"What is it that you want?"
Because that was what this was about wasn't it? He wanted something. The main family never disdained to speak to the lower members without a need and Gojo Satoru was not about to be the exception.
"I'm going to recommend...
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✧༺♥༻∞
A part of him still wished she had just let him take her, right then and there on the lawn of the Gojo estate. Right under his uncle's bedroom window if he could have convinced her. He could almost see it— grass in her loose hair, kimono peeled open like an over ripe fruit, dripping juices and nectar on his tongue, on his cock... ruined— ruined.
Disgusting. Gross. Nasty.
And all the adjectives in between. She had no fucking idea how right she was in labeling him these things. Why? Because he was minding his manners, keeping his impulses in check. If she saw the dirty truth, she would be more than disgusted. She'd fucking bolt.
And he needed— no. Fuck that. Gojo Satoru didn't need anyone. He wanted her for his pretend betrothed, fiancee, wife— whatever. Because she was smart and stronger than she knew with a bad habit for rejecting authority— that and she had perfect tits (there, he admitted it) and an ass that made him have to practically sit on his hands to keep from wanting to smack it when she mouthed off.
He could still remember how it felt back then when all he had was a single memory of a single visit to play in his mind— wanting to ruin her. Wreck her. Spit in her mouth and make her cum so many times she forgot whether she was supposed to be moaning his name or praying to god.
And he'd wanted it since that night she had the nerve to slap him across the face. Since the night he left her, sitting in her cheap kimono with her poor pathetic half-breed parents and her delicious outrage to go and crawl into his bed, one hand pressing into the bruise on his jaw and the other wrapped around his dick.
If only she knew the impression she had left on him.
Disgusting. Gross. Nasty.
All of those things, baby. All of them and more.
Back then he thought if he could just fuck her out of his system then maybe he could get rid of these deluded little thoughts he had been having. How she might be— hell— the one. Not in some romantic, dipshit way, but in a tangible real way. His nearest equal. Another to set next to the likes of Megumi and Yuji— sorcerers who could walk along side him into his new bright future.
Times like this made him miss Geto so bad it made it hard to breathe. Made him hate the fucker down to his marrow too, but oh— that ache he still had for him. Funny how often those two feelings got so mixed up in his head.
Hate to see them leave, love to watch them go. Which was just a round about way of saying he pushed people away only to despise them for leaving. Sour grapes and all.
He'd used that line on her too, once, a lifetime ago. Back when he was even more fucked up than he was now, if that was saying anything. Sure, he'd grown up. Maybe even managed to get over some of his more selfish impulses. Gojo from barely ten years ago would have drug her into that storage room and had his hands up her kimono without stopping to even ask if it was what she wanted.
That Gojo would have found out very quickly the drawbacks of an unstoppable infinite force meeting an unmovable infinite object.
Even if she didn't seem to notice herself.
He had. Oh, he had. The palm of her hand had once arced straight through his infinity and found its mark on his face, a cruel reminder that he could bleed— and gods don't bleed. Her will, her anger in that moment had dwarfed his own, had forced it back. Made his infinity submit to her own in a game of chicken she didn't even know she could play.
The psychological warfare they'd used to convince her that she was weak was a hell of a weapon. The best. Right after sex. Because everything was about sex unless it was about sex, then it was about power and Gojo had always wielded it with the reckless disregard of a kid who'd found his daddy's gun.
Everyone was waiting when he was younger to finally make a mistake and blow his own damn head off. Wrong person, wrong place, wrong time.
He'd gotten better. Kept his escapades to normal people. Non-sorcerers. The kind that fawned over him and praised him and were stunned endlessly by the beauty of his eyes and the power that radiated from him in waves they couldn't comprehend.
She had said it pretty well herself. If either of them needed a meaningless fuck, they could just go get one. Better not to shit where he ate, yeah? And she was sleeping in his hook up den, so that made bringing people home even more of a chore.
No one slept in his bed. His space. Don't shit where you eat— that was a great line. He was totally stealing that.
But the idea of going off and finding some hook-up didn't even begin to make his blood shift in the slightest... and yet the very sound of his name on her tongue had practically had him at half-mast only a few days prior.
Did he still have it that bad? She was cute. Sexy even at times. More fun than he remembered. She gave as good as she got, but there were plenty of other girls twice as hot and definitely more willing to lay back and think of Japan for him— so what was it?
He drew his thumb over his cheek, the ghost of her strike, the ghost of her thumb, rubbing small circles into his temple.
Is there anything I can do to help?
He didn't want to fuck this up. That was the truth, buried deep down under mountains of strategic avoidance and blatant denial. She was a good girl, an excellent sorcerer, and she deserved better than the cards that had been dealt down to her from the higher-ups... and probably him too.
So when his uncle had broached the subject of his seriously considering a potential marriage candidate, the choice was obvious— even if he did make a show of talking to everyone but her first.
He had already decided, hadn't he?
He'd decided twelve years ago, the moment he felt her reach passed the boundaries of infinity and touch the face of god.
Gojo ran his own hand over his eyes, groaning out his frustrations to no one, ripping his fingers through his wet hair and releasing the strands in a tangled mess of white. The lake seemed peaceful now, truly serene and cleansed of the evil that had lay dormant in it until he had come along and kicked the hornets nest, just for her.
If I get the feelings rule you get the feelings rule.
He really didn't know what he felt or what he wanted, but he knew one thing— he didn't want it to be over. Which meant he was going to have to do something he never did.
