. A protective gesture, simply daring any of the elders to say or do anything that might displease Gojo Satoru’s wife and, thus, the man himself.

You were beginning to rather like this. You felt a sense of control and superiority filter through you as you looked on toward the higher-ups, and their stricken expressions. The blatant warmth the strongest evidently held for his wife, despite the unideal circumstances and dismal origin of the marriage, had rendered them completely gobsmacked. A smirk touched your mouth, and you eagerly accepted the grape Satoru offered you this time. This is rather fun. You started to understand why Satoru enjoyed aggravating the elders so much, and the helplessness they had toward him. Their reactions really were so amusing. 

You’d long worked out that you needed only to say the word, and your husband would gladly massacre each and every higher-up sitting here, at this table, chopsticks shaking with both anger, indignance and fear in their hands. 

You made sure to make a show of nibbling lightly, involuntarily, on Satoru’s fingers as he hand-fed you the fruit, gazing up at him with exaggerated doe eyes. The bandages wrapped over his forehead lifted with his eyebrows in surprise, before his grin widened even more. Satoru dipped his head so his mouth was over your ear and he breathed, “It’s fun, isn’t it?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from reciprocating his smile. “Maybe a little,” you murmured back, relaxing into him some more. “I’d like a drink, please.”

“Anything my wife wants,” he immediately complied, ushering over a servant to pour you a cup of water. He then flashed the elders all a grin, as if suddenly remembering they were sitting there. “Goodness! Apologies, my wife and I got a little caught up in the moment with each other. Shall we begin the discussion now?”

One higher-up snorted. “Never thought the day would come where we’d see you so eager.”

“The sooner it’s over and done with, the sooner my wife and I can retire.” He handed you the cup and popped a grape of his own into his mouth. “Hurry up and start your pestering already.”

There was a collective sigh from each elder as they pursed their thin, shrivelled lips at the strongest’s unruly attitude, before one withered old woman adjusted her robes and fixed you both with a stern look. “It’s now March. Your two-month anniversary is tomorrow. If we let you two have your way, there won’t be an heir until you’re in your thirties.”

“I haven’t even inherited my clan and taken over as its leader yet,” Satoru idly reasoned, shifting a bit beneath you, accepting the cup of water you’d been peacefully sipping from and raising it to his own lips, just as he did with the sake. “There’s no rush, don’t you think? What, afraid I’ll die before I hit thirty? Please. I didn’t know your constant underestimation of me was that bad. Besides…” He set the cup down with a rather sharp clink. “Isn’t that what you wantto happen?”

“Nothing of the sort,” a man cut in. “We’re merely concerned for the future of jujutsu, and your line. It’s only duty, boy—duty that’s been passed down from generation to generation and so on. You came into the world because of duty. So did this woman of yours. We are all here through the performance of duty from our forebears.”

“Such elegant words,” Satoru mocked. “So…pray tell, old man—would you say the exploitation of my heir for your own agendas could be considered duty as well? Would you say it’s also my duty to step back and let my future child be capitalised on to your benefits? Just as it’s my duty to hold back and not wipe the floor with your brittle, ancient asses right now, which is only a fraction of what you old fools truly deserve?”

Some elders exchanged glances as another spoke up. “It is your duty, as the strongest sorcerer in existence right now, to nurture and bring into being the next generation of jujutsu sorcerers. Teaching adolescents at Jujutsu Tech is only a part of that. Having a son is an involved factor, also—a primary one; one that holds precedence over the children at the school. Were you not taught such things by your governesses and tutors as a child?”

“Lessons on tradition are so boring.” He faked a yawn. “I slept through them all, back then. Do jog my memory for me.”

The woman’s eyes instead slid to you. “I’m sure your wife could answer such a question, yes? As she is the one who will bear your child.” You stiffened in his grasp, startled, all eyes on you. And the old bat had the gall to arch a brow. “Well? Speak, girl.”

“That’s not very fair.” Satoru’s chest is steady and strong and rumbling against your back, and you can feel each ripple of sinewed muscle through the layers of his kimono. And his chin rested against your shoulder, snugly tucked into the dip of your nape. “Are you picking on my wife now because her idiot of a husband is unable to answer?”

There’s a faint snort further down the table of “at least he’s self aware” before further conversation echoed about the room. This time, it was your grandfather who spoke up. “But your wife is the woman in question here. Granddaughter, are you not able to answer the question for him?” They all stared down at you again. “Think of your duty.”

“Duty this, duty that—don’t you all get tired?” Your husband then picked up the chopsticks set beside his plate and selected a slice of sashimi, before neatly dipping it in the small, nearby bowl of soy sauce. He held it up, nudging it in the elders’ direction as if in mocking toast, and then gently placed it in your mouth. The raw fish was juicy, flavourful—you still didn’t have much of an appetite, but you were enjoying this little act of his. The shock, mortification, and outrage on all these old blockheads’ faces at Gojo Satoru’s flagrant doting was entertaining you greatly. Besides, you’d never been treated in such a reverent manner before. You liked it. A lot. 

Let’s not get too carried away here, you reminded yourself, barely having finished chewing on the piece of sashimi he’d handed you before Satoru was popping a slice of sushi in your mouth. It was divine, but your nausea was growing. This is an act. There will be none of this in the future.

A good thing, really. You tapped his arm and shook your head when he held out some udon noodles for you. Still chewing, you instead wordlessly pointed to the miso soup, and he immediately grabbed for it, continuing to the higher-ups, “You use it as an excuse too much. It’s almost funny how you all continue to underestimate me!”

“Who said anything about underestimation?” Another old woman side-eyed you disapprovingly as you accepted the bowl of miso he handed you and watched you sip at, before she resumed, “You can point fingers at us and condemn our actions as much as you please, but we are all, in the end, doing it for your well-being, and every other sorcerer’s out there. Japan is the hub of jujutsu sorcery. Why do you think all those foreigners from the States, India, South America and Europe are here tonight?” She pursed her lips and looked down her nose at your husband reproachfully. “They are here, expecting good news that this world will continue to be kept balanced with the arrival of your heir.”

“Sweetheart, if we were to have a child, would you like a daughter?” Satoru, instead of replying, turned to you, tilting his head coyly. “I would. It’d be wonderful to play dress-up and tea parties with a baby girl, no?”

You bit back an amused grin at all the elders’ grumbling and shuffling in their seats. They want a boy, of course. Girls could be strong, but that prejudice and sexist attitude toward women within jujutsu society had not faded, and likely wouldn’t until a new order was ushered in. His vigorous training and passion for teaching was all for a greater purpose—not just to show youngsters how to be mighty in battle, but to completely rebuild the jujutsu realm from its foundations up, starting with the children. The first to go so it’s possible will be all these old fossils here.

“I think you’d make a wonderful father,” you softly answered, in the best adoring-wife tone you could manage, letting him place your bowl of miso soup back on the table. “A little girl is a splendid idea.”

“There we have it!” he beamed, turning back to the elders. “We’re set to have a daughter, if we finally decide to have an heir. Who knows when that’ll be.” Then Satoru made a big show of kissing your neck, and you flushed with heat in embarrassment. “Maybe when I’ve killed all you imbeciles off.”

“The marriage can be annulled,” came your aunt’s sharp voice, “if a successor is not born within the year. In fact, we could annul it right now, considering your clear lack of consummation.”

“Who said we haven’t consummated?” Satoru countered, and his chin rested on top of your head. You almost jolted in surprise at his white lie. “I’d say my wife and I have been enjoying our alone time quite a bit. Can hardly keep our hands off each other. As”—He kissed at your neck again—“you can see.”

Chinatsu sputtered. “Why, you—This is simply unacceptable! Even if you have consummated, refraining from impregnating her is just—it can’t be done! An heir is mandatory! How many times must we—”

“Now, now, Chinatsu, dear,” your great-uncle mediated, holding up a hand to stop her. “Let’s not get too heated.” Your clan leader, who had been mostly quiet and silently watching everything unfold, finally fixed Satoru with a steely look. “It is foolish to deny that we, collectively, have no real control over what you do. It’s mere fact. But”—He lifted a forefinger matter-of-factly—“even so, Gojo Satoru, you cannot put off this duty you so carelessly regard forever. It’s only a matter of time.”

Satoru selected a large, ruby-red strawberry from the fruit bowl. “Only a matter of time until what?”

“You die,” he replied candidly. “You may think yourself invincible right now, due to your unmatched strength—and, yes, it truly does seem that you’re simply indomitable—but who is to say there may never be a potentially, equally strong adversary as you out there? One that may bring you to prematurely meet your demise someday?”

Your husband seemed amusedly intrigued now. “And if there is?”

“What will you do then?” Your great-uncle, despite his, frankly, far-fetched supposition on the strongest’s fate, raised a good point. Each higher-up around the table exchanged glances again. He continued, “What if you have no one to carry on your legacy? With your death, the Gojo clan will have no true heir.”

“I have cousins.” Satoru tilted his head at your clan leader. “Who are nowhere near as strong as me, but they would suffice as successors in my place, if I were to die, no?” Then he snorted. “My death would be their dream come true! Regardless, this conversation is absurd and pointless. No one can kill me. You’re using the extreme, the impossible, as an example, and such is always out of the question.”

