"Do not fear," Aunt Narumi's sly face took on a deceptively soft, caring look as she focused her attention on Utahime. "This is why you're here. Satoru will protect you."

Gojo noticed Utahime growing several shades paler upon realizing the magnitude of 'oh shit' she found herself in.

Yes, Satoru will, Gojo's inner voice dripped with sarcasm bordering on bitterness as he watched her expression shutter. Of course he will. And if he has to tie you up and lock you away, be assured he will.

Let's face it, it wasn't likely that Utahime would want to be protected by him. He doubted she would ever forgive him for deceiving her and her parents and for ultimately using her to draw out his enemies. Did it have it in him to force her to stay close to him?

The way she moved the spoon to her lips while continuing a conversation with his lively cousins was mechanical, the jerky movements of someone in shock. Before realizing why her parents were on a cruise, she would glance his way when she thought he wouldn't notice, perhaps questioning his intentions but not fully condemning him. Now, she went out of her way to ignore him completely.

It was better for both of them that she believed he had paid her "special attention" only as part of a devious masterplan. Now that her already unfavorable opinion of him had hit rock bottom, he should finally do the necessary and step away completely.

…Only that the very thought hurt like acid in his throat. It wasn't news to him that these feelings, whatever they were called, were considered a weakness. She might be safe for now, but there was no guarantee they wouldn't successfully use her against him in the future. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he would do if it came down to choosing between her and "the right thing", but he knew that any choice would be disastrous.

How beautiful Utahime looked in the blue silk kimono, her slightly disheveled hair framing her pink hued cheeks, her lips luscious and red. Was she wearing the underwear he had given her? The mere thought of unwrapping her slowly to reveal the scandalous lingerie made Gojo harden and he shifted uncomfortably on his zaisu chair, feeling a rush of self-pity at the pointlessness of his bodily reaction.

It wasn't likely she would let him near her again soon, if ever.

"You should eat something, Satoru."

His aunt managed to look concerned for him now, pushing a plate full of pretty food his way. He shook his head, having lost his appetite on 24th December. For good.

Every waking moment, the weight of his actions pressed upon him like a leaden shroud, each breath a struggle against the ache in his chest. The world around him had lost its luster, its vibrancy drained away by the shadow that now enveloped his every thought. In the dim light of his solitude, he saw only bleakness stretching out before him, an endless expanse of desolation and despair.

The only thing that shone in the dark was Utahime.

She looked up towards him, but Gojo couldn't bear to see the disappointment in her eyes, so he averted his gaze. It wasn't the time to wallow in misery, yet he couldn't help but feel betrayed by life, betrayed by his own delusions. He had taken what he could get from her, selfishly, by keeping the truth from her as long as possible. Her body couldn't lie; she had enjoyed being intimate with him. But her heart would never beat for him.

"Cousin, will we leave for hatsumode immediately after breakfast?" Ayumi asked, pushing her plate away from herself with a satisfied sigh.

"Are you that eager to pray?" Her sister Ema chuckled, nudging her in the ribs.

"No, I just need to know whether I can fit in a digestive nap or not," Ayumi quipped back.

"We'll leave in half an hour," Gojo nodded. Michizane Sugawara was not an easy ancestor to have, pleasing him took its toll. "Be sure to bring enough omamori, he won't readily forgive that you haven't paid him any reverence in ages."

"Don't worry," Ema grinned. "We will buy a truck load full on our way there."

"Oh," Utahime squealed, growing even paler. Naturally, she wouldn't be overly enthusiastic about the traditional first temple visit of the year being to the Gojo family shrine, after her rather unpleasant experience with Michizane last year.

It's okay, he wanted to tell her. He is no threat to you anymore. Me and him, we have a binding vow, all for the greater glory of the Gojo family.

But then again, he was quite sure the old Ghost would be very pleased to see her, and why lie, that's why he wanted Utahime there with him. Yep, he wasn't done using her and he felt little remorse. All the blessings I can get, I will need them, Gojo thought, moodily picking at the food his aunt continued to push his way so that she would finally leave him be.

###

The sun, hiding somewhere behind the trees, seemed feeble and subdued, its rays struggling to penetrate the icy barrier that enveloped the earth. The biting cold air nipped at exposed skin, but despite the frosty atmosphere, the sky stretched out in cerulean blue, adorned with soft, billowy clouds that lazily drifted from northwest to southeast.

