Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tokyo thrummed at nightfall. It wasn’t a sound so much as unique electricity, thick in the air, threaded in the neon glow of shopfronts, the low murmur of passing conversations, the distant wail of a siren and traffic headlights. It reminded Gojo of something restless and disconsolate, like the feeling in his bones.

He tugged down his sunglasses and glanced toward the arcade entrance, where the students were noisily emerging. Yuta, Panda, Maki, and Megumi stood in a loose circle, half-listening as Toge gestured dramatically, clearly retelling some ridiculous story that sounded like a sushi conveyor belt. The birthday boy, Yuji, was at the centre, beaming, half a stick of dango dangling from his mouth and Nobara hanging on his shoulders. He’d invited the Kyoto kids because—of course he had.

Gojo should have been enjoying this. Normally, he would have been the one leading the chaos, feeding Yuji’s dumb energy, placing reckless bets on claw machines, and getting on Megumi’s nerves just for fun. But tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to engage. He had a lot on his mind. There was something afoot in their world. He was here, but he was— not.

And someone noticed.

“You look like you’re at a funeral.”

He turned at the sound of Utahime’s voice, already rolling his eyes before his gaze landed on her properly—

And then, for half a second, he forgot what he was going to say.

She was in civilian clothes.

Nothing fancy, just a soft sweater, loose jeans, sneakers and a backwards cap . But it was different enough to throw him. These days, he was used to seeing her in layers of formal miko garb, all high collars and stiff sleeves. Was this how she was dressed when he called her incessantly on the weekend? The casualness of it was almost nostalgic. It reminded him of her younger self, the girl he used to irritate in the halls of Jujutsu High, in manga stores, and on long-ago Tokyo crosswalks, before they had students of their own, before their lives had been carved out by things more significant than them.

Huh.

Weird.

“You’re staring at me,” she said flatly, almost suspiciously, touching her hair self-consciously. 

Gojo recovered immediately, slipping into a slow grin as he thought of something that would irritate her enough to make her flush. That would be a good deflection. “Can you blame me? You clean up nice, Hime.”

She snorted. “Wow. What an honour. The great Gojo Satoru approves of my outfit when he dresses like a paintbrush.”

He was surprised that it didn’t rattle her more. Usually, she hated it when he was overly charming with her for fun. 

“It’s less the outfit, more the effect,” he said, tilting his head, giving her the full weight of his flirtatious smirk, biting his lip like she was inflaming his passions a little too much. “Didn’t think you had it in you to look this—”

“Finish that sentence, and I will actually kill you.”

Gojo laughed, raising his hands in surrender, pleased to have finally achieved the desired effect. “Alright, alright. No need to get violent. I was just going to say ‘relaxed.’”

She eyed him suspiciously again. 

“You do look good though,” he added, and to his own surprise, he meant it.

She looked pretty. 

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, which was interesting as well. Instead, she nudged Gojo with her elbow. “What’s your deal, anyway?”

“My deal?”

“You’re acting weird.”

“False,” he said breezily, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and leaning against the wall. 

She just levelled him with a look.

Gojo exhaled through his nose, looking back at the students chatting excitedly. “I’m just tired.”

Utahime hummed. “That’s new.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re an exhausting person who doesn’t get exhausted.” She folded her arms, tilting her head, studying him like she was trying to look past his stupid blindfold—except he was wearing his sunglasses tonight, which meant she could see his eyes if she wanted. He wasn’t sure why that thought made him feel so—

“It’s weird,” she concluded. “You’re in a funk.”

“I’m not in a funk.”

“You’re totally in a funk.”

“I love that you think you know me well enough to diagnose my mood swings, Hime,” he said, trying to rattle her again with the full intensity of a charming smile. “I’m touched.” 

He reached over and touched her hair, wrapping a coil of it around his finger because he knew that would irritate her. She just stared at his face, not smacking his hand away like he expected, and not, as he often humorously wished she would, devolving into a raccoon who snarled and chomped his hand. No, she ignored his impertinence with her hair and studied his expression carefully. 

“I do know you well enough.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, surprised at how that made his stomach feel. “That so?”

She didn’t hesitate. “You get like this sometimes. When you think too much.”

Something in his abdomen tightened. “I never think too much. My brain is extremely capacious.”

Utahime just sighed, shaking her head. Then, before he could deflect again, she suddenly smiled a warm, genuine smile—bright and unguarded—making him blink like the sun had slipped out from the edges of a cloud. 

“Good thing I’m here, then,” she said. “I’ll fix it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Fix what?”

“Your mood.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, deflecting a little more pointedly this time. 

“Well, two things, and I’m only half surprised that you don’t know what one of them is,” she huffed. “I’m obviously chaperoning the Kyoto kids because Yuji invited them. And we have a joint faculty meeting tomorrow? Have you forgotten?” 

Gojo snorted, because he’d muted the group that put out the reminders about administrative meetings. The secretary at Yaga's office had been calling him all day; the mystery was solved. 

“Why do you need to chaperone ? They’re trained in combat,” he muttered, poking Utahime's shoulder almost curiously to see what she’d do. He was also interested in whether the sweater was as soft as it looked. 

He let his Infinity drop, enjoying the air on his skin, enjoying a little breath that came from knowing Utahime might throw something at his head, but here was someone too weak even to imagine hurting him. That made him feel a curious kind of safe. 

“Why wouldn’t I? I was coming anyway. I’m meeting the others for drinks later, too." 

Gojo was still curious about the need she felt to accompany her students because it wasn’t necessarily something that he felt he needed to do. Of course, Utahime did. It made him feel odd, so naturally, he tried to disconcert her to deflect from the sensation.

“Unless you’re worried about hanky-panky. You think they’re going to fuck on the Shinkansen or something? LET THEM FUCK, I say," he said loudly, hoping to make her wince. "It makes sense that the Kyoto administration would be a bunch of prudes.” 

Utahime flashed him a smile that he didn’t expect. 

“You sound like a real virgin when you talk like that, Satoru.” 

Gojo's mouth fell open, but he shut it abruptly, intrigued. She spun on her heel, cupping her hands around her mouth. 

“Alright, kiddos! Time to move! Arcade time is done!”

The students complained half-heartedly, as teenagers were wont to do by default, even though they were all broke and clutching plushies. Gojo nearly snorted, realising that most of them were definitely using their well-honed senses to cheat at arcade games. 

“Where to next?” Yuji asked, licking sugar from his fingers, wide-eyed and pleased, carrying Nobara on his back.

He matched Utahime’s energy perfectly as she rounded up her own students with far more ease than Gojo would have managed of his unruly bunch. 

“Batting cages,” she declared. “And I will be winning.”

“Bet,” Yuji grinned.

Maki cracked her knuckles. “Oh, you’re on. It’s Tokyo versus Kyoto.” 

Gojo blinked as the atmosphere shifted. The students, already chaotic, seemed even livelier now, feeding off Utahime’s energy. She was excited—actually excited, not just going through the motions. She wanted to be here. She wanted them all to have fun.

It was infectious.

It was also—

Huh .

Gojo huffed a small laugh to himself.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” he mused as they started walking as a pack across a busy crosswalk. 

Utahime seemed like she was half-listening because she was checking on her students—it was cute since they were already battle-hardened sorcerers. She turned her head up to him with a lag after she was finished doing a surreptitious headcount. “Had what in me?”

He shrugged, smirking. “The ability to have fun.”

She narrowed her eyes, looking a little impish, a little bit like she was provoking him. “I have fun when I’m winning. More specifically, I have fun when I’m winning at your expense.” 

Then she was gone, slipping into the crowd of students, trying to get that Aoi kid to put Megumi down. 

And Gojo watched her go, lingering just a second too long.

Chapter Text

The batting cages were tucked between a cat café and a ramen shop, their neon glow buzzing faintly in the chilly Tokyo night. The metallic scent of well-worn bats snuffled in the air, mixing with the sharper tang of rubber from buckets of scuffed baseballs. Inside the cages, the rhythmic thunk-thunk of balls launching from machines echoed between chain-link fences, accompanied by the occasional crack of a clean hit.

Nobara practically vibrated with excitement as they entered, shrieking alongside Yuji as they took in the flashing LED scoreboard and the lineup of well-used batting helmets stacked against the wall. Utahime's brats looked worryingly battle-ready. The place had the slightly grimy charm of an establishment that had seen way too many first dates and post-work drinking challenges.

Gojo, however, barely noticed any of it, because Utahime was practically glowing as she gathered her chicks around her. It now seemed typical that she would get way too serious about this. 

There was something about the way she rolled up her sleeves, rubbing her hands together like a cardsharp about to take the jackpot, that made her seem— different. Effervescent, alive, far from the usual frowning, huffy figure he was used to.

And, frankly, it was a bit distracting.

He didn't like it. It was rather annoying. 

So Gojo did what he always did when he felt an unfamiliar emotion—he turned it into an opportunity to rile her up. He was already planning how best to irritate her right back. 

"Alright, listen up!" Utahime clapped her hands together, looking far too pleased with herself. Her students immediately came to attention. Gojo's students seemed vaguely confused about how to behave. "The rules are simple. We each get a round, and the team that scores the most clean hits wins."

"Sensei, you playing?" Yuji asked Gojo, swooping around and mock-dribbling an invisible basketball around Yuta. 

Gojo smirked, shifting his weight lazily. "Oh, I don't play, Yuji. I dominate."

"Doubt," Megumi muttered from the sidelines, arms crossed, and Gojo remembered that his beloved charge had a traitorous streak. 

Utahime, still radiating a dangerous level of amusement, turned to Gojo. "Interesting. Because I seem to remember you being really bad at baseball."

Gojo's smirk faltered.

"I'm not bad at anything. It was an off day."

Utahime grinned, stepping forward like a predator scenting blood. "You totally are. You got the yips once because Shoko got in your head about the physics of the thing, and you've been absurdly bad at it ever since."

The students perked up at that, sensing the shift in the power dynamic. Why could teenagers smell blood in the water?

Gojo narrowed his eyes. "I think you're misremembering, Hime."

"You'd think you'd have almost supernatural hand-eye coordination when it comes to small, fast-moving objects," Utahime lamented with a sigh, her hands on her hips. "But you managed to overthink it so wonderfully that it created a blindspot." 

There was a beat of silence.

Yuji's jaw dropped, careening to a stop by clattering into Yuta and causing the older boy to skid slightly. "Wait. You're saying Gojo-sensei is bad at something?"

Gojo scoffed. "Like I said, I'm not bad. I just—baseball is stupid."

Utahime hummed, crossing her arms. "You are bad at it. Maybe your Six Eyes make everything move in high definition, but when you swing, you're always half a second too late or too early. You compensate too much for some reason, and only baseball does it to you. It's the most hilarious anomaly." 

