TW:smut! cum play (?), cum eating, unprotected sex, pure fucking filth, do tell me if missed any
gojo satoru who doesn‘t want kids but doesn‘t pull out either.
mindlessly, he thrusts into you as if his life depends on it. his eyes are closed, head thrown back with his hands on the small of your back pressing it down, forcing your back to arch.
it hasn‘t been remotely long since your last orgasm, and another one is loading inside you. it’s all caused by the natural arch of his thick cock that keeps hitting your g-spot, causing you become delirious with every passing second.
“‘tooru—” you sweetly moan, tongue already losing it‘s place in your mouth. meanwhile, the white haired man behind you keeps moaning, barely hearing your voice over his as he whines.
“j- just a bit more pretty.” he pants, both hands moving to your waist as his thrusts become rather sloppy and deeper as he shudders with every thrust, feeling your walls tighten around him sweetly.
you shudder, feeling his cock pulse inside you, going deeper with every thrust, his hands clawing at your waist as he chases that sweet release that washes over him in no time.
you both moan so lewdly. his sweet voice leaving past his lips as he stills, dumping his cum inside of you. you stop as well, feeling his liquid inside you. all that stickiness feeling well inside of you, spurting and painting your walls white.
“fuck baby,” he moans.
though he did dump himself inside of you without a care, he doesn‘t want kids, and you don‘t feel prepared yet. you‘re not on birth control, and neither is he.
you sigh in pleasure as you feel him pull out, white cum that belongs to him and you wrapped around his pretty cock. gojo swallows thickly before he grabs your waist and flips you to your stomach.
“alright baby, you know what to do,” he looks up at you, your tired yet smutty eyes meeting his lust filled ones as you nod.
his hand moves to the lower part of your stomach as he watches your cunt with lust in his eyes. you prop yourself on your shoulders as you look down at him between your legs, you smirk lightly before you push.
with one hard push from you and a light pressure from his hand, dribbles of his cum drip from your pussy. you moan, feeling his fingers ghost on the lips of your cunt, opening it to reveal more of you pushing all his seed out of you as best as you possibly can.
and when you feel like can‘t anymore, he‘ll sweetly smile at you, saying “oh don‘t worry, i can help you with that.” then, his long, slender fingers will delve into your pussy.
your throw your head back as his fingers rake the walls of your cunt, bringing the remnants of his cum out of your pussy. and when he sees his middle and ring finger glisten with cum when he takes them out, he‘ll waste no time and put them into his mouth. he does that all while he looks at you, looking lewdly before his fingers go back in.
when he finds that his fingers can no longer pick out anything, he‘ll prop his mouth before you glistening cunt and stick his tongue straight into you. best part is when you‘ll take his hair and push your cunt straight to his mouth. he‘ll smirk, grabbing your thighs and straight up lick you in the inside. he calls this process ’just making sure’ to make sure that there is no more cum in your cunt, to ensure that there will be no babies coming your way.
and when he‘s down with taking all remnants of his white potent seed out of you, he‘ll crawl over to you and dangle his cock before your mouth. of course, you naturally will eat up and lick him. you‘ll eat the mixture of yours and his ecstasy clean.
and when you‘re done, you two will share a cute deep kiss, tasting each other. <3
oh, how can one be so beautiful?gojo satoru asks himself.
his blue eyes are illuminated by the sun rays as he stands there admiring you, though he does not stand further than seven feet away from you. his lips are churned upwards with his fingers holding the bouquet of flowers tight, heart beating faster by the second as he simply watches with joy, adoration, and fascination in his gaze.
he cannot stop himself from admiring the sigh before his ocean eyes.
not once in his twenty-seven years of living did he ever think he would find someone reading a book so intriguing, yet here he is: doing just as he thought he never would.
you look so beautiful to him. figure beneath the trees as the wind compliments the way your hair flows with it, feet laid out with your back pressed against the wooden body of the tree. such a simple sight, yet so breathtaking in his eyes.
as he stands there underneath the spring sun, you finally look up from your book and spot the white haired man who admires you from not-so afar. a smile cannot help but etch on your face as he walks over with his hand running through his hair.
“hello amore,” his voice is like honey, sweet and smooth as he hands you the bouquet of pink roses. “for you.” it cannot be helped that there is a slight blush is on his cheeks as he watches you take the flowers and bring it up to your nose to smell the batch, to him you just look so beautiful even as you do the most mundane action.
“thank you, darling.” you say your thanks before you settle it to your lap and usher him to kneel before you, and he does as asked. when he is there on his knees before you, you lean forward and press a sweet kiss against his lips.
sure, gojo satoru may be the strongest man to ever walk this planet, but when he is with your presence: he is nothing but a man who yearns for your love.
so when he feels your lips against his, it‘s just natural for him to fall at ease and press further as his hand moves to hold your cheek. blue eyes fluttering close as when feels your fingers on his nape. all the butterflies in his stomach erupt as his heart beats erratically for you.
sometime, everybody will love someone, and something in your kiss told gojo satoru, his sometime is now.
K, I know this isn’t my usual content, but I haven’t seen you all in almost a month soooo
Wanna seeeeee what I got!?
Isn’t that doooooorbs!? ❤ K so I love sea horses and to me they represent the normalcy and beauty of the non binary in nature If you didn’t know; the [males] carry, develope, and birth the babies. In light of recent human and constitutional rights violations in the United States, with the “dont say gay” infringements, which puts already vulnerable kids and their care givers at extreme risk; if you’re looking for a positive, non aggressive, scientific way to broach gender fluidity with really anyone ….point them in the direction of a children’s book called Mister Seahorse by Eric Carle ->
Not only is the artwork beautiful and INTERACTIVE !! But it gently leads the reader through different gender roles and non conforming fluidity of many sea creatures ❤
I also got this insanely cravable mug!!! I desire nothing more than utilitarian art !! Like the table for instance It’s not dirty; it looks like water!!
I also got this little Lego figure for the Year of the Tiger we’re gonna pretend it’s Wei Wuxian
Annnnd my favorite!!! ->
I got an amonite for my Pisces sun and a tiger’s eye for my Leo moon
Ah haha!!! Bijou kitty ran to “safe” behind Dad My dog Honey is like OH SHIT!! My bad… She knows I won’t save her lolz LOOK at the fear in those eyes!! [This was taken over my shoulder blind!! I’m sideways in the chair]
Alright happy end of Pictures and thank you for baring with me while I took some time away ❤
↳ Choices we’re bound to make in life don’t always turn out well, and you would have to learn that the hard way, maybe should you have listened to your sister when she tried to dissuade you from marrying a man that you didn’t know, as charming as he might seem.