“It would appear so,” your great-uncle gravely concurred, fixing the white-haired man with a solemn look. “Granted, chances of your death in battle are astronomically low, but not zero. That is something you must always, alwaysremember, young man.”

“Ooh, are you threatening me, old chap?” Satoru held the strawberry up to his lips. “Goodness, you sure your withered, aged limbs could manage going one-on-one with me? Might be better off in a retirement home, no?”

He’s getting excessively rude now, you silently observed, frowning. Have my uncle’s words perhaps hit home?

There was an almost defensive note in Satoru’s voice. His grip on you was a tad bit tighter, too. Seeing the conversation potentially escalating to bloodbath, you quickly placed your hand over his on your middle, and squeezed. His reaction was immediate—Satoru relaxed. He ate the strawberry and grunted. “Whatever. Just get to the point already, all of you.”

Your great-uncle sighed, adjusting the collar of his yukata. “The point has been very clear this entire time. We are pleased to hear that you both have, at least, consummated. That’s a step forward in the right direction. We are just concerned with the lack of results.”

“Could she be infertile?” another elder quietly suggested, and you immediately flinched. Commotion flared across the table—everyone looked at you again, accusatory and repulsed, almost as if it had been confirmed.

“More than a weak leg and little cursed energy, she could also be barren?”

“Oh, I knew more precautions should have been taken—”

“Dammit! Who knew that the only woman of marriageable age in this society could turn out to be infertile? Bah!”

“The volatility of women, I tell you. It never ceases to amaze me.”

“It’s ludicrous, really. What a rotten box of chocolates your niece is, Chinatsu!”

That’s when your aunt banged the table three times with her fist, face flushed with rage. “Silence!”

Everyone quietened almost instantaneously; the glares did not assuage, however, and you really did feel like throwing up now. Tears stung your lash line, and you lowered your head. It didn’t help that Satoru’s grip around your waist had tightened to an almost suffocating degree. You breathed in and out, forcing yourself to be calm, with some struggle. Is he mad?

Chinatsu waited until it was mostly silent before speaking. “Let’s not jump to conclusions here.” Her head, which was turned to the elders before her, did not move as her eyes flicked to you. It was an almost robotic movement, one that sent chills up and down your spine. Unnatural. You swallowed with great difficulty. She continued. “Perhaps they are both using protection or birth control.” Your aunt fully faced you both, but looked at Satoru this time. “Are you?”

“That’s an extremely intrusive question,” he replied blithely, but there was something dark to his voice. “You really don’t respect our privacy at all! Whether my wife is infertile or not is none of your concern. Whether we’re using protection or not or birth control or not is also none of your concern. Our personal lives are none of your concern. Is that understood?”

Your aunt said your name instead, once she got no answer out of him, and ignored Satoru. “Are you both using anything that is a preventative for your pregnancy?”

Do not forget the vow, she was saying. It’s there until you give birth. You’re tied to her until a baby is born. So you looked down and away and said, “No.”

Silence. No one said a word. Not even Satoru, and then your aunt opened her mouth once more. “You will show me the preventatives you have been using, and you will give them to me to dispose of.”

“No, we will not,” Satoru sharply retorted. “As my wife just said—we have not used any.”

“Then we have no other choice but to dig up an ancient custom,” she challenged, placing her palms flat on the table before her and fixing the Gojo heir with a fierce look. “I, and a select few others, will watch you both. Tonight. In your designated chambers.”

“No!” you exclaimed, aghast. “That is not happening!”

Chinatsu didn’t back down in the slightest. “In what stage of your menstrual cycle are you, niece?” Then she snapped her fingers and ushered over a servant. “Bring in foods that increase fertility. Berries, nuts, eggs—anything.” She pointed at the fish set before you both. “Eat your food. Now.”

“I really don’t think I’ve come across someone quite as bold as you,” Satoru remarked, voice low, no longer so playful. Utter placidity, his tone was. Cold. “You may be her blood relative, but you don’t give the orders around here.”

“While you are on our turf,” she severely began, folding her hands neatly on her lap and turning her nose up at your husband, “you do as we say. If I’m being quite honest, I don’t believe the two of you have consummated. You are forcing my hand here.”

“As I said at our previous meeting,” he continued, shifting a bit under you, straightening, “my wife and I agreed to take things slow. There will be no child until she is ready. If you continue to force my hand, do you know the drastic measures I will take to make sure you are stopped?”

“An heir must be secured,” your aunt gritted, eyes flashing, and she turned to you. “You, of all people, niece, know why.”

“Why?” Satoru echoed. Blood was pounding in your ears. Am I about to have a panic attack? Oh, god, you needed to get out of here. I need to leave! I can’t stand this a moment longer! He said your name. “What does she mean by that?”

Chinatsu didn’t give you a chance to reply. “Never you mind, Gojo Satoru. It’s a family matter you aren’t to be privy to. Threaten us all you please.” Her cursed energy flared. “Remember, not even you are immune to our technique.”

A crazed smile spread across his face, and he lifted a hand to pull down one side of his bandages, a single blue eye revealed. “Wanna fight, old woman? Sure you’re picking the right battle?”

Her hands came up, slotting together, forming a sign, and you immediately drew back. Dammit! She’s really going to do it! Every higher-up in the room began to tense and urge her to stand down, their own cursed energies and techniques flaring to life. “Chinatsu, hold on a moment!”

An elder spotted Satoru lifting his right hand, middle finger curled over his forefinger, and slammed his cup of sake down. “Gojo Satoru! Don’t you dare!”

“Chinatsu,” your grandfather thundered, “if you don’t put your hands down right now—”

The higher-up who warned Satoru snapped to his feet. “Gojo Satoru! I said—”

“You’ll be next, old man, if you don’t move out of the wa—”

Your aunt wrenched back from an elder trying to restrain her. “Get your hands off me!”

“Enough!”

Everyone jumped at your and your great-uncle’s shout, freezing. Your hand shot forward and forcibly lowered Satoru’s right one, while your great-uncle utilised his technique on Chinatsu, draining her cursed energy, and she deflated like a balloon, barely even managing an exclamation in protest. Stripped of her strength, your aunt fell forward and only just caught herself from going face-first into her plate, a hand over her eyes, groaning. You clambered off your husband’s lap, snatched up your cane, and stood to your feet, drawing stunned gazes from everyone.

“He and I,” you hissed, pointing down at Satoru, ignoring his tug at your kimono, “will go to our chambers right now, and we will consummate.”

He flinched back. “Huh?” 

Your aunt sluggishly, irately glanced up from below her hand. “…What?”

“Child, what are you saying?” your great-uncle faltered. “Are you—”

“Satoru. Get up,” you commanded. “We need to go.”

“Baby, I think you just need to sit down and take a bre—”

“Don’t you start with that! Just get up and follow me!”

Without waiting for a reply, you whirled around and marched for the doors, before turning back and looking every elder in the eyes, one by one. “You will have it your way tonight. If I am not with child after this, we will try again. However! Once my pregnancy is confirmed, you will leave Satoru and I alone for good! You will have no say in the child’s upbringing, you will have no say over its worth whether it’s a boy or girl, and you will not be using it as a tool the way you do to all other sorcerers out there.” Reaching for the door handle, you didn’t bother making sure your husband was following after you. “And you will leave Satoru and I in peace tonight!”

The doors slammed shut behind you both. Your cane tapped sharply on the floorboards at your feet. And you led the way—not to your ‘designated chambers’, but to where you were raised in the estate.

You led the way to your room, and you did so with resolve.

Gojo Satoru had not been so overwhelmed since he was seventeen years old—but this was a very different type of overwhelming.

The man, presently twenty-two and newly married, obediently trailed after his wife, wisely opting not to say a word in protest to her previous commands. Satoru knew that even a peep from him now would earn a sweet smack of her cane to his hip. This is crazy. Everything escalated way beyond my control. What on earth is she thinking?

He and I will go to our chambers right now, and we will consummate.

Consummate.

Consummate.

Consummate.

His head spun a little. Dazed. Consummate. And the word echoed in his ears. Is she for real?

Gojo Satoru had no idea whether to be over the moon or frozen on the spot. He held back his questions even when she strode past, quickly as her limp could carry her, the section of the estate where their shared chambers would be for the night. They had both been previously shown to their quarters before the dinner commenced, and he wasn’t particularly impressed by it all. Satoru would have much rathered their own bed, back at the house, where he didn’t have to worry about any fretting servants. He could relax under the covers with this woman in his arms, even though she tended to peel herself from his grasp during the night, and sleep like a baby.

Baby.

Oh, right. Apparently, he was off to make one right now.

That made his face flood with heat, despite himself. Despite all his cocky spiels about how he was going to “make her feel good” and all that nonsense. Of course, he meant every word, and he’d follow through with it, but Satoru was feeling rather anxious right now. And Gojo Satoru is never anxious.

The problem he had with all of this was the clear, almost painfully blatant, aversion his wife had to even the notion of consummation. Merely suggesting it made her face twist with an expression of repugnance, dread, and, worst of all, fear. He pursed his lips as that night, weeks ago, when he had her pinned against the wall, all dishevelled and hot and driving him crazy, came to the forefront of his mind, and how she’d backed out last second, again. Satoru was an understanding man, however, and he’d never force her—but it was rather frustrating, especially when he’d stepped into the shower, water ice cold, with a problem down below that took a good half an hour to be rid of, only for his excitement and hopes that perhaps, finally, his wife trusted him enough, to be completely dashed. This is not how I imagined it to go.

