Keisha

In the rehearsal room, you sat on a black transport box, Michael standing next to you as he nearly gulped down an entire bottle of water in one go. Some strands of his curls that were tied into a low ponytail stuck to his face, glistening with sweat. His white shirt also clung to his torso, slightly see-through in some parts from how soaked in sweat it was. You could not help but wet your lips at the sight. He was just so handsome.

The rest of the dancers were taking a break, stretching or chatting together. You had decided to stop by to see how the practice for the second leg of the Bad tour was going. He had been working so hard for the past months to pull everything together, and the first show was getting closer and closer.

The choreographer soon walked up to Michael, discussing some parts of the dance.

"I was thinking, you know," the dance director said. "It's kind of a sexy song, so we could implement more sensual moves into the choreo."

Michael nodded as he screwed the bottle closed and set it back on the box you were sitting on. "What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking, maybe, with a partner. Body rolls, against one another. Not real grinding, but the illusion of it." The choreographer then looked at you. "If that's okay with your lady, of course."

"Fine with me," you reassured. "It's just a performance."

The director looked back at Michael. "What do you think?"

But the tips of Michael's ears were red as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Um, I don't do dirty dancing," he said.

A silence settled. You stared at him for a second, then glanced at the choreographer, who gazed at you, too. He was clearly thinking the same thing as you.

And Michael noticed it. His eyes darted back and forth between you and the director, confused. He could tell the two of you were having some kind of silent conversation he was not a part of.

So he said, "What?"

You looked back at him. "What do you mean, what?"

"I saw that look you two shared."

Again, you looked at the choreographer, and that did not fail to make Michael pout, disliking being left out. The director only let out a chuckle and motioned for you to handle it.

So you turned to Michael again: "Baby, you rip your shirts open and thrust your hips on stage; that's pretty much what dirty dancing is." Immediately, his face turned red. "In The Way You Make Me Feel, you literally mimed her silhouette, moved your hips, and held your head back--"

"It's different!" He exclaimed.

You frowned. "Literally, how?"

"Because--" Michael scowled at the choreographer who was stifling his laugh. "Hey, don't laugh!" He looked back at you. "It's just different."

"Baby, you humped the stage," you pointed out.

"I didn't--" He stopped himself because he knew he had done exactly what you said. He sighed, scratching the nape of his neck. "Dirty dancing alone is wholly different than doing it with someone. With a partner, it's too... intimate."

You leaned back on your hands. "Mhm... I guess it kind of makes sense."

"But would it be okay if you dirty dance with (Y/N)?" The choreographer asked. "Would it make you more comfortable?"

Michael's initial embarrassment vanished, replaced by a smile. His eyes were now on you with a glint of mischief and excitement.

"That, I can do."

You rolled your eyes, but the tug at your lips betrayed your feelings. One thing was certain: Michael didn't mind getting dirty with you in any kind of way.

you had gotten into an argument with the boy you were coupled up with because he just straight up lied to you.

the argument was loud and everyone who was in the villa and probably farther could hear yall.

when it was night time, you grabbed some blankets and decided to sleep in Soul Ties, because you didn’t wanna be next to him, especially after he was petty and said he wasn’t making breakfast for you at all. childish right?

Caleb was the main one who heard it and felt really bad for you. he made sure everyone was asleep before getting up and sneaking to where you were.

he knew you weren’t sleep. that’s why he went to you.

he sat next to you, pulling the covers over his legs and rubbing your back.

“You okay?” he asked you.

you sniffled, “how many people heard us?”

“I think everyone heard you guys if you ask me, but everyone thinks you’re in the right. He had no reason yelling at you like that.” he told you, rubbing your back and laying down with you.

“i guess that’s good..” you say, you were still upset because why was the boy you were coupled up with so loud about it?

“I bet America is clowning him as we speak.” he said, which made you laugh.

“There she is, I like hearing that sound.” he kissed your cheek. “I have to get back to my bed, but I’ll make sure to come back once it’s time to get up.”

“Do you even wanna sleep with Kenzie? C’monnn sleep with me instead.” you tried giving him the puppy eyes, it almost worked but he knew he couldn’t, so he made a deal with you.

“Alright, how about I cuddle you until you fall asleep, okay?” he said.

