Over the course of dinner, they talk. Gojo isn't prone to ultra-spicy food, being a sweet-tooth minion, but he marvels at Asabé's casual handling of Thai levels of spice. When he asks about it, she mentions off-handedly that the food from her homeland is much spicier.
"It's a shame you're so averse," she teases, "I'd cook a few dishes for you. But I can modify the spice levels easily. The ingredients I need are relatively easy to find here."
Gojo smiles. "You offering to cook? You do realize that I've already been paid, correct?"
She shakes her head. "I know, but it feels imposing to be shacking up with you and not…contributing in some way. And you mentioned you didn't cook. I'd hate to subsist on takeout for the duration of the case, even if the food is good."
Gojo surmises that being married to Mr. Hayashi was a frugal experience, but he refrains from commenting. Even he knows that bragging about wealth is a gauche and quite frankly, very silly thing to do. He is who he is, but it's not his wealth that makes him better than everyone else. He could be penniless tomorrow and still be content. Not that he wants to be: the money fucking helps grease all the right palms when he's working cases, especially abroad.
"Well, if you insist, then please make a list of everything you need and I'll send Ijichi after it."
Asabé blinks. "You mean the driver? Is he not just a driver?"
Gojo laughs. "He's whatever I need him to be. It's why we pay him, after all. I'm not going to let you go outside and risk being spotted. This penthouse is more secure than an American military base, at least as far as jujutsu is concerned. It's why you can feel free to unseal yourself anytime without fear. And…of course, you have me."
Something about the way he says that makes her pause mid-bite, before she swallows her food and hides her expression in a hasty sip of her drink. She licks her lips as Gojo watches her. He doesn't wear his blindfold in his home, and she is beginning to understand that the blindfold is likely for his comfort rather than everyone else's. It must be exhausting, seeing the world the way he does.
"You know what we forgot?" Gojo says suddenly. "Dessert. Mochi would be clutch right now. Oh! I know, I think there's some leftover ice cream in the freezer…"
Asabé watches him, a little mystified. Sometimes she looks at him and sees a man-child, and then moments like before, she sees the Honored One, and a wintry distance in his interstellar gaze that reminds her of carvings of ancient gods and how they view humanity. When he looks over his shoulder and catches her gaze, a popsicle hovering inches from his lips, she sees something else that makes her shiver. She's not quite sure what it is. Something about his eyes makes her feel too visible.
Gojo smiles at her, and enjoys his popsicle.
The first night of security detail goes by like a high school first date. Gojo and his charge elect to watch movies, deciding on something lighthearted and funny. Without realizing it, Asabé finds herself moving closer to Gojo, their mutual laughter bringing them closer together until her knee is pressed against his. Gojo watches her cheeks flush with heat, her pulse racing at the contact.
It doesn't take long, but by the third movie, Asabé feels herself drifting, and she leans over. Gojo hesitates at first, but then offers her his shoulder, buffered with one of the pillows. Soon, she's asleep, and Gojo allows his awareness to expand. For a moment, he is beyond the penthouse, his sight taking him beyond the windows, the skylight, and the warded park.
There are several curse users within range of his sight, likely doing surveillance. His residence is very secure and he's since learned how to spot tails. Unlike his beautiful charge, sleeping so peacefully, he has been hunted since birth. One does not survive to become the strongest sorcerer in the modern age by being unable to spot and foil assassins and kidnappers.
Without a second thought, he sends a warning shot. Just an expansion of his cursed energy. He can see them startle like prey, and he grins. No, he will not hunt them just yet. Let the would-be sharks circle in search of blood. He will enjoy showing them just how far down the food chain they actually are when the time is right. For now, he is secure in the knowledge that they are too afraid to approach now that their prey has found shelter with an apex predator.
Gojo returns to himself with a slow, controlled exhale. Asabé barely stirs, and he reaches up, runs his fingers over her neck and head. She makes a small moan of pleasure, curling into him. He wants to kiss her throat, right on the spot that beautiful noise comes from. He wants to know what other noises he can elicit from her. Instead, he scoops her into his arms, effortlessly, and carries her to the guest room. She turns her head, burying her face in his chest.