No—he had to be frank: Satoru imagined a far more romantic introduction to the whole consummation thing. Perhaps soft, low jazz playing in the background, dim lights, maybe two or three (hundred) bouquets of flowers, rose petals on the bedspread, all of that. But that was stupid. It’d only put his wife off even more. He knew she was not the type for that—especially when the man in question here was him, someone she evidently didn’t feel such affection for, and apparently the last person on earth she wanted to lie with. Or, maybe, hopefully, he was jumping to conclusions here a little. 

Do I disgust her? Him? The Gojo Satoru? With his pretty eyes and bright smile and chiselled body that was akin to a Greek god? He, in all honesty, couldn’t work that one out. He knew full well he was conventionally attractive. Men and women alike drooled over him, even though they only really went for Suguru because he was gentler and more reserved in temperament back when he was a teen. That’s what Satoru strove his hardest to be around this woman. Gentle, reserved, considerate, not annoying. He’d failed miserably with that last one many times, it would seem.

Now was no time to be overconfident, however. He was presently being led outside, and he half-worried she was leading him somewhere to maybe kill him off. Quietly. Not that he’d put up much of a fight, though. Satoru’s imagination was getting a bit carried away. 

Then she, out of nowhere, stopped. He stopped too, beside her, not too close as to trigger her to blow a fuse. His wife looked utterly incensed right now. Satoru had seen her angry before, but not this angry. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it.

“I am guiding you to a separate wing of the estate that I grew up in,” she suddenly said, and he almost jumped. His wife turned, facing him, looking up, eyes dark with animosity and determination. On any other day, he’d find that look in your eye very, very attractive, but, at present, he felt very much like he did as a child, being hunted down by his irate governess because he skipped another lesson. Her scoldings were utterly harrowing, and Satoru was getting worried that yours would be worse. I need to tread very carefully here. One wrong move, and he’s blown it.

“Uh, okay,” he croaked, hastily adjusting his bandages so they covered both his eyes. Satoru felt too exposed right now, especially when you were simply radiating wrath. Simmering. Hopefully not at him. What the hell? He’d never been so…fearful in all his life. And the woman in question was you, with your cane and limp leg and too-sharp tongue. Satoru gnawed on his bottom lip a little. “How…far is it?”

“Just this way.” And, with that, you whirled around again and began leading him down a path; not cobblestone, or even concrete—just gravel, crunching under his zouri-clad feet, and weeds spiralled across the path’s edges and into its centre. Overgrown. Evidently had not been touched, or tread on, in a very long time.

He considered picking you up and carrying you, but Satoru knew that would be the worst thing to do at this moment. You’d definitely bash his head in with your cane. You, and your stubborn refusal to be taken care of, marched on quite quickly, despite your hobbling, and seethed away in silence. He understood. Those blasted higher-ups had him very nearly ploughing them all over with Red himself—especially when that aunt of yours started interrogating you on the status of your physical relationship with him. Hell, he knew that if he let her have her way, she’d start asking for an entire, detailed recounting of your supposed consummation, step by step!

You are a very private person. You were sometimes writing in that journal of yours—which would always disappear very quickly whenever he entered the room, and he had only a vague idea of where you kept it. Satoru was dying of curiosity, yes, but he also understood that if 1) he dared to crack open that diary of yours and have a little read, you’d absolutely fly off the handle and 2) never, ever trust him again with anything. If you were writing your personal thoughts down as a way to get them out instead of confiding in him, Satoru was fine with that. He had no choice but to be. You were under no obligation to divulge any of your internal struggles to him at all. This marriage was arranged, anyway, fully against your will, and he recognised that you would rather be anywhere else than married to him. Chained to him.

That made him sad, really. Very sad. You were usually unmoved by his advances, by his affections, by anything. You rarely smiled; you smiled at the children—and when you did, it was genuine—and you’d smiled at him sometimes, but during the times when you had smiled, it didn’t really feel like a smile for him. More like a smile one gets when something has come to them, or they’ve gotten a wonderful idea—some kind of realisation that only benefitted them. Not a smile someone gives when they necessarily like or love the person they’re smiling before.

Does she even like me? Satoru often wondered that. Frankly, you’d constantly given off the impression that you always had better things to do than humour him. Or talk with him. Or even sit with him. You only did so because you had to. Like now. You were only leading him somewhere secluded and private and calm so the both of you could fulfil a mere marital duty, because you hadn’t another choice. A duty.

Satoru knew a thing or two about duty. This marriage was one of them. One of the few duties he had that he actually liked having. You, however, evidently thought otherwise.

“Here we are.” The bush around him finally receded and a building came into view. A very shabby building. The eaves of its roof hung low, sagging, and Satoru suddenly half-worried it might collapse right this minute, in front of them. And, even more concerningly, while they were inside it. And the garden, paths, and other qualities surrounding the property were all run-down, too. This…is where she grew up?

It was news to him, of course. This wasn’t what he recalled imagining. Or what he was told. But there was something familiar here.

He was seven or eight years old, back then. It was snowing. Winter. The same season you both married, just a few months ago. Snowballs. Lilypads. Anger.

Gojo Satoru looked at you. He looked at your sullen, tense, tight-lipped face. A face he’d always found pretty. Lips he’d always wanted to kiss. You don’t remember, do you?

He supposed that was okay. Okay-ish. Okay as he could get. Maybe he’d tell you one day. Jog your memory a little. Perhaps you’d remember, then.

You lifted a hand and pointed to the dilapidated building. “There.”

“Um…” Satoru began, unsure. “Is that—well, are you sure you don’t want to go ba—”

“No,” you curtly cut him off, striding forward again. “There’s bedding inside. Not big or a whole lot, but it’ll do. I am not going back there.”

Fair enough, he thought, following after you. Satoru’s heart was picking up its pace. Is this really happening right now?Were you really leading him into the one place he could only guess to have been you haven, before you married him?

Perhaps this building held great sentimental value to you. You hobbled your way up the steps and he kept an eye on you, ready to catch you should you fall. You went for the door, turned the knob, and eased it open.

No lock. It creaked. He could instantly smell and taste the dust. You stared in, there was a sigh from you, and you paused at the doorway. “Wait here.”

“Why?” Satoru asked, but only the door squeaking shut was his reply. So he stood there, still dazed, and dumbly looked around. 

There was one, small chair on the tiny veranda of this equally tiny minka, but its seat was grey with a thick blanket of dust, and he was not about to sit down on it. The floorboards of the porch groaned under his every step, so Satoru made his way down the three small stairs leading up to the house and stepped out onto the thick grass of the front yard. If it could be called a front yard. This “front yard” expanded out into what appeared to have been once one of the estate’s many expansive gardens.

He didn’t travel far. Only to the edge, where there was a small footbridge leading over the stream, which trickled by peacefully. The water was surprisingly clear. Satoru could spot no koi fish, but plenty of moss.

He considered going further, but the sound of the door opening again made him turn around, and you were standing at the entrance. No longer did you look so enraged. Now, you had this placidity to your expression, an emotionless Satoru wasn’t very fond of. “Come in now.”

He thought about it for a brief moment, before it came to him. Resignation. That was the look on your face. 

You didn’t wait for him. You turned and went back inside, and he padded across the grass, up the steps, and indoors.

“Shut it behind you,” came your voice, and he did as told. He’d have done it anyway, but you’d probably throw something at him if he was snarky now. It was rather dim inside, but you had lit a few candles. Satoru noticed a lightswitch on the wall, and tried it. The bulb in the ceiling didn’t turn on. 

“No point in paying any extra on the electricity when no one lives here anymore,” you explained, shifting about the dingy living room. “You know how stingy they are.”

He gave a light snort, rather suffocated by the tight atmosphere. “Of course.”

Satoru looked around, rather curious. You’d probably done some sweeping or something—the windows were open, letting fresh air into the stuffy, drab interior, but the thin curtains remained pulled shut, and there was a broom sitting by a door across the room from him. It was neatly kept, this place, no mess—but it was so sparsely furnished, he was half-surprised to even find a sofa in the room, with a tiny coffee table and a connected kitchen. Satoru frowned. There was a strange piercing feeling in his chest. This was really her living conditions as a child and teen?

Satoru, despite himself, began to feel like a saviour. He’d saved you from rotting away here for the rest of your life, no purpose in sight. No purpose other than what is given by your clan, by the higher-ups. And that, if you hadn’t married him, was nothing. But he knew, deep down, he wasn’t really anything like that to you. Satoru swiftly shoved that thought away.

There were signs of two people having once lived here, however. This surprised him. As far as he knew, you didn’t have any siblings—only your cousin, Asuka, as a relative who was closer in age. But he knew neither of you were close. So, who was the other person?

“Did you live with someone?” Satoru softly asked, uncharacteristically tentative as he made his way further into the house. He supposed the door just to his left was either the bedroom or bathroom, as with the other one to his right.

“Noriko,” you answered plainly, no emotion in your voice. He couldn’t read you. “My handmaid.”

