Chapter Text
Iori Utahime tipped her head back as far as it would go, seeing blue refracting off scattered clouds. As the vibrant hues of August painted the Kyoto sky with a warm palette of fading greens and pinks, the air thickened with the wane of summer. Utahime shifted, her belly taut with apprehension, waiting for the verbal onslaught. Shrines usually buzzed with conflicting energies, and her parents added a particular layer of tension to the experience.
She stood at the threshold of the ancient shrine's entrance, the familiar scent of incense mingling with the sweet aroma of flowers fading in the heat of the day. Dressed in a traditional yukata for once instead of her typical Miko attire, Utahime’s steps were measured, her demeanour composed, ready to embark on the usual ritual alongside her parents.
Most of the day had passed, but the heat and humidity remained. She stepped over the mottled shadows on the worn stone pathway leading to the shrine's inner sanctum.
Utahime's parents, clad in ceremonial attire, walked beside her, flanking her as they usually did. It was a customary visit, a tradition observed by countless generations of their clan—a visit to pay homage to the kami, the spirits of nature and ancestors, and seek their blessings.
But Utahime was still waiting for her parents to begin their usual discussion. Their silence in the car had unsettled her.
The family approached the shrine's main hall where a priest awaited them. They offered a prayer, tossing coins into the offering box and bowing deeply in respect. They then purified themselves with water from the temizuya, and still, not a word was uttered directly to Utahime.
But even amidst the tranquillity of the shrine, there was still the usual unspoken tension—a weight muddled up in the air like the heat-bruised flowers, something demanding her attention.
“August already,” her mother sighed. “Summer’s gone.”
Utahime chewed the inside of her cheek, wondering if her silence would accelerate or stall the onslaught.
“Time flies,” her father muttered. “Utahime, you know you ought to—”
“Oh, here we go,” Utahime muttered, rolling her eyes as she gripped her yukata.
“Utahime! Don’t speak to your father like that!” Her mother’s voice was sharp.
"You can’t always shut down conversations about your future, Utahime," her father insisted, his voice low but firm, speaking to her as a Clan head and not a father. "Your career as a sorcerer—"
"—has yet to bear fruit," her mother interjected, her tone tinged with barely concealed disappointment, a saved-up lament. "It’s been five years, and you have not attained Grade One status. Time is slipping away."
Utahime's lips tightened into a thin line, her gaze flickering between her parents as they spoke. It was the usual conversation she had anticipated, yet one she had rather hoped to avoid in the sanctity of the shrine.
But here, amidst the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze that was only slightly cooling the day down, there was really no escape. The weight of familial expectations bore down upon Utahime, somehow made more acute by the markers of tradition and faith around her.
“It’s not for lack of trying,” she murmured, almost too wearied by old conversations to put up a fight.
Her mother harumphed, looking at Utahime’s father meaningfully.
“We understand that you’re diligent, Utahime,” her father said levelly. “But perhaps not all things are a question of conscientious application. Perhaps it is an issue of relationships.”
Utahime raised her eyebrows, irony tipping her smile as she gazed at her father. She would never expect him —old-fashioned and a stickler for rules and social codes—to suggest that jujutsu society was malformed or corrupt. He’d previously scoffed at any of her suggestions that the sluggishness of her career was the direct result of her being a woman, and a woman of modest means at that.
“I know many influential sorcerers, Otou-san ,” Utahime said quietly. “It doesn’t seem to help much if they’re not actually vouching for you when you go before the review panel.”
Her mother grumbled something incoherent, fiddling with her ceremonial dress.
“When you say ‘influential’ , if you mean Gojo Satoru,” her father said sharply, “I think your association with him would be counterproductive in the situation that I’m suggesting.”
Utahime resisted the urge to roll her eyes because she wouldn’t ask Gojo to intervene anyway. Of all people, she wanted his help the least in this regard. Sure, he had a lot of money and could probably strongarm Higher Ups into doing whatever he liked. But she didn’t want him to intervene as a matter of pride, so he didn’t. Besides, there was a slight chance, her father was right.
But she still, in the manner of her teenage self, disliked the idea that her father resolutely adhered to the worn-out fearmongering rhetoric that his friends in high places told him about the landscape of jujutsu society. Her father would believe if his fuddy-duddy cronies told him that Gojo Satoru was a troublemaking upstart.
“Utahime, we’re not simply talking about connections,” her mother jumped in. “We’re speaking about how you are recommending yourself to others in our society. You’re still single—”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Utahime asked tersely, shifting uncomfortably again.