Gojo stops momentarily, looking down at her. Everything his eyes are telling him says she's asleep. Is she dreaming of him?
Asabé breathes deep, smiling.
"Mm," she says. "You smell so good." Her words are slurred, but Gojo smiles anyway. She is dreaming of him.
Slowly, gently, almost reverent, he lowers her into her bed, tucking her beneath the covers. He stays there a moment, watching as she snuggles into the bed, and he entertains the thought of joining her. He wants to press his lips to her nape, and leave a trail of kisses down her spine until she shivers like a fly-stung horse.
Fuck.
Instead, Gojo leans down, brushing his lips along her temple, keeping infinity between her skin and his. She shivers, tucking her head in her shrugged shoulders when his technique tickles her skin.
Goodnight, beautiful.
Gojo leaves her to sleep, shutting the door behind him. He doesn't go to his room, requiring little sleep. He thinks of Riko again, of Suguru's insistence that he rest. He thinks of Fushiguro Toji's strategy: wearing him down enough to get close and kill him. He has since made sure he never makes such a mistake again. He has since become even more powerful.
Now…now he reads through the dossier of the case, opting to do actual work. He spots a detail that intrigues him: Asabé's surname. She allegedly comes from a powerful foreign sorcerer family, and Gojo silently curses the jujutsu community for being so goddamned insular. The more conservative generation of sorcerers have little interest in the study or cataloguing of foreign-born sorcerers. Gojo is still disbelieving that they still cannot accept that there will be more foreign-born sorcerers as curses get stronger and their numbers in Japan continue to dwindle. It is the nature of things. It is one of the reasons why he is reluctant to kill younger curse users if he can convince them to come to Jujutsu Tech instead and nurture their skills and turn them to a good cause.
He wants to make the same offer to Asabé, and being a citizen via marriage would make it easier to get her accepted into the school. But that won't work. She's already beyond high school age. Gojo leans back on the couch, reaching for a Jolly Rancher out of the dish on his coffee table while he works.
Then, he has an idea.
In the morning, Gojo orders breakfast, and smiles when Asabé emerges, clad in a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt. Even being dressed like this does nothing to diminish how stunning she is. Gojo could see her in a potato sack and still want to know what her lips tastes like after they're wet with wine. She blinks sleepily and blearily at him.
"How are you this cheerful this early in the morning?" She asks, her voice husky with recent wakefulness. Gojo points to the coffee pot, and she glances from it to him with a grateful look in her eyes.
While Asabé makes coffee, Gojo considers his idea before speaking.
"So," he begins, and watches as she peers at him over her mug. He laughs to himself. She brought her own coffee mug? He doesn't cook but man she must think he's a useless bachelor!
"So," he repeats, "I have an idea as to how we can reduce the number of enforcers and the like coming after you. It also may be able to allow you more freedom of movement within Tokyo. I know it sucks being confined to this gorgeous, massive penthouse all day like some princess in a castle, so it occurred to me that we can solve this problem one simple way."
Asabé's brows knit together in consternation. "Alright…what is this idea you have, Gojo?"
Gojo claps his hands together. "We get married!"
It's worth it just to see her sputter, coughing as she tries to process what he's just said. Married?! Is he insane?
"What do you mean 'married', exactly?" She asks. Gojo's mouth opens, then closes.
"I mean married…?" He ventures. "Look, if you're married to me, the likelihood of curse users coming after you will drop significantly. They're all scared of me, and they should be because I will absolutely kill them, so it stands to reason that they would never come after my wife."
Asabé shakes her head, disbelieving. "Isn't this a little extreme? Wouldn't it be just as effective if we simply said we were dating, instead?"
Gojo shakes his head. "No, because if push came to shove, and I had to sacrifice a girlfriend for the greater good, I wouldn't hesitate to do so. A wife carries more value, especially for my clan."
