Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

"The Art Of Water"

CHAPTER 14

Under The Influence

.

It is stupid, but what's done is done. The first question Miwa asked her doctor was: "Can you please do me a favour and end my existence?" She was not kidding; she had all the seriousness in her question. It boiled her blood when she woke up, knowing she was alive. This is her second attempt gone wrong.

The doctor took a second to answer: "I'm afraid I can't. Why?"

Miwa looked pointedly at her shoes, the ones her brother used to wear when his feet were tiny. She loved it so much. She scratched her unruly head, sucking on a tooth. "I've asked my brother several times. He doesn't." She blinked an innocence she wasn't aware she had.

"I see. Why would you ask the boy?" The doctor's voice was kind, an anaesthetic that did the opposite of lulling her to sleep. Her mind had gotten lucid.

She hated to admit it but screw that. "Mom hates me. Even Kazu-chan doesn't talk to me like before."

The doctor looked up from the papers folded on his lap, caressing the plumpness of Miwa's cheeks with his thumb like her mother would do. "That's not true, Kasumi. Your brother told me he was worried about you."

"He did?" Kasumi pretended to be surprised.

"Yes, he did." It was okay if the doctor had seen through the barriers she had set up.

.

He took hours to make head or tail of who set him up. The chances are that he knew what they needed him to do far sooner than they could've thought. He had searched here, there, and everywhere for a break-out. A moonshot. This place may not confine them for seasons to come, but it could entwine their lifetimes like two creeks into a river. He busted a gut to rip down the talisman, hoping to subdue the cursed energy strong-arming him towards blue balls. He couldn't graze the runes. Infinity was off the map. Whenever he sought, intangible binds snaked around his neck, throttling him. The more he attempted, the more they looped. Wrists. Thighs. Ankles. Immediately, he called it a day once the first tendril of devilry nudged his balls.

His clan had its fail-safe fall from grace time out of mind, but to think they would have it in for their own heir. It's crazy.

Whoever did this presumed that letting their pawns stay separate for so long was, by and large, a ridiculous proposition. Thus, they had taken the bull by the horns to not regret it in the long run. The people in his clan get at one another's throats more often than not, yet they somehow joined forces to devise and organise the most despicable things. Satoru can trace several familiar cursed energies in the air even without his true potential. It smells like group work in here.

Kagomi doesn't have access to the basement where the clan kept their curses—unless she knows the things he never had privy to. The only thing he dreaded more was the involvement of another group, particularly one. If they had backstabbed and used Kasumi like he had been used by the Gojos, that would be an entirely new turn of events. It cannot get any worse than that.

His clan had descended to the lowest of lows, the scum of the earth. He will crumble the place to dust once he gets back home! A circular passage opened up into a courtyard. The entrance had open French doors and round edges rimmed with polished wood, looking as good as new. Needless to say, the doors were a gewgaw since its square did not reach the remaining circle. Fronds fell over the steps, descending into malachite bliss. Freaky shrubs and buckling evergreens. Lulling about the river rocks were steady, flower-garbed water like in Claude Monet's Water Lilies and Japanese Bridge. Above the mossy roofs is a clear sky, but he can only reach so much with his cursed energy inactive. There must be some covering, a dome of invisible barricade between him and the sky, keeping him powerless.

Family ties for him are a web that keeps feeding off of him. Some of his relatives wouldn't mind putting His life on the line if it fulfils their objectives. Gojo can only hope the situation is not as bad with Kasumi. Seems like someone had the revelation that idle gossip won't suffice. Threatening to orchestrate a tale of the past, one of them could fall in love with someone else, something both clans endeavour to thwart at all costs. It's not the first time he had gotten on the wrong side of his folk, but this? This is one of the most inhumane things they could do to them. Such barbarity directed towards one's own kin turns up the yuck factor. However, it's true: if Satoru was given a bit more time, he would've outsmarted them. And nobody else in his clan wanted that. He had procrastinated on telling Kasumi the truth, a conversation he must've had the last time he met her. He thought he could wait for a more appropriate time for a serious talk. He can't help but reminisce how he had flirted with Kasumi in moments of carefree abandon. Alas, the opportunity has passed, leaving him with nought but regret and yearning for what could have been. The clan's collective will resist any possible escape. Oh, how he wishes he could turn back the hands of time.

