Sundari has dated a lot of people during her time in the modern era. Generally, she tends to give her potential partners a generous six to ten months of her time before she decides to pull the ripcord and make a swift exit out of their lives before things get serious. All things considered; she would say that this method served her in the end because what would she have done if her unsealing had happened with some non-sorcerer?
Well, she wouldn't be sitting in the ancestral Gojo estate, getting stared at like something that was stuck to the bottom of one's shoe by Satoru's mother.
As it so happens, she would rather be freaking out a non-sorcerer right about now.
When Satoru first posed his question, Sundari had thought he spoke in jest, as any reasonable and sane person would, because who asks to meet one's parents after four months of…whatever they've been doing? Of course, when he tilted his head and quirked a brow, waiting for her answer, Sundari came to realize that he was quite serious. Well, as serious as Satoru can be.
In the end, it didn't matter because his reason for returning to Kyoto was not out of some sentimental gesture to present Sundari to his family; as the undisputed and rightful head of the Gojo clan, he has leave to do as he pleases, and he decides what is best for the clan. Sundari had answered hesitatingly; Satoru rarely mentioned his parents, and she assumed they were estranged at a young age. She understands all too well the isolation of emotionally absent parents.
What Satoru needed from the estate were a few weapons, as well as access to the family archives, which are meticulously kept in some secret, closely guarded warehouse on the estate grounds. Satoru does not need permission to access any of these things, but bringing Sundari along set off multiple alarm bells with the staff as well as his parents, who stared in shock as he and Sundari marched through the estate's massive gate like a couple of teenagers who'd been out carousing.
You see, Satoru's mother, Airi Gojo, was home by the time Satoru and Sundari stumbled, breathy with laughter, into the estate's receiving room. Every second Sunday of the month, without fail, she has a meeting with her woman's club: an elite organization of female sorcerers, most from the Big Three families [saving Zenin, who turn out less female sorcerers than any other clan]. Admission into this club is stringent, complete with all the red tape expected of a club whose members boast the very pick of the litter of sorcerer bloodlines. Airi Gojo, who before giving birth to her son, was just another member of a clan whose political might coasts on the strength of lineage.
Satoru's birth changed more than the outside world; it completely changed his inner world too.
Airi was meeting with her women's club when Satoru pulled Sundari into the kitchen, grasping her hips to kiss her soundly. It was when Satoru's iron-hewn thigh pressed upward between Sundari's thighs that she let out an obscene moan into his mouth, startling no less than four members of the women's club who had been passing by…including Satoru's mother.
Sundari's face was aflame as Satoru grinned smugly, not taking his thigh from between her legs before the women shuffled out of sight, a chorus of scandalized whispers swelling around them. Airi Gojo was mortified and prudently called an early adjourning to the women's club meeting. None of the members questioned this sudden change. Word travels fast, and by the time they returned to the meeting space, texts had been sent and every eye was on Airi, gauging her every reaction and inflection, seeking weakness.
The men of the jujutsu world love to fancy themselves savvy in the ways of the shark-infested waters of politicking, but Airi Gojo can confidently say that any one of these women-sisters, aunts, and wives—could be running a rogue nation in little time at all. The requisite greeting and bowing for seeing guests out of the home is followed to the letter, and Airi makes sure her voice is the very soul of conservative hospitality.
Once the ladies had taken their leave, Airi had called for Satoru and his "little friend" shortly after, but long enough that she could sense no eavesdropping, jujutsu or otherwise.
Thus, Sundari's awkward predicament, sitting across from the woman who seemed to seethe with a fury kept under a tight lid. Very tight, Sundari can see, but that motherfucker is rattling. The slightest shift may set her off, so Sundari chooses the wisdom of silence; a rare occurrence for her, but she knows a potential brushfire when she sees one.
"So," Airi finally speaks, and Sundari thinks this woman might be more severe than her own mother. "How did you and Satoru meet?"
Sundari thinks about her first meeting with Satoru.
"You close, baby?" She asked, and laughed when Gojo grunted against the onslaught of what he came to understand were deliberate contractions and release of her walls while she rode him. Her muscle control made him want to weep.
He almost did weep. He definitely drooled a little.
"Sundari…" His voice sounded foreign to his ears, a desperate whine of her name. "I'm so goddamn close. I wanna fill this fuckin– ngh –fill this pussy up so bad."
"We met at a concert," Sundari says brightly. Her lower eyes are shut, and it's wildly disorienting to no longer have the extra perspective, but she is self-conscious around people regarding her features. She knows in jujutsu society what her appearance triggers in these conservative sorcerers. She can still taste the blood of the higher ups on her tongue if she zones out enough.