Asabé tries not to feel chilled by the casual way he says this. First with killing curse users, and then with valuing a wife over a girlfriend. Though, after the chill passes, she can see the cold logic in it. If she is 'Mrs. Gojo' the likelihood her father's enforcers will take her by force will reduce. No one wants to be within the path of Gojo Satoru's wrath. But marriage?
"It wouldn't be a real marriage," Gojo assures her. "I'm not going to require you to act like my wife or anything. You'll just be taking my name. That alone should buy you protection and mitigate the annoyance of me having to do pest control with curse users for however long your family wants to send them."
Asabé wonders how badly her father wants her back in the clan, likely to be married into another family soon after. He can only drain their expansive coffers so much before he gives up the chase. She wonders whom will outlast whom in this war of attrition. But still…she thinks of Jin, of his body spread across that mountain road, twisted at an unnatural angle, his viscera dark and red and slick amidst the glitter of shattered glass and rent metal.
She thinks of his face, wide-eyed and slack jawed, his eyes almost accusing her of his death while her body healed and knit itself back together.
Gojo frowns, seeing her vitals shift before his eyes.
"Hey," he says, his voice soft. Asabé doesn't respond. "Hey, look at me. I'm right here, you're not in danger."
Asabé blinks like a waking dreamer, or a fugitive from a nightmare. She gasps. At some point in her dissociative state, her mug had slipped from her grasp. It floats, suspended in midair, and Gojo peers at her, his expression gentle. An angel, coldblooded and logical, but compassionate too. She reaches for the mug, and once her grasp is sure, Gojo releases his technique. The weight of the mug becomes solid in her grasp once more.
"Thank you," she whispers, still mystified at what transpired. Gojo smirks.
"Told you I was fun to be around," he says. "So, what do you say: wanna get married and make some curse users shit bricks?"
Asabé laughs, a sultry, simmering sound that makes Gojo's scalp tingle.
"Proposing to a widow after she finishes having a flashback of her dead husband is certainly a choice."
Gojo waves his hand. "It's for a good cause! I'm sure he wouldn't mind knowing you're being kept safe."
Asabé looks up at him, her expression caught between shock and surprise. Gojo holds her gaze fearlessly. There's something so guileless about it, and yet she can't fathom how his mind works for him to say some of the things he does.
"I suppose it can't hurt," she says slowly. "And we can dissolve the marriage once I've secured my safety from my family."
For some reason the idea of that nettles at Gojo's pride, but his smile never leaves his face.
"Exactly," he says. "So is that a 'yes'? I'm not buying us matching rings until you say yes."
Asabé sips her coffee, peering at him over the rim. "That depends," she purrs. "You going to bend the knee and ask me properly?"
Gojo swallows. Oh.
Even sealed, her voice is rich and velvety, and he wants to actually taste it. He wants to hold her close and drink down that voice as he kisses her until her thoughts are nothing but petals scattered on the wind. He wants to lift her up on one of these quartz countertops, spread her legs, and hear that throaty voice moan his name until the sun sets and Tokyo's skyline paints her in a smattering of neon.
Fuck. He turns from her in time to hear the intercom buzz, indicating the food is here. He is also painfully hard thinking about his charge in every position he can successfully put her in. God he bets she looks so fucking good with her knees pushed back, folded in half, her cunt wet and—
"Gojo?" Her voice calls. "Are you okay? You seem…distracted."
Gojo holds up a hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just went to bed a bit late last night is all." He moves toward the door, answering it. The delivery driver attempts curiosity by trying to sneak a peek beyond Gojo, but he finds a pair of cerulean eyes boring into him before handing over the food and retreating back into the elevator without so much as a backward glance.
Gojo turns, his little 'inconvenience' taken care of and breakfast in hand.
"Let's eat!"
Over breakfast, Asabé is quiet. She's surprised Gojo is so talkative, and most of the time it sounds like conversations he's having with himself. Well, she would never credit him with being in his right mind. This world they inhabit can make one crazy. It's one of the reasons she walked away from it.
"So, tell me about your family," Gojo says. Asabé frowns.