Instead of telling her, he had second thoughts. His bad.

Satoru waited for 6 hours, but the effects didn't wear off. He tried to get himself off several times. He only succeeded twice, and in no time, his cock was hard again. It only worsens. He was exercising on the school's lawn. Only left the compound when his phone pinged with an emergency message from the clan, alerting him. He had to help out. It seems like he wouldn't need to anymore. He was craving a different kind of exercise—one that is conventionally done in pairs. The curse energy he felt was fake, just a front to conceal something bigger. A trap. If Satoru had not felt like a fool before. He felt now, for he had allowed himself to fall for this abomination.

He had followed the whimpers to a room to find Kasumi curled up in pain. She laid on the floor in nothing but her underwear, mouth open, soft skin exposed under his sultry gaze, a hand inside her panties, moaning his name. Satoru had a hard time keeping his head straight after that. His consciousness went on and off, not under his control. All his cautions were set up to fail. This is why he hated getting drunk—although, right now, he hadn't a drop of liquor in his system.

He hated losing control, to be a lone traveller through an ocean full of questions. The water was cold but expressive. She's giving, would take you anywhere you wanted in the world, but implodes you if you dare take more than you need. Everything was a fog. The warm lights. Pillowy thighs. Flushed, feverish skin; the appendage uncomfortably upright between his legs. Her messy head as he carried her over to the couch. With no sort of heater, the air from the courtyard hit them chilly. Nothing appeased the ocean guzzling him through and through.

.

Where are his blindfolds when she needs them the most?

"A BREEDING CURSE?" She fumed. Yes, and high-end enchantments to contain a limited number of sorcerers, even a Special Grade like her. The mechanism was that they couldn't use their curses until they breed. It's audaciously scribbled above on the talisman sticking to the walls, runes godlike on the door whenever he tried to break it free.

"And you think I agreed to this!?" Satoru gritted his teeth, fingers clenching in and out of his palms. A round coffee table sits smartly amid the crescent sofa about which they sat, facing the large framed painting taking over half of the wall. Pine green interiors blended seamlessly with rustic wood, and a hash of books were finely arranged on the shelves lining the walls.

"B—but the other day you said—" She thought she was prepared to ask him what he had told her on "bridge day" about calling him Husband, a perfectly normal, totally-not-out-of-line conversation leaving nothing to the imagination. Yet now, breathless on the floor, kneading her face, she bumbled for words, suddenly aware of her state of undress. My clothes!

"Fuck. I was messing with you. I had come to see your granny for an official meeting. You looked—" He rubbed his chin, leering at her lissom form for a minute before turning his eyes away. Kasumi swallowed hard. "erm... teasable."

Teasable? That's his excuse?! How dare you!

Instinctively, she rushed to cover herself as much as she could with her hands, one forearm upon her areolas, while the other hand went to her pelvis, legs folding. "You knew it! You said I should start calling you Husband!" She glanced askance, unsure whether to feel proud or not that she did.

"Yes, I anticipated it. Look, you have no idea how hard I tried to prevent something like this." Her brows furrowed when he stopped, doubling down from a spasm from which he crouched to the floor with a wheeze. "I didn't expect them to pull my legs like this—who knew there were enchantments to—don't make me say it!"

"What?" Her curiosity got the better of her. She knew what it was; hearing it from her long-yearned crush was something she had only dreamt of. Kasumi might waste such a chance in her right mind. On the other hand, her subconscious wouldn't. Her subconscious was—for the lack of better words—a devilish witch. Oh, how much she tried to hush her into never entering into the picture.

"Really, you want me to spell it out?" Satoru sang, trying to contain the grunts that plashed out in between. "Here you go:" He doesn't even try to cover his groin, two thumbs tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was pointless. "who knew the clan had enchantments to make my big dick go hard like this?" I'm horny for you. Atrociously. Mouth open, she found her gaze stuck to the growing tent in his pants. He liked the attention.

It took him everything to prevent himself from using the hoard of adjectives he had in mind. Satoru was born a hoarder of many words. It may not need the talent to be an asshole. Even so, he had a rare talent. "It's not going down, and I would've been proud—if not for the godforsaken pain and bad—" scandalous! "—circumstances."