“You should smile a bit more, it’s supposed to be the best day of your life after all.” You spoke in a low voice, finally breaking the silence.
“Of our life,” corrected your interlocutor. “But you you’re not smiling either.”
“I’ve got a veil over my head, if you hadn’t noticed. Everyone doesn’t have your hawk eyes.”
You slowly turn towards him, scrutinising the outlines of his silhouette through the mesh of tissue separating you from the world. His eyes were riveted on the assembly in front of you, his opalescent irises visibly sensitive to the faintest visual stimulus. You couldn’t perceive all the details of his face, but you could see enough to discern the frustrated look he wore: frowned eyebrows, casting a gloomy darkness over his eyes. You could also guess, through the contrast of colors, the line formed by his pursed lips, a downcast concave arc, only affirming the moroseness decorating his sweet thing of a face.
A sigh escapes from your mouth. This wasn’t at all how you imagined the course of things. You even came to wonder whether or not he’d get rid of you as soon as possible, relieving himself of all the responsibilities that cumbered him because of you. You could already kiss goodbye your plans of all-inclusive family protection.
It was patent, at the end of every round from the clock’s arrows, that silence was getting heavier, weighting more and more on your shoulders. You tried to lure your mind by confusing on the surrounding banalities, ears stretched towards the laughter and joyous voices of good conduct and anecdotes. Through the cacophony, you made out the sound of clanking glasses with each other, probably coming from friends that had nothing to do with the traditionalism of his clan. Thinking about it, it might have been your mannerless sister who was pouring the sake, or champagne; there was no way of knowing.
You, as well as your parents, had greatly apprehended Yuki’s behaviour during this ceremony. It a wedding as traditional as could be, with its fervent conservatives that never missed their duty in badmouthing mores and old-fashioned customs. In your misery, you could at least agree with the fact that they didn’t try to hide things from you, from the outfit worn by your in-laws on the day you’d met them, to the indecent number of tailors, florists, and seniors that had come to help you prepare for this day; but that didn’t make the greatness of things any less grand.
“Can you see anything with that on your head?” Your spouse’s voice startles you out of your thoughts. You didn’t really expect him to engage in conversation with you, not after the cold reply that he’d served you earlier.
You slowly put your left hand on the floor, tilting towards him, getting a semblance of balance. You could feel that he didn’t want to raise his voice more than this or to attract more attention towards the both of you, but this silence probably bothered him too. In fact, he was known for being a joyful person, a happy-go-merry lad who always had the right word to ease the atmosphere. Even though, believing Utahime’s words, he sometimes gave in to arrogance and disdain, playing with his “victim’s” fears and weaknesses.
You had five long years to face your responsibilities, taking the first train and breaking the wall that you’d built between the two of you by refusing to meet him; but for several reasons, you never had the courage to do so. And what you refused to admit, whether to yourself or to those who incited you to take action, was that Gojo Satoru scared you. You’d never met two persons that said the same thing about him, sometimes he was a progressive, other times a bloodthirsty manipulator. One day he had a big heart, another day he showed himself to be devoid of any trace of humanity. And you dreaded which facet he’d wear with you, he too had been forced into this, what would hold him back from hating you?
“Not really,” you whisper to him. “Just shadows.”
He then mirrored your posture by landing his hand close to yours, reducing the sparse space between you even more. Seen from afar, one could almost think of you as accomplices; head against head, confiding in each other. You were now so close that you could feel his scent teasing your nostrils, deliciously masculine and intoxicating. You could easily get used to it, to this scent on your clothes as well as on your skin.
“So why are you wearing it?” He asked.
“For tradition, I suppose.”
A silence even more awkward than before fell soundlessly between you. You felt your veil’s tissue moving from the breath he’d just let out before hearing him clearing his throat, eyes lost once again into the crowd.
“So you’re like this…” He concludes.
“You know nothing about me.” You shot back.
“That’s funny, because if you hadn’t systematically refused to meet me, I could have known you,” He paused, probably thinking that you were nothing more than a capricious brat that said things, accepted circumstances without ever embracing the consequences.
You were both under the yoke of this inquisition, neither of you was happy about ending up bound to the other, but he had done things for you. When Yuki solicited him, he hadn’t hesitated for even a second to postpone the wedding even though he had nothing to gain from it, on the contrary. He had pulled, pulled and pulled more on the strings held in hands to arrange this little princess, frail and fragile, that he had to marry just for her to end up not even deigning to meet him.
A voice in your head screamed at you to open up to him, to trust him, but would he really understand? Could a man that had everything ever understand a woman that had lost everything? Once again, your fear paralysed you. You didn’t know whether he’d hear you out, listen to you, or simply take what comforted him in his image of you; an image that didn’t seem all that glorious in your eyes.
“I have my reasons.” A short but curt reply.”
“And you don’t think that five years were largely enough to share them with me? We’re going to live together and build a family. From today on, your name is Gojo,” He reminded you.
“Do you understand the scope of things at least?” Before he could even notice, he had raised his tone, making you slightly push away from him, straightening up into your initial position.
You cast your eyes to the ground, almost ashamed. It had been barely five minutes since you started talking and here you were already being nagged. He didn’t think that you could grasp the extent of your responsibilities, of all the sacrifices that you had to make for him. To be honest, he wasn’t wrong, at least not entirely. You didn’t resist the idea of your husband being a man feared by society, he was dangerous, and didn’t let himself be controlled by anyone. And deep down, you respected this side of him, having witnessed first handedly the drifting of society within which you lived. But what you couldn’t imagine for now, was to what lengths this same society, without mentioning heads nor names, was ready to go to break your husband. You could easily conceive the stratagems crafted in an attempt to maintain him out of harm’s way as well as their potential repercussions, but your mind couldn’t accept that one could sacrifice lives just to protect a so-called balance. Gojo knew it. He had paid the price, even, and he almost had pity in the fact that you were unconsciously putting yourself under the spotlights. It was as though you had launched yourself in a hunting party, loaded with weapons but having forgotten the munitions.
