In the early hours of the year 2018, Gojo's silent tears washed away any doubt that Utahime might have had: She was in love with him.
This revelation should have shocked her because she had been in denial about it for months, and yet it didn't. In that intimate moment in his childhood room, Utahime felt a profound connection, a poignant understanding of the pain that must have led Gojo to reveal such a vulnerability in her presence. Honored and touched, she wished to shoulder his burdens, to be the solace Gojo sought for the wounds that ran deeper than the visible scars on his skin.
Or maybe she was just much drunker than she had previously acknowledged.
Oh boy. The room whirled around Utahime with dizzying speed, prompting her to cling desperately to the fabric of Gojo's shirt. Amidst the disorienting whirlwind, she fervently wished, May the New Year be kind to you, inhaling deeply the familiar scent that enveloped her—yuzu and vanilla, a delicate blend of tartness and sweetness.
She must have fallen asleep quickly after that.
In her dreams, Utahime found herself in a bountiful garden adorned with plum trees and delicate lanterns on strings that swayed in the wind. The air was thick with the fragrance of blooming flowers, and from a distance, the sound of koto and shakuhachi wafted through the air. As Utahime strolled along the winding paths, she timed the soft crunch of gravel beneath her feet to create a rhythm that harmonized with the soothing melody of the traditional instruments. Every step revealed new wonders—a babbling brook lined with moss-covered stones, a graceful bridge crossing over a serene pond, and clusters of irises adding a touch of purple and blue.
As she ventured further, the branches began to form a natural canopy overhead, creating dappled sunlight that danced on the ground. The plum blossoms, in various shades of pink and white, swayed gracefully with the gentle breeze. Utahime marveled at the intricate details of each blossom, their petals delicate and ethereal.
Further ahead, she caught sight of a male figure sitting at a little table, his silhouette adorned with robes of indigo and gold and an eboshi. Approaching him brought a strong sense of familiarity: He was tall and well-built and when he turned around to face her, the family resemblance was so strong, she felt a treacherous surge of tenderness. But this man did not have Gojo's hair and he didn't have his eyes.
Michizane Sugawara, with ink-stained fingers and a quiver of poetry scrolls before him, smiled in recognition and stood.
"My bride," he uttered reverently, his eyes traversing her figure with an expression of awe.
Utahime's heart swelled with joy at the reunion because, despite everything, she had missed him. They strolled through the garden together, the path leading them to a cozy little pavilion nestled beside a pond adorned with blooming lotus flowers. Kneeling before her, Michizane began to recite poetry that stirred the depths of Utahime's soul, each verse an ode to the timeless beauty of nature and love. In rhythm to his words, plum blossoms drifted from the trees like delicate confetti, withered and died.
The light dimmed as an unsettling darkness encroached upon the edges of Utahime's vision, a menacing shape lurking where shadows clung and light struggled to penetrate.
Utahime felt a pressing need to shout a warning, but her tongue was too heavy to move. Michizane continued to weave his hands through the air, his dark eyes urging her to unravel the layers of meaning hidden behind his words, an elusive truth lingering on the edge of revelation. Simultaneously, the once serene pond began to stir with tumultuous waves. Utahime strained to hear Michizane's words over the growing sloshing sound that echoed around them, but the words slipped away, carried off by the strengthening wind, joining the petals of the plum blossoms.
"You… again?" A menacing voice hit her ears. The words carried a sense of familiarity and disdain, as if echoing from a past that haunted both dream and reality. Cold fingers, like tendrils of shadow, caressed Utahime's throat, and slowly, inexorably, tightened their grip.
"Help," she croaked, but Michizane was no longer there.
Utahime felt overwhelming terror. The fear evoked was of a malevolent force with the power to transcend time.
"Yes," the evil force chuckled and the darkness turned into a smokey shape. "You see me."
Abruptly, Utahime awoke with a startled shout, her heart pounding. The remnants of the dream clung to her, leaving her trembling and terrified.
"Hmmm?" Someone hummed—a warm, large presence that held her tightly in his arms. It was morning, the faint light of dawn was chasing away the night's shadows. She took shaky breaths, trying to dispel the lingering unease, and Gojo, sensing her distress even in his sleep, held her more tightly, burrowing his face into her hair.