"Not much to tell, really," she says, almost bitterly, and Gojo knows it's a lie even as the words leave her mouth. "They're typical affluent sorcerers: think they own everyone and everything. My dad's the advisor to his uncle, the Emir of Zaria, and they've got ties to the House of Saud by marriage."
Gojo nods. Sounds like typical sorcerer politics. Not much different than his own family. He wagers being a daughter of such an affluent family comes with its own baggage. He's been lucky enough that most of the people around him who would hinder him are dead, either through betrayal or someone trying to get to him through them. He wonders how much different things would be if one of his ancestors had been smart enough to Pact their descendants into not trying to kill each other.
Now he's the head of a clan that has dwindled in size, boasting mostly members of extended branches with little to no cursed techniques to speak of, trading only on the ancient and indispensable coin of the Gojo name and legacy. His mother lives alone on the ancestral estate, and he barely talks to her, now save for on important festival days or when he wants to make use of the estate's ancient hot springs.
He is comforted to know that Asabé's own relationship with her family is just as strained. At least he is not alone in being alone.
"So, aside from the inherited technique, what else does your family do?"
Asabé chews her bagel and washes it down with a slurp of orange juice.
"Well, the Ruhín clan boasts a large arsenal of cursed tools, and some of them have developed weaker offshoots of the inherited technique, and then there's our rivals, the Keita clan, whose technique allows them to make animals into servants by imbuing them with the essence of shikigami."
Gojo nods. He's surprised at how much of a culture of sorcerers thrives outside of Japan. He wonders how many students Jujutsu Tech would have if they could approach these new sorcerers before they walked the path of a curse user, or if there is a way to get these insular clans to be more open about sharing their knowledge and sorcerers. Suddenly, his idea for changing jujutsu society from the ground up feels more of a monumental task than it did previously. He still believes it can be done, but Asabé's existence and circumstances serve to remind him that he must think beyond the borders of his own country if he wants to truly shake the table.
Ah well, he is the strongest sorcerer of the modern age. Nothing is beyond his ability to accomplish, even if it takes him longer than he would like.
"Are there a lot of cursed spirits in your homeland?" He asks softly, his tone that of a curious scholar—a teacher seeking to broaden his educational repertoire. He's only been to Kenya thus far, but Africa is a huge continent by far, of course there's bound to be more sorcerers. It's simple math.
Asabé nods. "My continent has been through much over the course of human history, with many wrongs that have yet to be redressed. Cursed energy and spirits abound, though our sorcerers lack the stringent organizational hierarchy of Japan's own. As a result, the ones who fight curses could be technically branded curse users. They only work for pay, and most places where cursed spirits tend to gather aren't around people who can afford a sorcerer's exorbitant asking price."
Gojo nods. So the problem's the same, no matter the country. Curse users whoring their skills out for insane fees, which leaves many civilians in the lurch. Sometimes he wishes he could solve the problem of capitalism and the ridiculousness of the jujutsu world at the same damn time. Asabé watches him with a curious expression.
"Would you want to become an official sorcerer?" He asks suddenly. "You have a rare and powerful gift, and to be quite honest we could really use the help. I feel like hiding is such a waste of your talents."
Asabé smiles grimly. "I know what you're trying to do, Gojo, and while I appreciate the praise, I also know it comes with the expectation of a foreshortened lifespan. I don't want to sign up for this just to find myself in an early grave because some curse user or spirit got the drop on me."
"They'd never harm you as long as I'm there. I'd kill them before I let anything happen to you." Gojo says before he realizes what he's saying. His voice is fierce, a growl underpinning his tone, his eyes hardening like gems in a look of fearsome and possessive determination. Asabé gasps, and he can see the capillaries in her face open up, sending a rush of crimson heat to her cheeks. She puts her gaze in her coffee mug.
"That's…" she tries to find words. "That's very reassuring, Gojo. Thank you."
Gojo grins. "So in order for our fake marriage to work, you're gonna have to drop the formalities with me."
Asabé blinks several times. "Excuse me?"
Gojo leans back in his chair, still grinning. "You heard me: you have to say my name."
"Gojo?"