“Mmmm, nah, sleep with me” you said, not budging. he had an idea, but wasn’t gonna voice it to you cause he knew you’d say no.

he cuddled you and held you tight, rubbing and caressing on your body giving you kisses on your cheeks (face cheeks guys).

when he knew you were in deep sleep, he gave you a small kiss to the lips and got up slowly and headed back to the room and got in his bed. he faced away from Kenzie and fell asleep.

the next morning, it was 5:50, 10 minutes before the lights came on. Caleb checked the phone he was provided with and saw the time. so he got out of bed and went into Soul Ties where you were sleeping and slowly got underneath the covers and cuddled you exactly how he did when you fell asleep.

when 6am hit, you both heard everyone getting up and talking which had the both of you getting up too.

“Morning, Caleb” you yawn, sitting up.

“Morning” he said, also sitting up with you. “Slept good?”

“I did actually, did you?” you asked.

“I did.” he replied.

a little later, all the girls were getting ready for the day, and all the boys brought the girls breakfast. you didn’t expect nothing, especially after the way the boy yelled at you so Melanie offered to share her breakfast with you.

as soon as she offered, Caleb came in bringing you breakfast. everyone awed the both of you because they knew they saw a connection in the both of you.

an hour or two later, you and Caleb soaked your feet in the water, just talking.

“So what’s your type?” he asked you.

“Well… someone respectful, kind, sweet and caring. And someone who’s cute too.” you said. “What about you though? I bet it’s someone like Kenzie, huh? She is really pretty, someone I can see you going for.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty but she ain’t you.” he told you.

on the outside, you were shocked but on the inside, you were screaming, kicking, smiling etc.

“Me?????” you asked.

“Yes, you. You’re so beautiful.” his thumb caressed your cheek.

“Stopppp” you said shyly, looking away.

he laughed and brought you closer and whispered in your ear.

“Next recoupling, I’m choosing you.”

even when you were just sitting around the fire pit having big group conversations, you’d find yourself holding onto one of his fingers, twisting his ring around, while he squeezed your hand back to let you know he was listening.

because he was so tall and had those gorgeous biceps, he was also the absolute best cuddler in the world.

at night, the villa bedrooms could get pretty chilly with the air conditioning blasting, but burying yourself into carl's side made you feel perfectly warm. he would wrap his strong arms completely around you, pulling your back flush against his chest, making you feel so safe and protected that you fell asleep instantly.

mornings with him were your favorite part of the entire experience. carl was always one of the first boys to get out of bed. he would always quietly slide out of bed so he wouldn't disturb you, learning very early on that you weren’t a morning person, and head straight to the restroom then to the kitchen.

a little while later, he’d walk over to the glam room carrying a plate of the best eggs and avocado toast you’d ever tasted. he paid attention to the smallest details, making sure to leave the egg yolks just a little bit runny, exactly the way you liked it, so you could dip your toast into them.

he was just so incredibly attentive to everything you did. whenever you were talking about your life back home, your family, or your favorite things, his eyes were locked onto yours, hanging onto every single word like you were the only person in the entire room.

carl also made it his personal mission to make sure you felt confident every second of the day. he showered you in compliments constantly.

he would hype you up whenever you got dressed up in your favorite dresses for the evening, he’d roll over in the morning, look at your completely bare face and messy hair, and smile that adorable dimpled smile just to whisper how beautiful you looked. he'd do the exact same thing right before you went to bed, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear and telling you how lucky he felt.

Before you could protest, he rose, pulling you up with him as if you weighed nothing. In one smooth motion he swept you into his arms, carrying you back inside the main house. The servants bowed and vanished around corners. they had long grown used to their lord’s open affection.

...

the elders were already gathered. You moved to serve tea, old habit, but Satoru’s hand caught yours.

“Sit” he said simply, guiding you to the cushion beside his own.

The elders’ eyes widened when he asked them to pour thier own tea. One elder, an old man with a face like weathered stone, cleared his throat.

“You should not be idle, daughter” Elder Haruto intoned, sipping his tea while his gaze flicked disapprovingly to the way Satoru lounged nearby, one hand resting possessively on your knee. “The floors must be polished. The lord’s footwear cleaned and set properly. A wife’s hands are never still, child or no.”

“Her hands will rest when I say they rest.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “If the floors need polishing, the servants will handle it. As for my geta—” He glanced at the wooden sandals by the door, the ones you had never been allowed to touch, even before you were pregnant, “—I never let her near them. Why would I start now?”