The students all turned to him at once in amazement. Gojo suddenly felt very attacked as a host of teenagers blinked at him like a pond of frogs. 

Maki cracked her knuckles. "I can't wait to see this."

"Wait, wait," Panda rumbled, barely containing his laughter. "Maki, get your phone."

Utahime clasped her hands together. "It means he's going to lose," she announced, grinning up at Gojo with mock sweetness, fluttering her eyelashes. "Tokyo is going to lose." 

Gojo, once more, tried to disconcert her with the kind of charm that could cause a lesser being to go into a full faint. He smiled, knowing his dimples showed. He placed a hand over his heart, "Hime. Sweetheart," he said, hoping using a pet name like that would send her into a conniption. "Why are you like this?"

She just beamed at him. Gojo felt a strange fizz of apprehension because Utahime had a very pretty smile and had turned the tables too deftly for him to keep up. 

"Hold my hat," she said, shoving her cap into his hands. 

It smelt like a sugared grapefruit—Utahime's shampoo. 

She stepped into the cage first. And, of course, Gojo already knew she was annoyingly good at this. They'd done this before, of course, and he suddenly remembered Utahime's little gremlin face as her bat made a satisfying connection. He frowned, leaning against the fence, watching as she adjusted her grip on the bat, shifting her stance just slightly. The machine whirred, a ball launched forward—crack!—and she sent it soaring.

Yuji let out a low whistle.

"Okay," Maki admitted, nodding. "That was kind of cool."

Utahime stepped back with an air of smug satisfaction, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves. "Your turn, Gojo. Don't choke like you always do." 

She tossed the bat at him, and he grabbed it out of the air. He flicked her cap back to her. It sailed over to her on a grapefruit cloud. 

Gojo sighed, rolling his shoulders. Alright. No big deal. Just hit the dumb ball. It just required him not to think about being flushed with hormones and bravado, Suguru against the fence goading him quietly, Shoko making sarcastic comments while she bit down too hard on a lollipop. 

And Utahime lecturing him about stance—always Utahime—taking baseball too seriously. 

He stepped into the cage, bat in hand, and waited. The machine clicked. The ball whooshed toward him—

And he missed.

Utahime made a noise that could almost be considered lewd. 

Gojo's eye twitched. It really didn't make sense that he'd be bad at this. But when he narrowed his eyes at that ball, the momentum of which he could track down almost to the atomic level, he wasn't really thinking about where it might connect with the bat. He was hearing the ghosts of a long-lost time, something about a melodic voice earnestly telling him he needed to square his hips. 

He refocused, adjusted his stance—

Missed again.

"Oh my god," Utahime wheezed, clutching the fence for support. "It's better than I remember." 

There were snickers of delight from the onlooking students. Gojo inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Ignored them all. He narrowed his focus, watching the next ball carefully, timed his swing—

And whiffed so hard he nearly spun.

Utahime had to turn around to hide her laughter in her hand, her cheeks pink and glowing with mirth. 

Gojo straightened, hitting his palm with the bat. "Alright. New plan. We take these bats and find some curses and see who's really—"

"You're so bad," Utahime gasped, barely able to breathe through her laughter. "This is so much better than I imagined."

Gojo squinted at her. "You imagined this? Utahime-sensei, you're setting a bad example about sportsmanship."

She wiped a tear from her eye, still grinning. "Oh, absolutely, I imagined this. And reality has exceeded my expectations."

Gojo huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand slipped under his sunglasses to press against his temple, wondering why her laughing at him made him feel strangely tingly. He didn't hear Utahime laugh often. 

"Okay, okay, fine," he admitted, smiling a little despite himself. "I can't hit baseballs. But you know what?"

Utahime arched an eyebrow. "What?"

He straightened, dusted off his jacket, and smirked. "I'm still prettier than you. Most of you, in fact."

Utahime's laughter cut off abruptly. The students howled and booed. 

"Oh my god," Maki groaned. "You're the most awkward man on the planet." 

Utahime looked prim. "That has nothing to do with—"

"Doesn't matter," Gojo said smugly, chucking the baseball bat at Yuta as he sauntered past. "I win by default."

Utahime threw a baseball at his head.

The kids were in the cages as Gojo came to stand next to Utahime. He watched her face as she tracked her students' progress with keen focus. 

"This was a fun idea," he said quietly, feeling a little strangely earnest when she looked so eager, when they were alone together. "Even if it was super self-serving of you, Utahime." 

Utahime dragged her eyes away from the batting to look up at him. She smiled, another warm, happy smile that caused a crinkle on the bridge of her nose. 

"That's big of you, Gojo." 

He didn't really think about it before he reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear because she hadn't put the cap back on. He wasn't even sure why he did it—just that it was there, and it was distracting, and—

Utahime swatted his hand away.

"Stop that," she muttered, ears slightly red.

Gojo grinned, always pleased to have disconcerted her in some way. There was something about Utahime that was appealingly…touchable. It was like the way something smooth or silky beckoned to you to test it out under your fingertips. 

"Why?" he asked, deliberately sauntering into her space, making her take a step back against the chainlink.

Utahime narrowed her eyes. "Because you're flirting to irritate me."

Gojo tilted his head, kicking her sneaker with the toe of his shoe. "I flirt with everyone."

She raised an eyebrow and pressed into the chainlink now because he'd stepped too close, and she had no ground to give. 

Okay, yeah. That sounded bad.

"Casually," he amended. "I flirt with everyone casually. As a habit." 

"You are so full of shit."

That enormous gorilla of a student of hers was roaring in triumph about how Kyoto had won the batting cage challenge. 

Gojo laughed, stepping back from Utahime just as Yuji bounded over, the furthest possible thing a person could be from a sore loser. He clearly bore their defeat with good grace, proving Gojo wasn't that terrible of an influence after all. 

"Alright, alright! Next stop: karaoke! Will you sing, sensei?" 

Gojo shot a glance at Utahime, smirking.

"Up for another challenge, sweetheart?"

Once again, she said nothing about the pet name in front of the students and crossed her arms, meeting his gaze with pure, reckless confidence.

"Obviously you're on."

And just like that, Gojo felt—lighter.

Chapter Text

Tokyo nightlife was in full swing as they left the batting cages, weaving through neon-lit streets toward the karaoke lounge. Gojo felt his steps fall in with the pulse of the city around them—motorcycles revving, conversations spilling from izakayas, and the rhythmic beeping of a crosswalk signal. The air was crisp now, tinged with the scent of something edible, and it caught the edges of Utahime's loose hair. 

Gojo walked beside her, hands in his pockets, sunglasses perched lazily atop his head now because sometimes it was fun to see things in as much detail as possible. The group of students had surged ahead, their cursed energy swirling around like paints in oil. But Gojo lingered at Utahime's pace, maybe just a half-step behind her, watching her cursed energy—white as her ribbon—weave around everyone else in agreeable contrast. 

Perhaps it was a mistake to be a step behind her because he could watch her from this angle.

And it really was interesting.

Utahime, flushed from exertion and victory, was still smiling, that earlier spark of amusement lingering in her eyes. She was giddy, which was not a word he usually associated with her. Excited, yes. Fiery, absolutely. But this—this was different.

This was charming.

Not that he would ever say that out loud with any degree of earnestness; she had already reacted badly when he'd complimented her outfit. Although he had to admit, her ears going red over a casual touch had been an interesting phenomenon. Gojo almost wanted to do it again to see if it would garner a similar reaction. If he touched the tip of her ear, would she smack his hand away again and scowl? Somehow, he knew he had to up the ante to fluster her like that again. For replicable results, Gojo would probably have to touch the nape of her neck, or perhaps—he blinked at the funny electricity—he had to touch her mouth. 

He imagined his thumb touching just the corner of her mouth, a little swipe over her bottom lip, and then her cheeks turning pink with rage. 

"What's with the creepy staring?" she asked suddenly, shooting him a glance over her shoulder. "Why are your sunglasses off? It's like being surveyed by a goldfish." 

Gojo smirked, pushing aside the imagery of her lips parting one second before she reacted violently to his thumb at the corner of her mouth. "Who's staring? I'm admiring, Hime."

She scoffed, but he caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips.

Oh ?

"The goldfish is a noble creature," he posited. "Graceful, revered, hypnotic—"

Utahime rolled her eyes and interrupted. "Bulbous, forgetful, overpriced—"

He gasped, mock-wounded. " Overpriced ? Hime, I'm literally a limited edition. I'm one of a kind, not another manufactured in 400 years."

She hummed, "Mm. You're like a clearance bin Furby missing all the important parts."

Gojo pouted. "Tragic. And here, when you said 'goldfish', I thought you meant sleek, dazzling, irresistible—"

Utahime, deadpan, "No, I mean annoying, gormless, tasty—"

He grinned, nudging her with his elbow as they walked. "Handsome, charming, irresistible—"

She sighed dramatically, "Persistent, shameless, delusional—"

Gojo clicked his tongue. "You keep calling me irresistible."

"I said delusional."

He grinned down at her because she'd stopped walking to narrow her eyes at him. 

"Hmm? What did you say?" he asked, as if he hadn't been listening. 

"Moron," she tutted. 

"I'm just taken aback, Hime," Gojo continued, falling into step beside her after she started walking again. "You're having fun." 

Utahime rolled her eyes once more, but the way she shoved her hands in her pockets made him think maybe she was trying to hide how much she was actually enjoying herself. Perhaps she was too amused to conceal the fact that he amused her . 

"I always have fun," she said breezily.

Gojo arched an eyebrow, taking the baseball cap off her head and putting it back-to-front onto his own. "Liar."

She turned, walking backwards now, chin lifted. "Like I said, I just don't have fun with you unless it's at your expense."

He laughed, unsettled and grappling for the offensive position. "And yet here you are, thriving in my presence. Wanna see what other kinds of fun we could have together?"

Utahime hummed, pretending to consider, refusing to acknowledge his salacious comment. "I think it's more that I'm thriving despite your presence."

Gojo clicked his tongue. "Ouch. You really know how to cut to the quick, Hime."

"Just a talent of mine," she shot back, eyes glinting. "I'm nifty with most bladed weapons." 

Definitely Interesting.

He was used to their banter. They'd been doing this dance for years. But tonight, it felt different with Utahime's bright smile and her refusal to be flustered by him. There was a sharpness to the back and forth, sure, but something a little slower, a little more rounded-out and comfortable. She was being annoying on purpose, and he actually liked it. 

And that was—

New.

Something settled beneath his ribs. Her baseball cap on his head smelled of grapefruit.

Huh .