“Where is she now?” Perhaps he should shut up.

“I don’t know.” You moved for the broom again. “My aunt took her away.”

From me, were the unspoken words. He felt inexplicably saddened. And awkward. For once, and for the first time in a very long while, Gojo Satoru had nothing to say.

You pointed to the door to his right. “That’s the bathroom. Feel free to wash up in there, if you need.”

“I’m alright.” He wanted to sit, but didn’t dare. Satoru really felt like he was encroaching on forbidden territory. The man watched as you entered the other room and brought the broom with you. He followed you inside.

It was as bare and uninteresting as the rest of the place: there was no bed frame or mattress, but the nearby cupboard told him the futon was in there. Satoru didn’t feel disgust or shame toward you, no—all he felt was pity, and inflections of anger as he looked around. They hardly even bothered to give her a proper bed!

“We’re in luck,” you monotonously said, sweeping the ground, presumably for the futon to be spread out. “There are two futons. We can put them together to make a big enough bed for the both of us.”

“Will you be warm?” He didn’t really know what else to say. It was still chilly this time of year, and this place was rather draughty. Must’ve been bad during the winter solstice.

“Haven’t you dubbed yourself as my ‘personal heater’?” You set the broom aside, and moved for the cupboard. There was no humour in your voice. “We’ll be fine.”

Satoru’s mouth opened—to protest or say something else, he wasn’t sure, but all he managed out was a hoarse chuckle.

You pulled open the closet and reached in, stepping out with a tatami mat. You laid it out on the ground, before turning for the wardrobe again and emerged once more, two coiled futons in your arms this time, and he immediately moved forward to take them from you. “Here, let me. You can’t do that with your leg.”

“I can do just fi—”

“You may be used to it,” he softly said, plucking the futons from your hands, smiling lightly. “But that doesn’t mean you should continue such a difficult task.”

You huffed a little. “I’m not a weakling. I’ve been doing this all my life.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Satoru set the futons down and began unrolling them. Your familiar scent hit him as they spread out across the ground. They were thin, of mediocre quality, and he felt that sting to his chest again. What’d she do to garner such treatment?

Nothing, probably, knowing you. You had a sharp tongue, one that’d probably get you into trouble if you didn’t know how to keep it in check, but he knew you weren’t the type to be a bother. You never bothered him. 

You probably thought your fretting over him and his health was annoying, but he really liked it. Satoru had always wanted to just be taken care of, anyway. He just hoped it meant something a little more than mere duty on your part.

There was a sigh from you as you left him to it, and then he heard the sound of a match being struck. The room was small enough to be illuminated fully by one lantern, but you lit two anyway. There was no lightbulb in here, nor any power outlets. His mood dampened even more. This is just…utterly uncalled for.

You turned for the cupboard again and pulled out two kakibutons, the comforters to go on top of the futons. You dropped them onto the mattresses, awkwardly leaning forward to spread them out, and he stopped you again. “No.”

“Satoru,” you sighed, fixing him with a look, but it was more fatigued than irritated, and held no weight. “As I said: I’ve done this countless times before. It isn’t something to concern yourself with.”

“Just let me,” he insisted, batting your hands away. “It’s not like it’s a huge effort.”

“Exactly.” You straightened, clutching you cane to you. “It’s not a huge effort. For me or for you.”

“Shush,” Satoru playfully said. “Almost finished here anyways.” He patted it all down so it looked neat and hopefully up to your strict standards about these kinds of things. “There! Now we can sleep.”

“We’re not sleeping.” He stood to his full height again, head tilted down at you in question—well, as innocent a look he could manage. He knew what you meant. “Haha, um, what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you uttered tiredly, eyes closing with a sigh. Resignation. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

You put your walking stick to the side, turned slightly away from him, and began to strip.

“Woah!” he gasped, taken off-guard, eyes wide behind his bandages. “What—what—”

Your hand reached back and tugged the obi around your middle loose, and you methodically freed yourself of your garments. Your underthings were revealed to the light, and Satoru felt all his blood rush straight for his groin.

What the hell! He’d seen you in mere bath towels plenty of times before, and, yes, he’d gotten worked up over that too, but this was rather different! Satoru hastily turned away with a barely-stifled groan. Oh, god. What am I going to do?

“Consummate. That is what we are going to do.” Oh, shit—did he say that out loud? This was terribly strange, especially for him. Usually, Satoru would be all over you, and he should be overjoyed right now. Eager. Don’t get him wrong—he was most certainly getting excited, and was filled with desire, but he felt like a blushing schoolgirl seeing even the slightest sliver of skin for the first time. Goddammit. I’m such an idiot. How on earth will I keep myself under control?

His ears picked up on each rustle of clothing, each swish of material falling to the ground. Satoru gulped. This is bad. This is very bad. He was a hair away from abandoning all reason and jumping you, and he really didn’t want to do that just yet. It’s okay. Deep breaths. Don’t look at her.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” I’m going to go insane! Satoru flinched when your hand met his upper arm, tugging on his own kimono sleeve. That soft, tentative, shy tone of yours had him clutching at the last straws of his self-control. Way too enticing. God, why did you have to be so damn irresistible?

“Satoru.” He flinched again. He was in way over his head with this one. Where’d all his signature confidence go? Why, when it was finally time to actually consummate, did he have to be one rooted to the spot, heart beating out of his chest, mouth dry, fists clenched, lower region getting hotter and hotter until it was simply unbearable?

One of his hands came up and over his eyes. “Sweetheart,” he rasped. “Baby, please. You’re driving me crazy here.”

“I’ve hardly even done anything.” Oh, how Satoru desperately wanted to turn around and feast his eyes. Let his hands rove up and down that body of yours and savour every inch of skin. He, with his eyes already long closed, squeezed them shut even more, breathing heavy. Hardly done anything? Were you blind to his current state?

“Face me,” you said, but it sounded far more like an order. “Turn around and look at me. Or are you getting cold feet, Gojo Satoru?”

“I am not!” he exclaimed, whirling around on defensive instinct—and what a dire mistake that was. 

Satoru’s first reaction to your barely clothed body was to slap a hand over his eyes. “God, woman! I feel like a pervert!”

“Why?” You sounded genuinely puzzled. “I’m your wife, and we’re about to consummate. Is this not how things go?”

He didn’t see your hand come up and tug his hand away from his face until your fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he faltered once again. Too hot. This room is too stuffy! Satoru kept his eyes carefully shut as he went still under your touch, pliant, and let you reach up and pull at his bandages. “Let’s get these off first. Why are you so shy?”

“Be—Because—” he began, tongue failing him. Satoru let himself peek a little bit at you, and the warm, orange tones of the lanterns that outlined your figure in such a bewitching glow had him digging his nails into his palms. “I just—”

“It’s okay. We can take things slow.” Since when were you such a seductress? He was about to lose his mind completely. Satoru’s fingers twitched to grab you, pin you to those futons, and have you scream his name. And the feeling of your own fingers gently brushing his bangs, as they fell free from his bandages, to the side and out of his eyes, was the breaking point for him.

Huge hands grasped your hips, pulling you flush against a larger, stronger body, and your gasps were lost in the mouth that engulfed yours in one fell swoop. Gojo Satoru wasted no time. He did as he had yearned to for a long while—press you down on that mattress, tear off the rest of your clothing, and have you fully, entirely, in the palm of his hands.

It was easy to give in. It was easy to bury his face into your core and draw cry after cry of his name out of you. It was easy to have you like putty in his arms, malleable, yielding to his hold, but a precious treasure he could never harm, and would only ever make sure those sobs were ones of ecstasy, never pain. It was so easy. 

But it wasn’t so easy when you were closed off that much more thereafter. There was a wall up over your eyes, an emptiness that made his stomach drop, and Satoru suddenly felt like he’d made a terrible mistake the morning after, despite it having been you who initiated it all.

“Have I done something wrong?” He leaned on one elbow, head in his hand, as he peered down at you the following morning. You had the comforter wrapped right up to your neck, back to him, and Satoru’s fingers itched to grab you and draw you into his arms. But he didn’t. He let you be. Even though he probably shouldn’t have.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” came your muffled answer from the duvet, and you shrank into the blankets a little more. “You did what was needed.”

That made his mouth go a bit dry. “You didn’t…enjoy it?” Satoru’s other hand traced random shapes on the space between you both, awkward. “I’m…I’m really sorry if it hurt. I didn’t mean to—”

“It didn’t hurt.” All he could see was your hair on the pillow, over your face. He resisted the urge to reach forward and brush it out of your eyes. “It was fine.”

“What if…” Satoru swallowed, feeling so out of place, and that high he was riding for hours before was disappearing fast, and he was coming crashing down. Reality was like the drip, drip, drip of a leak on his head, a warning, before the unavoidable break from above, drenching him. It hadn’t gotten to that point quite yet. But it was on its way. “What if you didn’t, uh, conceive?”

“Then we try again.”

He hadn’t a clue what to say. Where did this sudden determination for a child come from? Mere hours ago, you had pleaded him to continue for many rounds after the first one—of which he gladly complied, of course—and, although not exactly opposed, because he was good with kids and always wanted some of his own, the shift in your demeanour was jarring. Uncanny. Totally out of character. Just last week, you were skirting around the topic of consummation and having children like it was something unspeakable, taboo. Now, you were telling him to try again if you weren’t showing any signs of pregnancy soon. 