"Hell," Utahime whispered, trying to move out of Gojo's smothering embrace. She needed air, she needed to look at the world outside, she needed assurance that these were just dreams that had nothing to do with her reality. "Goddammit."
"Am I dreaming?" Gojo murmured groggily, his large hand moving over her back, down to her butt. He began kneading it, making a pleased sound in his throat. Against her belly, his flesh thickened, heavy and hot.
"Not now," she pushed against his chest, but how to move a horny mountain? "Gojo, wake up."
"Hmmmmm," he sniffed her hair, grabbing her more tightly to slowly grind his steadily growing erection against her.
"Stop it," Utahime exclaimed, determined not to be distracted. The only part of Gojo she could reach was his chest, and in her desperation, she grabbed a handful of his flesh and pinched hard.
With a yelp, Gojo flung her away from himself. Utahime landed on the tatami mats elbows first, pain shooting up through her limbs and into her head.
"Ouch," she whimpered. At least she was fully awake now and the dream no longer held any power over her. From across the room, blue eyes blinked at her in sleepy confusion.
"Did I hurt you?" The blue eyes had turned from confusion to alarm now that awareness returned.
"Well, I pinched you first," Utahime replied, getting up on her knees and rubbing her arms, already anticipating bruises. "Want to watch the first sunrise together? Come on. It's supposed to bring luck."
After the first dream of the night of January 1 had scared her witless and the Higher-Ups had decided to fuck up her life, she needed a ton of it. Especially before she managed to start "the talk" with him.
"You want to watch the first sunrise with me?" Gojo asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
"Yes," Utahime replied, her gaze searching the room for her coat, only to be reminded that once again, it remained elsewhere after Gojo had snatched her away. "I'm sure your pond is pretty when the sun rises."
Still processing her unexpected request, Gojo asked, "You want to watch it here?"
Utahime rose and approached the large glass windows facing the pond and the garden beyond. With a nod, she opened the curtains, revealing the wooden veranda on stilts just outside. His childhood room was situated in what had been the tsuridono in the Heian era, a pavilion abutting the artificial pond at the south of the courtyard.
"I want to watch it from there," she declared and pushed aside the glass door. They had about fifteen minutes, judging by the changing color of the sky. "Grab some blankets."
He padded after her onto the veranda, the crisp morning air greeting them. The wooden floor felt cool beneath her feet, and she shivered in nothing but her navy blue dress. Patches of ice floated in the still water, and a lonely rook cawed from one of the trees to the West.
"I need you to know that it is a scam," he murmured.
"What is?" She indicated for him to sit down, and he obliged, still befuddled. Wrapping herself in a blanket, Utahime settled into Gojo's lap and leaned against him, the warmth of the covers and the heat of his body providing sufficient comfort against the morning's biting chill.
"First sunrise. Making a wish. They don't come to pass even if you wish very hard."
Utahime snorted. "You don't say."
They fell quiet, the world around them still and hushed as they awaited the first rays of the new year's sun. A soft glow painted the sky in hues of pink and orange. The water responded to the morning breeze, creating delicate ripples that tenderly lapped against the shore. As the first rays of sunlight began to grace the tops of the trees, Utahime closed her eyes, allowing the quiet magic of the dawn to envelop her completely. The golden light gradually reached her face, a gentle touch that kissed her skin and brought with it a feeling of comforting warmth.
Despite Gojo's skepticism, Utahime let a wish linger in her heart. The first sunrise of a new year held a lot of power. She wanted to believe in such things.
"What did you wish for?" Gojo inquired, his voice soft.
"For you to be happy," she whispered. "But you're not supposed to talk about your wish!"
"Oh. Then why did you tell me?"
"And you?" Utahime prompted.
"To see your breasts."
"Gojo!" She swiveled around in surprised outrage.
"What?" He grinned, looking a little pained, "you are sitting on my lap all warm and soft and wiggly and I am quietly dying here."
"Men are horrible," she murmured, but turned her face up to him in a welcoming gesture.
"Can I sleep with you?" He touched his lips to hers tentatively, with a shuddering breath. "I really, really want to."
You will make yourself available to Gojo Satoru at all times. Whatever he wants, you give it to him.
Well, nothing easier than that.