>>>

Gojo realised they'd been here before. The karaoke lounge was a mess of mismatched neon, glossy faux-leather booths, and walls covered in posters of half-forgotten J-pop idols. A group of salarymen in the next room were already slurring their way through an '80s power ballad, and Gojo had the far-fetched notion the drunkards had been there carousing since their last visit. 

Had he and Utahime been students themselves then, too? Was it Shoko and Suguru he remembered, slouching on the vinyl seats? Nanami scowling through a ballad? 

The students wasted no time claiming their private room, scrambling onto couches, flipping through the song selection, and bickering. The longer the night went on, the more like teenagers they sounded.

Yuji practically threw himself onto the centre table. "Alright! First battle—Maki vs. Yuta!”

Yuta's face turned bright pink. "We're both from Tokyo Jujutsu High, I thought we were challenging each—"

Maki groaned, interrupting Yuta. "Why am I always first?"

Panda draped a heavy arm over her shoulders. "Because we believe in you."

"Again, why am I battling Maki if—"

"Pick something soppy, Megumi!" Panda interjected. 

As the first round began, Gojo barely paid attention. His focus drifted back to Utahime and the curious new energy she was emitting. He remembered her singing in one of these private rooms.

He remembered, as only someone who had once been a teenage boy could, that her top had ridden up when she was singing, and he'd seen a sliver of her belly. It had really seasoned his thoughts about her at the time. 

Now, her adult self settled into the booth beside him, her posture relaxed but her fingers tapping idly against her thigh in time to the music. The low, multicoloured glow of the room softened her features and made the loose strands of hair framing her face catch the light just so.

She looked—

Sexy.

The thought came completely uninvited.

Gojo blinked, like that would somehow dispel it, because he hadn't actually let himself think about her like that in any great detail since he was a hormone-addled teenager. Back then, admittedly, a cute and grumpy senpai could only inflame the imagination. 

This version of Utahime was—

His gaze dropped to the curve of her bare collarbone, the way her sweater had slipped just slightly off one shoulder.

He swallowed.

Ah. 

Utahime suddenly turned to him, mid-eye roll, the neon lights shimmering over her lip gloss. "You're staring again, Goldish Boy."

Gojo grinned, somehow pleased that she had noticed, playing it cool. "Just making sure you're not backing out of our duet."

She huffed, breezy and confident. "I plan to humiliate you."

"Careful, Hime. I might be into that kind of thing," he murmured, letting his voice dip just enough to make her blink.

Interesting. She reacted differently to what he might have thought. Was he losing his ability to annoy her? Or was her good mood far too pervasive? Too infectious? 

She recovered quickly, narrowing her eyes. "Don't try to intimidate me, Gojo. I will destroy you."

It was worth trying to rattle her, especially since she was clearly designing this evening around her strengths and her ability to make him look a little silly in front of his students. 

Gojo leaned in slightly, dipping his head against her cheek, his breath just ghosting her ear. "Promise?"

She stiffened, but she didn't recoil right away. 

His lips slightly brushed her cheek, because he had, like she was a hurtling baseball, misjudged her trajectory. Still, later than he thought she would, Utahime pulled back from him, clearing her throat. "Pick a song," she muttered, shoving the tablet into his hands.

Gojo, grinning, plucked it from her hands. "Gladly."

And Gojo promptly forgot about it, letting Yuji's terrible singing, and the howls of dismay it caused, distract him. But, Gojo, feeling something like curiosity, kept looking back at this version of Utahime. She was leaning back in the seat now, smiling as she watched.

It wasn't intentional, really. He was always aware of her in that lazy way he had—like a song stuck in the background of his mind, familiar and catchy, and usually accompanied by the urge to tease. Utahime was a song to sing along to.

Tonight, something was different. She was still Utahime, still all sharp looks and easy exasperation, but she was also—

Fuck .

Gojo tilted his head, sunglasses slipping down his nose as his gaze dragged over her. Was she doing this on purpose to throw him off? The dim lighting cast deep shadows along the delicate curve of her collarbone, the way her sweater had slipped slightly off one shoulder. He could see the faintest glow of easy exercise from the batting cages earlier. With the Six Eyes, he could also see the way her pulse fluttered just below her skin.

And her lips—

Now, those were a problem.

He'd admittedly been a bit of a pervert about them when he was a teenager. Utahime had always had nice lips, sure—full, soft, always slightly pursed when she was annoyed with him (which was often). But now, under the glow of the flickering lights and a fresh lick of gloss, his attention was drawn to them anew. How they parted slightly when she was thinking, how her tongue darted out to wet them every now and then, how—

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting in his seat.

Not the time, Satoru.

Unfortunately, he had already made a very critical mistake.

Because in his infinite wisdom, in his unmatched genius, he had picked their duet under the assumption that Utahime wouldn't be able to go through with it. That she'd get flustered, embarrassed, and hesitate—which, naturally, would leave him victorious, grinning smugly as she fumbled through something entirely too suggestive and silly. 

Gojo Satoru, after all, never relinquished the upper hand. Until the music started.

Because up on the screen, in glowing, damning letters, was their duet choice for the evening, a half-forgotten one-hit wonder J-pop group from their shared youth. 

"Sugar Rush" – by Lovebite, the screen flashed.

The room went gradually silent, teenagers with acute senses of embarrassment already coiling into themselves in awkwardness. Yuji scratched the back of his head. It was basically an oldie now, but even he knew the gist of the song. "Uh—sensei—"

Gojo just stretched lazily, still thinking Utahime might actually just bow out now before she had to say the words 'suck' or 'moan' in a room full of adolescents. 

Megumi, looking like he wanted to fling himself off the nearest balcony, muttered something about the bathroom. 

But it was all too late for any of them. 

The music started.

Gojo picked up the mic, stepping forward with all the confidence of a man who had never been humbled before in his life.

Then, with all the smoothness of a man who had no idea he was about to regret his choices deeply, Gojo leaned in and purred—

"Sweet tooth, sugar high, I think you know you're my favourite bite."

Yuji made a strangled sound.

Panda wheezed.

But Utahime—

Utahime just tilted her head, eyes glittering like she was enjoying every second of this. Then she brought the mic to her lips and—

Gojo's brain did a little zip of misfired electricity.

"You want a taste? You gotta play nice. Melt on your tongue like a secret tonight."

Her voice was low.

Smooth, like he remembered.

Gojo inhaled sharply, adjusting his sunglasses like that would somehow save him from the absolute carnage unfolding in front of him. It was a bit of a miscalculation that Utahime would be holding something the exact length and girth of a microphone next to her mouth when she sang these things.

And definitely not when his brain decided, without his permission, to picture her lips in an entirely different setting.

Utahime took a slow sway closer to him, her hips moving just a little into his orbit as she sang:

"Drizzle me slow, baby, take your time. You like it sticky? I'll make you mine."

Her voice dropped slightly when she sang, like she was telling him a secret.

Gojo licked his lips, because she put her hand on his abdomen, warm through his t-shirt, as she sang. He mustered his composure and put the microphone to his lips. 

"Sugar rush girl, you're teasing too much, I'm starved for a bite, and you're sweet to the touch," he sang, only the slightest waver in his articulation. 

Yuji audibly gasped like he was either watching or starring in a telenovela.

Maki kicked Panda under the table, and Yuta looked nervously at the others. "Should we be here?" he stammered.

"Suck on my sugar, melt on your tongue. Tell me you love it; don't hold that breath."

Gojo leaned in as he sang these words, carefully enunciating the word 'suck', lowering his voice too, still waiting for Utahime to crumple into the expected cringing.

Utahime's smirk widened, her voice hitting a beautifully controlled falsetto.

"Candy boy, you already know, if you want a taste, better take it slow."

Gojo's brain was melting a little—not at the words, but at the fact that Utahime was so game. She was also way too good at this. The words, the teasing, the way she was watching him with pure, unbothered amusement—

Then she sang effortlessly, lips curving around the words with lazy, devastating precision.

"Syrup on your lips, let me lick it off. Got you running hot, yeah, you're melting soft."

Gojo stepped closer, so close that the heat of her body curled into his.

"One little taste, I'll make you moan. Ain't no escaping once you take me home ," he sang. 

Utahime didn't move away.

"Boy, don't get shy now; you started this mess. I bet you dream of me undressed."

She just held his gaze as they sang, pretty lips quirking in pure, maddening amusement. The song should be slightly goofy, a pantomime of a duet, but her proximity was making him a little flustered.

"Dripping in honey, dripping in sin. Bet you wonder how sweet I can get, " Gojo sang the bridge, growing a little less confident in the onslaught of Utahime looking at him with eyes like that.

Was this how she felt when he tried to disconcert her with overblown endearments and lewd comments? It did make him feel slightly annoyed at her because it didn't seem fair .

She definitely wasn't pulling any punches. 

" Melt me down, boy, leave me wet. Sweetest sin you won't forget, " she replied, lowering her eyelashes at him as she sang up into his face.

Gojo felt that in his spine.

" Drunk on your lips, babe, gimme a taste. Got you unwrapped; now there's nothing to waste ," he gulped. 

Utahime didn't flicker, smoothing her hair back over her shoulder as she touched his stomach, looking up at him with eyes that were now a little obscene, given that she was holding a phallic object to her mouth.  

" Picture me late night, drowning in blue, Just your shirt and nothing to do ," she purred. 

Now the words did make him feel a bit flustered. For some reason, he could imagine Utahime wearing nothing but his shirt from the long-discontinued Tokyo Jujutsu High PE training kit, and the readiness with which he could access that imagery made him realise that his red-blooded teenage self had definitely conjured an image like that before. However, the idea that Utahime might want him was far more nuclear of a concept.

She dragged her tongue along her bottom lip—absently, thoughtlessly, devastatingly—waiting to sing her parts—touching his abdomen—

"Unwrap me slow, boy, pull on the bow. Taste what's inside; you already know."

Gojo made a noise—a noise he would never admit to making.

The music faded out, and the two teachers, standing too close together in the limply flashing lights, jerkily turned back to their horrified audience. Yuji had fully checked out, staring at the floor like if he prayed hard enough, this would all stop. That blue-haired one looked like she wanted to set herself on fire.

Megumi muttered, "Gross."

And Panda, voice full of delightful horror, whispered, "Are they about to fuck?"

Gojo nearly dropped the mic. Utahime laughed nervously, her face flushing, stepping back from Gojo. 

The silence was deafening—no one else had cued up a song since this duet had functioned as the apocalypse. Gojo stood there, still gripping the mic like it could somehow save him from a flood of salacious imagery that tumbled over each other into his brain. He'd miscalculated again—twice in one evening. 

His pulse was roaring, far too flustered for the outcome of a silly pop duet with one of his oldest friends. Utahime just set her mic down, as dignified as if she had delivered some kind of operatic aria, and stepped away from the screen. 

The karaoke room was deathly silent.