“My lord… the lady is perfectly capable of light duties, tradi—”

“Tradition? now observing education for higher students is enough work for her.” Satoru cut in, voice pleasant yet edged with Infinity’s chill, “She worked herself to exhaustion at home before I wed her. I will not allow it now.” He glanced at you, eyes warm. “Besides… I like doing things for her.”

You stared at him again, long, unblinking.

The elder looked displeased, but said nothing more.

...

It happened on the third afternoon of his absence. The sky hung heavy with late spring clouds, and the air inside the main hall smelled of aged wood and incense. You were kneeling by the low table, arranging fresh white camellias and pine branches, when elder Haruto and two others entered without announcement.

“Daughter in law of the Gojo house” Haruto began, his voice like dry leaves scraping stone. His gaze flicked to your middle with clear disdain.

“Carrying the heir does not exempt you from your duties. It is a wife’s role to maintain the household’s dignity. Do not think your condition makes you special.”

Tradition bound you, as a non sorcerer brought into the clan through marriage, your place was one of service and quiet strength. Defiance against the elders could ripple through the entire household.

“But… my husband said—”

“His indulgence is temporary,” another elder cut in sharply. “The child is not yet born. Clean them, thoroughly.”

A servant boy hovered anxiously nearby, eyes wide with worry, but he dared not intervene.

...

The sliding shoji screens of the estate did not merely open, they rattled on their wooden tracks, vibrating with the sheer force of the cursed energy bleeding off Satoru as he stepped into the main pavilion.

The air in the compound always grew heavier when the clan head returned, but tonight, it felt suffocating. It tasted of ozone and impending lightning.

You were already asleep in the main room, exhausted from a day that had fractured your spirit far more than your body. Beneath the heavy, silk futon, your hand rested protectively over the slight swell of your belly, a few months along, still delicate, a fragile miracle you and Satoru had wept over in the privacy of your quarters.

Satoru shed his haori, his six eyes instantly cataloging the state of the house. He had been gone for three days on an emergency deployment in the north. Three days too long.

"Gojo sama."

A small, breathless voice broke the silence of the corridor. It was a servant boy whose family had served Satoru’s personal branch for generations. The boy was with some information.

Satoru paused.

"Tatsuya" he murmured, his voice deceptively low. "Why are you still up? And why does the courtyard smell like damp earth?"

Tatsuya swallowed hard, looking toward the closed doors of your bedroom before continuing. "While you were away... the council of elders called upon the lady."

Satoru’s posture didn't change, but the ambient temperature seemed to drop. "Did they?"

"They... they claimed she was becoming arrogant. They said a housewife of the Gojo clan must know her place, less she 'grow into her mind' and believe herself above the bloodline." Tatsuya’s voice hitched. "They dragged her to the northern wash-basin. They forced her to clean the clan’s formal geta and zori. With the well water."

The silence that followed was absolute. Not even the crickets in the garden dared to make a sound.

"They forced her?" Satoru repeated. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a collapsing star.

"She refused at first, reminding them of her condition," Tatsuya whispered, tears leaking onto the floorboards. "But Elder Ogi... he grabbed her arm. He forced her down to her knees on the stone path. She tripped. Her knee... her knee was scraped. She spent three hours in the cold, scrubbing their filth. She asked them to let her rest, but they told her she needed to be 'disciplined'."

Satoru didn't say another word, nor did he storm off. He simply vanished from the hallway, leaving behind a draft of freezing air.

In the dimly lit inner sanctuary of the estate, three of the clan’s oldest elders sat around a low table, sipping roasted green tea. They were discussing the upcoming seasonal rituals, completely self assured in their ancient, stagnant authority.

The heavy oak doors of the sanctuary didn't just open, they shattered inward, exploding into wooden splinters that embedded themselves into the priceless hanging scrolls on the walls.

The elders scrambled backward, but before they could even draw a breath to protest, Satoru was there.

He didn't use Limitless to crush them from afar. This required the brutal, visceral reality of his bare hands.

"What" he begins, voice deceptively soft, "in the name of all the ancestors, possessed you to order my pregnant wife to wash filth?"

"Satoru! What is the meaning of—"

Ogi, the eldest among them, didn't get to finish his sentence. Satoru lunged forward, his movement a blur of lethal grace. He grabbed Ogi’s right wrist and twisted.