“A single woman at your age signals something, Utahime. You’re not getting any younger. Are you doing it on purpose?” Utahime’s father asked, trying to modulate this voice to sound neutral, even though the humiliating smack of his words almost made Utahime snort with incredulous laughter.
“Am I doing what on purpose? Being single? Like, a political statement?”
Utahime’s mother frowned, looking a bit disgruntled for some reason, like Utahime’s most outlandish guess had actually been correct.
“Well…yes? Are you? Is this about feminism or something?”
Utahime almost giggled despite her stress, covering her mouth with her knuckles for a second so that she didn’t smile through her discomfort at the conversation. It seems incredibly typical that an already vexing conversation would also have a dash of humiliation.
“No, I’m not single on purpose. I just…I’ve been focused on my career and working my way up the ladder as I was taught.”
Her father nodded, sharing another meaningful look with her mother before forging ahead.
“Perhaps you need to adjust your tactics a little,” he began, his voice already anticipating her protest. “I’ve been speaking with my circle of friends, and they’ve suggested that an advantageous marriage might—”
Utahime sighed loudly in interruption, tipping her head back again to look at the expanse of unwavering blue above them, begging for a reprieve from the heavens. The leaves of the shrine’s trees around them shivered, offering nothing.
“Utahime, listen to your father,” her mother scolded. “We’re thinking of solutions, not criticisms.”
Utahime said nothing, meeting her father’s gaze again, surrendering nothing even as she left the conversational floor open for him to take it. She always found it awfully difficult to concede. As much as she had always wished to be demure, measured and composed, her temper made her a sore loser.
“Utahime, your technique is incredibly valuable. Perhaps what you require is the right partnership to showcase your talents.”
“Otou-san, the Higher Ups are well aware of my talents,” Utahime cut in. “They simply do not think those talents warrant a First Grade classification. I don’t think it’s a question of partnership; it’s a question of money.”
Utahime’s parents blinked at her in tandem, worryingly silent where they would typically be peevishly defensive of the moral integrity of their society’s elders. It took Utahime by surprise, so she gawked back at them mutely, waiting for a retort that didn’t come.
“Perhaps that’s true,” her father said carefully. “But then an advantageous marriage would also help you in that regard.”
Utahime’s lips parted in surprise, realising that something far more fleshed out than the usual nagging was afoot.
“What are you suggesting, Otou-san ?” she asked, trying not to look as surprised as she felt.
“Utahime, would you let us select a husband for you?” her father asked, his tone gentler than Utahime would expect. “A simple arrangement with a family wealthier than ours, who can offer you security and support in exchange for the application of your technique.”
Utahime's breath caught in her throat, the weight of her father's proposal settling heavily upon her shoulders. The notion of an arranged marriage, a transaction forged in the name of social status and financial stability, seemed like an antiquated relic of a bygone era. She glanced at her parents, searching their faces for any hint of hesitation, any flicker of doubt. But their expressions remained impassive, their eyes betraying nothing. Of course, they still occupied that world.
Utahime chewed her lip, grappling with the implications of her father's suggestion before she rejected it on impulse. The thought of relinquishing control over her own destiny, of entrusting her future to the whims of an unknown man, made her clench her fists at her side.
Yet, a small voice whispered in the recesses of her mind—a voice borne of weariness, of frustration, of a longing for something more than the endless struggle for validation and recognition. She hated the idea that they were probably correct and that they would finally acknowledge the barriers she faced, but that it would be shaped in this manner. Maybe they were right.
Perhaps an advantageous marriage could offer her the stability and support she needed to counteract what a youth spent too close to suspect people had done to her prospects.
Utahime's gaze drifted to the serene surroundings of the shrine. She found no answers in the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of prayers.
"Utahime," her father's voice broke through her rêverie, drawing her back to the present. "We only want what's best for you. Consider it carefully."
Utahime met her father's gaze, her resolve firm despite the tremor in her voice born of frustration.
"I appreciate your concern, Otou-san , Okaa-san ," she began, her words measured to blot out her anger. "But I cannot make such a decision lightly. My future is mine to decide, and I will not surrender it without a fight."
Her parents exchanged a glance, a silent exchange as usual, that made Utahime realise they were considering this a win — she had not refused them outright.
“Simply think about it, Utahime. That’s all we ask,” her father said quietly. “We have spoken to a young sorcerer’s family who is very interested in this arrangement. It would likely be a simple transaction where you can decide the terms. The marriage needn’t offend your sensibilities or curtail your independence. It would simply mean security, money and stability that we cannot guarantee you in our old age.”
As Utahime's father paused, his words drooping down in the air like a heavy shroud, a solemn silence settled over the trio. Utahime realised that time really was an arrow. Staggered by how carefully her father chose his words, Utahime nodded mutely. The density of their conversation lingered like the humidity, and Utahime felt suddenly too burdened by it all.