Maki rubbed her temples. "You two have issues. Can we go get dessert now?"

Yuta, trying to recover from secondhand mortification, offered hesitantly, "Maybe, um, you could recommend a place, Sensei? We could go on our own, and you and Utahime-sensei could—"

Even Panda, who thrived on this kind of thing, looked mildly concerned and thankfully interrupted whatever Yuta was graciously going to suggest. "We are way too young for whatever that was."

Gojo blinked, still a little high off whatever the fuck just happened between him and Utahime. He was distracted, trying to sort out his feelings—

Oh, right.

The kids were still here.

He rubbed the back of his head, too overwhelmed to deal with so many emotions simultaneously. "Well! That was fun."

"It was something ," muttered Megumi.

Gojo shot them all a blinding grin as he started to herd them out. "Alright, alright. You're free, brats. Go forth, be safe, and remember—" He was chipper as an infomercial. "Everything you saw tonight? Repress it!"

Maki and Panda glanced at each other like they had money on a horse, then nodded and followed the other kids out of the karaoke room. 

And just like that, Gojo and Utahime were alone on the streets of Tokyo, just like they had been so many times before in years gone by. He tilted his head at her, wondering if this was part of her plan. Between the effervescent presence of his students, her mild humiliation of him and the inappropriately phallic objects held close to her pretty mouth—Gojo hadn't really been thinking about anything weighty for a few hours now.

"That wasn't fair," he said absently, as fresh air hit his synapses. 

"What wasn't? You chose the song." 

"Do you shake the goldfish, Utahime? When they're in their little plastic baggies on the way home from the store?" 

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. I'm no worse than you are," she muttered. 

He looked down at her, the lights from the flickering sign catching her hair as a little breeze tossed it around.

The moment stretched, where they didn't say anything about the thing that had crackled between them for years. 

Utahime shifted beside him, stretching her arms above her head, her sweater riding up slightly—just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of skin.

Just like back then in the very same karaoke lounge, Gojo looked down and saw that sliver of skin below her navel. And just like back then, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying to breathe steadily.

"So," Utahime said, slowly reapplying her lip gloss in the glass front of the karaoke place. Let's meet up with the others. You can buy me a drink now." 

He looked down at fresh, plump, pink, glossy lips. That should not have made his stomach flip.

But it did, the plastic bag all shaken up. 

And he had no fucking idea what to do about it.

Chapter Text

By the time they arrived at the bar, it was already chaos.

The air was thick with warmth, a muffling contrast with the crisp night outside. As Gojo stooped into the dive bar, he was hit with overfull air, cluttered with the mingling scents of whiskey, burnt citrus, and something fried sizzling in the kitchen. Overhead, dim lights cast a washed-out glow over the dark wooden tables, and the low murmur of conversation was punctuated by bursts of drunken laughter and the clatter of glasses against countertops.

It was strangely democratic in there. In one corner, a salaryman was gesturing wildly, slurring his way through an argument that no one was paying attention to. Across the room, a group of university students leaned against each other, giggling over something whispered between them. 

Gojo took all of this in, the sounds, the heat, the movement, but none of it mattered. Because Utahime was still beside him, edging her way through the tables to their friends. 

He was still thrumming with something that had started back in that karaoke room and had only worsened in the walk over. Every time Utahime brushed against him, every time she laughed, every time she turned to him with that new look in her eyes—sharp, teasing, reckless—it only dug deeper under his skin.

Maybe it was just that time of the night, but Gojo felt different. 

Many sordid thoughts from his high school era were coming flooding back, and Gojo was remembering, with no small degree of heat, how many times he had actually jerked off to scenarios starring his senpai. 

Shoko was already waiting for them at a booth, glass in hand, smiling in that lazy way that never really betrayed whether she was excited to see them or not. Nanami was beside her, looking as exhausted as ever, and Ijichi—

Well. Ijichi was fucking wasted. 

Everyone at the table paused to take in Gojo and Utahime's sudden appearance. Utahime looked a little flushed, and Gojo was still wearing her baseball cap backwards. Shoko raised one eyebrow. 

Gojo wondered what people thought when they saw him and Utahime together. He almost wanted to slide a possessive hand into her waist now and see if she lost it. 

"Gojo," Shoko greeted, swirling her drink. "You look—" She paused, studying him, then smirked. "Excited."

Gojo blinked, flopping onto the seat beside her and allowing the imagery in his brain to go up in smoke. "I'm always excited. I am a naturally vivacious presence."

Utahime slid into the booth beside Nanami, immediately reaching for his drink with a playful wink that suddenly made Gojo realise they were friendlier than he had previously noticed. Nanami sighed, letting Utahime take a slow sip, her fingers curling around the glass, her lips dipping over the rim in a way that should not have been distracting but absolutely was.

Gojo stared. Something in his stomach twisted.

It wasn't just that she stole Nanami's drink—it was that she licked a little of the salt off the rim, looking up at Nanami as she did it. Maybe it was this feeling like high school memories were flooding back, but Gojo's memory dredged up some significance for this gesture. 

An indirect kiss, right? A goddamn indirect kiss with Nanami .

Gojo's fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans, feeling even more like his teenage self for getting huffy about this. It felt tonally discordant with the whole night that she would do something like lick the glass of some other man. He thought that he and Utahime were—

No. Nope. Not his problem.

Shoko exhaled a long, amused sigh. "God, weird energy coming off you two tonight."

Before Gojo could respond, Ijichi—completely obliterated—slammed a hand onto the table. "I just wanna say—" He pointed wildly in Gojo's direction. "You are— insufferable."

Gojo snorted at this non sequitur. "Took you this long to say it?"

Ijichi ignored him, eyes bleary. "And you," he said, turning to Utahime, slurring. "You should know better. Shouldn't encourage him."

Utahime giggled . 

And fuck, the noise made Gojo's gaze whip around to look at her, ready to be furious. It was with some degree of dismay that Gojo acknowledged that she was so pretty like this, flushed with warmth, playful. She slid her fingers over her ear, pushing the hair back as she tilted her head in amusement. 

"I do my best, Ijichi," she said, almost sounding fond. "But he's persistently badly behaved."  

Gojo let out a slow exhale, something hot and restless and dangerous crawling under his skin.

"Phew," Shoko smiled, following Gojo's line of sight back to Utahime. "I think we all need another round." 

The night had unravelled into something unsteady, thick with the heat of liquor and the hum of so many conversations—ones they were having and ones they'd had before—layering over one another. The bar really was a mess of a place, warm as a whiskey now and just as yellow, voices blending into the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. The wooden countertop beneath Gojo's fingers was cool and grounding—but it did absolutely nothing to steady the restless, misfiring circuitry beneath his skin.

Because Utahime was still flirting, and not necessarily only with him.

And she was infuriatingly good at it when she wanted to be. The moment Gojo noticed it, he wondered how often he had ignored such behaviour. It was his habit to coax Utahime's attention away from whatever she was doing, and admittedly, he usually did it in a way that didn't leave room for flirtation. 

But now he noticed that it had started subtly—little touches, offhanded remarks that could've been harmless. When it was directed at him, he felt a heady mixture of excitement and fear that something might be said that couldn't be unsaid or done that couldn't be undone. The looks lingered too long, Utahime's throaty laughter curling in the air between them like she'd breathed out a beautiful cloud. 

But when it wasn't directed at him, he felt oddly hollow. He knew he flirted as a habit, and now he wondered, with mild irritation, if Utahime was trying to teach him a lesson. 

They had somehow splintered off from the others—Shoko was deep in conversation with a stranger who didn't know what he was getting himself into, Nanami had strategically retreated when Utahime's mood turned too playful, and Ijichi had long since passed out in the booth, mumbling about his ruined dignity.

Which left them.

Alone, at the bar. 

"The kids are back at the dormitory," Utahime reported, scrolling through messages on her phone. 

"You sure? My hoodlums are probably in some alleyway challenging strangers to arm wrestling matches."

Utahime snorted, setting her phone down with an amused shake of her head. "I'll have you know, Yuta and Maki are much more responsible than their ridiculous sensei."

Gojo feigned offence, resting a hand dramatically over his chest. "Excuse me, I am a phenomenal sensei."

Utahime scoffed, turning slightly towards him, her elbow propped on the counter. "Oh? Phenomenal how? By being a disruptive, chaotic influence?"

Gojo flashed a grin at her. "You're just mad because my kids would never dare fall asleep in my class."

"They never can because you never shut up." She sipped her drink, looking at him over the rim. "Whereas mine actually retain information."

"Yeah, sure." He waved her off. "By fear alone."

Utahime gave him a flat look. "Discipline."

Gojo leaned in slightly, teasing. "Terror."

She leaned in just as much. "Structure."

"Oppression."

"Education."

They held each other's gaze for a little longer than necessary, the playful back-and-forth settling into something quieter. Gojo once again felt his body charged with that funny electricity.

Utahime was nursing the last of her stolen drink, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the rim of her glass, her cheeks still flushed from the warmth of it. Her soft jumper was draped over the back of her chair, leaving her in a thin, slinky tank top that clung in a way that made Gojo very aware of—of all the ways she had changed while he hadn't been paying close enough attention.

Fuck, she was really, really beautiful.

And she knew it. Gojo didn't expect that —Utahime's quiet confidence in her own sex appeal. He was looking at the nape of her neck when he caught her looking at him, eyes dancing with something too amused, too knowing.

"What?" he muttered, barely tasting his soda.

"You," she said, tilting her head. "You're making that face again."

"What face?"

"The broody, sulky, 'oh no, my life is so hard even though I have Limitless and a trust fund' face."

Gojo scoffed. "I do not have a 'my life is hard' face."

Utahime rested her elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. "No, you're right. You have a 'pay attention to me, or I'll die' face. My mistake."

His lips twitched. "If you wanted to keep staring at me , you could've just admitted it."

Her brows lifted. "Oh, Satoru, you've been staring at me all night. Your vacant goldfish stare."

"Yes, something in your teeth," he shot back. 

Gojo grinned, sharp and playful, but before he could ramp up to something more irritating, she turned slightly on her stool, leaning into the bar, far too close to the bartender, as she handed him her empty glass, a drink that used to be Nanami's.

"Think I could get another?" she asked, voice warm, flirtatious, her fingers brushing his hand as he took the glass from her.

Gojo gripped his soda too tightly, faltering.

The bartender—until moments ago some completely forgettable extra in the background of Gojo's life—perked up under her attention, looking entirely too pleased to be noticed. And Gojo—who had spent all night being dragged through the strange emotional tumult of Utahime's good mood—felt something hot settle low in his stomach once more. 

Now, he was pretty sure Utahime was trying to make him jealous. She was trying to teach him a lesson as much as she was trying to distract him from his brooding mood. 