A sickening, wet pop echoed through the room as the bones in Ogi's wrist shattered under Satoru's grip. The old man screamed, a high, reedy sound of pure agony, as Satoru slammed him face first onto the tatami mats.

"You touched her" Satoru whispered. The sound of his voice was worse than any shout. It was dead. Completely devoid of the playful sorcerer they thought they could manage.

Satoru brought his heavy, geta down directly onto Ogi’s outstretched hand, grinding his heel into the old man's knuckles. The sound of fracturing finger bones filled the room. Ogi choked on his own vomit, pinning himself to the floor under the immense, crushing weight of Satoru’s physical strength.

"Satoru! Step back! This is a violation of clan law! She is a woman! She must be disciplined to understand the weight of the Gojo name!" another elder shrieked, his hands shaking as he tried to form a cursed technique sign.

Satoru turned his head, his brilliant blue eyes glowing with a terrifying, unhinged light in the shadows. He had never been this angry in his entire life.

"Disciplined?" Satoru's voice rose, vibrating with a rage that made the very foundations of the estate groan. "You dynamic pieces of garbage. You dare talk about discipline to me? About my wife?"

He stepped off Ogi, leaving the old man weeping into the ruined tatami, and advanced on the second elder.

"I don't let her touch a single piece of anything when she is perfectly healthy" Satoru snarled, the raw emotion finally breaking through his terrifying calm.

"the servants wash my damn boots. I carry her across the courtyard when the gravel is too sharp. And you... you useless, disgusting, vile, rotting fossils... you dragged my pregnant woman out into the cold? To scrub your filth? Her knee bleeds because of your exclusive skill of not using a brain"

He grabbed the second elder by the front of his expensive silk kimono, lifting the grown man entirely off the ground with one hand.

"She is the future of this entire fucking world, and you risked her safety—you risked my child—because your fragile, pathetic egos were threatened by her existence?!" Satoru roared, his voice shaking the roof tiles.

"She will think she's the best of all? She is the best of all! She is mine! Which makes her untouchable to the likes of you!"

He threw the elder across the room, smashing him into a heavy wooden cabinet that collapsed under the impact.

"Satoru... the--the hierarchy... her place-" the third elder stammered, backing into the corner, clutching his prayer beads as if they could save him from a god.

“Her place?” The air crackled. “Her place is to be cherished. To be protected. I have torn apart special grade curses with less effort than it takes me to tolerate your outdated nonsense. You dare speak to my wife as if she is a common servant? As if the life she nurtures is insignificant?”

Satoru stood in the center of the ruined room, his breathing heavy, his chest heaving under his clothes. The sheer pressure of his cursed energy was cracking the plaster on the walls. He looked down at them with a disgust so profound it was sickening.

"Listen to me very carefully" Satoru said, his voice dropping back to a lethal, quiet hiss. "Tradition dies when it threatens what is mine."

 "I have never asked her to perform such tasks. Not once. Not before she carried my child, and certainly not now. Do you have any idea what pregnancy entails? The strain? The risk? My wife is not a servant. She is the heart of this clan. She carries the future."

His voice rises, never before this uncontrolled. "You forced her to kneel by a basin while I was away securing this clan's power? While she should be resting, being cared for? If any of you so much as suggest she lift a finger for menial labor again, I will personally ensure your retirement is... permanent. and I will remind you exactly why I am the clan head. Not because of bloodlines or dusty customs. Because I am the strongest. And I will not hesitate to make examples.”

He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing the final elder, deciding it was enough.

"Get out. All of you. Pack your robes, your tea sets, and your useless books, and fuck yourselves out of my estate before the sun rises. If I see a single one of your faces within the clan boundaries tomorrow morning, I won't just break your hands. I will erase your entire branches from the registry. Try me. See if the jujutsu authorities can stop me."

None of them doubted him. The strongest sorcerer in the world was standing before them, completely unhinged. They nodded frantically, Ogi clutching his ruined arm as they dragged themselves out of the room, terrified for their very lives, knowing the strongest's word was law, and his wrath absolute.

The slide of the shoji screen was a mere sigh in the quiet night, a soft friction of wood on wood. The moment Satoru crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, the terrifying, static heavy aura of his rage dissolved entirely, locked away behind the absolute precision of his control. He didn't want even a stray spark of his cursed energy to disrupt your sleep.

The room smelled of sweet tatami, dried lavender, and the faint, bitter tang of the medicinal salve Tatsuya had helped you apply.

