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You were married in a haste, Gojo not even getting a moment alone with you after the ceremony. You’d been in the city for almost two weeks now, no contact, no idea of when you’d see him. All you had of him was the key to his apartment where you now lived, where you were now headed, grocery bags slung on your arms.
You unlock the door and shuffle in, taking your shoes off and setting bags down.
“There she is.”
You jump, heart pinching. With a snap of your head, you see him leaning against the kitchen counter. Lips part, sucking in air, but you’re silent, unable to find the words.
“Gojo,” you finally say, voice faint. Everything about you in a state of disbelief and awe. The rest of your belongings slip off your shoulders.
His smile grows as you approach, seeing how you’re drawn to him even when thrown off guard. He stops what he’s doing — wrapping his knuckles in tape — and he reaches a hand out to you, encouraging you to come closer. “You’re my wife,” he smiles. “Call me Satoru.”
“Sa—,” he silences you with a kiss to your knuckles, taking your short breath with him. “...Toru.”
He pulls you to stand in front of him before he leans off the counter. He presses forward, stepping into your personal space. This is the first time you’re getting a good look at him. You barely know the man, other than his height alone is enough to intimidate you, let alone his reputation. You have no idea what to expect, specifically as a wife. A blindfold of your own.
He pins you to the kitchen island behind you, your heart pounding. Bringing his head down, Satoru wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the greatest embrace. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, pressing your torso into his, lifting you up to your toes. Hesitantly, you put your hands on his shoulder blades. He’s so…warm. And strong. His kindness surprises you, introducing you to a sense of security.
He lets you go, and although you can’t see his eyes, his gaze and the silence make your cheeks heat. “How was your mission?”
He only smiles, bringing his head down again. He leans forward to kiss you but in a knee-jerk reaction, you turn away. You look up at him wide-eyed, feeling like you should apologize. You can’t help it, he’s still as good as a stranger.
“I should get the groceries—” you say instead, brushing his arm aside to stop his caging you. He grabs your wrist but lets you slip out of his hand anyway. As you put the groceries away, you feel his eyes searing into you, hot like lasers. You swallow, thinking of how to deescalate a situation that seems…off.
“Did you eat? Do you want dinner?”
You look over your shoulder when he doesn’t answer. He’s back to wrapping his hand up like a boxer. He cuts the last piece of tape with his teeth, securing it. He punches his fist into his palm. Then he looks up at you.
The corner of his mouth curls.
Satoru gets his hands under your thighs and lifts you up, sitting you on the kitchen island. You lean back—
“Are you scared?” he grins.
“No,” you chuckle, your breath hitching when he spreads your legs open and gets his hips between them.
“Oh yeah?” He puts his hand on your chest, indicating he’s well aware of your heart rate.
You open your mouth to speak, but he interjects.
“It’ll turn me on if you are.”
You close your mouth, not knowing what to say to that. He taps the back of his fingers against your right cheek before he draws down your jaw. He curls his hand into a fist, connecting his wrapped knuckles against your left cheek with a click of his tongue. A playful mock-punch that makes your ears light up.
Satoru presses his cheekbone against yours, bringing his lips to your ear as he snuggles into you.
“Do you like it rough?”
“...No.”
“Damn, that’s too bad.” Gojo leans back so he can look at your face. A brow perks. “But you’ll be a good wife and take it, won’t you?”
You turn away, your cheeks on fire at this point as his words leave a bad taste in your mouth. He tilts his head, trying to catch your lips again and again. You lean back, pushing against his shoulder.
“Satoru—”
“Oh don’t be shy now, you’re making me blush too.”
He yanks your ear, shutting you up. Capitalizing on your shock, Gojo tugs at your hair on your other side as well.
“Stop!” you whine.
He leans his chin into your chest, resting his forearms against the countertop as he looks up at you. He pokes you at your side, making you flinch and cuddle up into his other arm. Gojo’s teeth graze your ear as he pulls your hips to the edge of the island, making you freeze. You feel his bulge between your legs. “You’re for me to toss you around, are you not? With the way your family offered you up like a whore. Please protect our people. Take her as a gift.”
His teeth tug at your earlobe, his open mouth trailing hot breath down your jaw as you swallow the urge to cry. That’s not how your father put it. You knew it. You thought with Gojo accepting, he was understanding of the situation. He bites, forcing a sound out of you that gets him stiff in his pants. He sucks on the side of your chin, wanting to hurt you, wanting to mark you forever. You purse your lips into your teeth, moaning uncomfortably.
You shove against his shoulders, hitting him hard so you can hop off the countertop. Gojo laughs, twisting your arm behind your back before he gets you into the living room. You put up a fight, which is exactly what he’s been looking for. He wants to fight.
He tackles you into the couch and you both wrestle. For him it’s play, Gojo just so giddy while you’re frustrated beyond belief, afraid that this is the man you’ve married.
“Take your top off,” he mumbles between breaths.
“No—what’s wrong with you?”