When their conversations were quieter, and the needling stopped, Utahime had always tolerated him. There was something understood between them that was threaded into the trust they had for one another. 

No. Utahime didn't just tolerate him—she cared about him. She liked him. Gojo knew in his bones that Utahime liked him. It wasn't in a casual, friendly way, either. Not in the 'we've-known-each-other-forever' way.

No.

She wanted him. The imagery from the karaoke bar and the potent notion that she thought about him in that way made Gojo feel a bit light-headed now. 

His grip on his drink tightened as she turned back to him, her eyes glittering with a soft laughter. They did this a lot, didn't they? Drinks and food and flirting with strangers—finding something joyful amidst all the horror of their profession. 

"Utahime," he said, his voice a little raw. "Do you like that I tease you?" 

Just like this, Gojo shifted everything. 

Utahime's expression changed, and a flicker of worry passed over her countenance. She hesitated, her eyes dropping away evasively as if she were weighing up risks. Then, like a sunrise, her glowing amber eyes slowly moved up to his face. 

"You always stop at teasing," she murmured, hesitating, apprehensive. "You always leave it at that."

Gojo—good at keeping everything an infinity away—suddenly found himself adrift in the void of his own creation. 

Something inside him, propped up by fear of being hurt and pressed too long under the weight of many years, buckled and then ultimately gave way completely in a slump of gracious defeat. 

Her words barely had time to settle before he was moving—too fast, too reckless, no thought, only heat. He slowly put out his hand, fingers wrapping around her wrist, tugging her forward, pulling her off the bar stool until she collided with him, her breath catching as he startled her with swift movement.

He shifted, pressing her against the bar, making sure that the stupid bartender didn't see how her beautiful lips parted. 

Her body was warm, pressed against his as he caged her against the bar, her balance thrown, her hand coming up instinctively to press against his chest. He grasped her face in both his hands, looking down at her intently for the truth of it to settle. 

Gojo finally—finally—crossed the line.

He kissed her.

Hard. Desperate. Without thinking.

It wasn't soft or careful. It probably wasn't any of the things a first kiss was supposed to be, because too many years had gone by for this to be coy. It was pent-up frustration, months—years—of tension finally boiling over into something glowing hot.

He slid his tongue into her mouth the moment her lips parted, his thumbs pressing into her cheeks to coax her mouth open for him. 

And fuck, she wasn't fighting it.

Utahime gasped against him, but it wasn't in protest—it was surprise, sharp and real, like he'd pulled her under just as they'd started wading too deep. 

Utahime kissed him back. 

Her long-imagined lips were warm, soft, maddening, parting beneath his like she had been waiting for this as long as he had. And then— fuck —she made a tiny, breathless noise, something barely there, something frustrated and needy, and Gojo felt his world ignite into something giddy, feral, sexy. 

"Oh my god, you kiss me like you hate me," he groaned into her mouth. 

His fingers dug into the fabric of her tank top, pulling her closer, his tongue in her mouth again. She tasted like Nanami's whiskey, like trouble; it was too much, too good, too real.

"I do hate you," she gasped, and he bit her lower lip to make her stop lying. 

And Utahime—who was never passive, never hesitant—responded in kind. Her free hand fisted in his t-shirt, tugging, and she bit him back just enough to wreck him completely. Gojo made a noise too, a possessive sound he hadn't meant to make—but it didn't matter. Because Utahime was right here, pressed against him, kissing him back.

His heart was roaring, his blood thrumming, as he realised all the things he'd thought of as a teenager and put imperfectly to bed could actually come to pass. 

And so, without thinking too much, without warning, without giving her a second to react—

He teleported them the fuck out of there.

Chapter Text

They landed hard, stumbling into the dimly lit space of Gojo's apartment, still kissing, still tangled in heat and tension—years of it—finally giving way.

Utahime barely had time to register the change in scenery before Gojo backed her up against the nearest wall, lips unrelenting, hands greedy, fingers digging into her waist like he needed to feel every inch of her right now.

She gasped, breaking the kiss just enough to glance around. "Did you just—"

"Yup." His mouth was on her neck before she could finish the thought, teeth grazing her pulse point, impatient for her to stop talking and kiss him back again. 

"Satoru, you can't just— ah —teleport people mid—"

His teeth nipped, maybe too hard, before he soothed the sting with his tongue—both angry and titillated to hear his name on her voice like that: titillated because his kiss had made every syllable breathless and angry because she'd kept this erotic artefact from him for so long. 

As he bit down on her throat, Utahime swore, something much filthier than he'd ever heard her say in broad daylight, and it thrilled him to the quick. Her fingers clenched the fabric of his t-shirt, yanking him back into another heated, desperate kiss. It was messy, all teeth and tongue, all the things they weren't supposed to be saying out loud pressed between their mouths.

And fuck, she made him almost dizzy when she kissed back like this—matching his desire, just as angry, just as titillated. Gojo was buzzing, hands sliding under her little tank top, skimming over warm skin that he'd only seen two slivers over in a decade, just to feel her bloom beneath his touch.

She shoved at his chest suddenly, and for half a second, he thought she was stopping—

Until she reached for his sunglasses, yanking them off in one smooth motion, tossing them somewhere into the void of his apartment.

Gojo blinked, grinning. "Oh-ho. Feisty."

Utahime looked up at him, breathless, flushed, so damn pretty. "I like your eyes."

"You said I look like a goldfish," he muttered, gripping the hem of her tank top, lifting it up and over her head in one swift motion. 

He pushed her jeans down her thighs, doing his best not to tear them in his impatience.

"Maybe you're more like a koi than a goldfish," she conceded. 

"I'm making a meteoric rise on the carp corporate ladder," Gojo grinned, his hands in her hair, on her tits, everywhere. 

The second her clothes hit the floor, she yanked at his jacket, fingers quick, impatient, half-shoving him back in the process. Gojo stumbled, laughing, catching her easily. "Hime, baby, we both know you don't have the strength to—"

She swept his leg. 

Gojo Satoru—the Strongest Sorcerer Alive—went down.

He landed flat on his back, blinking at the ceiling, absolutely floored in every sense of the word. Utahime stood over him, smirking, topless and in her panties, the soft glow from the city lights behind her casting her in the most unfair fucking light imaginable.

She knelt over him, grinning triumphantly. "What's the matter, Gojo?" she teased, mock-sweet, "You cryin'?"

Gojo let out a breathless laugh, dazed, yanking her down on top of him on the floor,  hands settling naturally on her bare waist. "Okay. Yeah. That was hot."

She smiled, slow, smug, warm, her lips brushing against his again, teasing—just barely there. Gojo groaned, impatient, flipping them effortlessly, pinning her to the floor instead.

He hitched her up, shifting so his erection pressed into her pussy just right. Utahime gasped, legs wrapping around his waist on reflex, hands gripping his shoulders, eyes wide and unguarded for half a second too long.

She bit out her words between his kiss. "Take—off—your—-clothes." 

But he just kissed her again, deep and devouring. Utahime made a frustrated sound, biting his bottom lip, hurting him just enough. Gojo groaned before shoving himself off the floor, hauling her up in his arms, Utahime laughing breathlessly as he carried her straight to the bedroom, her legs around his hips. 

She clung to him, still kissing him, still laughing, still teasing him all the way down the hall, but Gojo—dizzy, reckless, hopelessly lost in her already—felt like he was fizzing. 

He stumbled into the bedroom, Utahime still tangled around him, their kisses breathless, urgent, fueled by the reckless high of finally giving in. They hit the bed, Utahime gasping as Gojo pinned her beneath him, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, the heat of his breath sending a shiver straight through her. 

She arched, fingers threading into his hair, tugging—hard.

Gojo grinned against her skin, biting lightly at her shoulder. "Ow."

"You love it, you freak."

I do.

The thought came too fast, too unguarded. He pulled back to drag his t-shirt over his head, his head spinning at unsolicited notions clamouring into his mind. 

Gojo pushed it away, focusing instead on the way she moved against his bare skin when he slid over her again, the way she sighed into his touch, the way she let herself melt beneath him like she had been waiting for this all along. His hands slid lower, mapping the dips and curves of her body as they kissed deeply. He had a feeling that Utahime had an intuition about how he was—the slightly dark tint to his sexual life—and he sensed she had the same streak. It was in the way she touched him. 

Utahime gasped his name again, voice soft, wrecked, and something shifted.

The husky laughter faded, the teasing ebbed, and Gojo felt a little strangely frantic. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her.

Utahime blinked up at him, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes deep and unguarded in the low light. And Gojo felt something unfamiliar crash into him, heavy and inescapable.

I love her.

His breath hitched a little, messing up his body's whole working function and setting his heart to a hammering pace. She'd been trying to make him feel better all this time, and now, with too heavy an emotion, he might have undone all the good work. The realisation settled in his chest like a slow thaw, melted ice threading through his ribs and seeping deep inside him.

He wondered if she knew that, for him at least, this wasn't just fun. This wasn't just something to laugh about later and tease her that she'd professed to hate him and then let him fuck her after a night out and poorly chosen karaoke duet. 

This was Utahime.

And he loved her.

The weight of it made his next kiss deeper, hungrier. Utahime noticed the shift immediately. She let out a slow breath, her fingers sliding gently from his hair to cup his face.

"Satoru?" she murmured, voice softer now, questioning.

Gojo exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against hers. He let himself just wobble there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin and her breath. He had no words for what was happening, no joke to fall back on, nothing to deflect with.

So he just kissed her again— like he meant it, like it was what he really meant. 

And Utahime—who had always pushed back—just melted into him, kissing him back with the same aching, quiet intensity. Gojo had never been hesitant about anything in his life. But as he hovered over Utahime, her breath in his lungs, her lips still swollen from his kisses, he felt something licking at his brain. 

Utahime lay beneath him on his bed at long last, flushed and breathless—a little confused by his pause. The soft glow of the city filtered through the curtains, casting violet light across her skin, illuminating every place he had already touched, kissed, claimed.

And fuck, she was so, so beautiful .

Gojo groaned, stomach wobbling like sheet metal at the way she arched beneath him when he dipped his mouth to hers again. He moved lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her collarbone, her chest, her sternum, the space between her breasts, lingering wherever the pass of his mouth elicited a shiver.

Her heartbeat was racing, and he could feel it everywhere. He didn't actually want to be gentle with her. The intensity of his desire for her felt brutal; something dammed up like a sweet lake that could turn destructive if the banks broke. 

Utahime shuddered, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, grinding a little into his hardness, urging him on. He smiled at this, letting his tongue flick lightly as his mouth moved over her nakedness playfully, just enough to make her shiver like that again. He wanted to tease her, thrumming to see her reaction when he slid into her.