Morning sickness doesn’t start until a couple of weeks after conception… And missing periods were a factor, too. With this in mind, Satoru cautiously asked, “Uh, when is your next period due?”

There was a moment of silence from you, and then you shuffled a little more under the covers. “I don’t know. My periods are irregular.”

“Ah.” He bit his lip and then pressed them together, unsure. “Okay.”

Your muffled, apathetic tone filtered out from beneath the comforter again. “Until my period shows signs of beginning, we should try every other night.”

Satoru almost choked. He hurriedly cleared his throat, suddenly feeling hot and bothered, before forcing himself to be calm. Don’t get carried away. That’s no invitation to try anything now! He shifted so he was sitting up, wincing down at his groin. “Um—uh, o-okay.”

“Every other night,” you reiterated, and the coldness of your voice was enough of a smack back to the present for him. Satoru turned his head and met your eyes, peeping out from the very top of the duvet, narrowed. “Not every night.”

“That’s…! I-I heard you,” he said rather defensively, and he averted his gaze, trying not to sulk or blush too hard. Ever since last night, I’ve been acting so strange! Awkwardness, shyness, diffidence—none of those were his signature, characteristic traits. Why was he like that now?

You burrowed yourself back under the covers. “It’s still early. Sleep a little more.”

“You can,” Satoru replied, moving to stand. He needed to cool off somewhere, away from you. “I’ll, um, go get us something to eat.”

No response came from you. The room was cold. The source of its low temperature seemed to come from the lump under the covers on one side of the futon—or maybe that was just his imagination. Gooseflesh rippled across his arms. Gojo Satoru put his clothes on and quietly exited the room. He desperately needed a breath of fresh air.

Chapter Text

“Asuka,” you softly called, stopping at the edge of the training ring. Mercifully, your aunt was not around, save for a few guards that eyed you warily, and you were rather surprised by that. Your cousin’s mother usually sat back and supervised her daughter’s training from the sidelines, nitpicking her prized daughter’s every move. Your timing for this was impeccable. “I would like to talk to you.”

She straightened from where she had paused in her training, wiping her forehead of sweat, and cast a cautious glance around. The teen hesitated for a moment, visibly unsure if it was even alright to speak with you, before she tentatively stepped forward and approached.

You bowed to each other. You understood that guarded look on her face. You were glad for, however, her maturity. Never had Asuka treated you with disdain.

She stood tall again, taller than you. Asuka sheathed her katana in one fluid motion. “…Of course. What is it about?”

You offered a smile. “I have some good news for you. How would you like to attend Jujutsu Tech?”

The girl froze. Her eyes had gone wide, mouth agape, and she blinked rapidly before stuttering, “I’m—I’m sorry?”

Your smile broadened a little. “How would you like to be trained directly under Gojo Satoru’s tutelage, with other teens your age, at Jujutsu Tech?”

“This—This is…” Asuka fumbled around for a moment, lost for words. “That’s…I-I don’t know if…”

“You believe your mother would prevent you?” Almost assuredly, she’d protest—but, really, her objections would fall on deaf ears all around. Most elders would agree to the girl’s enrollment at the high school—particularly when it was Asuka in question, and her staggering potential. Additionally, if Satoru personally scouted her, Chinatsu would lose her case even more—especially with the low opinion the strongest had of her. You were here to make only a suggestion, not quite a promise, to Asuka, just to draw her in. And it appeared to be working. “No need to worry about that. Gojo has all the necessary paperwork ready for your registration to the school.”

“Re…Really?” She looked even more bewildered. “I can’t believe this… Are you serious?”

“Fully,” you affirmed. “Just say the word, and I can put it in for Gojo.”

Asuka stared at you for a long moment. “…Why?”

You were taken aback. “Why? How do you mean, ‘why’?”

“Well…” She twiddled her thumbs awkwardly. The girl had always been soft-spoken, despite her aloof demeanour. “You see, my mother has regarded you like you’re the scum of the earth even before I was born, and we’re not particularly close, and—”

“Asuka.” Something in your voice must’ve stopped her, for she stood to attention. You gazed at her with a firm, assuring look. “Know this: I don’t resent you for your mother’s actions. They were, and are, out of your control. I am just pleased and relieved to see that you are already a hundred times the woman she is. And I have sat back and observed you for a little while, even before I was married. It’s clear you want nothing to do with your mother, or this clan, just as much as I do.”

She looked down, head hung, and you lifted a hand to squeeze her shoulder. “You’re only four years younger than me, and I don’t consider you a child. Let’s forgo the formalities, yeah? Gojo noticed your cursed energy output last night, just before it was time for dinner. He asked me if there was any chance you could be enrolled at Jujutsu Tech and taken under his wing.” You retracted your hand and smiled. “I said that I’d ask you. It seems to me that you’re already sold.”

Asuka grinned a little. “…Yeah.”

“Wonderful!” You felt genuinely happy. I can get this poor girl away from her witch of a mother! You’d seen Chinatsu blow up on Asuka once, only about two or three years ago. It was not a pretty sight, and the look on the girl’s face wasn’t one you’d ever be able to forget. Your cousin was miserable here.

Just as you had been. 

“I’ll go and tell Gojo now. Don’t worry about trying to convince your mother.” Your foot shifted to the side as you readied to turn and walk away. “You will be attending Jujutsu Tech, no matter what.”

“Wait,” she said, stepping forward, reaching for you. Then she jolted back, clutching her hand to her chest, as if horrified she’d done such a thing. You frowned to yourself. Has she been suffering worse than I’d initially thought? You tilted your head and smiled warmly again. “Yes, Asuka?”

“Um, I…” She was really quite shy, you found, assessing her. As far as you knew, Asuka had no friends her age. She probably hadn’t gotten any socialisation outside of her mother and other relatives in your shared clan. Fifteen, sixteen years of loneliness. You both were a lot more similar than you first thought.

Asuka fidgeted with the worn handle of her blade at her left hip. “I would just, um, like to apologise…for everything, you know? Your arranged marriage to such a powerful man, the constant clashing between you and my mother, how you’ve been, erm, treated…”

“Oh, Asuka, you don’t have to apologise for that.” You reached up and patted her head, surprising the girl. “None of it was your fault, at all. I’m just doing all I can to make sure you don’t suffer a similar fate to mine. You are a strong girl. Gojo believes you could become a Special Grade sorcerer someday—especially if you agree to be taught by him. Think of it like this: you will be getting out of here, you’ll be able to make friends, and you’ll have all the freedom in the world. Gojo is relaxed when it comes to his students. He’ll let you wander all day around Tokyo if you wish, shopping and sight-seeing. Of course, there are missions, but we both have faith you’ll survive. Chin up. With this, your life is under your control now.”

The girl blushed, but there was a glitter to her eyes—the same one a caged bird holds when its enclosure’s door is left wide open, its feathers no longer clipped, and freedom is finally within reach. The sun’s rays are far warmer when one can appreciate them outside, with liberty. “I…really don’t know what to say.” She tentatively looked back up at you from beneath her trimmed bangs. “But…thank you. Truly. I thank you.”

You smiled once more, and you hadn’t felt quite so joyous in a very long time. Your own troubles felt so far away at that moment. “No problem.” You turned and waved goodbye. “I’ll see you.”

You decided the most ethical way to go about selling your baked goods was to set up a stall at the flea market in downtown Tokyo. Having done the appropriate research, you soon had the vendor floor plans drawn up, the application form and fee ready—all you had left to do was obtain a food safety and hygiene certificate. Which wouldn’t take too long—it was the wait for the permit that would waste the most time.

Two to three months. You had your forehead resting in your hand as you stared down at the application form. I could be with child by then. What on earth do I do?

If it ended up you having to remain with Satoru for much of your pregnancy, then so be it. As long as you would not be heavily and uncomfortably expecting by the time you got on the plane and headed off for the States, and money wasn’t a problem any longer, staying with your husband wouldn’t be a massive problem. You hoped.

One thing that did work out for the better was the aftermath of the consummation. You became a bit more emotionally distant than before with the man now, but that didn’t appear to deter him in the slightest. He just wouldn’t leave you alone. It was starting to become routine, how he’d cart you off for the bedroom the moment he arrived home each day.

And the weekends, when he wasn’t burdened with missions and attending meetings? Your face grew hot at the mere thought. You had no idea whether to look forward to or dread tomorrow. Even just this morning, he’d had you splayed out on the kitchen counter, and the man’s back was red with scratches.

Why didn’t he use his RCT on them? The things you couldn’t work out about the man could fill a book. In fact, he’d even whined about having to put his shirt on, talking about how he wanted to parade around and proudly display the abrasions on his back, which earned him a pillow to the face.

“Just go to work!” And you’d buried down into the comforter, covers up to your ears, the bedsheets in disarray from the previous night’s events, mortified. Satoru had laughed, turned you over and tugged the duvet down, surprising you with the smooch to the lips. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back with some groceries this evening.”

Now, you slid the documents spread out before you away, leaning back in your chair and having a stretch. You’d previously reevaluated everything you wished to do, and decided to pass on getting a pet bird. You wouldn’t be able to take it with you on the trip, and you doubted Satoru would be reliable enough to care for it following your departure.