Why couldn't they tie each other up? Well, they don't know what else these talismans can do! The clothes were shed when they caught fire, and there were no bed sheets for them to use. Heck, even her phone had exploded into pieces a while ago. That said, she cannot smell anything except Satoru's cologne. Her senses were closing up, shutting out from receiving anything except him. They were losing a bit of their sanity to each whishing second. If someone had told Kasumi that the Gojo clan would set a trap on Gojo himself to fuck her into getting conceived and married to him, she would've called them a nutjob and—if possible—dialled 911.

"Could this be any worse?" She wanted to sob. It was as crystalline as clockwork what this was. She just never thought it was meant for her. The room looked like something from a movie—looking like those sex hotels she had seen in some movies on Mai's laptop the brunette, Momo, and she had watched together on some of their sleepovers.

The plan was to get her pregnant. Kasumi didn't know whether to feel befuddled by the fact that her crush would be pounding into her pussy any minute now—like he would die if he didn't—or repulsed by the sick plan they were stuck in.

Now, everything made sense. Sukuna. Itadori. Utahime's cryptic texts. The baby comments. The giggles. The—is that why Gojo teleported them, to not be seen together with her, to avoid rumours? Her cheeks turned pink.

Wow. Just wow. Kasumi had clues all around her. How is it that she managed to stay so oblivious there existed something about her the entire cosmos knew except her?

It was a lie, still and all, up until yesterday. Kasumi could've convinced everyone it was nothing but a lie. But today? They're beyond the point of no return. She cannot even begin to think how the Gojo clan wouldn't mind doing something so immoral to get what they want, to imagine they would use their own blood or coerce him into this. It knocked her sideways to see him in this state, the things she had never imagined coming out of his mouth, for Satoru to want her as much as she wanted him, even though it was wrong and fake, even if it was just for today.

That's fucked up. There, Miwa said it.

Miwa used to wonder why he behaved like he did the fewer times she had taken the rose-tinted glasses out of her face and saw him without fangirling over his looks. Leaving that aside, she gets it now. She now knows where he got it from. His clan. Trying to stay sane in the pit of chaos is a hard nut to crack.

In evanescence, in graceless moments of wakefulness, Satoru tells her everything: whose deed this was, that it's been a plan long planned way before she was officially announced as the heir of the Ashiyas, the truth of her having to get stuck in his clan, by his side forever now. Abortion wasn't an option. The Clans were trying to expand, and if Kasumi couldn't conceive after any complications, then it would be the Ashiya clan's loss. As the icing on the cake, aborting Gojo Satoru's baby would start a war. War is never an option. In any event, the Gojo clan is still under his old man's control. It was shameful, but the truth is, his old man had more say in the matter than he had. Satoru knew the cure to set things right.

Destruction. Being the clan head, he could, although it's not as easy as one might think.

Consequences. He had neither planned nor prepared to deal with them yet.

"Do you think this is my fault? That I had a freakin' choice?" Satoru glared, exhaling through pursed lips, breathing fire. She couldn't decide whether it was directed at her or not. She had never seen him like this. He peeled his turtle neck off his body, not bothering to check if he had damaged the fabric with his rough handling.

"When will this be over?"

That's the point where he lost it, screaming in her face. "Stop questioning me like I have all the answers you need! I Don't. Fucking. Know!" Until I fill you with my sperm! Breed you?!

Kasumi flinched, eyes burning, a stray tear trickling out before she could stop it. The air was charged with a lot of things. Horror. Desperation. Disappointment. Anger.

And most of all, lust. A drive to breed.

.

One thing he knew was they couldn't wait until any of them lost their minds completely. They had to start now or let the drugged fate decide for them, and guide them through this, which was ultimately a crappy idea. Ergo, she invited the lips, kisses raining upon her skin, welcomed in everything him, her heavy eyelids drooping with the setting sun. When her belly flipped in rosy rapture, his mouth parted for his tongue to explore her mouth. The hairpin tinkled when Satoru pulled it out of her in one go, unfurling the silken tufts. He let the skin of his palms enjoy the luxury of it gliding betwixt his digits.