He'd called her weak for a decade, but he could feel the finely turned strength humming in her delicate limbs, the taut muscles of her abdomen, and sensed that she could withstand the hardness with which he wanted to take her. 

Gojo looked up, meeting her gaze, and whatever he had been planning to say was lost. Utahime, looking at him with unguarded emotion, parted her lips slightly. Her hair fanning out beneath her, her skin glowing in the low, lilac light.

Her mouth. God, he definitely had an oral fixation. He'd tell her about it later, and she'd roll her eyes at him with pink ears. He'd tell her in great detail about what her mouth had done to him at karaoke and how he'd thought about what he could do to that mouth all night, and she'd pretend to be annoyed, and he'd—

But first.

Gojo pressed a final kiss to her sternum before shifting lower, trailing his mouth along the curve of her hipbone, the soft dip below her belly button, the sharpness of her hip.

"Satoru," she whispered. 

Utahime was breathing too fast, her fingers digging into the sheets. He moved lower, dragging his tongue along the centre line of her stomach.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that," he murmured, grinning when her nails dug into his shoulders. "You should call me 'Satoru' more often. How many different ways can you say it?" 

Her breath hitched. "You— ah —you talk too much."

Gojo laughed, his breath warm against her skin, stalling at the dip in her pelvis and not moving. "Oh, Hime. That's not news."

She groaned, shoving at his shoulder to urge him on, but he didn't budge. He just grinned, enjoying the way her impatience was starting to crack through her usual composure. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, and fuck , the way she pulled at him made him feel half-wild, half-worshipful.

"You know," he mused, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to the curve of her hipbone, "I could be doing something else with my mouth right now, but if you'd rather just shout at me—"

Utahime's grip tightened in his hair, forcing his gaze back up to her.

"Satoru, if you don't stop talking and get to work, I swear to God—"

Gojo choked on a laugh, burying his face against her stomach. "Oh my god, you are so impatient."

Utahime tugged his hair again, harder, and Gojo felt a dangerous, heady rush. She was glaring at him, all flushed and breathless, and he wondered if he was truly the strongest, because enduring Utahime's desire for him might actually seal his untimely demise. 

He exhaled slowly, lifting his head, meeting her gaze, grinning wickedly.

Utahime opened her mouth to snap at him—something probably very creative and sexy, knowing her—but before she could, he dipped his head and dragged his tongue along the inside of her thigh.

And oh, fuck, that shut her up.

She let out a gasp, fingers gripping the sheets, her legs shaking as he trailed his mouth higher, pushing aside her underwear. 

His stomach clenched, losing some of his bravado, because Iori Utahime had a very pretty pussy. Gojo couldn't wait to tell her this—he could already anticipate her outrage. But it would be outrage with dark eyes, something desirous even in her horror of how vulgar he could be. 

Gojo hummed against her, delighted, letting his teeth graze her skin, his tongue flicking, teasing, drawing another breathless moan from her as he gently kissed the top of her slit, but did not open his mouth on her. 

It almost infuriated her. 

He could do this all night.

Utahime, whose breathing was erratic, whose heartbeat he could feel everywhere, gasped his name, half-broken.

It was suddenly too acute—the breathless sounds she was making, the fact that he was the reason for it. It hadn't yet begun, but he couldn't stand the idea of waking up in the morning and having to pretend this never happened. She was already getting under his skin, slipping through his many, many fractures, claiming his attention as only Utahime could. 

"Fuck," he muttered against her thigh, emotionally compromised, high off her already. "I've just realised that I might be obsessed with you."

Utahime made a choked sound, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth, a giggle catching in her throat.

It was the best thing he had ever heard.

Gojo gave in completely.

His fingers dug into her hips, holding her in place as he finally, finally, gave her what she wanted. His tongue flicked over her cunt, tasting her, feeling her, teasing her, and fuck, she was already so, so wet and sweet.

He groaned, the sound vibrating through her, her hips arching as she gasped breathily, curving into his mouth. He let his tongue move, almost too lazily, over her clit, so that she had to show him how much she wanted it by moving her hips into his mouth.

Utahime made the most delicious sound, her feet pushing into his shoulders, her breaths turning to desperate whimpers as he devoured her. 

He could put his fingers inside her now, crook them into secret places, and turn her into vapour. But he was having too much fun with an all-new way to infuriate Utahime, so instead, he just held her in place, letting his tongue explore her, feeling her squirm and twist and gasp beneath him.

He had her begging before he was even close to being done.

And god, it was so satisfying, as he let the flat of his tongue play over her clit. Her voice was sweetly ragged, her back arched off the bed, and it had Gojo achingly hard. 

But he needed to do this—because what he wanted next might be selfish. He really didn't want to be gentle with her. 

And then, finally, fucking finally—

She shattered beneath him, her body beautifully tight with pleasure, bowing away from his mouth and the overstimulation of her pleasure. But he kept moving, working her through it, until she was shaking, whimpering, pulling his hair so hard it hurt. She pushed his head away with considerable effort, breathless. 

Gojo was so turned on that he could hardly breathe, his eyes wide and letting the Six Eyes drink in every detail of her flushed skin, her quickened pulse, the sheen of sweat. And then he crawled back up her body, pressing a slow, filthy kiss to her lips, grinning when she shuddered.

When he finally pulled back, she was a mess, breathless, flushed, staring up at him like she couldn't believe any of this was happening. 

Gojo chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Hi," he breathed. "I'm going to fuck you now before I come in my pants."

Utahime's laugh was shaky, a little dazed. "Jesus, Satoru."

"I'm serious," he murmured, dipping his head and biting her neck. "Hime, I'm about to lose my mind here. I think I've been sufficiently patient."

She hummed, fingers threading into his hair, guiding him back up until his forehead was pressed against hers again.

Then, without warning, she rolled her hips, deliberately, slowly, dragging herself against him, and fuck, he saw stars.

"You were the one taking your time", she whispered. 

Gojo leaned back, dragging her damp underwear down her legs, throwing them over his shoulder to somewhere in his room. He pushed his boxer briefs down over his hips, flinging them away, too. 

"I used to think about you when we were teenagers," he divulged as he shifted, dragging her thigh over his as he leaned back on his heels. "Touching myself, I mean. Quite a lot, actually, now that I think about it."

Utahime's expression was unreadable, but her eyes were bright and focused. Her eyes moved over his naked body, his hard cock, and back up to his face. Utahime's cheeks flooded with colour. Gojo smiled, because he knew his body was beautiful, he knew his cock was big—but it almost gratified him that she still refused to compliment him, even now. 

Gojo leaned down, dragging his tongue across her collarbone, grinning at her shudder as he lined his cock up with her, dipping the tip in just enough to make her eyelashes flutter. She was small—he should probably take his time easing in.

"Condom?" she stammered suddenly. 

"Don't have one," he said dismissively. He didn't really need to elaborate on some of his more salacious uses of his Infinity. 

"Will you pull out?" she asked, her eyes hot. 

"Probably not," Gojo murmured, pushing her thighs a little wider. 

"Gojo—" she began, but he was bored of this tiresome line of conversation. 

"I want to come inside you." he continued, interrupting her. "Every time I've thought of this, I've come inside you. It's distracting, actually. You don't know how distracting you are."

She laughed, breathless, bewildered by his abrupt candour. "I was trying rather hard to distract you tonight."

"I'm glad you can admit that. I can feel less bad about the things I used to do to you in my mind," he grinned, inching forward into her wetness, feeling her body give in to his. "I was quite a pervert about it—sorry." 

Utahime's breath hitched, her head tilting back as he slid a little deeper into her. Gojo felt almost raucously smug about the way he was stretching her. 

"Like what?" she whispered, her voice deliciously shaky.

"Oh, you know, the worst things a teenage boy can do in his head with his hand down his pants," Gojo teased, rocking his hips, sliding further into her until the warmth of her threatened to swallow him whole. "I'd imagine my cum on your face in the shower and then talk to you in first period about calculus."

"Gross," Utahime whispered, biting her lip.

"And the worst thing about it was I knew you'd be pissed off, so it kinda made it a bit more gratifying. I was really an awful teenager," he continued, voice low, teasing, as he inched deeper into her. "I'm about to be an awful lover, by the way. I'm not sweet and gentle, Hime. I really kinda want to be appalling now." 

"Satoru," Utahime gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders, because he knew he was almost as deep as he could be.

Gojo grinned, stilling, breathless himself now when he felt himself slide almost flush with her, engulfed in her tight, wet, pretty pussy. 

"Maybe I should have been less demure," he murmured. "I didn't know you wanted my cum on your face this whole time."

Utahime tried to rock her hips, urging him forward, her grip tightening, nails digging into his forearms.

"Satoru," she pleaded, "if you don't shut up and start moving, I will flip us over."

"Yes ma'am," he smirked, dipping his head, brushing his nose against hers as he thrust in fully, savouring the way her body arched against his, the way her breathing stuttered at the final, damning thrust—every inch of him inside her.

"Oh, fuck ," she breathed, and the sound of her, the way her voice was shaky, wrecked, nearly did him in right then and there.

He fucked into her hard, rucking her up the bed. She was so wet that the sound was gratifyingly obscene. 

"I could listen to you talk all night," he said, breathless, his lips finding the soft spot just behind her ear, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss there, his voice rough, needy. "Not just doing this. But anything. I'm realising I'm allowed to be turned on by the things you do."

Utahime's laugh was shaky, breathless as he slid in hard again, a slippery, too-hard thrust. "I'm having—a similar—-realisation."

He grinned, rolling his hips at a different angle, enjoying the way she twisted against him, the way her breath caught each time he slid to the deepest point of her. 

"You like me, Hime?" he breathed, nipping at her jaw as he started to fuck into her a little too quickly for him to last, shocked that she could feel so good. "You think about me with your hands between your legs?"

Utahime shivered, her grip tightening, her breathing made unsteady by the pace of his thrusts. " Satoru ."

So yes. 

He hummed, his hands skimming her waist, her stomach, her hips, feeling every inch of her as he pushed in deep. He was in a mood to confess everything, now that he remembered the extent of it.

"Do you know what else I've done? In my mind?" he asked, voice low, breath warm against her neck. "I've had you on the edge of my dorm room bed, your ass in the air, my cum dripping down your thighs. I've had you bent over the desk in a classroom, my fingers buried inside you. And I've had you, in the middle of an argument, where I'd pin you up against the wall and fuck the fight out of you." He gulped, laughing at himself when he realised the extent of that daydream. "That's actually a recent one. Sorry. I knew there were some updated ones."   

"Oh my god," Utahime breathed, her eyes fluttering closed, her legs hitching higher, her hands pulling at him, her hips rocking to meet his, taking him deeper, harder, and it was so good—it was so fucking good how roughly she wanted him back.