Sensing the need for a moment of respite, Utahime's mother gently inclined her head towards the shrine's main hall, where the flickering glow of lanterns beckoned like guiding beacons in the fading light.
"Let us offer our prayers," she suggested, her voice too soft and overripe with emotion. "Perhaps the kami will grant us guidance."
Without a word spoken, Utahime fell into step behind her parents, following the worn stone path towards the shrine's inner sanctum. Utahime's father reached out, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Together, they stepped inside, the scent of incense enveloping them. Utahime, her mind churning. As she bent her head in supplication, she exhaled unsteadily.
August really was almost over.
"What are you drinking, Hime?"
Utahime glanced up from her phone, her eyes bleary from staring at the screen as she tried to doom-scroll her broiling thoughts away.
"Beer, please?" she mumbled, shifting her bare legs under herself and trying to look more alert, realising she really was too comfortable with him and was being a terrible host.
Gojo Satoru nodded, yanking one out of the six-pack and kicking the fridge shut behind him.
"Rough day?" he asked, his tone lilting slightly as he tried to measure her mood.
"Something like that."
Gojo tossed the can into the air at her, and she frowned as she caught it above her head. She cursed at him because she wouldn't be able to open it without making a mess. He knew that and was amused as he helped himself to a can of imported soda that she’d gone to the speciality store just to get for him.
"Why are you so moody today?" he asked, sitting beside her on the long couch that took up too much room in her cramped apartment.
"Why are you here, Gojo?" she snapped, waiting for the beer to settle before she opened it, annoyed that he had commented on the little storm cloud above her head.
"Because you texted me and asked me to come over."
Utahime rolled her eyes, grumpy at herself for being a little too eager for a little reprieve earlier, but knowing that there was no way around his teasing if she admitted that she wanted to see him. Truthfully, she wanted Gojo to shake her out of the hollow of her thoughts, but it seemed petty to point out that she hadn't actually asked him to come over. However, he'd read through the lines because Gojo had known her long enough to know that when she texted, "Are you on a mission?", she meant that she wanted company.
"I thought we were gonna have sex," Gojo explained, gasping at the end of a long glug of soda. "So I came over."
"Go away," she grumbled, opening the beer and licking the fizz off her fingers when it cascaded over them.
The truth was, she wanted that too. Sex was precisely the kind of relief she was looking for after the oppressive heat and tension of the day. Gojo knew just how to read her mood and was as adaptable and enthusiastic as she needed him to be. The sex they had could be nasty, dirty, rough, and slow, and she'd take all of it as her mood shifted. Gojo had had her in ways no other man had, and she probably wouldn't trust anyone else to fuck her like that ever again. It was actually a perfect arrangement, even if they didn't talk much about it or call it that.
"Oh, Utahime-chan, why are you being so mean to me today?" he chuckled. "You know it gets me going."
She shot him a withering glare, and his grin widened, his blue eyes backlit with mischief as he sipped his soda.
"Are you not feeling up for it?" he teased, his eyes raking over her. "Should I order food?"
Utahime sipped her beer, still glaring at him, but remembered how she'd felt last time her parents had lectured her about her prospects, and then she'd let Gojo fuck her raw in the bathroom at a school function right afterwards. The memory made her stomach flip, a shiver of sensual excitement creeping up her spine.
"What's the matter, Hime?" he asked, his smile playful because he was probably picking up on her change in energy. "Not hungry?"
"Order food," she said levelly. "I want to fuck, but order food first."
"You're so romantic," he snickered, setting his can down on the table and fishing out his phone.
"And you're annoying," she retorted, sipping her beer and scrolling through her phone, feeling her stomach fizz in sexual excitement.
Her mind had already shifted. She wondered if they'd get to the food before she let one beer go to her head. Her parents had unsettled her more than they usually did by diverting from the regular script. Maybe she’d want more from him—more diversion, more attention—but Gojo could be a very patient partner when he was in the mood for it.
He was a selfish lover in general, but he knew how to please her and was always keen to indulge her. Something about knowing each other so well and not needing much else beyond the gratification of sex made many things permissible. She looked at him over her beer can, noting that he wore casual clothes and sunglasses instead of his uniform.
"Where were you when I texted?" she asked, watching him scroll through delivery apps and choose her favourites.
"Out," he answered nonchalantly, distracted.
She watched him closely, waiting for more details, but they didn't come.
"Was there a mission?"
"Yeah, I took care of it. Don't worry about it," he said distractedly, typing in her address. "You want ramen or tonkatsu?"