“Oh hooo,” he chuckles. “So not only is she pretty, she’s also a brat.” Gojo feels you up, his big hands running from your stomach to the tops of your breasts. He keeps his head buried in your chest. “I have a thing for brats.”
He squeezes your breasts, making your back arch. Your thigh hooks at his hip.
"Let me show you what happens to brats who don't follow my fucking rules."
Before you can even take a breath, Gojo folds you over the back of the couch, pinning his arm across your lower back before he smacks your ass. You whimper, unable to do much with your hips locked. He hits you again and again before he’s sunken his teeth, biting into your cheek. Your voice trembles, hot tears pinching the back of your eyes. You feel your husband’s hands moving again. One squeezes your hip, the other gets between your legs. His long fingers rub you over your jeans, your muscles clenching, pulsing at his touch. He gets behind you, spreading your legs open.
Gojo’s hands glide up your ass and into your shirt, exposing your back as he takes it off. His rough palms make you hot all over, your shirt off slipping off under his demand.
“A white bra,” he smiles, noting the contrast it has against your skin. “Wow, you really are bride material.”
He takes his shirt off, wanting to feel your skin against his. He reaches for your front, undoing the zipper of your jeans. You grab his wrist but he’s in your pants in a second. You gasp, feeling him over your panties. His touch is seemingly simple, rubbing you up and down, but it’s electric, making you squirm into his pelvis.
“Satoru, please—”
“You want more?”
“Stop!”
He slips his hands into your panties, too strong for your clawing. You throw your head back, body tense as he explores you in unfamiliar ways. You whimper, lungs fighting. Your palm is over him, your fingers moving with his. It’s almost like you’re…doing it with him. The feeling of his long fingers, skilled and strategic…
You can’t stop gasping, lungs shaking as you writhe under his warm chest. You feel your body’s response to his actions stirring in your gut. You push your head back into his shoulder, veins in your neck straining beyond belief when he—
Stops.
Gojo pulls his hand out, leaving you with nothing. You’re still tingling, everything static and sirened, muscles humming. You pant, body slumping over the couch.
"What's wrong? I thought you brats like being teased."
He pulls you in by your waist and falls back into the couch, manhandling you again. You try to wrestle out of his grip until you roll him off, sending you both falling to the rug. With your body on top of him, Gojo groans, wincing as his back arches. Your arms are weak, shaking, your mind half-fogged, but you use the opportunity to escape while he laughs.
You crawl over him but Gojo slaps his palm onto your thigh, yanking you back into place. He wraps his arms around you, pushing forward to successfully pin you onto your back. You grit your teeth, stifled cries in your mouth as he pulls your jeans off. Still, he won’t stop with the rough-housing. You push against him as he hovers over you, trying to roll onto your side. You’ve had it, so much so, when he tries to restrain your wrists, you slap Gojo across the face.
It surprises you both, but what’s worse is as your arm swings back, Gojo pinning your back to the ground, your elbow connects, knocking into his nose.
Your pupils are blown out, body shaking.
“I’m—I’m sorry.”
His nose gushes. Dark crimson leaking from his nostrils to his mouth, dripping onto your bare body.
Gojo takes his blindfold off, eyes lighting up at the sight of you. His stark eyes and the perverted lust they’re glazed in distract you before you realize you’re drenched in his blood, your sadistic husband dripping all over you. His blood is hot, thick, and dark, your voice shrill as your stomach caves into your spine. You can’t even speak, words only strained, terrified sputters.
Gojo loses his mind looking at you perched up on your elbows beneath him. Your skin, so untainted, so pure, so smooth, now smothered in his deep red, along with your bra and panties that’ll never look the same again. A consummation night of his dreams.
You start to scoot back, thinking he’s done for the night, but no. He kisses you on your belly, his hand trailing up to smear the blood up your chest. He bites into the dip of your waist — hard. You scream, eyes watering instantly, knowing he’s drawn blood. His teeth leave indentations you’ll have forever while he climbs up your figure. He plants bruises where he decides to suck your skin through his teeth.
Your thighs squeeze together as you grab his forearm, feeling his bloody hand grip the side of your neck. As Gojo’s tongue glides up the other column of your throat, your walls flutter desperately in response. He sits up, cupping your cheek. You look up at him, and he notices a shift you’re probably unaware of yourself — doe-eyed and obedient with silence. He holds the side of your head firm, not wanting to snap your pretty neck. He uses his other hand to slap you light, using only a tap of his fingers. It’s almost…comforting. But he’s only preparing you for what’s coming.
You start to struggle, pulling your knees up, but Gojo straddles you at your hips. He smacks you a little harder, making your lower back tingle. He goes even harder, a good smack and your pussy clenches. Your hands squeeze against his hips, desperate for friction, desperate for something to ground you.
He leans in, spitting on your face before he slaps you again. You flinch before he shoves his fingers in your mouth, the dried taste of iron hitting your tongue before he spits on your teeth.