Your reaction had somehow caught him off guard since he didn’t want to intimidate you or instigate a relationship of dominant and dominated. He looked at your small hand, still poised close to his, before mumbling something then carelessly getting closer to you. He put the palm of his hand over the back of yours before delicately sliding the pad of his fingers over the length of your arm. Without understanding much as to why, your hairs stood on end, the touch of his skin still burning over yours. He seized your arm as gently as he could before pulling you towards him, recreating a semblance of intimacy.
“I’ll never hurt you. All I ask of you is to trust me, otherwise it would have all been in vain.” He said softly.
He was right, and even if it would be difficult, you had to trust him if you wanted to gain any advantage you sought. Your eyes focused on the sole thing that you could see, your small hand on the floor and the ring that now crowned your finger. A resplendent diamond that his mother had offered you during your first encounter, a mother that loved her son. A mother that wanted to protect her son at all cost, but who wasn’t ready to sacrifice a life in order to save another, no matter how much she wanted to.
“I’ll do everything in my power to make this marriage work, but I need time…”
“To?” He waited for you to respond.
“To…” While searching for your words, you slowly realised that you were formulating answers to questions you were never able to ask yourself, thus re-establishing some order into the maze within which had morphed your mind along the years.
Your eyes slowly started to water, tears clenching an invisible vice around your throat, thus holding back the words that you were ready to confess. It was no secret, you needed time to learn to do things right, to learn how to avoid being clumsy. You wanted to pull down your cocoon, to squander your shell and let him breathe some of your air; that’s what he seemed to expect from you, and the price was worth it. But a restrain, call it the blacksmith’s life, firmly held onto the leash that you were trying to let go of.
He seemed to understand that it wouldn’t be today that you’d play cards on the table, maybe it was because of the melancholy that he could read in your face when you turned your head towards him, or maybe the weak shrug of your shoulders as you moved; whatever it was, he clearly understood that it would be meaningless to push this conversation any further. You were already on the verge of tears, and even if it were customary for a woman to cry on her wedding day, he was ready to put money on the fact that it was for entirely different reasons. He now needed to find a way to clear the overly morose air and lift your lips upward.
“Did you know that they served whiskey during traditional weddings?” He asked out of the blue, wiping off your mournful expressing and replacing it with a gigantic question mark.
“Really? Since when?” You answer, totally confused.
“Since a few hours ago apparently, I hope for you that she knows how hold her liquor.”
Who the hell was he talking about? But to your horror, you didn’t know many people who had so little respect for traditions, one of them being less than 10 centimetres away from you.
“Please, tell me it’s not Yuki…” Your eyes widened.
“Alright, I won’t say it,” he taunted you by lifting a hand in the air.
Once again, you had the urge to take a shovel and dig what would soon become your grave, far from the prying eyes, probably heavy with judgment, and the shame that you felt. You and your parents had spent hours and hours trying to convince her to adopt, for even one day, the politically correct, given that it would end up with repercussions on your person. The most annoying part in all of this was that at the time, she seemed to show signs of comprehension and to accept to behave decently. Niet. Tsukumo Yuki would only ever do what she pleased, it was almost a fatality.
His shoulder made contact with yours in a light manner, eyes full of satire. You could finally see the childish side of Gojo Satoru, slowly uncovering right in front of your eyes. Utahime has probably gone through all different shades of suffering to call him an idiot -along with many other names. But in your case, it didn’t really bother you all that much, you even enjoyed this kind of teasing, as long as you could distinguish his intentions. And if, just like in this moment, it was devoid of any perverse motive, you could probably get used to it.
You decide to reciprocate the movement, colliding your shoulder to his forearm, unable to touch his shoulder due to the height difference. He could easily discern the slight frown of your brows when a little laugh escaped from his mouth: there he was mocking you! You didn’t wait before riposting, your little fingers were already fraying a path on his arm before pinching him, showcasing how if he didn’t want to end up as blue as smurf, he’d better avoid making any remarks about your small stature.
“If it’s any comfort, long drinks of water aren’t really my thing.”
“I’ll make sure to tell Yuki.”
“Could it be possible to buy your silence? Mochis? Maybe a pet?”
“You’re scared of my sister? Really?” Now, this was interesting.
“Me? Of course not, come on.” He denied immediately. “I’m just looking for a way to fill my role as a husband and offer you things, tinker bell told me that you had a hard time accepting gifts. I’ll gladly admit, though, that your sister isn’t the type of person one would want on their back.”
“They say the same about you.” You retorted.
“I’m the strongest, after all.” His voice held an aura of pride.
You softly blow from the nose, he was without a doubt the most powerful exorcist of your generation— since many years now. But hearing this affirmation, pronounced in such a laidback way, and with so much confidence; it was funny. He grimaced before clicking his tongue.
“Does my wife doubt me?” He continues.
Hearing him say that so offhandedly made the blood rush up to your cheeks, reminding you that your discussion wasn’t one that two friends would have around a meal. It was that of young married couple, that was supposed to create bonds stronger than sickness, misery and misfortune. He was your husband and you had to get used to it.
“Your wife finds you a bit too full of yourself.” You said teasingly.
“Until proven otherwise, you haven’t answered my question.” He replied without missing a beat.
You took a long inhale, you didn’t want to play hard to get and say that you didn’t believe him to be so strong, just because you didn’t believe it. But you also didn’t want to go with his flow, a little something in his voice hinted that he was enjoying this little play, and you were ready to entertain.
“I know the man I’m marrying.”
“At the risk of disappointing you, I don’t think you know me all that well. But I can’t really blame you, at least not for this, right?” He asked you while switching positions.
He was now half stretched out, his right arm behind your back. His head was at your shoulder’s level, and he didn’t hesitate long before lying on it, appreciating the softness of your kimono’s material.
The soft breeze of the afternoon was playing with the tissues and strands of hair, spinning them at Aeolus’ will. Usually, you’d enjoy the zephyr’s breath, dry and hot weathers weren’t really your cup of tea. However, you found it more annoying than anything else, at this very moment, and your partner seemed to be of the same opinion. Your veil threatened to fly away at any moment now, forcing you to hold it down between your little fingers. Gojo, for his part, had to puff it away each time a piece came free and obstructed his sight, which happened quite often given his posture.