"She rides with me," Gojo ordered, leaving Utahime no choice but to board the first of the five black limousines with him.

That she put up no resistance surprised him, but then he saw the defeated look in her eyes, as if she had no fight left in her. One of his aunts had lent her a gray cashmere winter coat that she pulled around herself like a protective cocoon. It pierced his heart. He didn't want to be a person who crushed her spirit.

"You can curse me if you want," he muttered, stealing a glance at her from the side after folding his large frame into the car's luxurious interior, separated from the driver by a tinted security glass.

Foolishly, his choice of words were too close to Geto's and he turned his head away to hide the moisture gathering in his eyes. Utahime would never see him cry again. He would no longer show her his sorrow, it wasn't her pity he wanted. As he clumsily fumbled for the blindfold that he had to put on as soon as they were off the estate, he heard her sigh deeply. The scent of the yuzu and jasmine shampoo intensified when she moved amid the soft rustle of silk.

"I understand why you only go on solo missions," her subdued voice was almost too low when the powerful engine of the car started to hum. "Nobody is a match for your powers, they would be in your way. But…" She sighed again. His eyes were still too wet, so he kept them averted, but he felt hers settle on him when she continued. "Why won't you accept that you are not alone?"

He almost laughed out loud at that. Of all possible things, this was what she chose to say? Not alone? Not alone?

"You," he pressed out and now he did turn his head with a rush of anger, "you think you know me, but you don't know me at all."

She seemed taken aback by his sudden vehemence, but he couldn't bring himself to care. This? This was the one thing that pushed all his buttons.

More than a decade ago, Yaga Sensei had made them think about their fears and weaknesses. He had not shared his revelation with anyone since, because it was embarrassing, but back then, Gojo had realized that his core weakness was the haunting fear of loneliness. An always present sense of isolation, born from the gap between his extraordinary abilities and the mundane world and the inability to forge meaningful connections with others who couldn't fathom his reality, had left an indelible mark on his soul. The prospect of being truly alone, devoid of the camaraderie that surrounded him at the time, had filled him with a palpable fear.

Ironic, wasn't it, that his biggest fear had manifested as the one curse he was powerless against? No, much worse. He had made his biggest fear a bleak reality.

As the convoy of vehicles left the protective barrier around the estate, the chaos of the world assaulted his Six Eyes. Amidst it all, only Utahime radiated soothing calmness, a stabilizing force within the maelstrom of life itself. With a sense of regret, Gojo pulled on his blindfold, putting a thick barrier between himself and everything else.

"Maybe… maybe you're right?" Utahime sounded meek. "I don't really know you."

Of course he was right. Nobody knew him. Nobody ever would. He was always alone. It was his very own curse, one he had become accustomed to.

"... but then why, why do you do everything possible to aggravate the people around you before they even want to get close?" Now she didn't sound meek anymore. "Why can't you communicate like a normal person but act like a spoiled brat instead! Damn it, Satoru!"

He swiveled around to face her again. How dare she! She flinched, pressing herself against the car door, her eyes overly large in her pale face.

"Don't be afraid of me," his heart was pounding in his throat. Carefully, he forced himself to relax.

"I'm not," she lied, but he saw the slight tremor in her limbs, the dilation of her pupils.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he added lamely, which was only half of what he wanted to tell her. He couldn't let the likes of Naoya Zen'in get their hands on her, but it was a certainty that they would try. A war between the Great Three was imminent. It wasn't Utahime's fault. She was just an unlucky pawn caught in the middle of an ancient feud that knew no bloodless conclusion.

"What a mess," she sighed and to his surprise, extended her hands towards his head. "Will you let me in? I'd like to get to know you."

In… where? Confused, he removed his Infinity, letting her put both her hands over his ears, feeling the tips of her fingers move through his undercut.

"You… don't hate me?" He blurted out, feeling like a stupid teenager all over.

"I never did," Utahime's eyes took on a soft, warm expression. "Not really."

If only. If only he could believe it.

Her rejections had baffled him in his younger years before they had begun to increasingly sting as an adult. For the longest time, he had believed that people liked him—courtesy of an upbringing that had hammered home how special and precious he was—but no, they didn't.

Nobody did.

Which was… fine. It was what it was, he had the power of a god and his loneliness was the price for it.

"I understand why you did what you did," Utahime leaned closer. "And I am truly sorry, I should have been more careful."