Satoru shed his socks, his bare feet sinking into the woven mats as he approached the futon with agonizing care. He knelt beside you, the sheer size of his frame casting a protective shadow over your sleeping form. Without his blindfold, his six eyes tracked every rhythm of your breathing, noting the slight, tense line between your brows even in slumber.

You stirred, your senses waking up before your eyes did. The air in the room suddenly grew warmer, sweeter, thick with the distinct, dizzying scent of him.

"Satoru...?" you mumbled, your voice heavy and thick with sleep. You began to shift, your palms pressing into the futon to push yourself up, but a large, impossibly warm hand slid over your shoulder, gently anchoring you down.

"Shh... stay down, hime" he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against the quiet of the room. "Don't get up for me. Never get up for me."

He slid under the heavy silk duvet, but he didn't pull you into his arms just yet. Instead, he worked his way down to the foot of the futon. His touch was feather light as he peeled back the edge of the blanket, exposing your bare legs to the cool night air.

Your heart pinched, a sudden flush of anxiety warming your cheeks. You remembered the heavy, frozen stone of the northern wash basin, the harsh, disapproving glares of the elders, the way the coarse bristles of the brush had scraped against your skin. You had desperately wanted to hide it from him, to spare him the headache of clan politics when he already carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

But Satoru was already staring at your right knee. The neat, white bandage Tatsuya had carefully wrapped was stark against your skin.

A tiny, involuntary tremor ran through Satoru’s hands. The very fingers that had just shattered bones and ground old men's knuckles into dust were now trembling with a terrifying fragility as he slid his palms beneath your calf, lifting your leg just an inch to cradle it against his chest.

He leaned down, his silver hair spilling over your skin like silk. He didn't just look, he pressed his lips gently against the side of your knee, just beside the gauze, kissing the uninjured skin with a soft, lingering reverence. Then, his lips tracked a slow, agonizingly tender path up your thigh, his breath hot against your skin.

"I'm sorry" he murmured, his forehead resting against your thigh as his voice cracked, raw and bleeding with a guilt he couldn't hide. "I'm so sorry I left you alone. I'm so sorry I wasn't here, sweetness."

The sheer vulnerability in his tone made your throat tight. You reached down, your fingers weaving into the thick, ridiculously soft tufts of his white hair, gently tugging until he shifted upward. He crawled back up the length of your body, sliding his frame beneath the covers until he was flush against you.

"It's okay" you whispered, your thumb catching a stray tear that threatened to spill from the corner of his brilliant, crystalline eyes. "It's just a little scrape, Satoru. Truly. They... they just wanted me to learn the household duties. They said it was tradition for the women of the house. I just didn't want to cause trouble for you."

Satoru let out a ragged, shaky breath that stuttered against your collarbone. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his nose scenting your skin, inhaling you as if he were a starving man. His lips pressed a frantic, hot sequence of kisses along your jaw, up to your cheek, and finally against your lips, a soft, bruising, desperate kiss that tasted of a possessiveness so deep it bordered on worship.

His large hands slid down your back, molding your spine to his chest, before one palm found its permanent home, flat and warm against the slight, delicate swell of your belly. His fingers splayed wide over your abdomen, a protective shield of flesh and boundless power.

"You don't have duties to anyone but yourself" Satoru swore against your lips, his chest heaving as his heart thudded rapidly, a frantic, wild rhythm against your own ribs. He pulled you so close you could barely tell where your body ended and his began. "You are the lady of this house. My lady. You don't bow to anyone, you don't clean for anyone, and you don't break yourself for their rotting ideas of tradition."

He kissed the crown of your head, his hand on your stomach gently rubbing in tiny, soothing circles, his thumb caressing the soft fabric of your sleepwear.

"Let them talk. Let them rot" he whispered, his voice turning dark for a fraction of a second before softening as he pressed another kiss to your eyelid. "You just stay safe. Stay soft and warm right here. Let me handle the rest. Please, hime... just stay safe for me."

You smiled softly in the dark, your senses clouded by his immense, radiating warmth and the intoxicating rhythm of his breathing. You let your eyes close, completely melting into him, entirely unaware of the bloodied, broken elders currently packing their things in the dead of night, fleeing the estate in absolute terror.

You didn't need to know. As Satoru tightened his arms around you, pulling the duvet up to your chins and burying his face back into your hair, he held you like you were the only piece of reality that mattered in the universe.