"Try again, Asabé." The way he says her name makes her shiver. It's a name from her homeland, of course, but the vowel pronunciations of Hausa and Japanese are similar enough that he puts the inflections on it perfectly. Not only that, but his voice drops an octave when he says it, and she tries to ignore the warmth rushing through her veins, dripping to pool between her thighs. Has it really been so long that just him saying her name is enough to turn her on? And the way he's looking at her, it's as if he knows what he's doing to her!
"I suppose you're right," she says slowly, hesitant to say his name for fear of how it will sound when shaped by her lips, while an ember of what she now knows to be desire struggles to become a flame in her belly.
"Satoru." She says simply, so softly the vented air almost steals it away. Gojo watches the way her lips part around his name, the way they shape the syllables, the breathy little sigh that accompanies it. The way her eyes seem to soften as she realizes saying his name isn't so bad.
He wants to hear it again and again. He wants it as a refrain in his ear while he buries his face in her neck and does his best to leave his mark on her skin. He wants to unshackle her voice and hear her sing for him, only for him.
Asabé is silent, as if there is precious little else of import to say after his name. Instead, they gaze at one another, realizing that despite their scheme, some threshold has now been crossed. The tension warbles a bit longer before the trilling and vibrating of Gojo's phone interrupts them. He answers, reluctant to tear his eyes off the woman who is practically smoldering across from him. He watches her while he takes the call, listening intently, eyes focused.
Asabé realizes what that feeling is when he looks at her. She feels naked.
"Uh huh," Gojo is saying while she's imagining things that no woman should be imagining about this man. "Alright. Got it."
He hangs up, and she can practically feel his divided attention coming together to focus on her in full again, even though his gaze never left hers the entire call. Her gaze drops to his mouth. God, what a beautiful mouth he has, and she can tell it's soft, probably smooth and sweet like the candy he likes to eat.
"Asabé," he says her name in a sing-song voice. "You're staring at me like you want to eat me."
Asabé blinks again, startled. Of course she hadn't been discreet about her…admiration.
"It's your eyes," she says by way of excuse. "I cannot help it. I have never seen anything like them before."
Gojo smirks, wondering why a compliment he's heard innumerable times over the course of his life makes his stomach go into knots when she's giving it to him. Asabé gets up from her seat, coming around to him. He looks up at her, smiling, cerulean eyes bright and alert and expectant.
"If I'm to be your wife I suppose that we should be comfortable with a level of intimacy that makes our union convincing." She reaches down, tentatively brushing a few locks of silver-white hair from his face. He never takes his eyes off of her, even as her curious fingertips linger on his temple, trailing down his cheek, watching a spot of color bloom there.
"You're not wearing your infinity," she whispers, her fingertips coming to linger on his lips. Gojo's mouth smiles under her touch.
"For my wife?" He muses, his breath warm and moist on her skin. "I don't need to."
He kisses her fingertips, watches her eyes widen a little as his lips trail lower, planting a kiss in her palm. Asabé shivers, then cups his face in that same hand. Gojo leans into it.
"Looks like we're getting the hang of it already," he says, looking at her with a knowing smirk. She laughs, that sultry and simmering sound that he's growing to love.
"And so we are," she says, those honey eyes twinkling. "Satoru."
Gojo swallows. This woman's voice is powerful even with the seal because why does his name sound so fucking good coming from her lips? He wonders what she will sound like moaning it in hsi ear. He wants to hear her scream it while she begs him to—
"We should go out," he says, willing those not-so-wholesome thoughts to the back of his mind. Asabé raises a brow. "A public appearance of us together is necessary to make the ruse convincing. Don't worry, no one will dare harm you while you're by my side."
Asabé takes her hand away and Gojo wonders why that bothers him. He wants her to keep touching him. God he wants her to kiss him. That beautiful mouth of hers is made to be kissed until—
"That's a good idea," she says. "Where shall we go?"
Gojo grins. "Well, I wouldn't be a good husband if I didn't take my gorgeous wife shopping, now would I?"