"Ramen," she murmured, her eyes on his profile, on his absorbed expression.
“Why not both?” he murmured, and she heard the little chime of the transaction on his phone.
Utahime’s blood was a little hot already, strangely provoked into a different mode by watching him be absorbed in a task. Slowly, she put her foot on his thigh, signalling something he understood—the rare occurrence of Utahime bridging a gap, reaching out to him. He glanced at her, and his mouth tipped up at the corners. He tapped his soda can against her beer.
"That's the spirit, Hime," he smirked, reaching out to squeeze her calf, yanking her down onto her back on the couch.
She made a muffled squeak as her hair splayed out on the couch cushion, her beer sloshing slightly. She glared at him, and he winked, his grin wolfish as he drained the can of soda and dropped it onto the floor.
"So you're feeling better now, huh? Gankuganji was mean to you? Did you have a fight with your parents or something? You finished with that beer?"
She shrugged, shifting slightly because his fingers slid up the outside curve of her thigh, tracing the elastic of her panties under the baggy shirt she was wearing.
"You're not getting me drunk, Satoru," she warned, watching him through her lashes.
"I don't have to. You're horny already."
"Don't make me regret inviting you over," she mumbled, sipping her beer again and letting her eyes flutter shut as he traced the inside of her thigh.
"You said it so many times before; you don't invite me, Hime, I come over," he reminded her, his thumb sliding across the seam of her cunt through her panties and making her inhale sharply.
"Whatever," she murmured, gazing at him through her lashes, hoping he'd do what she wanted. Her empty beer can slid from her fingers onto the carpet.
He was still smiling at her, but he didn't tease her. His thumb circled her clit through the dampening cotton, his touch measured and deliberate, the pressure just enough to make her shudder.
"So which was it?" he asked, as she parted her legs for him and made his dimples flash.
"What?"
"Which got you so mad? Gakuganji or your parents?"
His fingers trailed up, making the skin on her lower belly jump. He tugged her panties aside, his thumb stroking her clit.
"My parents," she said, her voice faltering as he touched her, his fingertips tracing her pussy, gathering her arousal, touching her just enough to make her feel needy.
"Did they tell you off again?" he asked, leaning in, his breath warm on her belly.
She closed her eyes and nodded, her heart thumping a little faster as he bit down on her stomach, biting her below her belly button.
"Satoru," she moaned, arching her back as he slid a finger into her.
"What were they mad about now?" he breathed against her belly, his tongue hot on her skin.
She shivered, her hand dropping down to touch his hair. He sucked a bruise onto her hip, sliding a second finger into her and pumping slowly.
"Everything," she moaned, her fingers sliding through his soft white hair. "Career, men, et cetera."
He chuckled, kissing a path across her belly, his breath huffing against her skin, tickling her, making her writhe.
"Boring," he murmured, nipping her, sucking on her skin. "Tell them you're fine as you are."
"Mmhm," she moaned, her thighs trembling slightly as he fucked her with his fingers. "Am I?"
He kissed her inner thigh, biting her a little and making her gasp.
"Sure. Why wouldn't you be?"
"They say—oh, Satoru!" she gasped as he licked her just a little, his tongue darting out against her clit.
He was grinning at her, his dimples flashing again, his eyes dancing with mirth as he watched her writhe from between her thighs.
"They say—my career has no progress because I’m not switching up tactics," she panted, trying not to let her words tangle into a moan.
"With men, too?" he said against her pussy.
She nodded, her teeth catching her bottom lip as his fingers swirled in her, no longer fucking but massaging some internal secret that made her head push back against the sofa cushion. His tongue moved over her clit, licking her just enough to make her shiver and sigh.
Utahime whimpered, her legs trembling as the soft pleasure heated against his tongue, the slow build making her ache and yearn. He sucked on her clit, causing her to cry out softly, desperate that he wouldn't start talking again because she was melting in the heat of his mouth. She grasped his hair, desperate.
"They want me to get married" she gasped.
His unsettlingly blue eyes flickered to hers, and his fingers slowed a little. He raised his eyebrows and then sucked her clit again,
"Oh yeah?" he mumbled against her pussy.
"Don't stop," Utahime stammered, realising she was closer to the edge of orgasm than she realised.
"Who're they gonna marry you off to?" he asked, licking her again instead of sucking, his tongue pressing down and swirling around her.
She moaned, her nails raking through his hair, losing the coherent strings of her thoughts as everything grew hazy in pleasure.
"Someone rich, they said. Arranged thing," she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut. "Transactional shit. Oh, fuck , that's so good."