Tsumiki and Megumi might, you mused, getting to your feet, grabbing your cane and hobbling off for your room. The sun was pouring in today, not a cloud in the sky, and the garden was slowly beginning to bud. But it really isn’t worth having.

Early spring still meant chilly weather, so you bundled up with a scarf and coat and stepped outside into the backyard. Birdsong greeted you, as did the cold breeze biting at your nose, and you stepped off the veranda and made your way to the pavilion.

You could only imagine how lovely the sakura tree would look like over the next month or so, when spring is in full bloom, as its gorgeous fragrance drifted throughout the property and home. The siblings would be able to play outside, also; Megumi with his football, Tsumiki with her bubble wand. There was lots of space for them to run around, and perhaps you could get an inflatable pool for them when summer came, so they wouldn’t be stuck inside and dying of the heat. 

The outside air still had a chill to it, but you quickly made your way along the cobblestone path and toward the gazebo, eyeing the shrubbery and flower bushes yet to come into season, and you thought about the possibility to of planting strawberries, tomatoes, lettuces, the like—just to, perhaps, pick gardening up as a hobby, or something along those lines, and get outside for some fresh air. Anything to get your mind off everything. Headaches were starting to become chronic, forming into migraines.

Sleep relentlessly evaded you. Guilt rotted you from the inside. And the pregnancy tests were still showing up negative. Would you have to book another appointment with the gynaecologist, to procure some pills that would boost fertility?

Just tell him, your logical side constantly urged. Just tell him what’s wrong. How bad could his reaction be? He’s kind to you, anyway—who’s to say he won’t be understanding and compassionate in this situation?

But you always argued back—your fear of divorce was visceral, and Satoru already had far more than enough on his plate already. Why would he need to be bothered with the personal struggles of a wife he hardly wanted in the first place?

You sat down in the pavilion, cane leaned against the seat, looking around. The interior of the gazebo needed a sweeping: dead leaves, the aftermath of winter storms and rain, and dust littered the place, and plastic sheets would be needed to be installed for when poor spring and summer weather hit—especially if the wooden seats were to be cushioned. Regardless, its location and the view of the forest, the faraway, clouded peak of Mount Fuji faint in the distance, and the garden stretching out around you, was exquisite. It was peaceful, like this, so tranquil—and you suddenly decided that you’d rather miss it.

Abruptly, your phone began ringing, and you lifted it to see Satoru’s contact shining on the screen. You answered it and held it up to your ear. “Yes?”

“Baby!” he greeted cheerily, and you could hear commotion in the background. “I have something to tell you!”

You held back a sigh and picked at some stray lint on your coat. “What is it?” 

“How would you like to come meet my students on Monday?” Satoru said, and then his voice faded slightly as he presumably held the phone away and yelled something encouraging at someone in his surroundings. Then he returned the device to his ear and giggled. “Sorry about that! My students are currently exorcising a curse.”

“Then why are you calling me? Shouldn’t you be supervising them?” Something crashed in the background, there was a feminine yelp of surprise, and then a curse word. Satoru snorted. “Chiasa! I told you a roundhouse wouldn’t work! Use a hammerfist next time! Anyways, sorry, they’re a little rambunctious—Asahi, you’ll get yourself killed, kiddo. Try opening your domain. You need practice, anyway. As I was saying—you should come visit on Monday, and you can meet some fellow teachers and whatnot. Shoko’s been wanting to introduce herself to you. Same with Yuki.”

“Who are they?”

“I thought I told you about Shoko? Oh, well—she’s the school doctor. And my high school friend. The only one who can use RCT on others right now, actually, and she’s pretty chill. Yuki just got back from the States. She kinda alternates between countries, and only takes off when there’s a mission she gets assi—”

“Sorry, did you say ‘the States’?” You sat up straight, eyes wide. “She frequently visits the States?”

“Uh, yeah.” There’s another crash in the background, and then a chorus of cheers. Satoru doesn’t respond to the celebration right away. “I think you and her would get along. And don’t get me started on my students! Oh, they’re finished—great job, guys! Let’s go get ice cream.”

There were even more cheers, and you relaxed back into your seat, remembering yourself, keeping your excitement in control. “Yes, I’d love to meet them.” One of the women constantly visits the U.S.? What a golden opportunity! You could discuss with her plans of relocating there subtly, so as to not garner an interrogation and your cover being blown. Hopefully, the woman would be easy-going and understanding—especially if she heads over there regularly to avoid jujutsu responsibilities. “It sounds like you’re busy at the moment, so how about we talk again when you get home?”

Someone asked who Satoru was talking to, and he happily replied, “My wife!” And then three or four voices, you couldn’t quite make them out, gathered around their teacher, and offered merry greetings. You even heard one girl say, “I can’t believe Gojo-sensei wasn’t lying when he said he was married!”

“Hey!” said sensei protested, and laughter echoed in the background. Amused, you said hello back and bid your farewells. “I’ll meet you all on Monday. See you later, Satoru.”

The call ended, and you leaned forward in your seat, hands on your cheeks, hope blossoming. This is wonderful. What an unprecedented turn of events! Perhaps some deity out there had finally taken pity on you, and provided you this chance. Some say there is no such thing as a coincidence.

You headed back inside soon after, day made, hardly able to wait for the weekend to pass and Monday to arrive. It was hard to fight back the smile. This really is my chance!

You just needed to speed things up a bit. That was okay. Things were looking up. You could make do.

For once, it was Satoru urging you out of bed when Monday arrived.

“Come on! I have to show you around the school before classes start.” He even went so far as to tug the covers off you and sweep you up into his arms, carting you off for the bathroom to take a morning shower. Together. Because the idiot could hardly keep his hands off you. You were far past bothering to protest at this point. “There’s so much to see! It’ll be fun.”

Then he ushered you into the car and the both of you were off. The drive took far longer than you’d initially expected—the school was deep into a forest, elevated above the city, on the outskirts of Tokyo, and the private road leading onto the school grounds was gravel. Dust flared up behind the vehicle, the trees lining the route were towering and shrouded the area in shadow, and you could feel the buzz of cursed energy. Tengen’s barrier, doubtlessly—something even you, a non-sorcerer born into a prestigious clan, knew of and could sense.

He was humming cheerily the entire side, simply bursting with excitement, and he probably would’ve made you run if you didn’t have a limp leg and cane. Instead, Satoru opted to keep your hand in his as he led you into Jujutsu Tech’s grounds.

“I did tell you I made the offer to Asuka, yes?” you said, taking in your surroundings. “She’s eager.”

“That’s good,” he replied blithely. “She’ll fit in here. The kids are strong and of great character.”

The campus was rather big: there was an expansive track field and grass patch in the middle, spacious enough to even perhaps set up a couple of nets for games of volleyball or badminton, and the buildings were painfully traditional on the outside, but the classrooms within had a modern touch assuredly introduced by the strongest himself.

“Why are there so many desks?” You’d blinked at the room, filled with tables for a full class of thirty, when you knew there were only two or three students in attendance each year. “There’s hardly any need for them.”

“Dunno.” Satoru shrugged and led you out into the hall again. “There are a lot of classrooms we never use. Maybe someday there’ll be enough people to fill them up.”

Then he showed you around the administration quarters of the school—his office, the staffroom, and where the principal worked. And he lifted a hand and knocked on the door.

The plaque nailed into the door read Masamichi Yaga. There was a grunt from beyond, and Satoru opened it immediately.

“Yaga!” he greeted, and you could immediately tell the dynamic between the two men: Yaga had a concerningly long-suffering and resigned expression on his face the moment Satoru entered, and the strongest appeared overjoyed at the chance to probably pester his superior again. “Morning! I have a special guest here to introduce to you.”

The mountain of a man behind the desk barely bothered to look up from the papers he was perusing. “That so. Let me guess—a new flavour of kikufuku you think I’ll like?”

“You can do better than that!” You, feeling quite put on the spot, awkwardly smiled in greeting when Satoru exuberantly presented you to Yaga. “No, this is my wife. Remember when you insisted I hurry up and settle down? Because you said marriage would ‘knock some sense into me’?”

Finally, the principal glanced up, and you swiftly bowed. “Hello, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ll be damned, boy.” Yaga leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. You couldn’t tell where he was looking behind those dark shades, but he sounded hugely incredulous. “You actually did it.”

“You were like a fly I couldn’t get rid of, with how much you pestered me to wed.” Satoru was probably rolling his eyes behind the blindfold. “Turns out you were right, old man. I like being taken care of. Too bad you can’t relate!”

“If he ever causes you too much trouble, ma’am,” Yaga addressed you, ignoring Satoru and leaning his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers. “Come to me and I’ll beat some sense into him.”

You bit back a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

“Conspiring against me already?” Satoru whined, tugging on your sleeve. “Do you guys hate me that much? What did I even do?”

You lifted a brow at him and gave an exaggeratedly disapproving look. “Speaking informally to your elders, for one.”

“There is no way you are saying that right now.” The man crossed his arms in challenge. “I don’t speak formally to anyone. You should know this by now.”

Regardless, you could pick up on the respect Satoru held for the man behind the desk. So you grinned a little. “I do believe mister Yaga here is different.”