“Your wife only asks to know you, then.” You said softly.
Your reply caught him off guard, he lifted his eyes towards you, tilting his neck even more. You suspected that he was trying to take advantage of the wind, waiting for the moment when your veil would lift to give him a direct view at your face. So you grab as much tissue as possible before pulling it towards yourself, obliterating the smallest of openings to his great disappointment. A chuckle escaped your lips as you heard the small groan of frustration he emitted, to be honest, you were even proud.
“Alright, alright. I’ve been uncovered.” He said begrudgingly.
“Patience is a virtue, Gojo.” You reminded him.
“Virtue that seems to be lacking, Tsukumo. Come on! Which wise head had the bright idea of putting a veil on a woman for her wedding day. Who knows what could be hidden under this-” He pointed to the veil, “-I mean, I wouldn’t dare imagine how many men found themselves stuck with plain Janes because of this stupid tradi- everything alright?”
He laid his worried gaze on your small trembling figure. In fact, your shoulders were shaking frantically, as though fed on a supercharged battery. It was unseemly to burst into laughter during overly crowded ceremonies, whatever the nature of the ceremony in question, and so this was why you were trying your utmost to refrain the fit of laughter that was ready to take over. One could even wonder if Gojo ever heard himself talk, or if he even realised how absurd he could sound.
He frowned, understanding the reason of your current physical state then he pushed you, pretending to be offended. “And here she’s mocking me!”
“You just called me a plain Jane!” You add while mimicking his gesture.
“Absolutely not, I’m just saying that some have eh…less luck than others. You don’t think that I’m right, not even a bit?” He cocked his head a little.
You had to admit that even in his stupidity, there was a certain foundation basis. You doubted that the problem to him wasn’t a piece of tissue but rather the instrumentality of a bond meant to be sacred. There shouldn’t be anything cumbering someone to bound themselves forever to someone they didn’t know. It was a liberticidal and medieval practice, that even if in certain circumstances would end into something beautiful, mostly caused more pains than gains. And you couldn’t help but think that in every case where an arranged marriage worked, the merit always went to the husband who was more obliging than he ought to be. Especially in your case, in a field where love seemed to have no importance.
“Of course-”
“See! I’m always right,” He cuts you off.
You rolled your eyes before pulling more material from your veil toward yourself, tightening your grip on the space between your neck and face.
“Even so, that’s not a reason for me to let you feast your eyes. Plus, isn’t your your six eyes supposed to let you see everything?” You asked.
“It’s more complicated than that, I’ll explain one day, promise. In the meantime, I believe it’s time. Do you have the rings?”
His question was only met with confusion. “Which rings? I have no…”
“You forgot our wedding rings? “ He asked incredulously.
“What?! But I wasn’t the one supposed to bring them! No one told me!”
Not quite sure of what to do, you started to wiggle left and right, to and fro, as though your body was trying to invoke the jewels. You were hoping that your sister would notice the agitation and fly to your rescue, like she always did, but how to know if you had the attention of anyone when you couldn’t even see to more than 10 centimetres? But you were quickly cut in your movement by a big hand tapping on your thigh several times, making you regain your calm.
“Now, now, I’m kidding! They’re with your sister,” he articulates between two laughs. If he wanted to embarrass you, then he clearly succeeded.
Your only response was to hit his palm with yours several times, without much force to inflict any pain but rather to showcase how lame you found his joke.
Gojo freed your thigh before finally getting up, the rustling of tissues indication movement. He smiled to several people before beckoning Yuki. This kind of ceremony could and should normally last way longer than this. But this pack of apparent hypocrisy and false courtesy annoyed him enough to cut it short.
“Hey lovebirds, I hope you’re not too bored over here.” She says, overjoyed, before throwing a small box toward your spouse, he thanks her with a wink.
“Yuki,” you say once you recognise her, your joy more than evident.
She grasped you by the shoulders before turning your around, your back now to the crowd, shielded from the indiscrete eyes of the guests- as well as Gojo’s. Yuki put a knee on the floor before bending the tip of the veil still on top of your head before pulling it over, sliding hers under. It was impossible to talk with all these people around, yet she had a solution to everything.
“Nice one-on-one, right?” She teased while sticking her forehead to yours.
“I can hear them berate from here, you shouldn’t do this.”
“That’s Gojo grumbling because he can’t be in my shoes.” She said with raised voice.
“So, how are things? Everything okay?” She asked. That was a good question, to which you had no real answer. To be completely honest, you’d learnt to detach yourself from reality, to be a spectator in your own life rather than the actress. If you couldn’t always decide, then you’d rather not suffer. So you played the role you were assigned, you sang your opera till the curtains fell, away from the indiscrete gazes and breakable hearts. But not wanting to worry your sister, you just lie, one more time.
“Oh yes, yes. Everything’s for the best, don’t worry. He, however, is starting to lose patience I think.” You replied finally.
“Gojo? He was born with an eye on the watch, it’s out of his control. Good luck bearing with him, sis,” she commiserates satirically.
“I can hear you,” he throws in, busy smoothing down his clothes, tired of sitting down.
Yuki waved her hand in a way that says to shut up, not caring about what he could hear or think. All that she cared about at this moment was to know that you weren’t regretting anything, and that if deep down you wished to cancel this wedding but didn’t dare to say it, ashamed or scared of disappointing. She locked her gaze abnormally serious into yours, she was trying to spot any hint of unease, after all, eyes were truly the mirror of the soul. But to her great disappointment, she couldn’t see anything; your usually sparkly irises, were wan, pale and empty, devoid of any emotion. She could see neither joy nor pain, neither regret nor apprehension; absolute void. She wasn’t really sure whether what she was looking for was more worrying than what she’d found.
However, Yuki knew that questioning you or trying to make your spill the beans would be in vain, a little sister even more closed off than herself. So she shut up, tucked her worries in before landing a soft kiss on your forehead, a kiss meant to be reassuring, slowly murmuring that whatever happened, she’d forever be by your side. She stepped away and put back the white lace over your face before throwing a small velvety box toward Gojo, a box that he effortlessly caught mid-fly. He thanked her with the back of his hand before she got up, decolonizing the nuptial space that was meant for you and your spouse and returned to your parents, leaving you along once again.
“The priest is here, let’s get up.” He lends you his hand so you can stand up.