She smelled sweeter than all his favorite desserts combined and he wanted to kiss her so very much.

"You are being overly nice again," he whispered, her lips pulling him closer like a magnet. "Too nice."

"Why don't you let yourself believe that I mean it?" Her fingers caressed his cheeks. Ah. She was throwing him bread crumbs. He had always gobbled them up like a starving creature. He should stop being this easily wrapped around her finger, but then again, he had so little self-control when it came to her.

They both leaned in. Her lips were soft, inviting, docile, opening up to let his tongue in like she hadn't called him a bastard just an hour ago. His hand sneaked underneath her kimono and stroked up her leg, the friction of the pantyhose heating up his palm.

He wanted her, he always did.

She certainly knew that by now and just like he was ready to use her when it suited his needs, maybe so was she. Use and be used… an arrangement that had become too dangerous, now that the stakes were so high.

"I did bury Geto in Okinawa," he nudged her earlobe with his nose, gently nibbling the tender flesh. His probing fingers found her wet and ready for him, her musky smell wafting to his nostrils. She was wearing his lingerie alright, surely in defiance of his provocation, which was all the same to him.

"Don't," she moaned, but he wouldn't and couldn't stop. His fingers went to work, his body immobilizing her underneath him as he delved into the hot, sticky cave seeking her pleasure spot.

"I did bury him and then I went back to get him before they could," he lapped up her quickening breath and subdued whimpers with his mouth as he splayed his fingers inside of her. "Do you think I'd let them have him for their experiments? I cherished him like a brother."

"Don't… do this," she stirred feebly beneath him, dripping and already close. For someone looking so prissy, she sure went off like a firecracker.

Which of course stroked his ego. Her eyelids fluttered shut when with a soft moan, she began to pulse around his fingers, leaving him with a raging hard-on and a strange kind of satisfaction. It would be perfect to have this all day if he didn't crave nameless things he couldn't have. He pulled his fingers out and slowly licked them clean, her hazy eyes watching his every move.

"You can tell them that Geto's body is in Tokyo," he said, planting a wet, bruising kiss onto her lips as he moved away from her. "Let them try and find it."

"Stop," Utahime struggled to sit up, frantically rearranging the folds of her kimono and patting down her hair. "Stop using sex to shut me up. I want us to do this together. I am ready to play along, I will do whatever you ask of me - but only if you let me in."

That again.

"You need to talk to me," she insisted, "you promised we'd talk about our collaboration after breakfast!"

"Yeah, we just did," he said, watching her eyes flash with a newfound anger.

"Really? This is how you want to play this?"

She extended her hand to grab the prominent bulge underneath his traditional clothes.

"Suits me," he retorted in his brattiest tone.

Surprisingly quickly, she found a path of entry to his naked flesh through the layers of clothing, pulling him free. Bending forward, her mouth folded around him, hot and wet, working itself down over his pulsing shaft, sucking steadily while her one hand fondled his balls, and the other stroked the rest of him.

If this was letting her in, he had no objections.

His eyes fluttered shut underneath his blindfold, he'd better hurry because they weren't far from the temple district on Mount Hiei-zan where they'd stop to buy lucky charms before continuing on to the Gojo family shrine. Resisting the urge to grab her head and drive his whole length into her throat for sufficient friction, Gojo rocked his hips, urging her on as he chased after his slowly building release. The slurping noise intensified as she changed the angle to take him in deeper, it felt too fucking good, and then his tip hit the back of her throat once, twice, at which point he did grab her head and came with an extended groan and several forceful jerks forward as she gagged and struggled against his crotch.

Not good. He hadn't meant to do that.

"Sorry," he pressed out, looking at her red face with the smudged mascara running down her cheeks with a mounting sense of shame, just as the warm pleasure of a good orgasm spread through his limbs.

She sat up, shakily wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I hope your driver is discreet," she coughed. "I guess I need to practice that some more."

The blood sang in his ears. He wet his lips as he tucked his dick away, not quite sure how to react. Practice…?

"Isn't this the rule? Whatever you want, I'll give it to you," she said, using her fingers to clean up her make-up while peering at her reflection in the car window.

"I doubt that you can," Gojo murmured so quietly she probably couldn't hear him. How his heart ached. It was almost unbearable.

###

His aunt shot them a major side-eye after dismounting from the car near the first torii gate. No wonder, Utahime, shivering in the cold wind, looked thoroughly debauched and most likely, so did he.