What the fuck?
"A concert," Airi repeats in a tone that says she clearly knows it for the bullshit it partially is. Sundari does not crumple in the face of the other woman's scrutiny. Airi's lips part, clearly about to say more but Satoru walks into the room and her attention shifts to him abruptly, her gaze going over Sundari's shoulder. Sundari almost opens her lower eyes to look back but remembers in time and turns her head instead. Satoru isn't smiling, and she can see there's a slight tension in his frame as he regards his mother. It doesn't take long for her to realize that Airi's feigned gatekeeping is all smoke and no fire. Sundari returns her gaze to Airi's and opens her lower eyes.
The color drains from Airi's face, her dark eyes wide as she startles at the sight of Sundari's tattooed face and strange physiology. She's been keeping a tight leash on her cursed energy up until now, but Airi feels it, a sinister and oppressive aura that sends chills down her spine.
"You ready, babe?" Satoru asks. Sundari stands to her full height, bowing low to Airi and complimenting her lovely home. Satoru's mother is as unmoved as glacial ice, but something akin to disgust floats across her gaze like an oil film on the water's surface. Sundari rejoins Satoru, who is now clad in what she understands to be the traditional wear of jujutsu sorcerers of the clan. And as clan head, he looks every bit the role of what the pinnacle of sorcery should be.
No blindfold, no sunglasses, and something about him looks and feels older. Whatever he came here to find has been found, and there's a weight in his eyes that have nothing to do with his abilities.
Satoru's hand finds Sundari's, lacing their fingers. Airi draws in a quiet but sharp breath at the sight.
They leave.
Jujutsu Tech Tokyo Campus, November 30, 2018
Sundari and Satoru return to Jujutsu Tech's campus in the late afternoon. Reluctant to be parted but resigning themselves to their roles in the upcoming challenges, they linger beneath the massive tori marking the entrance to the school proper. Satoru reaches up, caressing Sundari's cheek with his knuckles. She blushes, and he leans in to kiss her.
"Your students are waiting," Sundari whispers between kisses. "And I need to go and prepare."
Neither one of them move, and instead they simply stare at one another, wearing amused smiles that they are so alike in this way.
"Don't leave me," Satoru says. Sundari's smile turns sad, brows furrowing in concern.
"I won't," she says. "I promise, I won't. But you can't leave me either."
Satoru grins. "I wouldn't dream of it, goddess." He is undaunted in the face of her exasperated eyeroll, but there is a tender bend to her smile that tells him she does not mind his nickname for her. He leans in, kissing her earlobe, teasing it with his teeth. She makes a small sound in her throat before lightly swatting him on the chest.
"Behave," she scolds and Satoru smiles with every intention of doing the opposite.
Soon, however, they must move forward, and they part ways, their pinkies linked before the final moment of contact is broken. Satoru heads to the meeting room, and Sundari heads to one of the execution chambers. With Tengen taken and the barriers in a state of uncertainty, Sundari repurposes the execution room by adjusting the seals and barriers. She will be allowed to use jujutsu within it, without risking her power destroying everything around her. It was Satoru who suggested in for what she planned to do now.
Sundari knows she's close to unlocking this Kamino technique. She can practically taste the smoke of it on the back of her tongue. But gods above is it difficult! She knows Sukuna has a binding vow that keeps him from revealing the technique except in the case of…whatever he did in Shibuya.
But if the technique is his, it must also be hers. She tries to remember the last time she used it, and when she does remember, she shivers to think on it.
Apparently, the damage she did that night was as bad as what her father accomplished in Shibuya.
The memory shakes her so badly, Sundari decides to leave the room, and try again when her mind and heart are purged of fear and uncertainty. She can't afford to let a traumatic memory torment her, but it's clear her sealing was not entirely unfounded.
It's dark outside when she passes into the courtyard. She's been appointed a space in the teacher's dormitories, and after she and Satoru stopped by his apartment [and hers, she's decided to stay on campus until this war is over. She pinches the bridge of her nose to even call it a war. Against one man.
Sundari thinks about her vow. Thinks and thinks and thinks…and she realizes that the solution is obvious. She can save Satoru from fighting her father, and rescue Megumi and her mother at once. It's risky, because there's a chance she can perish before enacting what she knows to be a reckless plan. She glances toward the darkness that marks the tori entrance. Beyond that, somewhere in the city, is her father. There are still people trapped in the city by the barriers, but the Games seem to be wrapping up with most of the players dead.