He sucked her again, his lips soft against her clit, his tongue pressing down and sliding against her. He was looking at her, and she knew he'd say something, and she hoped the orgasm would wash it away. Her back arched, and she bit down hard on her lip as her body went taut with pleasure. His mouth was blisteringly hot against her, his fingers pressing down inside her, his tongue licking her softly as she shuddered and writhed.
The wetness of her own arousal muffled Utahime's moans, and she shuddered into her orgasm, every sensation shaking loose as she came hard against his mouth. She panted and shivered, and when she opened her eyes again, he was grinning at her.
"So?"
"So, what?" she murmured, her body humming and her mind fogged as Gojo stood up off the couch.
"Food's here," he said, nodding towards the door. "Should I get it?"
Utahime blinked, her head swimming a little. She had almost forgotten that there’d be food, forgotten what they’d been speaking about.
"Yes, please."
He stood up, wiping his mouth and chin, his hair dishevelled from her grip while he was eating her out.
"Do you want me to break his arms, Hime?" he asked casually, unabashed that he looked so sensual and obscene—flushed from intimacy, his cock hard in his trousers, his hair tousled from the grip of a lover.
Utahime frowned, her brow furrowing as she pushed herself up to sit, her panties still shoved to the side.
"Who?"
"The guy they want you to marry. Do you want me to break his arms or not?"
She stared at him, blinking and then shaking her head, laughing slightly because the afterglow of pleasure still addled her brain, and she was trying to understand who would warrant such animosity.
"No, I don't want you to break his arms, Gojo."
"What, you're gonna do it?"
She frowned, pushing her hair out of her eyes, realising the delivery guy was scratching at the door.
"I haven't decided anything yet," she stammered, pulling her shirt down because Gojo had yanked her front door open to greet the delivery guy.
"Well, let me know," he grinned, closing the door sharply so that the delivery guy didn’t see her when he peered curiously into the apartment to see who Gojo was talking to.
She rolled her eyes, her stomach growling because the smell of their meal was wafting towards her. The scent of hot meat and spices made her realise how hungry she actually was. The good work that Gojo’s mouth had done to make her forget about the dilemma of the hot day faded too quickly, cobwebs pushed easily aside, as Gojo served up a portion of food for both of them.
"It was weird," she mumbled, running her hands through her hair. "They were suggesting I do it for my career."
Gojo brought their dinner over, sitting down beside her and opening his chopsticks.
"Your career, huh? Not money? Not babies?"
Utahime blinked at him, the conversation she had had with her parents coming back to her, the heaviness of their expectations weighing on her shoulders once more. No one had said anything about babies, come to think of it.
"Same thing, I think,” she mumbled, “when we’re talking about innate techniques and jujutsu society.”
"That is kind of weird," Gojo mused, picking up a piece of food and chewing thoughtfully.
"You're telling me," she sighed.
She ate quietly, her appetite more vital, flickering to life at the first bite. It was a strange paradox that it was easy to be silent with Gojo when they were alone. In public, they seemed to bicker to fill any gap in the conversation. In private, everything changed slightly. For a few years now, Sex had been a comfortable extension of their friendship, a way to scratch an itch, blow off steam, and relieve stress.
But now, as Utahime stared at her half-empty plate, a thought lingered.
"I don't want to keep having this conversation with them, though," she said quietly. "I feel like nothing's moved forward in so long."
Gojo raised his eyebrows, looking at her over the rim of his soda can.
"Nothing's moved forward?"
"I mean, you know what I mean. I have the same conversation with them over and over. I'm still single. My career is the same as it was five years ago. The pay is the same. The respect is the same."
Gojo shrugged, chewing, legs spread out as he lounged in her space, taking up the room he shouldn’t. She felt like smacking his knee to stop his manspreading over her couch.
"I guess,” he murmured through a mouthful of food.
She sighed, wondering if Gojo, who still wore his school uniform and made no new friends or strong relationships outside of the friendships he had forged in High School, liked the stable nature of static things.
They ate in silence for a little longer, with Utahime sipping on her second beer and mulling everything over with a tinge of growing frustration. She had wanted Gojo to shake her out of her funk, and his presence certainly had done that, but the weight of her father's suggestion still weighed heavily upon her, and she hadn't meant to discuss it with Gojo anyway.
She didn't want to be thinking; she wanted to be feeling.
It had begun that way with Gojo in the first place. It had been the frustration of yet another promotion refusal and three beers that had made her feel nothing beyond simmering irritation at the injustice of their system. Gojo had brought her home from Tokyo and chuckled slightly while she continued to rant, still clutched in his grip from warping her there, hammering her fist against his chest to punctuate her outraged point about the unfairness of her dismissal from First Grade consideration. And his chuckle had taken some of the breath out of her tirade. In the silence of her surprise, she'd suddenly realised how his body felt against hers, his height and size making her feel strange in the pit of her stomach. Maybe, at that point, she was looking to ruin something.