“You married the right woman, Satoru,” the principal said, refocusing on his paperwork. “I knew it was a good match.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“We should go see Shoko now!” Your husband grabbed your hand and began dragging you toward the door, rather hurried for no particular reason, and you hardly had a chance to give a polite goodbye to the principal before the door creaked shut. “See you later, Yaga!”

“What’s got you all flustered?” you queried, narrowing your eyes up at him, treading after him through the hallways. “Is there a little more to this marriage than I thought there was?”

“Not at all! Whatever gave you that idea?” He barely waited for a reply from you before he continued. “Anyways, the infirmary’s nearby. Shoko’s either sleeping on the job or having a smoke outside.”

Shelving it to interrogate him about later, you quietly followed after Satoru as he chatted about his colleague’s poor sleep schedule. “The bag’s under her eyes get bigger by the day. She’s a special case—Shoko’s not allowed out to fight because she’s the only medic available that can use RCT on others.”

“Ah,” you said. “I see.”

“I think you and her will get along! That same detached personality, you know?’ He grinned down at you, ignoring your look. “Here we are! Shoko! Are you awake?”

“We shouldn’t disturb her if she’s sleeping, Satoru.”

“Nonsense! Shoko’s relaxed like that. She won’t care.”

“I really don’t—”

You were cut off by shuffling from behind the door, and then it opened. A tallish woman, with shoulder-length brown hair and heavy eyes, squinted drowsily up at the white-haired idiot. “You’d better have brought me coffee and another pack of cigs for waking me up at such an ungodly hour.”

“I have something even better,” he giggled, tugging you into his side. “Let me introduce you to my wife.”

That served to shock all the lethargy out of the doctor as her brown eyes snapped to you, and you bowed. “Good morning, Ieiri-san.”

“Gojo, what the fuck?” She ran a hand through her hair and hastily adjusted the white lab coat she had on. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would’ve made sure I was presentable!”

“It’s no problem,” you quickly reassured her, and Satoru burst out in laughter. “It was a surprise! Didn’t you say you were wanting to meet her?”

“Yes, but—God, I actually can’t with you.” Running a tired hand over her face, she offered you a small smile in greeting. “Hey there. Sorry for cussing. This guy drives me up the wall. Anyway, feel free to just call me Shoko. And I’ve got some beer in my mini fridge if you ever need an escape from this bozo and some girl talk.”

Satoru let out an offended noise. “Why can’t I join in on the girl talk?” 

“Because,” was all Shoko supplied in answer. Then she held the door open wider. “Come on in. Gojo, go get us some coffee.”

“You have a coffee machi—”

“It broke. Now go.”

He gave you a pleading look, somehow thinking puppy eyes would work on you, but you waved him away with a snicker. “Doctor’s orders, Satoru.”

Grumbling, Satoru obeyed, leaving you to enter the infirmary with Shoko as she apologised for the mess. “Sorry, been a little hectic lately. Whole lot of sorcerers have been coming in at early morning hours when I’m trying to sleep with half their limbs gone.”

“Oh.” You blinked, casting a glance around, impressed with the cleanliness of the place. “It’s not messy at all. You must be so terribly tired.”

“Hell yeah.” The woman yawned widely, flopping down into a chair before a desk, picking up a pen. “That idiot’s carelessness helps nothing. Here, sit down. I really admire your patience with him, by the way. He exasperates me enough as it is, and I only see him three or so times every week.”

“He is a handful,” you conceded, smiling. “But once you get used to his quirks, he can even be enjoyable to have around.”

Shoko snorted, giving you a good-natured grin. “Charmed you, has he? Makes sense. He’s been raving about you for years.”

Silence. You stared at her, lips parted in shock, frozen in your seat. This is, what, the fourth time someone’s alluded to some kind of past Satoru has with me that I’m unaware of? “…I’m sorry, come again?”

She yawned once more. “Yeah. Especially after Geto defected. Anyways, have you met the students yet?”

“Hold on—I’m sorry.” you repeated and shook your head in bewilderment, laughing awkwardly. “Did you say that Gojo has known of me…before we even met or married?”

Shoko looked at you quizzically. “He didn’t tell you? Of course he didn’t.” She rolled her eyes, opened one of her desk drawers, and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. “Don’t mind me having one of these.”

If you weren’t so bewildered over the constant insinuations to the Gojo heir possibly knowing of you and, even worse, long wanting to marry you long before you’d both officially met months ago, then you would perhaps be surprised by how easy speaking with Shoko and befriending her was. Seamlessly, had you fallen into conversation with the woman, and it almost felt like you’d known her for years. You watched as she got up and opened a window. “He, um, didn’t tell me what?”

The doctor puffed out a cloud of smoke and remained by the window, half-facing you. “Gojo tends to be extremely closed off to pretty much everyone. Except Geto Suguru. Has he told you about him? Or perhaps mentioned him in passing?”

“Mentioned him in passing,” you affirmed, cautious as to where she would be going with this.

“Yeah, well, he was Gojo’s best friend. We all went here together, and then Geto defected.” Shoko had another drag of her cigarette. “It’s kinda funny how I’m telling you all this when we met, like, barely five minutes ago.” She grinned at you. “Anyways, Geto’s a pretty infamous curse user. I think Gojo still considers him his dearest friend.”

You quietly observed as she stared out the window, and noted her faintly saddened expression. “I guess I do too. Anyway! I think you two must’ve met at some point when you were teens or something, because, one day, Gojo came to class yapping about some girl he met.”

“…I see.” You were rendered rather inarticulate.

“It was hilarious to me, because I always thought he and Geto were gonna get married.” Shoko snickered to herself and finished off her cigarette, tossing it into the ashtray on her desk when she moved to sit down again. Slinging one leg over the other, she crossed her arms and continued. “Nothing super of note happened after that. And then…” The doctor frowned, staring blankly at her desk, before giving you a small grin. “Well, I think he can tell you the rest.”

A timely conclusion to her story, for that was the moment your husband barged in with two coffees. “You two were talking shit about me, weren’t you?”

“How’d you know?” Shoko snarked back, gladly accepting the takeaway coffee cup he held out to her, and took a sip. “Oh, good. You actually remembered that I like americanos.”

“Four shots of espresso.” Satoru had his blindfold up on his forehead, and rolled his eyes. “No wonder you get no sleep. That’s double the usual amount, Shoko. Do you want to drop dead before you hit thirty?”

“Maybe I won’t if you stop slacking off during missions with your students and actually prevent them from getting hurt.” This back-and-forth between the two greatly reminded you of two siblings always squabbling over the most miniscule of things, and you were the quieter one who always got stuck in the crossfire. “You’re the only one who has Infinity, remember.”

“How else are they going to learn if they don’t get beat up a little?” he retorted, parking his backside on her desk and earning two disapproving clicks of tongues from his colleague and wife. Satoru grinned. “It’s how we learned, you know.”

She scoffed. “Idiot. You had Infinity back then, too. I bet your pain tolerance is so low, you’d burst into tears at a paper cut.”

“Shall we test that theory?” you chimed in, greatly amused, knowing you’re the only one Satoru ever really had his Infinity down around. You had a sip of your beverage and peered up at him from above the cup’s rim. “I’ll pinch him. See how he reacts.”

“Can you stop ganging up on me?” He looked rather hurt. “You’re my wife! In sickness and in health, remember? You’re meant to be on my side!”

Feigning as genuine a sympathetic expression as you could, you placed your coffee aside, got to your feet and hobbled over to your husband, catching Shoko’s eye in the process. You leaned into his space to kiss his cheek, but found yourself obstructed by an invisible wall you both could and couldn’t feel. “What is this, Satoru? I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, right.” He glared at you, but it didn’t hold much reproach or intensity. “You’re trying to get my guard down and then smack me or something. I shouldn’t have introduced you to Shoko.”

“Wait till she meets Utahime,” the doctor commented from behind, having a sip of her coffee and shuffling about her paperwork. 

“Absolutely not! She’s even worse. If you three joined heads, you’d conspire to kill me and might actually succeed!”

Shoko let out another yawn. “I don’t want to kill you.” 

You gave him a coy smile. “Neither do I.”

Satoru stared at you distrustfully. “I’ve learned my lesson from letting my Infinity down around you too much. It results in bruised sides and hips from that weapon of yours there.”

“Can you two get out of my office and go get a room somewhere else?” The woman squinted up at the two of you. “You have students to teach, don’t you?”

“Right!” Easily distracted, he was, and Satoru excitedly clapped his hands, getting to his feet, rattling Shoko’s desk in the process. She tossed a pen at him in annoyance, and it merely froze midair before his shoulder. Plucking it out of the air and placing it back down on her desk while your husband giggled, he lightly gripped your wrist to guide you toward the door. “Let’s go. I think Yuki’s around here somewhere, too. Has she visited you, Shoko?”

“Yeah. Yesterday.” The woman lifted her coffee to her lips again. “She heads back to the U.S. or whatever tomorrow, I think. The higher-ups have already jumped to assign her a mission.”

Tomorrow? You went still at the surprise of it. Not good! I need to speak to her as soon as I can!

“Cool. Anyways, the kids should be up and about by now. See ya, Shoko. Lay off on the cigarettes.”