You moan, eyes teary and mind woozy, reality slipping the more your husband shows you his true form. Gojo starts to slide down your body, getting off your legs so he can take off your panties. Your fists clench, unable to hold onto anything as the sting on your cheek mixes with the arousal deep below. You wipe the spit off your eye, rubbing it down your cheek, feeling the blood. You don’t know if you actually try to wipe it off or rub it in, but the way your body sings in anticipation as he pulls your panties off your hips makes nothing else matter.
“Why so quiet now, hm?” he teases, tossing your panties aside. You’re throbbing when he spreads your thighs, opening you up to him. The air is so cool against how fevered he’s got you. You suck air through your teeth as he brings his head between your legs. The closer he gets, the harder it is to breathe.
“Bet I can make you scream.”
“Gojo,” you beg.
His fingers spread you open before his tongue makes an appearance. You twitch and the huff of his chuckle electrifies every square inch. He drags the tip of his tongue along your inner lips like he’s tracing them, teasing you more and more instead of just going in. In. You want his tongue inside you. You want to roll your hips into his face—
Gojo laps his tongue up before he dips it into you. Your back arches, hands reaching out for nothing. Your moans are so sweet, so shy, as his tongue swirls around. His palms grip the tops of your thighs, holding you in place as you squirm against him. He flicks his tongue up, ringing you like a bell, bringing your clit to life before it screams. He wraps his mouth around it, sucking hard.
You moan loudly, twisting uncontrollably, your body practically contorting under his command. You reach for him, your fingers getting entangled in his hair. You tug on his roots with urgency. Your whole body is on fire, dancing closer to the edge. You yank fistfuls of his hair, your toes trailing up his back as you pull him into you. He sucks, licks, flicks, and swirls, digging his nails into your thighs. When he thrusts his tongue inside you he grunts, rippling vibrations that make you choke on the air around you.
Your eyelids are squeezed shut, forehead strained, teeth grinding. A carnal groan surfaces from deep in your throat—
But again, Gojo stops.
You whine loudly, tears at your corners. You barely register his laughs, his kisses and bites at your thighs. Your sweaty palms release him, hands jumping to cover your face as you attempt to roll to your side.
“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath, wanting to cry. You feel an authoritative hand grip your hip, forcing you onto your back once more. You’re limp. Adrenaline rush after adrenaline rush. And you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
You dare to look down at him.
Gojo cracks a smile, spreading your knees apart once more. “Looks like you’re mine now, my dear wife.”
Still, even with limp strength, you try to lock your legs, scooting away from him. Why should he get what he wants? He laughs.
“It’s like you want me to beg. Is that something you’d enjoy?” He brings his head down, fighting against you as he pries your legs open. He kisses your knee. “Me begging?”
“Please baby,” Gojo continues. He brings his mouth up your blood-red stomach, sprinkling more kisses. “Let me sink my dick in my pretty slut’s pretty pussy.”
Gojo bites into the fat of your skin, using the opportunity where your knees jerk to spread you open and get his hips inside you. He sinks his cock deep in your soft, warm walls, groaning at the savored sensation while you moan. He holds your hips up, rolling into you like you’re just an object. He doesn’t wait for you to get used to his length, hitting spots so deep, winding up the pleasure he’d built so thick only to halt again and again.
You spasm, digging your nails into the rug. Your eyes are screwed shut, but when you hear him cackle, you dare another look. He looks insane, bloodied face, wide eyes, maniacal smile as he slaps your hips onto his pelvis.
“You should s—see yourself,” he grunts, voice straining, eyes sparkling. “Fucking pretty whore.”
The way he says it, it’s as if you’re meant to take it as the biggest compliment. Gojo lets go of your hips, instead falling forward. He presses his hand beside your head, hovering on top of you as his hips continue to circle into you. He taps your cheek with his fingers again before he slaps you, hard. Your head buckles to the opposite direction, mind spinning before you loll back. This time, he pulls his elbow back, and suddenly you realize why he’d wrapped his knuckles. He punches you in the face, making everything stop.
Your ears ring, everything blurring. You don’t even feel the sting. No. What’s more apparent is the way your walls get a heartbeat of their own, convulsing around his dick.
His fist comes with a kiss before Gojo ducks his head into the gap between your neck and shoulder. He bucks his hips out and thrusts, his groans now turning into moans as the both of you get close.
His hands scoop under your triceps, guiding your arms over the back of his neck.
“Hold on to me, doll.”
You cling to him as he rolls his hips, mouth open, eyelids fluttering, the tears at your corners now leaking down your temples as the sting settles. Your back arches, toes pressing against the floor in a desperate attempt to — you don’t even know. All you know is, your body starts shaking. Face hot, every hair on you electric. Shivers, convulsing. You gasp, needing to hold onto him.
You dig your nails into his back, hoping he’ll bleed. It makes him hit his own peak and tense along with you. He squeezes every muscle in his body, his whole body vibrating as he groans, spraying spurts that paint your walls.
“Fuuuck—”