"I have plans for your mouth," he continued, voice breaking, his pace quickening, his grip on her tightening, the thought of her mouth on him making him ache. "And it's all fucking terrible. So tell me, Hime, how badly have you wanted this?"

Utahime moaned a breathless, ragged sound, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"I can't tell you," she gasped, her gorgeous voice fucked unsteady.

Gojo's next thrust was rougher, deeper, the sound she made in response almost too much for him. He grasped her legs, pushing them up so he could be deeper inside her. 

"Hime, please, let me hear you say it," he whispered, desperate, needy, dizzy with the thought of her wanting him back. "Let me hear you say how much you've thought about this."

She let out a shaky breath, her calves over his shoulders now, taking him deeper, and the sound she made as he bottomed out on that thrust nearly undid him completely.

"Too much," she gasped. "Always so embarrassingly—"

She couldn't finish because she cried out in pleasure, nearing a peak as he fucked her through her words, curious at how much he could interrupt her like this. 

"Always? So you've wanted this?" he breathed. "You've always wanted me, Utahime?"

Her answering laugh was shaky, broken. "God, yes. As insufferable as you are. I've—-wanted you. And I want you to be—happy."

Gojo stilled, his entire body going taut, his heart stuttering. And for a second, he couldn't move.

The words hung between them, heavy and terrifying and true. He pulled back slightly, blinking down at her.

"Say it again," he murmured, his voice breaking.

Utahime swallowed, meeting his gaze, her eyes bright, honest.

"I want you," she breathed. "All of you. And I want you to be happy."

Something gave way in a beautiful kind of defeat—the last leaf or the final snowflake. 

Gojo abruptly stopped fucking her. 

"Switch. I'm not gonna last with all these feelings and shit," he said matter-of-factly, making Utahime blink in shock. "I want to do all the positions I can think of before you either change your mind, or I cum everywhere."

"Wait, Satoru, what— mmph ," Utahime protested, but he cut her off, rolling them both over until she was on top, straddling his hips.

He gripped her ass, tugging her forward on his cock. Both hands slid up the curve of her waist, fingers splayed possessively. Her eyes unfocused slightly as he slid again to that deepest point in one slick thrust up into her. 

"Now, ride me," he ordered, giving her an encouraging jiggle. "You know how."

"That's not—that's not how this works," she breathed, bracing her hands on his chest, her cheeks flushed. "Don't just tell me—"

"Sure it is," he replied, voice rough, his grip tightening on her body. "Giddy up."

"Satoru—this isn't— fuck ," Utahime managed, before he thrust up, hitting her in a way that made her eyes flutter closed.

"I'm sure my imagination couldn't do better than this," he teased, bucking his hips, grinning as her breathing went uneven again. 

" Oh ," she whispered, nails digging into his skin, her hair falling into her face, her expression so beautiful, so perfect, as she started to fuck him. 

"There's a good girl," he gulped, letting his hand slide from her waist to her throat. 

And then, to his shock, she fucked him so well he nearly lost his composure. Her head tilted back so that he saw the beautiful column of her throat, the jounce of her tits, the roll of her hips as Iori Utahime used his body for pleasure. 

"Oh, god," she breathed, her voice trembling like she was irritated by this. "You feel so good."

Gojo swore, gripping her waist, his vision blurring as she took him deeper, harder, her eyes squeezing shut as her pace quickened. 

"Hime, look at me," he said, his voice breaking, the sight of her too much. "Love, look at me."

Her eyes fluttered open, and fuck , they were so bright, so deep, so full of raw emotion.

"Don't call me that," she said through her teeth, beautifully irritated at him.

"Stop!" Gojo stammered, grasping her hips to still her abruptly. "Too sexy when you're mad. I'll jizz everywhere. Switch, Hime. I want to fuck you from behind before it's too late."

"This is not how sex works," Utahime argued, even as she was letting him roll her over. "Stop telling me that you're going to jizz everywhere."

"Sex is whatever we want it to be," he said, pushing her down onto the bed and arranging her casually. "And I have a storyboard now that I'd like to see through, thanks."

"A what?"

"Storyboard."

"No, I heard that, but—wait, Satoru, could you please be—"

"Shh," Gojo interrupted, pushing her head down into the bed linen. "No talking during my favourite part. This is the best view, if I do say so myself."

"Satoru, seriously, what are you—"

"You've been trying to seduce me all night. What do you think I've been planning since roughly 2006?" he asked, voice rough even as he sounded a little contemptuous. " Missionary position?" 

"Oh my god, what is happening right now?" Utahime gasped.

He slid into her from behind, hissing because he really was very close to the edge of orgasm.

"You have such a great ass, Hime," he said, and Utahime almost laughed. "Hands on the headboard, please. You're going to want to brace yourself."

"Satoru, seriously, you have the weirdest pillow talk, I swear to God."

"Hands," he said, tapping the back of her thigh. "Now. Let me see your ass bounce on my cock."

"I'm not going to— oh !"

She broke off as he slid his hips forward, her own hips bucking, the movement instinctive.

"Like that," he murmured, his grip tightening, his gaze fixated on the curve of her ass, the way she was taking him. "Fuck, Utahime."

Her answering moan was delicious. 

But before she could find a rhythm, before he could settle in and enjoy this, she reached back, grabbing his thigh, nails digging into his skin.

"Just fuck me properly now, Satoru," she growled, her voice wrecked, needy, and it made him throb. "Enough storyboarding. Just fuck me, please."

His grip tightened. "Yeah?"

"Yes, please." 

And—fuck, okay, he could give her that.

His pace quickened, his hands finding her hips, guiding her into a devastating pace, fucking her deeper, harder, until the sounds she was making made his vision blur. Enough teasing from both of them, he decided. This was years in the making. 

Utahime was trembling, her fingers twisting into the sheets, her body rocking back on his thrusts, taking him breathlessly, matching his pace. Gojo squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he had to last just long enough to see her melt. 

"Hime," he managed, his grip on her too tight, his control slipping, his pace growing erratic at the thought of her liking this too much.

Then the world cracked open a little, and there was gold within—Iori Utahime came on his cock.

And as he felt her fall apart, felt her twist, heard her moan his name, Gojo lost the last of his control.

He choked, breaking off, his vision going white, groaning messily as pleasure shook him to the quick. His release slammed into him like a wave, a single, ragged sound tearing from his throat as he came, deep inside her when he probably should have warned her. His hips bucked through messy, embarrassing aftershocks of warm pleasure, the world blurring.

Gojo's pulse thumped like a headache, too much blood in his temples. 

And fuck, Utahime kept moving, lazily like a cat might, milking him through it until he had nothing left to give. His knees went weak, his vision unfocused. They hit the mattress, breathless.

Gojo could hardly think, enjoying the feeling of her slight body beneath his, the wet heat of his cum inside her.

"You have to move," Utahime murmured, and he blinked, dazed, feeling her shift beneath him. "Heavy."

Gojo hummed in response but didn't budge. He liked the way she felt beneath him, the way her body was still warm, soft, and authentic against his. So, instead, Utahime pushed him over onto his side and twisted in his arms to face him. He grumbled, his arm slung low around her waist, and half-buried his face in her shoulder.

Utahime let out a shaky laugh, her fingers curling into his hair, her nose brushing against his.

"Well," she murmured, pressing a soft, lazy kiss to his mouth. It was a chaste, indulgent kiss, and it made him smile. 

Gojo grinned against her lips, slow and easy, kissing her back like he had all the time in the world.

"I've had a few ideas," he admitted, his hand skimming up her back, his fingers tracing patterns into her skin. "For the next round."

Utahime huffed, nudging his forehead with hers. "The next—"

"Oh, sweetheart," he grinned, his grip tightening, his mouth finding the spot just beneath her jaw that he knew she liked, "I'm just getting started."

Utahime shivered, her body already responding to him, but she still managed to give him a warning look. "You're so greedy."

"Is that a complaint?" His lips dragged along her pulse point, making her breath hitch. "My appetite is for you." 

"It's an observation." She pressed a hand to his chest, just over his heart, and he let her, feeling the warmth of her palm, the way her fingers flexed slightly like she was holding onto something fragile. Maybe she was. "You're—" she hesitated, and he felt it, the shift in the air, the weight of the moment creeping in.

Gojo pulled back slightly, enough to look at her properly. 

Utahime had spent all night trying to pull him out of his own head, out of whatever pit he'd been sinking into lately, and he hadn't even adequately absorbed what that meant. The way she was—warm, acerbic, caring, beautiful—caught his attention before he realised what was all underneath her drive to make him happier. Now, he knew how her laugh tasted against his tongue, but he'd always known those other things.

"You're not pouting," she finally said, voice quieter now. "That's good."

He swallowed. That's good.

Gojo didn't always do well with silence. But he let this one stretch, his forehead dropping against hers again, his breath evening out as she traced slow, lazy lines along his collarbone. He almost laughed at himself—when had he ever let himself slow down like this? Since when had he ever wanted to? And why, in all his sordid little daydreams, had he ever left room for imagery like Utahime touching his face gently? Probably because that had probably felt too outlandish.

His smirk faltered.

Utahime's fingers made a small movement against his skin, the slightest little flex to suggest she was uncertain now. 

Utahime . Utahime, who had dragged him through Tokyo in the wake of his students and had been annoying and ridiculous in his stead. And then somewhere between the way she'd smiled at him in the neon light and her soft look in the bar while she suggested that, far from hating his teasing, she despaired for the way it fell short of what she really wanted—like she'd been waiting for him to figure it all out—he'd actually realised.

Gojo swallowed hard, his throat tight as it came flooding back. 

He loved this girl.

It wasn't even as slow a realisation as he had previously thought. It hadn't crept up on him over time. It had hit him all at once with the weight of snowfall off a roof—crashing into him just as he'd come undone inside her. There was a reason he had to remember to put his Infinity up around her like his body had figured it out before his brain could catch up. It had been buried under everything else—under the teasing, the fights, the years of seeking her out, of wanting her attention without letting himself realise just how much.

And now—now he was lying here, tangled up in her, her palm warm against his chest, her breath ghosting against his lips, trying not to say something compromising.

It was too much, and it was not enough to have made love. 

Gojo forced himself to smile again, pushing the thought down, down, down, locking it away so she wouldn't see it until he could safely tell her how he felt.

"I'm feeling so much better, thank you, Utahime," he murmured, brushing his lips against her wrist—half-teasing, half-desperate to not let her slip through his fingers just yet. "Letting me fuck you was a real morale boost." 

Utahime exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes—but he saw the way her lips twitched.

"So vulgar."

Gojo grinned. "You started it. I believe the words were, ' Drizzle me slow, baby, take your time '." 

She almost laughed, but still tried to be stern—soft, breathy, his— as she gently threaded her fingers through his. 