“Just go get me another pack,” she joked in return, and gave you a wave of farewell. “Remember, there’s beer in my fridge we should crack open soon.”

You smiled, feeling accepted. “I’ll take you up on that.” 

“I’m jealous,” Ito Chiasa remarked, narrowing her eyes up at her teacher.

“Why?” Satoru replied, tilting his head. He had one arm slung around your shoulders and had just finished introducing you to the students. Fukura Asahi held up the bag of baked treats you’d gifted them in greeting with about three cookies stuffed in his mouth. “Ma’am, these are so good.”

“Save some for me!” The other student standing nearby, Matsumoto Reina, made a grab for the sweets and swiftly fell forward from her taller companion’s dodge. “Asahi! Hand it over!”

“I told you they’d be chaotic,” Satoru muttered in your ear, pressing his lips together to hold back a grin. “Sugar won’t help.”

“They’re your students.” You lifted a brow at him. “You can’t expect me to keep them under control.”

“’Course not! Hey, Asahi, hand me those.” And Satoru proceeded to pluck the bag out of the boy’s hands, toss Chiasa and Reina one biscuit each, and then stuff the rest into his mouth. “Alright, kiddos! Finish those and then go run fifty laps around the track to burn off the calories. You’ll need to put in extra effort to impress the missus here today.”

With three chorusing groans of disappointment, the trio obediently turned and rushed down the steps for the field, shoving and teasing and shouting at each other as they hurriedly finished off their treats, and you gave Satoru a resigned look. “Maybe you’re not as carefree as I thought you were.”

“Eh, I let them slack off every now and then.” He gave you a grin. “Besides, they’re the ones who said they wanted to impress you. I must also impress you by showing off how well-disciplined and strong my students are.”

True to his word, they were all barrelling along the track, already on lap three, without even showing any signs of fatigue yet, and yelling lighthearted insults at each other to hurry up. While you felt amused and pleased at the sight, you also felt a bit sad. This was an opportunity you never had, and would never have, experienced for yourself. You envied Satoru and Shoko and these teenagers. Although jujutsu society was perilous and life as a sorcerer was even worse, they looked like they constantly had fun fooling around with one another. Having able legs and techniques and a strength about them that your decrepit self could only dream to experience always made you feel small.

Let’s not wallow in self pity. Making it all about you was the last thing you wished to do. So, with a soft smile, you said, “Yes. I think you’re a great teacher.”

“Just wait until you see them in action.” Satoru sniffed proudly to himself. “It’s only been a few months, and they can already annihilate a Semi-Grade 1 curse in minutes. With Asuka jumping into the fray, it’ll bump it up to seconds.”

“Getting that poor girl away from her aunt will heal this society a little, I think.” You brought a palm up to your forehead to block out the sun. “Now that I think about it, she has always been miserable.” You looked at him, and you don’t know what compelled you to say it. “You were alone as a child, weren’t you? On the Gojo estate grounds?”

His jaw locked for a moment, that grin flickering, but he kept his gaze set on the students rounding the track and didn’t look at you. And, still, his smile remained fixed to his face. “Yeah. Pretty lonely. That’s why I came here.”

“Ah.” You nodded, facing the front again, keeping your further questions and curiosity to yourself. Satoru was always happy to be open and intimate on face value and physical terms—always indulgent in his thoughts in the present moment, but it was only in brief bursts and rare moments that he gave even a small snippet into his childhood years past. You know that his adolescence was the happiest he’d ever been, from what’d you’d gathered—and then he was not. The man’s life before that was even more blurry, and you very much doubt it was happy. And he had just confirmed such suspicions. It was finally something you had in common with him. So, what on earth do I have to do with it? “We relate on that.”

“We do.” Satoru’s tone was as airy and light and carefree as usual, but there was a hush to it. A tentativeness. “It kinda sucks.”

“It’s good you have the power and will to change that.” You absentmindedly waved away a fly as it buzzed past. “No child should have to experience such despair.”

“Our child certainly won’t.” His words had you snapping your head around to look up at him. And Satoru still faced the track field, where his students finally began to slow down and exclaim tired complaints, hands shoved in his pockets. Satoru lifted one to cup his mouth and yell, “Twenty-six laps to go, kids! C’mon! You guys can do it!”

“No,” you quietly affirmed after a moment, watching as they all cried out in protest and picked up the pace again, lips flattened into a thin line. “They won’t.”

It was later that day when you finally had the opportunity to slip away and wander about the school yourself, enjoying its tranquil atmosphere and the soft drone of insects. He had wandered these same halls once, all as an unburdened teenager, friends at his side, until they weren’t. At least, not the one you’d long deduced to be closest to him. 

It was hilarious to me, because I always thought he and Geto were gonna get married. You chuckled to yourself. You’d like to meet this Geto.

“Yoohoo! Hello! Are you Gojo Satoru’s wife?” An unfamiliar voice made you pause in your tracks, and you turned to find a blonde woman with a helmet on her head, sitting on a motorbike, waving to you. “He described me to you, and Shoko texted me earlier you’re on school grounds! I’ve been meaning to meet you!”

“Oh!” You weren’t completely sure if it was her, but you quickly hobbled over to the woman and bowed. “You must be Tsukumo Yuki. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“So formal!” she chortled, swinging a long leg over the bike to stand up, and you almost choked at her height. Tall and shapely and chic, she dipped into a polite bow also and beamed at you. “You know, I’m not super familiar with Gojo, but even I was glad to see him finally settle down. Even though he’s only, what, twenty-three? Honestly, I never saw him getting a girlfriend.”

“Ah, our marriage was arranged,” you supplied, laughing a little awkwardly. How do I bring up relocating overseas without sparking suspicion? “But, it’s been…pretty smooth-sailing, regardless. Frankly, I was glad to finally be free from my clan.”

“Tell me about it!” The woman rolled her eyes and leaned back against her motorcycle, arms crossed, smiling. “Exactly why I’m pretty much never in Japan and over fooling around in America. Damn elders. Why haven’t they been assassinated yet?”

“You frequent the States?” you innocently asked, inwardly elated at finally getting a chance to speak on this topic and glean information. “What is it like?”

“Well, there’s pretty much no jujutsu influence.” Yuki rubbed her chin and squinted up at the sky in thought. “I mean, sorcerers still run around and do their jobs, but they’re kind of a special sect of the CIA or FBI, you know? Like secret agents. Not much different to this country, just a bit less common.”

Your excitement and hope grew with every word. Little to no jujutsu influence? This is perfect! “Wow. It must be so relaxing for you. I would love to visit someday. How long did it take for you to learn English?”

She didn’t reply immediately and simply smiled at you. “You want to escape, too, huh?”

Stunned silent, you blinked and tried to gather your wits. “I—well, I’d think anyone would, you see. I wasn’t necessarily…”

“It’s your business!” Yuki shrugged it off with a beam. “But, to answer your question, it’ll take about two or so years until you’re completely fluent. I’d start out with textbooks.”

“Oh, well, thank you.” You didn’t quite know what to say. “Could we, erm, exchange phone numbers? If that’s alright.”

“Sure!” She immediately pulled out her phone and you held yours out to her. Then Yuki winked at you, turning to pick up her helmet and shove it over her head. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I’ll send you some links to a few websites and videos that will help you with learning English! See ya.”

You laughed, lifting a hand to wave farewell, feeling both apprehensive and freed. Finally, you had someone to speak with about moving overseas, and one who wanted as little to do with this society as much as you did. Sharp-witted, Yuki was, considering the speed at which she caught on to you, and you were still a little unsure as to whether completely trusting her was wise. She said she wasn’t ‘super familiar’ with Satoru, but would she tell him, anyway? You watched as she drove away, blonde hair flying out behind her, before glancing down at your phone. Is this really alright?

The bright side was, you were one step closer to your goal. Just as long as he was kept in the dark, things should be fine, even if it took huge risks. The pregnancy tests were still showing up as negative, so you had time. You gnawed on your thumbnail. Did you?

“There you are!” The voice made you jump and spin around, laying eyes on Satoru’s tall, blindfolded frame as he strode over to you with a spring in his step. “What’re you doing over here?”

“I just met Yuki,” you answered, slipping your phone into your pocket. “She’s really nice. And so tall!”

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool. Wanna go get some food? Shoko wants fried chicken.”

“If you like. How are the students? Are you finished for the day?” 

He slipped his hand into your free one and began leading you back towards the main building. “They said they wanted to go bake something for you in return for the treats, but pretend you didn’t hear that. I kind of just spoiled their surprise. Oops.”

You let out a snort. “You’re just annoyed they’re not doing it for you. I think it’s very cute.”

Satoru tilted his head in a way that told you he was rolling his eyes beneath his blindfold. “I should make them run a hundred laps next time.”

“All because they didn’t bake something that would give you more cavities than you already have?”

“I told you! I use RCT on my teeth."

You stopped, shook your head and laughed. “You’re an idiot, you know that? How about this: I will share the treats they give me with you. Would that make you happy?”

He grinned widely, and it was like staring directly into the sun. “See? You know me so well.”

“I let you have your way too much,” you grumbled, no bite to your words. Your mood had significantly improved since your conversation with Yuki. With a small smile, you patted his upper arm. “Let’s go. I want to go and say goodbye to the students.”