She reached up to cup his face, molding her lips to his with a rush of feelings. She nipped at his bottom lip, caressed it with her tongue. He let her in with a happy sigh, his tongue intertwining with hers. Heat flared up between them—it was never fully extinguished and so easily rekindled.
As his hands began to roam over her body, he made a sound in his chest, his eyelids fluttering shut. He pawed her breasts, pinched the sensitive tips through the fabric, sending a stab of erotic pleasure low into her belly. She began to breathe through her parted lips, grinding her bottom into his hot groin. In the soft morning light, every line of his face was beautiful: His white hair flaming golden, his handsome cheekbones flushed, his thick lashes resting against his cheeks like dark crescent moons.
His hand moved to her legs, stroked upwards along her black pantyhose to disappear underneath her skirt. She was yearning for his touch where she throbbed with desire but he stilled abruptly.
"How do I get in," he sounded urgent, pulling at the fabric with his fingers.
"At the…", rip, there went her stockings. And riiiiip, he enlarged the hole on both sides, a rush of freezing air assailing her sensitive skin.
Reminder: They were out in the open on the Gojo family estate and anybody could see them if they decided to walk on the garden path! When his touch ascended and slipped inside her panties, she forgot to care about it completely though. Her own eyes fluttered shut as his fingers glided over the slick entrance of her sex. Stroke after stroke, he teased the spot that sent waves of pure pleasure down her thighs. She bit down on her lower lip to stifle a cry as his skilled, long fingers wandered a bit inside, and then returned to tantalize the tender pearl on the surface. His mouth reclaimed hers, and the motion of his hand was joined by the motion of his hips, rubbing himself against her rhythmically from behind. Her legs tensed and her toes curled as the first shivers of bliss overcame her.
"Say my name when you come," he rasped into her ear, moving two of his fingers into her, "I want to hear it."
"Satoru," she moaned, her release racking through her moments later.
He pulled his soaking hand out pushing down his trousers. His penis was hot against her bum and she moved feebly, not quite sure what he wanted with her.
"Lift yourself," he demanded and when she did not comply immediately, he grabbed her by the waist to lift her body off his lap. Rip, there went her panties too, thrown to the side. When he lowered her back down and arranged her feet to the left and right of his thighs, his arousal pressed against her opening demandingly, hot and blunt and velvety smooth.
"Down," he ordered and pressed against her shoulders. When he entered her, the tension spiked so hard, her vision dimmed. He filled her up completely, she could barely take all of him. They both moaned, the feeling was exquisite.
"Move," his next command rang and yes, yes, yes, she put her hands on his thighs and began to move herself up and down, chasing the excruciating friction. A heavy heat pooled in her belly, she was already close again. With his finger flicking her bean persistently, the enticing friction winding the tension tighter and tighter was almost too much. She needed it to snap, or else she might perish from want.
And then he ripped her dress too and she gasped as the cold air hit her exposed skin, but his large, warm hand moved underneath her bra to her breasts, teasing them both in turn, and she forgot to be cold.
"I'm changing my wish," he panted, "I want this, every day, for the rest of my life."
Her breathing fractured. She came a second time, moaning and twitching helplessly on top of him, feeling her juices leak out of her and onto his legs. The cold hit her again and she started shaking, her teeth chattering.
"This won't do," he pulled her off and himself out.
Before she could blink or feel empty, they were back inside and she was on her back on the futon. He was getting naked at lightning speed and managed to pull away the tattered remnants of her clothes from her body at the same time. It was almost funny how desperate he looked, but only almost: His naked body towering over her radiated so much power she felt soft and vulnerable in contrast. He bent down and began kissing her on the mouth, their tongues intertwining, licking, tasting, teasing until she no longer felt vulnerable but very aroused too. Faintly, she became aware that her hips were moving, pushing up as if yearning for the weight of his.
"Angle your legs," he demanded. She raised her knees, making a cradle for him between her thighs.
The muscled length of his large body settled on top of hers, then he pushed into her again impatiently. She was so wet it only took one thrust to slide all the way in. Gasping, she gazed up at him and saw Gojo's expression change: It was a look of concentration, as if an unexpected obstacle had arisen when he felt her around him. He moved with shallow, careful thrusts. The muscles in his neck were taught, evidence of him holding back. Her own grip on the situation was slipping rapidly however.