And did not disavow him.

He didn't yet feel quite like the version he put out in the world—that giddy, raucous version of Gojo Satoru.

 But with her, he never really had to.

Chapter Text

There was something particular about masculine warmth in a shared bed. It was the first thing that Utahime felt, before she was even fully awake. It was the kind that seeped beneath her skin but felt like it radiated from the inside outwards, the kind that originated in the heart. She could also smell the telltale scent of lovemaking and the spice of an expensive cologne that she knew very well.

The second thing she noticed was that the warmth was moving.

Slow, rhythmic, unmistakable. It was the rise and fall of breath, the shift of a chest pressed flush against her back and the weight of a muscular arm draped possessively over her waist as if it had always belonged there. A deep inhale, the brush of lips against her shoulder, the soft, sleep-thick sound of someone settling deeper into an expensive mattress.

Oh yes .

Memory welled up, slow and inevitable as a full cup; his hands—sure and possessive, reverent and teasing all at once—gripping her hips; his voice, coaxing, breaking apart between her gasps; the way he’d held her afterwards—like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d known exactly how she would fit against him all along. The feeling of his cum inside her—

Utahime’s stomach flipped violently.

She tensed before she could stop herself, pushing away by millimetres. Immediately, the arm around her tightened, pulling her back into solid heat with one firm palm on her stomach.

Utahime rippled through his sleepy, contented sigh against her skin. Then, a voice—rough, slurred at the edges with sleep, deeper and rustier than she’d ever heard it before.

“Hime.”

Every nerve in her body lit up at once, and a kind of emotional panic seized her.

Oh, no. Absolutely not.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she forced herself to keep still, forced herself to swallow down the mortifying swell of something dangerously close to giddiness. She should move. She had to move to preserve herself. Before she had time to truly think out a defensive strategy, she’d already shifted—slow, careful, easing toward the edge of the bed.

But before she could slip away, both Gojo’s hands gripped her hips, fingers flexing idly against bare skin, holding her there with only the hint of his immense strength. His breath ghosted against the curve of her neck as he murmured, still caught somewhere between dreaming and waking.

 “You leaving? You’ll make me feel cheap, Utahime.”

Utahime swallowed, pulse stuttering. “I—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Shower. There’s the joint faculty meeting to get to. I should—”

“Mm. No, you shouldn’t.” His voice was too pleased, too easy, too— post-coital . He nuzzled lazily against her shoulder, and the heat in her body turned unbearable. “S’fine. Stay with me. I’m not going to that shit.”

“Gojo,” she managed, desperate for something—anything—to ground herself.

But he only hummed against her skin, arm tightening just a fraction more, as if he could keep her in place by sheer will alone. He nibbled on her shoulder. 

“The only reason I ever go to those things is to see you, and you’re already here,” he said, and then paused abruptly as if he hadn’t intended the truth of this to come tumbling out.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world had shrunk to the space between them that had once been an Infinity and was now nothing at all, to the warmth of him against her back, to the maddening steadiness of his breathing. 

It was too much. It was perfect. It was emotionally compromising.

And then—

“You smell like me,” he mused, pleased. “I like it.”

She kicked backwards instinctively, hitting his shin. Hard.

Gojo yelped, jerking back just enough for her to twist out of his hold. She turned onto her side to face him, pulling the blanket up around her like a shield, her heart a wild, unsteady horse in her chest. 

He blinked at her like he’d only just woken up , dazed, then let out a slow, lazy chuckle. “Wow,” he drawled, stretching. “So violent, Hime. Is that any way to treat your boyfriend?”

She scowled, cheeks hot. “You are not my boyfriend.”

His lips twitched. “Oh? Do you prefer ‘ lover’ ?”

Her face burned. “Don’t—”

“Because if you think about it, ‘lover’ would be more accurate. Boyfriend is so tame, but ‘lover’—lover says a lot about last night, doesn’t it?” His voice dipped, playful, insufferable, nuzzling under her jaw to bite her neck. “I made you come so hard, I could still feel you around my cock minutes after I pulled out.”

She tried to push his face away with both hands.

Gojo laughed easily, absolutely delighted. “So shy all of a sudden. That’s not what you were like when you were bouncing on my—”

She clamped a hand over his mouth, burning with mortification. “Shut up,” she hissed. 

He grinned against her palm, eyes crinkling at the edges as he easily shoved her hands back. “You liked it. And, you started it, singing to me about how you like it sticky.”

“I will kill you if you tell anyone about this.”

Gojo ruffled his hand through his hair, expression mild, unphased by her mortification. “Ow. I’m hurt.”

“If you were actually hurt, you’d milk it for all it’s worth.”

His grin widened, “Interesting choice of words, Hime.” 

“Stop that immediately.”

Gojo chuckled, finding her cute. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching her too closely now, too knowingly. “So?”

“So what?” she muttered, pulse still uneven.

He tilted his head. “Any real regrets?”

A pause. A breath.

Her fingers curled into the blanket. Utahime should have wanted to run for having played her hand like this, to slip away before morning could make the night real. She should have felt awkward.

Instead, she felt—

Warm. Settled. Annoyed, sure. And she ached in places she hadn’t ached in a long time. But she felt whole. She felt excited. 

Gojo’s gaze softened, just slightly. The mischief in his expression gave way to a quieter look. 

“No,” she murmured, face hot. “You?” 

He smiled boyishly, eyes glowing with pleasure. She’d honestly never seen him look so pleased—so happy. There had been moments last night when Utahime felt a clench of apprehension. His body had grown quiet, his smile fading just a little, and she had realised that he was carrying the burden of needing to say something to her but not being ready. Utahime reached forward and touched his cheek. He smiled afresh, turning his face into the touch like a cat, his long eyelashes touching his cheeks. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” he yawned.

Utahime narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I might regret not trying reverse cowgirl.”

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head, pushing her hands into his cheek more roughly now, her affectionate gesture turning dismissive. “You’re impossible.”

Gojo’s laughter rumbled against her fingers. Then, with an ease that sent her stomach plummeting, he peeled her hand away and laced their fingers together. “You’re beautiful in the morning,” he said softly. “I like seeing your makeup all smudged. I like you smelling of sex and me.” 

Utahime froze, still so unused to how forthright he could be. When he finally said what he needed to say, Utahime knew she wouldn’t stand a chance. 

There was nothing teasing about the way he was speaking to her now, nothing flippant. He was just looking at her—like she was something precious, something rare, something worth waiting for.

Her heart stuttered. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” he said, utterly serious. “You are so beautiful. Your mouth is even more distracting than usual.”

Utahime fought the impulse to push him away. But he was still holding her hand, and she hadn’t let go either.

Gojo squeezed her fingers. “You’re stuck with me now, Hime. I’m your goldfish.”

She exhaled, pressing her lips together.

“I know.”

He was, an untouchable flicker of gold. 

But hers. 

The moment Gojo walked into the faculty lounge, the shift in atmosphere was immediate.

Shoko, lounging on the couch with a cup of coffee balanced in her hand, raised an eyebrow as she gave him a once-over. 

“You’re different,” she said dully. ”You’re happy.” 

Nanami exhaled sharply through his nose. “Should we brace for impact?”

Gojo, radiating satisfaction, stretched lazily before dropping into the seat beside Shoko with the easy sprawl of a man without a single care in the world.

“Oh, stop it, Nanamin,” he said breezily, voice brimming with good humour. “Just feeling really, really good this morning.”

Shoko took a measured sip of her coffee. “So you got laid.”

Gojo’s grin was blinding, but before anyone could respond, the door swung open.

Utahime walked in, her hair still damp from a morning shower she had shared with Gojo. Her expression was carefully composed. She moved with purpose because she had walked into this room countless times before, but the second her gaze landed on Gojo, she hesitated.

This was a tactical error because his grin widened, his entire body practically humming with anticipation. He had been waiting for this moment during their separate commutes, which she had insisted upon, and he had already rehearsed the chaos in his mind. 

“Good morning, my love.”

Silence fell over the room like a hammer.

Nanami, quietly despairing, set his drink down with deliberate precision. “Oh. No. Utahime.”

Shoko choked on her coffee, barely suppressing a laugh. Ijichi, poor unfortunate and hungover soul, looked as though he was seconds away from folding in on himself and vanishing into the void.

Utahime, to her credit, barely reacted. She closed her eyes, inhaled slowly, and then exhaled just as evenly. When she spoke, her voice was perfectly steady, betraying nothing.

“Gojo.”

“Yes, darling?” he said smoothly, stretching out the last word like he was tasting it, reaching for her with one hand like a cherub beckoning an archangel. 

Her eyes opened, sharp and resigned. “Not here.”

The way Gojo’s smile deepened was almost obscene because Utahime’s stoicism was curiously encouraging. 

“Okay, but just to clarify,” he mused, tilting his head again, grasping the edge of her hakama’s tie and reeling her closer to him like a fish in the net. “ ‘Not here’ as in ‘wait until we’re alone in bed later,’ or ‘not here’ as in ‘never speak of our passionate lovemaking again’?”

Utahime’s temple twitched as she snatched her hakama ties back. 

Shoko, sipping her coffee like this was the most entertaining thing she’d seen in months, leaned back in her chair, flicking her gaze between them. “Wow,” she mused. “You two finally banged.”

Nanami let out the most exhausted sigh known to mankind. Ijichi, without a word, stood up and bolted from the room entirely. 

Gojo, the picture of smugness, draped an arm along the back of the couch, settling in to enjoy the way Utahime’s ears turned pink.  

She exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples as though she could physically will away his presence. “…Fine,” she muttered. “I accept that this happened.”

Gojo perked up immediately. “Oh? You accept it?”

She shot him a flat look. “Yes. Like how a natural disaster is an act of God.”

Gojo laughed, delighted, entirely unrepentant.

“An act of GOD?” Gojo whistled. “Damn, Utahime. You make me blush. Which time was the most divine? My fingers in the shower? My mouth?”  

“Heyo,” Shoko murmured dryly, profoundly amused. 

“I will kill you if you don’t shut up,” Utahime said through her teeth, her face pink as a cloud. “I will smother you with a pillow. I will literally strangle you with your stupid blindfold.” 

“Oh, stop it, Utahime. Come here and stop being so bristly.” Gojo tutted. “Everyone knows we’re lovers now and that this has been our foreplay for years, so your terse little display is frankly obscene.” 

And Utahime flailed as he grasped her and pulled her down onto the sofa beside him, tucking in her limbs as she tried to scrabble for freedom like a kitten tossed into a bath. Gojo leaned back when she finally, breathless and fuming, gave up and accepted his arm around her. He watched her with something dangerously close to fondness, pressing a kiss on her grumpy forehead. 

Yeah.

He really was feeling much better.