Asabé feels as if she has underestimated just how wealthy Gojo is because when their car pulls up to a shopping center that exclusively houses major designers, she wonders if maybe they should have gone with more conservative shopping options.
That's the old you, she thinks bitterly. Jin is dead, and Satoru is from one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the country. Accept it. Aside, you deserve nice things! Indulge.
Thus, her inner voice reasons.
The amount of money Gojo is willing to spend seems, for lack of a better term, limitless. When she picks out a Versace bag? The Centurion card comes out, heavy and tapered and casual. The attendant ringing them up tries not to look shocked, more so at how beautiful they look together rather than at the fact that Gojo is casually spending money on items that cost more than most people's rent.
And throughout the shopping spree, Gojo is indulgent, leaning into the affection of their sham relationship with a relish that almost convinces Asabé it is not entirely feigned.
He holds her hand while they walk through the busy mall, keeping her close. At one point, he leans in, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she glances up at him with surprise, before smiling shyly as he winks at her from above the rim of his glasses.
When they slide into Balmain, she models clothes for him: racy dresses that cling to her curves like a glorious art deco skin. Gojo sits in a chair, sipping offered champagne, legs spread as he watches his "wife" emerge from the dressing room to model clothes for him.
"How about this one?" She asks, turning on the balls of her feet in the triptych mirror. Gojo's lips are wet with champagne, and he sets it down. He doesn't drink usually, and if he does decide to, he prefers a sweet dessert wine to anything else. This champagne is dry, possibly burned, as if it has been frozen rather than kept on ice. He does not pick it up again.
"Why not get them all?" He asks casually. "You look good in everything, my dear. And even better in nothing."
Asabé feels her pulse leap at the words, and for a moment it's as if everything around them is obsolete. She studies Gojo momentarily, who watches her with a bright and amused focus that makes her shift, squeezing her thighs together. Then, his tongue snakes out, tracing his beautiful lips, still moist with champagne. With one large, strong hand, he beckons her to come to him and Asabé can't help it. Her steps go to him, faltering at first, before she remembers she is supposed to be his wife. She comes to stand between his spread legs.
"You look incredible," Gojo says, and she wonders if this is part of the ruse or if he means it. His hand comes forward, and he gives her a questioning look. She nods. His hand comes to rest on her calf, before slowly moving upward, tracing one of those long legs until her just barely begins to lift the hem of her dress.
"I can't wait to get home and peel this off of you," he murmurs, shocking not only Asabé but the attendant coming up behind him, who startles at walking in on what is undoubtedly an intimate moment between them. In a sudden boldness, Asabé leans over until her face hovers a mere breath from Gojo's own.
"If you behave yourself," she whispers, husky and sultry, "I'll let you do anything you like tonight."
"Anything?" Gojo's eyes are bright with anticipation. Asabé can see the attendant trembling as they discreetly attempt to collect the champagne glass.
"Anything."
The rest of their day is spent walking around Tokyo. Gojo never lets go of her hand, and sometimes he even brings it up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. Whoever must be watching cannot be convinced that their relationship is genuine, and even Asabé forgets that this is a ruse sometimes. The way he speaks, the way he holds her close, the way he looks at her, all of it feels so real she momentarily forgets her heartache and fear.
Gojo takes Asabé to a bridge overlooking a pond in a park. The sun will be setting soon, and he wants to see her eyes match the sunset.
"You know," he says, leaning against the railing. "For a fake marriage this was actually a lovely first date."
"Yeah…" Asabé says a little dreamily. "If this were real I'd definitely call you back for a second date."
"Only because I spent the equivalent of two homes on you today." Gojo teases and she nudges him playfully, scoffing when he turns on his infinity to evade her.
"It's more than that, Satoru," strange how she's gotten used to saying his name after only a day. "You are good company. The money helps, and anyone would be happy to be spoiled by you."
Gojo turns to her, reaching up to cup her face in his hand, tracing an unhurried thumb along the sleek curve of her cheekbone, tender and almost genuine.
"Yeah, but you're not just anyone, Asabé," he says. "You're my wife."
And then he leans down and kisses her.