"Fuck me if you want," she panted. "Fuck me hard."
"But you are so small and tight," he groaned. "I might hurt you."
"No," she buried her fingernails into his back. "I'm not that weak."
With a grunt, he thrust into her once. It brought a warm rush of pleasure.
"Yes!" She encouraged him.
He pulled out and slammed back in. Still measured. Still controlled. His next thrust touched her insides just right and a husky moan escaped her mouth. It was all the encouragement he needed. His head fell back, the tendons in his neck strained like strings on a koto, and he began to pump into her, hunting down his own release with rapid, powerful strokes.
"Yes!" She moaned loudly, "yes, yes!"
Ecstasy surged, sudden and powerful like a riptide. Then only pulsing bliss. With a grunt, he began to spill himself into her when her walls tightened around him, his body racked by the force of his own release.
A good start to the year, her brain managed to think, and she would have giggled if not for the exhaustion that coursed through all her limbs. His weight pressed on her, but he kept his head nestled against her neck, his warm breath gently caressing her damp skin. Her fingers began to toy with his silky hair, a small, intimate gesture that felt like a tender connection after the intimacy they had just shared.
And now I have to tell him.
Only that her thoughts grew so very sluggish and nothing mattered but the warmth of his skin against hers. When he rolled off a while later to face her, the afterglow of ecstasy was still bright on his face. Their gazes found each other and held.
"Hi," she smiled.
"Hi," he whispered. "Why are you so nice to me?"
"Because you didn't annoy me one bit," she still smiled.
"Is it because I cried?" A small crinkle appeared on his forehead.
"Maybe," she nodded.
"Then I'll cry every day," the crinkle disappeared.
"I hope you don't mean that?"
"If you tell me what to do so that you keep coming back to me?"
"Hm, what we just did certainly helps with that."
A smug look came over his handsome features. "Am I good in bed too, Utahime?"
"Passable," she lied. He grabbed for her and pulled her all the way towards his body.
"I'll be ready for more in a few minutes."
"I'm exhausted!" She laughed, but he began to kiss her and soon, she forgot what she had wanted to say, the sensation of his tongue against hers heady and magical.
"We can't keep doing this," she managed to get out in between. Her hands had developed a life of their own, greedy to touch all the parts of his beautiful body.
"What?!" He seemed sincerely outraged.
"I mean… you know, without protection."
"Oh, I'd love to have babies with you."
He hadn't just said that, had he. But he had and instead of getting angry at the flippancy with which he said something this momentous, renewed wetness was pooling between her legs when he moved his mouth to her breasts and started to suckle and nibble on first the one, then the other.
"I'm going back on the pill," she managed to say, but his head was moving lower, showering kisses on her belly.
"Open wide," he moved her legs apart and bent forward. "Hello, wet pussy."
"It's filthy," Utahime struggled against his grip on her knees, but he had already dived forward, putting his mouth on their combined mess, sucking and lapping happily. "Gojo!" Utahime moaned, the feeling of his tongue delving inside of her such a turn on that she grabbed his head hard, desperately seeking more friction against his face.
"Hmmmmm," he hummed against her, sucking on her clit ,and she exploded quickly after he rubbed his thumb against her anus.
"Enough," she pleaded, her entire body buzzing with overstimulation.
"Only if you tell me why you were called to Tokyo on Saturday."
She froze. His face loomed above her, wet from their combined juices, staring down at her with a calculating expression. Who spies for you, Gojo?
"Remember, I told you I don't mind being betrayed by you. It's what it is."
"I'm not…"
Before Utahime could begin explaining what she had wanted to tell him since yesterday, a soft shuffling sound outside the wooden door was followed by a polite knock. With a panicked squeal, Utahime snatched the nearest blanket to cover her nakedness.
"It's only my aunt," Gojo assured her, then raised his voice. "Yes, Aunt Narumi? What is it?"
"Please tell Miss Iori that she can use the guest shower before breakfast," Aunt Narumi replied in her polite, tranquil way. "It will be served in half an hour. Please don't be late."
Utahime's face turned crimson, the embarrassment washing over her like a tidal wave. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.