He tilted his head back, lifting his chin for a lopsided grin, whispering: "You're so cute and sexy. You're about to get railed."

Kasumi burned.

Rational decisions. The man drew patterns on the space between their thighs, a mad fog in his gaze. It darkened. Satoru doesn't know if what they were doing could be called Rational as he said, "I want to fuck you until you cannot feel your legs and leave you so sore you'll keep thinking about it for weeks."

She was on cloud nine, mouth drooling, eyes rolling to the back of her head when he finally brought his nimble fingers where she wanted them. They touched her, squelched inside her slit and played with her clit. Everything was too much for Kasumi. She drenched his fingers in her orgasm shortly afterwards. When he held her closer, brushing the bangs out of her face, she had almost zero thoughts pestering the momentary sense of peace that had settled over the tiles.

She cannot think; she can only feel as he puts the tip of his cock inside her virgin core. Even though he slid in easily like wheels through the mud in Tsuyu, she broke her hymen and bled. Gojo doesn't think whether he tried his best to go slow—or not, but that he was so out of his mind, ready to fuck her brains out.

Kasumi cried wordlessly when a smarting ache shot through her as if someone had stabbed her. Trying to get him to listen to her body language, she clawed at his back. He moved mercilessly inside her, and the pain poppled into pleasure before she knew it. Drunk sex had never been her strong suit, although she had never had sex, for that matter. Their hands pawed at each other. He grabbed a handful of her hips while the other hand squeezed her shoulder, making her sit upright on his lap while her soft ass bumped over him every time he thrust inside. Her hands were on his back, holding onto him with all her might. "Isn't this what you wanted? Hmm?"

"Gah. Sat—owru!" If Miwa could articulate or form proper thoughts, she would've denied his baseless claims left and right. Yet it's not like he's spouting them in his right mind. From the looks of it, Satoru wasn't sailing much better, just barely there. He had a splitting grin that said he would fuck the first thing that got in his way, and that turned out to be her. Her trembling fingers stroked the part of his cock visible from where it was connected to her vagina. She stretched her legs as wide as possible and felt a strange heat tingle up the space betwixt her parted thighs, wicked white pleasure rushing through her nerves, head tipping back with a cry.

"You're gonna be mine now?" He groaned, asking.

"I'm yours." She gasped. "All yours." Kasumi babbled on, moaning it like a prayer.

"Fuck. Fuck." He rolled his hips into her, and she came with his stuttered cuss, back arching like ocean waves. His chest rose and fell, fingernails licking maroon maps everywhere they touched, catching his climax. "Ngh. I'm cumming." Satoru thinks he might've uttered something stupid shit like 'Here I come.' But boy, was he too distracted by her pebbled tits to give a damn about it. He tweaks her soft mounds, pinching her as suns shatter in his head. White ropes of semen shoot out of him, spurting his seed inside her raw, abused lips. In the vapour of the dreamy lights, he looked like a smokin' white form, a white snake that had materialised into a human god.

Her body felt lightweight with every sigh, high as a kite. Her mate buried his nose into her neck, lying atop her for a bit before both lost themselves to passion. All over again. Her mouth fell open in puffs and gasps as Kasumi took his heat, hard and glistening. Some of his semen dribbled outside, soaking her inner thighs.

"Ah—um sorry, Kasumi." He kisses her wet forehead, short of breath. Satoru moves slower, his hips taking on a constant rhythm, hands spreading her ass cheeks apart as he panted like an animal. Either this or they do it without a semblance of consent. What is this anyway? She closes her eyes when he bites her lips. Can this be called consent? He thrust deep with every slap against her thighs, heaving over her as a bead of sweat slid along his jaw to fall over her skin. What is consent?

Her mind chorused the lines he mumbled before she ended up next to him on the broad futon and what he said later. Why did he say sorry? Kasumi felt teeth on her earlobes, biting, the press of his body, cool and hot: heart palpitations and soft feelings. Her folds sucked his pulsing length like a vice, her feet uncurling and curling as he stilled only to snap back inside.

How long before this heatwave dies down? Hours? Days?

Author's Note:

Thank you for being a part of this journey!

Lovingly,

paprika