You put your small fingers in his big palm, squeezing it while hoping that it’d be enough for you to straighten up. That said, your kimono was quite tight due to the enormous amount of clothes under it, and you couldn’t bend your knee correctly to get up, thus losing your balance. You almost kissed the floor if it weren’t for Gojo who’d leaned toward you in order to hold you up discretely.
His hand was on your hip, while you grabbed onto both of his forearms, unconsciously digging your nails into his flesh. You could feel his hot breath on your forehead, then his head tilted down, his lips were now closer to the lines of your ear.
“Everything good?” He whispered before letting you go, having made sure that you weren’t about to fall once more.
You nodded timidly, still under the effect of the close proximity, so new and so sudden. Being this small- smaller than you’d imagined, your head ended up on his collarbone, the part of his body that wasn’t covered by the outfit. If it weren’t for the veil, your lips would have been directly in contact with his skin, this thought alone created a sort of uneasiness inside of you. It reminded you of the day when your uniform had ripped off, showing off your belly as well as a part of your chest, under the stupefied gaze of a certain Zenin.
He then gets away from you, trying to get into a respectable distance from your body (he probably thought that you were uneasy because of the physical contact with a stranger) but close enough for his stretched arms to reach for you.
You didn’t understand what was going on until the deafening silence draped the crowd that uttered neither words nor agitation. So straightened up, straight as a stick while facing your spouse who snorted before putting his hand on the small of your back, hinting that you should turn around toward the priest instead of him. You pinned as good as you could, delicately moving your feet as little as possible, in order to be in the best position.
“Sit down,” the holy man indicates.
“We’re gonna stay up, that will make things faster.” Gojo said coolly.
The priest, knowing whom he was facing, didn’t insist more than that, fearing the consequences. Even though, deep down, you knew that Gojo would never go that far, these brief moments made you realise the scope of what the strongest could inspire in others. Disaster, desolation and misfortune must be all that he left behind; he had to feel quite lonely, in the end.
You could easily guess the movements of the man before you, he practiced the rites with great meticulousness, carrying out all these ancestral rituals of purification, or benediction, you never really understood all the flights of fancy. To be more precise, you never really tried to understand; to you, marriage was simply done to tell others that two persons were bound, surely not to get any sort of benediction. And you also didn’t think that a ceremony had any specific value within the couple: its solidarity, its longevity and its purity only depended on the commitment that the married couple was ready to pour in, not of some bowl of holy sake.
The psalms resonating in your ears were incredibly intoxicating. The procession of litanies was probably used to bring joy and benediction to your union before the gods. Even though you didn’t believe more than that, they managed to appease your soul and to put the flames consuming you to sleep. This spiritual atmosphere calmed you down more than you’d like to admit, “So that’s why there were so many believers in the world?”
Then the priest poured a bowl of sake that he extended to your spouse. If your memory weren’t failing you, it was the key moment of every shinto marriage. He lifted the little porcelain utensil to his lips, before taking three successive sips. The priest served his liquor one more time, this one for you.
You lifted your veil enough to reveal your lips before taking the bowl, not without struggle. Noticing your unease, Gojo, gentleman that he could be, relieved you of task so that you could lift the china with both hands, gripping the front of the veil, lifting it forward, enough for you to drink at ease, three sips too. You handed the bowl to the priest so that he can fill it once more, then Gojo drinks a second time, thus sealing your fates forever.
Then came the moment that you were looking forward to the most, and that made it so your spouse couldn’t stay put: the ring exchange. You could see his immaculate teeth through the mesh of your lace, telling you long and wide about the smile engraved on his face. What a brat.
Wearing the veil had nothing to do with tradition, if you must admit it; or at least not among Japanese ones. When it was time for preparations to start and the imperatives of your honeymoon, you’d clashed head first with the conservative customs of the Gojo clan. You wanted to wear a white dress, no matter what, discovering the stupor of your husband as he lifted your veil, throwing your bouquet and laughing without any restrain as ladies fought to catch it. Simply put, you wanted a laic occidental wedding while they tried at all cost to impose a shinto one in its purest form.
And to plead your cause, you could rely -to your great surprise- on your future mother-in-law who had never missed a chance to graciously underline to the clans’ elders that times had improved, and that the youth was detaching itself more and more from the customs of their generation, even going as far as to say that it was the will of her son to have a laic wedding -when the truth was that he didn’t give a damn. He had entrusted all of his responsibilities to his mother who had bent over backwards to meet your requests, having neither the time nor the desire to participate in such mundane things.
You could still remember the day when everyone had finally agreed, it had been the hundredth and endless reunion « opposing » from one side you and your mother-in-law to the elders of the Gojo clan, and none of them was determined to give up not even one decision to your free will. You were all sat on tatamis, the two sides separated by low pieces of furniture, probably sculpted from wood of exorbitant price. Next to each of you, were laid cups full and still steaming that no one had the time to savour. You had been welcome, like every other time, by sullen faces, animated with a parade of « no and synonyms » every time that you’d formulated the smallest request, and you weren’t in a position of power. You needed this marriage more than the clan, and more than Gojo himself; so you were in no position to throw ultimatums or threatening to pull away, given your temperament, they’d be the first to open the exit doors for you.
That was how it went, at least until…
You felt the warm and delicate hand of your mother-in-law land apologetically on yours, you could feel through the gesture that she wanted to be of more help but the situation was out of her hands, it was out of both of your pairs of hands. She closed her eyes before opening them again, hinting that it was time to give up negotiations, pushing them further would only harm your reputation. Because, even if Satoru was by far the strongest and the most feared, it was never good to have the reputation of a rebel within a family that did everything to keep him under leash. You were about to give your consent for the ceremony’s details when the sound of doors slamming against their frames tilted the centre of your attention toward the entrance where the lines of a silhouette, a bit too familiar to your taste, started to form.
“Yo! I knew that it was a mommy’s meeting, but this…you literally rival with Nefertiti!” Mocks the young woman as she leisurely strolls around the room, not even deigning to take off her shoes.
“Lord, may you help us…” you mumble under your breath while covering your eyes with your palm, not knowing what else to do. It was really really the last person you hoped to see at this moment.