There's so much cursed energy radiating from Tokyo right now it's making her teeth itch.
Her lower eyes flick over to a sudden noise at her side. Satoru seems to materialize next to her. She doesn't even tense up in his presence, her cursed energy a steady and controlled flame. Satoru inwardly beams with pride. His girl's nerves are steely.
"You're up late," he teases. "Did you do the thing?"
Sundari looks confused for a moment before she remembers.
"No," she breathes out, frowning. "The last time I used it was when I massacred an entire town."
Satoru is quiet, and it's a little unnerving because unmasked his eyes have an almost cosmic intensity that makes her feel exposed and naked under his gaze. It's thrilling most of the time, but right now she feels vulnerable, and she just wishes he'd put the fucking blindfold on.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks. Sundari turns to face him. "Or do you want to do something else?"
Sundari considers the options for a moment and tries to bring the horrifying memory to the surface. She touches it like it's an infected wound, and the psychic sting of remembrance and guilt worms its way into her brain again. Satoru can see her pulse hammering in her throat, and her cursed energy ripples and flickers like a wickless flame caught in a wayward breeze. His hands come to her shoulders, warm and firm and grounding.
"Hey, pretty girl, look at me," he says softly. Sundari's cheeks flush with warmth but she looks at him, her gaze softening. "You're still worried about me, aren't you?"
Sundari nods. "I can't help it Satoru. I…the last time I lost someone I stained the world with my grief. I don't want that to happen again."
"You're not going to lose me." Satoru says, his voice harder than he intends but it sobers Sundari up before she can spiral out of control. "Look at me. Sundari, you are not going to lose me. And I have no intention of losing you either."
She wants so badly to believe him. He's so strong and brilliant and beautiful and funny. She wants to believe he'll win this fight and come back to her no worse for wear. And then she can experience what it's like to have a happy ending. She might even forgive her mother if it means she gets to keep Satoru here and send her father directly to Hell.
Satoru presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, then to her lips. Then, he pulls her in for a warm embrace. Sundari shuts her eyes and breathes deep. He smells faintly of his cologne, but also there's the scent of incense clinging to his haori. He's been doing rituals, then. She lets the embrace soothe her, and sinks into the reality of Satoru right here, right now.
"If he takes you from me, I'll tear him apart," she mumbles. Satoru laughs, stroking her hair before pressing a tender kiss to her temple.
"I don't doubt it," he says. "I'm almost tempted to lose just so you can cut loo—ow! Hey, what was that for?"
Sundari's secondary mouth vanishes from her face, and she glares at him through one lower eye.
"Don't talk like that," she says sharply, but there is a soft underpinning of vulnerability in her tone. "You're going to win or I'm going to kick your ass and his."
Satoru grins, rubbing his cheek where she'd nipped him.
"But—okay! You are so grouchy, when's the last time you ate?"
November 30, 2018, Zenin Estate
It's raining. It's been raining for several days, and in that time Nadja has only drawn her blades twice.
Right now…right now, she cannot afford to think about blades. It doesn't matter, for her weapons lay in a heaped pile, along with the suedes and leather of her armor. Right now, her mind is hazed with sex and passion and an impossible love rekindled as Sukuna's hands rove and squeeze every sinuous curve of her body. Since their bitter quarrel only a week before, they have been existing in this strange species of tension that sees its only outlet in sex.
Gods she had forgotten how good it had been. And it still is. Sukuna has been making up for lost time. Not quite vengeance, but neither of them seem keen on thinking about that right now.
"Ryōmen…" Nadja's voice comes out in a gasping whine in her chest. "I can't…I can't…"
He has her pinned beneath him, folded in half, covering her with his massive frame, filling her with one cock while the other slides over her clit with every deep and powerful thrust that sets her bones to rattling. She is sore and aching in all her parts, but Sukuna's stamina seeks to wring her limp with sweat, blood, and tears and come.
"You can," he growls into her slick skin, sucking another bruise onto her neck. "You will. Because you're mine, Nadja."
And Nadja, who has lost her mind and her heart in the bargain, agrees. Anything to prolong the pleasure, anything to have him touching her and filling her, and she—
Sukuna's eyes narrow, the bridge of his nose wrinkling as he feels the tide of her climax around his cock. He watches her eyes roll back in her head, lashes fluttering. She's sputtering and sobbing, shivering and trembling as he buries himself to the hilt, relishing her whimpers of pain and pleasure alike. She mewls for him, and he realizes how badly he's missed having her like this. By the time it's time to kill Gojo Satoru, he wagers his balls will be completely empty, and his head clear.