They'd fucked in her kitchen, Utahime on the countertop and their clothes still partially on. She'd let him cum inside her, waiting for a nuclear fallout that didn't happen. Afterwards, they'd sat side by side on the tiles and shared a glass of water, not avowing or disavowing anything.
She gazed at him now as he finished up his food, at the sharply cut, handsome profile and broad spread of his chest. Utahime wasn't necessarily immune to his charms, and she didn't really want to be when she knew how he could make her feel. But she wondered, with a little clench of her heart, why he seemed so satisfied with this and what she assumed were numerous other meaningless hookups. She wondered if you needed to be Gojo Satoru to be satisfied with standing still.
"Come to the bedroom," she said softly.
He looked up at her, his grin crooked.
"Oh? Is this round two?"
"Just shut up and put the dishes in the sink," she muttered. "Then come to the bedroom."
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, shoving his plate in the sink and following her down the hallway. She heard him chuckle, and the sound made her cheeks burn.
"You gonna suck my dick?" he teased. "Seems only fair."
She rolled her eyes, sitting down on the bed and taking off her t-shirt, slightly excited by the idea of him being vulgar.
"Later," she murmured, her gaze steady on him, letting him read the darker tint of her mood for the sexual meaning it connoted.
Gojo's grin was sharp, shifting in the half-light of her bedroom, a glint of boyish delight. He tugged his own shirt over his head, unbuckling his belt.
"I see," he grinned, his eyes lingering on her naked chest as she shimmied out of her panties.
"Come here," she invited softly, watching his smile grow as he undressed and then crawled up the bed towards her.
She spread her legs, his cock brushing against her stomach as he lay down over her.
"You're in a better mood now, Hime," he teased huskily, reaching down between her legs.
She nodded, gasping as he stroked her again, her thighs parting easily, her body melting against his touch.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his voice low and husky as his fingers moved on her clit.
"How you can make me feel better," she breathed, her back arching as he touched her.
He kissed her, his mouth soft, his tongue dipping into her mouth. Kissing Gojo always tilted the world slightly. It was the catalyst that caused them to tumble to a corner of their friendship—gravity defied—that they couldn't otherwise occupy.
His fingers slid into her again, making her moan and buck her hips against his hand, the pressure of him inside her already making her ache. Gojo bit his lip, looking down to where she shifted, fucking his fingers as she grew too hot, too desperate.
"Satoru," she whispered, her arms wrapping around his neck. "Fuck me from behind. Pull my hair."
He bit her throat, a groan rumbling in his chest as he slid his fingers out of her and pulled her around roughly so she was kneeling in front of him.
"Yeah?" he panted, his mouth wet against her shoulder as his cock slid against her cunt between her legs.
"Please," she begged, arching her back, the pressure of his grip on her body, the slide of his cock between her legs making her molten enough to ask nicely.
Utahime didn't wait for him, knowing he liked to tease when she became pliable and wanting. She reached back and took his cock in her hand, guiding him into her. They both groaned, her head tipping back against his shoulder as the tip of his dick slid into her.
"Like this?" he breathed, his hand curling around her throat as he slid deeper, her hips tilting back to take more of him.
She nodded, moaning as he began to thrust into her, slow and deliberately pushing into her to find the deepest point.
"Harder," she gasped.
Gojo groaned, his free hand on her hip to hold her steady. His other hand curled into her hair at her nape, making her gasp, the sharp tug on her hair sending shivers up her spine.
"Shit, Utahime," he moaned against her shoulder. “You feel so good.”
"Pull it harder," she breathed, her eyes squeezing shut as he did.
She fell forwards onto her elbows, buckling a little more as he fucked into her hard, and she moaned as her cheek roughly rubbed against the fabric of her bed linen with the force of his thrusts.
"Fuck, fuck," she gasped, her fingers clutching the sheets, eyes rolling back at the sensation of his hand grasping her hair at the crown of her head as he fucked her.
"You like this?" he growled, his thrusts getting more forceful, more urgent.
She could only whimper at the feeling of him filling her up, the sharpness of his grip and the delicious drag of him, wet and obscene.
"Harder," she pleaded. "Satoru. Make it hurt."
He groaned, his grip on her hair tightening, making her head snap back, the pain so sensually raw that her pussy tightened around him. She heard Gojo gasp out at the sensation.
"Fuck, I'm not gonna last, Utahime," he breathed.