It was outrageous, and the cronies around you didn’t bother hiding it, letting out little gasps while covering their mouths with their hands, some even dared to tell your sister to go. Big mistake…
“So,” your sister acquitted as she threw her hindquarters on the ground like an oaf, legs spread wide open before putting her bowl on the low table. “I heard that the negotiations were stalling so i came to play Belgium.”
“-It’s Switzerland”…you whispered discretely.
“Switzerland, pardon me” she corrects while coughing.
You didn’t dare to tear your eyes away from your hand, all you wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow you. Your mother-in-law, as embarrassed as you, put her hand on your back, rubbing you tenderly to reassure you. Like she told you every time, whatever happens her son would protect her, even when he seemed to be away today.
“Everything is totally fine, we were just about to wrap things up.” Starts one of the crackling voices
“Really? White dress white roses and white wine?” She asked hopefully.
You squeezed your eyes more tightly as you heard her mention alcohol, wishing that she’d just shut up for once. You somehow still found the strength to shake your head in negative, but before your sister could say even more, the same voice continued her explanation.
“It will be a shinto wedding, they will be united before men and gods following the tradition and like we do it since aeons ago, and no stranger has their word to say.”
“I can confirm that you’ve traveled aeons with your customs under your arms. I admit that strangers don’t have their word to say from the moment the main subject is reduced to suffering through your feudal services. You’ve noticed how Satoru stayed out of this whole thing, right? And you’re joyfully taking advantage of it because he’s not here threatening to light your heads on fire one by one.”
One of the women was about to say something, probably contradicting and pretending that he’d perfectly given his consent, not doubting for even a second that him and Yuki were long-time friends. The latter lifted her finger to prevent her from doing so, keeping up the flow of her words.
“Let me tell you that he’s not happy at all, and that if my sister doesn’t get what she wants today, and now, he’ll be the one to walk through these doors next time.
And I think you already know him well enough to know that it’s better not to upset him, at least not more than he already is.” She marks a pause, giving them time to soak in the information and weight their options. “So? Ask her immediately what she wants for her wedding.” She concludes by hitting her fist on the table, after having put enough pressure on the word « her », the choice legitimately going back to the spouse, and thus a fortiori only to you.
“What do you want my child?” A third voice asks you. That was the first time when you couldn’t discern an ounce of authority or inquisition.
You’re about to calming things down, waiting for the situation to cool down so that you wouldn’t attract their wrath once the time comes by announcing that you were perfectly alright with what they had suggested, and that they had convinced you. But, having probably anticipated your reaction, Yuki cuts you by gesturing for you to shut up.
“I’ll answer for her, she will wear our mother’s white dress, they’ll exchange their vows and offer their rings.”
“That won’t be possible for the dress, it will be a kimono that she’ll have the luxury to pick. It has to be white, that goes without saying.”
The signs of a categorical refusal were starting to appear on the -so far- relaxed traits of your sister’s face, and you absolutely didn’t want to see her getting angry. So you took the reigns, to hell with what anyone thought. You didn’t know whether the story about Gojo was even real or if it were just another betting game, but you were certain that he’d cover for you anyway. He’d promised after all.
“Wait. I accept the kimono, on the condition that we replace the…the thing that we put over the head with a veil that my mother wore.”
It seemed like a good compromise, you didn’t reject their traditions, but you seasoned them with your own sauce. It was a policy that you’d better start adopting in all of your interactions with them.
The women exchanged a silent conversation through their eyes before accepting, a sigh of relief escaping from your mouth. Your mother-in-law then added one last detail.
“My son will deal with the rings, but you could accompany him if you’d like.”
You smiled at her before discretely shaking your head negatively. You were, more or less, one year away from the wedding date, but you still hadn’t found the courage to meet him, not sure if you would find the words or on the contrary, saying too much and compromising all that had yet to be built.
Your sister then got up without asking for her due, gesturing you to call her once this whole masquerade was over. And so, you end up refining what had to be refined with much more power. You could never thank your sister enough.
The memory stretches your lips, now that you thought of it, it was quite funny. Planning everything just for a madwoman to burst in with her boots and soil years of diktat, it must have been a hard pill to swallow at this moment. You’d learnt later on that your spouse had indeed a role to play, that he himself didn’t see what could possibly hold him back from causing a massacre at the time.
But you could still hear that voice, deep inside, incessantly reminding you that you were nothing but a puppet, a marionette in the hands of more powerful people. You were the one from whom they stripped freedom but it was your sister who’d fly to your rescue, like we’d rescue a birdie from the maws of a feline. You were the one who had choices imposed on her but you couldn’t stand back up, being content with watching others battle in your stead, what dragged you down ever deeper within your lethargy was a vicious cycle from which you could never escape. All the responsibilities from which your sister had run away had fallen on your shoulders: you had to protect yourself, protect your sister, protect your mother and father from a danger that wouldn’t exist if Yuki had just done what she was told. But could you even blame her when you wanted to do exactly the same?
You weren’t even sure who you should blame, yourself for being so weak, you sister for having built a life at the expense of her family, your parents who’d let her while insidiously projecting their expectations on you, or this society that had used you. You needed a culprit if you wanted to stay sane, but you couldn’t seem to find one.
This is why you’d refused to meet with Gojo during all this time, getting to know him would force you to think about your due date, about the fact that you never managed to impose your opinion, and all that you couldn’t control. About all the questions that couldn’t seem to find an answer, about the questions that stirred a falling hate that you slammed shut inside your heart. And you surpassed, you forgot, you ignored as much as you could, you went with the flow of the waves so that they wouldn’t fall on you. But deep down, you knew it, you knew that this marriage would be your downfall. You could feel that, one way or another, Gojo Satoru would be your demise.
He, who now stood in front of you: his delicate and tender wife. He gets closer and lifts up your veil, discovering the face with which he’s meant to live, the first thing he’d see in the morning and the last before sleeping. He runs his eyes through your features, blushed by a smile that you struggled to keep, and even this scarf that was supposed to cover you wasn’t enough to conceal his change of attitude. You were no longer the same person he’d been conversing with, you were no longer the one he’d seen himself talking to about everything and nothing around a good coffee. it was as though someone else had substituted for you, as though someone had replaced a young bud with a shell that threatened to break at the slightest puff of wind. No, you were already broken, reduced to smithereens by the hard truth, too hard to carry.