"Still such a good slut after all this time," Sukuna rumbles, amused and cruel. He doesn't stop fucking her, taking her to the point of exhaustion, coaxing incoherent and shivering climaxes out of her until he feels himself come inside of her, and only her belly and breasts. He makes a mess of her, the sheets, and the collapsed bed beneath them. The headboard had broken on day three, and the rest of the frame followed. Neither of them seems to care, lost in one another.
In the end, they lay in the quiet aftermath, Nadja stitched to his side, his arms around her as he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, his face soft; one of his many hungers is satiated for now. It almost feels like before, when he and Nadja would eagerly engage in quiet discussion in the small hours of the night, make love until dawn colored the horizon, and enjoyed existing in one another's orbit. Sukuna had once thought Nadja only loved him because he was strong, and vice versa. But he knows the truth. They had loved one another for more than strength and somewhere along the way, Nadja had proven that her definition of love was vastly different from the one he understood. It matters precious little, now. He knows this is a mere passing dalliance. When the time comes, one of them will have to decide to make the final blow.
Sukuna cannot for the life of him figure out why the thought of killing her makes his mind shy from the notion; makes his heart quake and constrict and fold in on itself. He wonders why the thought of a world without her in it disappoints him.
His brows go up when he realizes, and he looks down at her, his eyes hard and calculating. She's fast asleep, and Sukuna softens his gaze. It is a rare and unguarded moment with her, and he takes time to look upon this face carved by Heaven itself. One of his hands comes up, pushes one of her braids aside, then traces an unhurried knuckle over her cheek. She makes a contented little sound that makes his heart skip a beat. Her lips, full and kiss-swollen, are slightly parted; her eyes are closed, lashes cresting on her cheeks like black waves. He commits this gentle, angelic face to memory. She has never been more beautiful than she is right now, vulnerable and unarmed in his embrace.
Safe in his embrace.
Sukuna grits his teeth, annoyed at his own sentimentality.
"Do you ever sleep?" Nadja mumbles, not bothering to open her eyes. Sukuna cannot find it in himself to be cruel to her. Instead, a smile curls his mouth, fangs bared, and the bloody crimson of his eyes darkens as he makes Nadja purr with an idle caress.
"I don't need much sleep," he says quietly. "Aside, you sleep enough for ten men."
Nadja cracks her eye open slightly to peer at him. He can taste the retort on her tongue, so he preemptively squeezes her thigh, making her groan. She turns her head, hiding her face in his chest. Her braids fall, curtaining her face.
"As you say," she mumbles, and he hears her sleepy yawn, her body limp and pliant as she returns to her slumber seemingly unconcerned for the monster whose arms can crush her if he feels so inclined.
But instead, the monster adjusts his hold, cradling her and holding her close, cupping her head with one massive hand, leaning down to press a kiss to her crown. He knows what's happening. He's letting it happen, and she is too.
His eyes drift close, he sinks down into his innate domain, wishing he could bring her here. Instead, he replays the memories of their encounters like a flickering film real. The memories play from a first-person point-of-view, so he sees Nadja through his own eyes within his soul. There, a blade in either hand, her remaining eye burning with volcanic fury; there, when she sought to drive her blades into his chest before he caught her wrists and broke them. Later, in one of the rooms of the estate, his kimono discarded, her blades and armor heaped and trailing. He watches as she welcomes his hungry kisses, their bodies smearing the blood of their wounds all over the floor as their fury and anger turns to honey.
Sukuna watches Nadja open herself to him, her body welcoming him into her willing flesh. Sukuna shuts his eyes, remembering how she shuddered and moaned in abject relief, as if she had spent these last thousand years running toward this moment. He knows because he's been doing the same thing.
Sukuna can still taste her on his tongue, can smell her on his skin. His senses are soaked in her and he hates himself for reveling in it, from taking a delicious pleasure in having her again. There's only one way this ends, and it's not with a second child. Not that he can give her one. He's still not sure how he got Sundari on her. Immediately, his reminiscing turns to suspicion, and he begins to turn the events over in his mind, scrutinizing every word and gesture. Nadja has had lifetimes to perfect her ability to damn her targets into her seductions. She understands his very particular brand of violence as if she invented it herself. Vicious, conniving, and ruthless.
Except when it comes to one another.
Sukuna opens his eyes, shifting out of his domain and back into the present. Nadja is still in his arms, content and fast asleep. She has orders to kill him, he knows. It is bound up in her damnable pact. Pierce the heart of the heartless.
Tch. He'll be damned if he makes it easy for her.