Her eyes fluttered, lips parted because she could feel every sliding, wet, dreadful sensation of furious coupling, and it made her belly taut with a satisfaction that she knew not many could give her.
"I'm close," she breathed into the bed covers.
He swore under his breath, his grip on her hair making her scalp tingle. His thrusts were hard, his grip firm, his breath hot against her back as he leaned down over her.
"Hime," he whispered, his thrusts stuttering a little as he pushed her head back against the bed.
And she felt herself tip over the edge, blood coursing brightly behind her eyes as she came hard. She cried out, everything growing tight and urgent in every muscle as pleasure bloomed too suddenly and too hotly between them. She trembled, the tension breaking into waves of sensation that she pieced together in the glow of satisfied desire—Gojo's hand on her throat gripping her tightly, his mouth hot on her skin, his breath ragged and hot as he groaned and jerked, his hips snapping hard against her and he came inside her.
Utahime’s eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open and pressed against her crumpled linen, her hands still curled into fists around her sheets. The sensation of him throbbing inside her made her toes curl. Sweat was slick between them.
She panted, his grip loosening a little. Her back ached a little from the arch he had pulled her into, and her skin prickled, sweat-damp against the fabric. Gojo's forehead pressed against her back, his breath still ragged.
"You're a fucking firecracker when you want to be," he panted.
Utahime laughed soundlessly, still too breathless to speak.
Gojo eased out of her slowly, both of them shivering a little as the sensation shifted, and he fell down beside her. They looked at each other and she could tell his eyes were glittering, and she was certain hers were too. They didn't talk about the moment right after. Sometimes, it felt too close to something else, some other place that they had never ventured to, that was best left in shadows if anything like this was going to be sustained.
"Better?" he asked, his voice still thick with his exertion.
"Yeah," she whispered, pushing her hair off her damp forehead, feeling sticky and satisfied by it; pleasure as a kind of desecration.
She knew exactly what he'd do because he was overly comfortable in her space and too comfortable with her body. He'd touch her, a kind of tender curiosity, and trace her collarbone or her bellybutton until he caught his breath. It was the part where the heat receded, and they could look at each other without the haze of desire or the sharp focus of reality. Gojo needed it, she had realised, in order to make the journey back to the normalcy of their friendship.
She watched his hand as he brushed her sweat-damp hair off her face as well, his gaze flickering from her mouth to her eyes. Then he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. She closed her eyes, letting his touch settle the hum in her body.
"What's got you this worked up?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing the column of her throat.
"A lot of things," she whispered into the dark behind her eyelids. "I just don't want to think about anything anymore."
"Sure," he said conversationally. "We can fuck again until you're too tired to think about it."
She laughed despite herself, opening her eyes to see him grin, his fingers trailing over her shoulders and then down her arm. This tenderness only lasted as long as the afterglow of sex. In the broad light of day, it seemed ludicrous that Gojo Satoru would ever gently trace the outside curve of her ear.
"I’m so sweaty now. I'm gonna shower again," Utahime murmured. "You can come with me if you want."
"Nah, I'm just gonna get sweaty again. I'll wait for you."
Utahime climbed over him, the sheets all rumpled and a little smudged by sex. The air in the room was still warm, but she shivered a little as she moved, her pussy aching a little. She glanced at Gojo, lying back on her pillows, his hair messy, his body still damp and gleaming with sweat. His cock was soft against his stomach, his chest rising and falling slowly, his expression relaxed.
Utahime swallowed, turning to the bathroom.
She didn't want to think about her parents' offer, the implications of their suggestion, or the potential ramifications of her choices because she wasn’t sure what chain reaction it would set in motion. It was starting to feel alarmingly simple, and Utahime now contemplated it with the suspicion of a dreamer who'd been fleeced once before.
Emerging from the shower, she found Gojo, still naked and lounging in her bed. His hands were folded behind his head, his long body relaxed, but his blue eyes were bright with curiosity.
"What did your parents say exactly?" he asked, watching her as she dried her hair with a towel.
"They said they'd found me a husband," she sighed. "And he'd be able to either pay off the Higher Ups or at least make me look less controversial to the Promotion committee. If I were married and settled, I’d look sufficiently meek and mild and conformist."
Gojo scoffed. "Meek and mild? You?"
"You know what I mean."
Gojo mulled over her words, looking slightly bored and disgusted with what she was saying, his contempt for the higher-ups rising to the surface of his expression.
"Utahime, if it's a question of money and influence, I could marry you."
She looked at him, her heart stopping for one long second as the shock of his words settled in the hot room. She could see he was half-serious by the way his eyes glittered with a sense of self-satisfaction.