But he wasn’t conscious of the hidden truth behind you melancholic face, he didn’t know that while he was getting closer to you, your subconscious was writing down all your hate, all your pain towards him. And he knew even less, when his lips landed against yours, that the only thoughts going through your eyes were those of one thousand and one ways of running away.
You had spent five years trying to love this marriage.
It took five minutes for these fragile constructions to crumble down and send you back to the starting line.
It was much easier to blame others for your own weakness, wasn’t it? If only you’d had the courage to affirm yourself, not to let your fear of deceiving all those who had born all their hopes on you overwhelm you. You were condemned to make choices when the choice itself constitutes the absence of freedom, and you couldn’t bear it anymore, you were on your knees, out of breath, at the edge of the chasm of dementia, condemned to be a spectator to the people around you, them making their own decisions and writing their own stories.
“Why can’t I do it? Why them and not me?” You’d ask yourself over and over again. It may seem absurd but you couldn’t understand someone like him, spoiled by nature, arrogant and cynical, always getting what he wanted and not you, you who’d spent nights patching your own wounds, having to look at your troubled reflection soaked in tears, having to challenge and convince your body to bear with it, to forget and to find the force not to crumble down because it was still not enough…
You had, at the same time, none and all the reasons in the world to hate him, and the balance of your mind tilted dangerously towards the irrational. And that, no one would ever know, and even he wouldn’t have noticed it if he weren’t born with a head start.
During all this time, his six eyes was scrutinising you, studying every osciliation of your pupils, peeling every morsel of your skin that stretched into a smile or on the contrary, that was breaking down. And he was not dupe, he could not afford to be dupe, not when so many people jostled each other to see him dead.
And he tells himself, as he seals a marriage destined to failure with a chilly kiss, that you would be, one way or another, his downfall.
Then came the calm after the storm, he accompanied you wordlessly to your family that you sought so hard to protect, he greeted them before pretexting some foolish excuse or another before slipping away, leaving you at the arms of a comfort he’d never be close to providing.
You wanted for this moment to last eternally, you didn’t want to stop hearing the voice of your father, nor to stop feeling the warm arms of your mother, and even less to think that you’d be separated from your role model: Yuki. So you took shelter in what would soon become a memory, animated images behind your eyelids. You could almost forget about the crowd around you, your new family and your husband.
But it’s not about the calm after the storm, it’s rather about the calm before the storm. And this same storm was getting closer to you, a wicked smile stained with jealousy plastered to the face.
“All my best wishes, and here I thought you’d be canceling the wedding.”
You didn’t think, given the heavy burden already orating your shoulders, that the situation could get any worse, in a drastic way; and yet, there was a detail you’d neglected. Maybe it was due to the lack of time, lack of courage or maybe just because you knew damn well that he’d put a spoke in your wheels, but you had never put Naoya in the know.
Ever since you’d announced the news to him, he’d added a weight to the scale of your miseries because, even if it seemed to come from purely good intentions, he’d never realise the scope of the repercussions if he’d ever managed to cancel the wedding -or at least try to cancel it. Stuck between your desire to keep everything secret and to keep a semblance of control, you’d chosen the easy way, the one of cowardice, and to tell him that the wedding was called off, rather than postponed. You’d told yourself that within five years, you’d find the time to explain things to him, that you’d find the power to tell him the truth and to convince him to calmly stay put; but time had gone by way too fast, laying it on thick.
And seeing him like this made the blood freeze in your veins, your face blanching out of all its festive colors. You could feel your heart thumping, not sure why, it was beating so fast in front of him. You stretched one of your hands towards him, clutching into his arm as if your life depended on it. “Don’t leave me, please.” Your soul cried to him while your face crumpled by the minute.
“Naoya,” you try to articulate. “Let me explain-” He dragged you out of the crowd, leaving your family bathing in utter confusion.
You were overwhelmed by all the eyes staring at you, how all this must have looked unseemly for a newlywed to throw her arms at the heir of an enemy clan. But nothing mattered to you at the moment, you needed a way to patch the broken pieces of this relationship after having shattered it with your own two hands. Once away from the indiscreet eyes, he violently shoved you away, eyes full of animosity that destroyed you.
“It’s not what you think!“ of course it is !
“And what do I think?”
“That I lied to you!” That’s exactly what you did !
His eyes were turning red, every little venule roaming his globes were breaking under the adrenaline, staining red the surrounding white.
He clenched his fists, repressing the urge to crush them into your pretty face. You deserved it, and if only hitting you could appease him, you were ready to take the punch.
But he was still a man of principles, and disfiguring the wife of the most powerful sorcerer wasn’t one of them, even if he was closer to her than her own husband could ever be. Naoya admitted ,not without trouble, that he wasn’t an example. But he wasn’t that crazy; so he poured his rage on one of the beams that held up the edifice under which he’d dragged you, the impact resonated heavily in your ears.
“You lied to me-” he continued, and you knew that he was about to throw words even sharper than daggers at you.
“You deliberately made me believe that you had called off the marriage, and I even had a hunch that you weren’t capable of it. But I believed you, because I couldn’t imagine that the person that had put her life in the palm of hands so many times, would lie to me. Not to me, Tsukumo, not to me.”
He couldn’t accept the idea that you’d judge his help as being useless, him, Naoya Zenin had graciously offered his help to a lousy stranger, a good-for-nothing girl, without name or particular power. The mere fact of offering even his small finger when your life didn’t even concern him, was an enormous sprain to his pride, and the fact that you’re a woman only added fuel to an already raging inferno.
“I didn’t want to, I swear! I was overwhelmed by all the events, Naoya, you have to believe me!” You pleaded. “I never meant to hide it from you, I never wanted this to happen, I don’t love him. Lord, I don’t even know him!” You almost begged him to believe you, your voice trembling and words spewing out of your mouth uncontrollably, and the more you heard yourself talk, the more pathetic you felt. In all honesty, if you were him, no apology would be granted ; he’d only tried to lighten your burden and yet only gained lies and betrayal in return. What kind of friend were you?
“You’re a ticking bomb, you know that? A fucking bomb that threatens to explode at every second. Tic, tac, tic, tac, tic, tac-” He clicked his tongue, “-and then boom, there’ll be nothing left, neither anything of you nor of what surrounds you.”
A ticking bomb, that was exactly what you’d become. You’d spent one too many years piling things up. Years of constantly hiding in the shadow of your peers, years of constantly being forced to kowtow to the desires of others. Your sister had tried more than once to pull you out of your puppet syndrome, but it was worse than a vicious cycle. The more she repeated that you could live your life the way you wanted to, the deeper the ditch between you sunk, and the more you felt worthless, But there was still something she couldn’t do, protecting your parents by marrying Gojo Satoru. But until when? Until when would your body stay the course before tragically changing tack? Because, even though you didn’t know when, you knew that your fatum would catch up to you sooner or later.
And like the straw that breaks the camel’s back, Naoya’s hard and venomous look chipped bit of your facade by the second, the proud and composed woman that you served to people was starting to crumble under the heavy weight of reality, like a cracked urn would give in to the pressure of the liquid within. The one that had shared her days during way too many years was now drowning in her remorse, to the point of forgetting how to cry for help.
“There’s no use in crying,” he murmurs, framing your face between his thumb and forefinger. “Wipe your tears or people will talk, it’s not good for you.”
You softly sniffed, trying to compose yourself again as best as you could. Your eyes were reddened by tears that he ended up wiping off with the back of his phalanx. Not sure why, your hand wrapped his wrist, or at least what it could hold of it before burying your cheek into his palm, holding onto him like a lifeline, like the last thing that bound you to this world. When did Naoya become so important to you? Even he didn’t know, but he sure as heck planned to enjoy every last bit of it.
“I don’t blame you,” he says. “But I gotta admit that it profoundly hurt me; to know that you didn’t trust me.”
He was deliberately lying to you, the little chuckle that he failed to hide should have been hint enough, but you were too adrift for this, too shaken by the idea of having betrayed him, and having betrayed his trust; haunted by the thought of losing one of your closest friends. So you gobbled up all his says, like a poor thirty pup, without ever asking questions nor shifting your attention.
“I’m sorry.” You apologised once again, at loss for better words.
“Don’t worry about it, but you have to promise to never hide anything from me again. Think you can do that?” He asked.
You were confident enough to say that you were born with a gift, since an early age, your instincts had rarely failed you when it came to gauging others’ intentions: just one simple look and all their motives unfolded before you like an open book. And at this very moment, your sixth sense was screaming at you to refuse, to lay a pitiful excuse, not to make yet another promise of total honesty. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, something’s wrong! Chants a voice in your head. But you were well too eaten with guilt. So without thinking much of it, you frantically nod your head, not wanting to let the smallest doubt glide over the sincerity of your intentions. You never meant to open your heart to him, at least not entirely, after all you knew better than anyone how twisted this man could be. But now that a sword of Damocles was hanging over your head, you’d rather offer him all the necessary cards to destroy you than doing it yourself. At least, it wouldn’t be your fault.
“Good,” he compliments while caressing your cheek. “Now you need to get back to your dear husband, you don’t want him thinking that you’re plotting things behind his back, right? I’m sure he’s the type to keep an eye open, who knows, he might sleep elsewhere,” he says more to himself than you. But those were just empty words, interlaced with sarcasm and hypocrisy, and without the slightest foundation.Naoya was absolutely not close to Gojo, but once you sow the grain of discord, it’s difficult to back-pedal. Whatever the case, you knew well how Gojo Satoru dealt with his enemies; and you’re well on your way to being part of the lot.
Later, when you shyly slipped your arm around Gojo, carefully rolling it around the hollow offered by his folded elbow, and despite the cordial smile that you’d exchanged, you could only wonder : was he really wary of you? What kind of relationship could be built on a basis devoid of trust? What kind of marriage would he cherish if he came in every evening expecting his wife to stab him in the back? All these thoughts only helped submerging you a little bit deeper into your perdition. All you could do now was hope for him to talk it out with you, giving you the chance to clear up any doubts soaring above his head. Should this not be the case, you were too ashamed to ever bring up the subject.
With a tad bit of perceptiveness, you might have noticed that behind his deceiving smile, your husband’s clever eyes had missed nothing of your little gateway, nothing of the fact that another man could touch you so when you wouldn’t even let him see your face. You were far from being lovebirds, but even to him who spat and stepped on everything that was to his sense archaic, couldn’t conceive that a marriage would hold out if loyalty was amiss. Would he ever come to love you? Probably never, having been a witness to it as he dug deeper into the pit separating you; that said, he’d sworn to offer you all the respect that you deserved; as a wife, a woman -for all that you must have done to survive within this macho and patriarchal society, but also and mostly as a sister. Yuki was a role model to him, an avant-gardist that had shown him that one could build their own reality in a dystopian world, and it was unconceivable for him to harm her. But could he really do it if the you threw yourself in the arms of another man on his wedding day? And not any man! He couldn’t even think about what tomorrow would have in store.
Naoya had just set foot into your marriage, and he’d sworn not to get out before having turned everything upside down. Because, even though your wedding ceremony hadn’t hurt his feelings anymore than that, you were an adult and you had the right to marry whoever you wanted -at least he tried to convince himself of this. He couldn’t say the same for his ego though, which had been greatly undermined by your little secrets. And he was sure to make you pay for it.
Even if the choice was, by definition, the absence of freedom, it didn’t make things any less fatalistic. And it wasn’t a rare sight to see people howling at liberticide basking in the consequences of their choices. But you didn’t have the luxury of being of this, you had made a chain with every link being a little lie that you’d chosen to mouth, and without noticing, you had chained yourself with it. Prisoner of your making.
You lifted your eyes one last time towards your husband, who was looking back at you with a worried face; he’d surely noticed from the robotic responses you’d given him ever since coming back that you were pondering something. Gojo takes a deep inhale before swallowing back his ego and breaking the ice that had reformed way too quickly, despite his best effort.
“Do you want to tell me something?” He didn’t want it to sound like he were asking for a confession, but his subconscious seemed to have overruled his tongue.
« I’ll never hurt you, all that I ask of you is to trust me » his comforting words played back inside your head, and you wanted to do it, to tell him what bothered you so. He’d taken a step towards you, so why not do the same? It was too early to be entirely transparent, but he deserved a little confession.
Maybe you’d just taken the best decision for the first time in a while by whispering a weak consent, letting him glimpse the expanse of your distress.
I really loved the new official art and decided to make icons to share with you guys and for whoever wants to use them! To download them, you can go to my icons page! Thank you! Credit me on your description please~
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