"Fuck off, Gojo," she muttered, her irritation at his smug expression rising.
"Oh, come on. Why would you marry some random loser if that's all you want?" Gojo shrugged. "You'd never do better than me if what you want is power and money."
Utahime frowned, her brow furrowing when she realised her eyes were prickling with tears. Something about what he was saying hurt her feelings, or maybe it was just her pride.
"What the fuck, Gojo?" she snapped. "Just keep quiet."
"Why? It's true, isn't it? I'm the strongest sorcerer alive, and I'm fucking rich. I'm better than anyone your parents could dredge up," he drawled. "And eventually, it could suit me to have a few heirs or some shit."
She stared at him, her expression flat, feeling a wave of displeasure swamp through her belly, hurt feelings warring with her irritation at his words for supremacy in her gut.
"Do you really think you're such a prize, Gojo?"
He blinked at her, his grin fading almost comically.
"What's wrong with me?"
"Never mind. I'm not going to marry you," Utahime sighed, pushing her wet hair back. "You don't want to be married either. You just want to win in this hypothetical situation. So will you be satisfied if I tell you that you're totally right and so rich and so powerful, blah blah blah?"
Gojo looked a little surprised, but the look passed quickly, and he smiled, his dimples flashing again.
"I was hoping you'd suck my dick literally, Utahime," he pointed out. "Not figuratively."
"Oh my god, you're insufferable," she grumbled, turning away to pull on panties.
"So you're not gonna marry me?"
"No, I'm not."
"Are you gonna marry that other dude?" he asked, tilting his head as she pulled his shirt on over her head.
"Maybe, I dunno," she shrugged, wishing he’d stop prying now because the more he spoke about it, the more it inexplicably hurt her pride. "You don't have to worry about it affecting you at all. It literally won't change anything either way."
His grin was slow as she crawled back onto the bed on her knees, combing out her damp hair.
"Oh yeah? You'd still wanna fuck me when you're a married woman?" he asked playfully. "That's naughty, Utahime."
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" she retorted, straddling him and leaning over him, her mouth a hairsbreadth from his. "So shut up about it now, please? I've had enough."
He grinned and reached up to grasp her hips, his thumbs pressing deeply into the hollow of her pelvis. He was already hard underneath her, always eager for her, no matter her shifting moods.
"You sure you don't want me to break his arms? I can be quick."
"You're gonna get bored of saying that if I marry him," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Probably," he agreed. "But if you marry him and it's a total failure, I'll still get a kick out of it, I'm sure."
"Well, you're welcome, I guess," she sighed, roughly pushing his hair back from his forehead. She found his silliness a little endearing now, her hurt feelings fading when she appreciated that he could still desire her despite his callousness.
He was so self-assured and so comfortable with himself and his own position that he was practically untouchable. But he’d still let Utahime touch his hair; he’d still do as she asked and ask no questions afterwards.
"Thanks," he grinned, bucking slightly to make her tits bounce.
As she let Gojo fuck her slowly, his hands on her hips guiding the pace while she rode him, Utahime knew something was missing from what he could offer her. The truth was, she was almost resigned to the notion that Jujutsu marriages were simply a kind of transaction. But, for some reason, it seemed worse for Gojo to suggest the same thing. It made her feel cheaper than anything they did breathlessly in the dark, with no assurances of anything more than furtive pleasure.
Utahime lay back in his arms. His chest pressed against her back as her head nestled under his chin. Her body ached and hummed everywhere where his mouth and his dick had been, but she was sleepy at least, her mind a little hazy in the way she had hoped it would be. Gojo's breathing was slow and even, and she wondered if he was sleeping. His arm was loose around her waist. He might leave before she even woke up.
She sighed quietly, feeling the long stretch of the day in her mind like a feeling she'd had once of something too elongated, the hours bending like a Mobius strip. It was a strange sensation, as though time itself was somehow too thin or stretched and was about to snap.
Something had to change soon; the long day of summer had repeated itself too many times.
Beside her on the bedside table, her phone buzzed. Utahime lifted the bright rectangle of light to her face, squinting at the message from her father.
Otou-san: Utahime, please just meet the young man and his family. It is a very auspicious match, and I guarantee it will open the doors to many new opportunities for you and our family.
Utahime stared at the message, feeling the weight of her father's and her clan’s expectations on her once more. How incongruous that she should be brokering this kind of solemn thing via text message with another man in her bed.
She knew her mother would have typed out the message because her father was too traditional to type messages or use his phone properly. They did so many things in tandem. Utahime sighed, all her emotions lapping up gently, a rising tide, against her tired heart.
Utahime: Alright, Otou-san, I will meet him