Because of that blow-job, he felt muddle-headed and discomforted. In the last months, he had planned every step meticulously. Now was not the time to lose his cool.

If he so much as stumbled, his whole bloodline would be wiped out, he reminded himself, as he led the little procession of aunts, cousins, and Utahime up through the forest. They had bought bags full of good luck charms at Enryakuji Temple. Yet, despite the preparations, a lingering sense of foreboding gnawed at Gojo's mind, growing stronger with each step they took towards their destination.

Also, he couldn't stop thinking about the damn lingerie beneath the blue kimono. It rubbed against the silk when she moved, a soft, seductive sound, barely audible. He was certain Utahime knew exactly what was on his mind, the way she strutted next to him on her black heels, hips swinging, wearing a smug expression on her rosy face.

"Would you rather wait in the car?" he asked her but that felt like a mistake too, especially when she squared her shoulders, jutted out her chin, and countered, "Is that what you want?"

It wasn't, no.

Michizane liked Utahime. And he needed Michizane's renewed blessing for what was coming. Apart from that, he wanted to be in bed with her, with not a worry in the world. She wanted to practice? So did he. He wanted her to scream his name and beg for release when he pleasured her in ways she had never been pleasured before.

"Where is he? Inside of you?" Utahime demanded to know, dropping her voice low so that the others couldn't overhear.

"It's a bond," Gojo explained a little sheepishly. "He doesn't have a physical body any longer."

"I know that," she replied with an irritated frown, "but he did have the ability to manifest his spirit. And I went to check. He wasn't there anymore."

"You came here to check?" Why wasn't he surprised.

She continued to frown. "I dreamed of him," she informed him. "Many times, actually. Or maybe it was you, looking like him?"

"He looks nothing like me," Gojo scoffed. Michizane was ugly.

"You're mistaken," Utahime looked away, clearly unhappy.

His foreboding intensified. Wasn't she going to tell him what the dreams were about?

"What kind of arrangement do you have with him?" She asked instead.

"You know better than to ask me that," the shrine came into view in all its ugly glory. "Binding vows are strongest when they're kept a secret."

"I know what he wanted," she whispered fervently, throwing a furtive look at the group behind them. "He wanted out."

"Well, he didn't get what he wanted," Gojo shrugged. His ancestor was gone, fully absorbed by him. In return, Michizane got to ride around in the Strongest Sorcerer's body for free until Gojo died. Or until Gojo temporarily released him.

"You do what needs to be done here," he ordered the female members of his clan, dipping a finger into the purification fountain in passing. While they unpacked the offerings, he mounted the stairs and entered the shrine with a determined stride. The building smelled of wood and earth and the faint musty scent of ancient scrolls.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw how Utahime dipped a wooden ladle into the cool water to rinse her hands and mouth, cleansing herself of impurities both physical and spiritual. The look of concentration on her face when she murmured a prayer and bowed deeply made her beauty even more pronounced and he felt a pang of regret for not treating her better. Forcing himself to get over it, he lit the incense sticks with practiced precision, and placed them in the designated holders, the fragrant smoke curling upwards in lazy spirals.

"Come," he extended his hand towards Utahime.

But she shook her head, pulling something from her little handbag first and placing it carefully at the little altar at the entrance. It looked like pieces of paper, notes perhaps, tied with a rubber band.

"What did you offer him?" Gojo asked, but she stubbornly shook her head.

"It's a secret."

"I can just go down and look at it."

"I swear, if you do that…"

"I won't," he held out his hand. "Let's go in."

"What do you want me to do?" She jutted out her chin again.

"Just be there. Your presence will confuse him."

"And that's a good thing?"

"Oh, definitely."

It was the first time after fusing his soul with his ancestor that Gojo was going to call him forth. It had taken a while to get used to having such a passenger, but with time, the presence of Michizane had faded completely. Gojo did not foresee any trouble, their arrangement was in the best interest of the Gojo family, but having Utahime there just in case seemed like a good idea.

"Wait." She stopped abruptly. "I just remembered the dream. It might be important."

"Yes?" He masked the quiet anger that he always felt when he thought of Utahime and Michizane Sugawara. That his ancestor had lusted for her big time was no secret to him.

"In my dream," Utahime recounted, "I found myself in a lush garden filled with plum trees. I met Michizane Sugawara there who greeted me as…" her words faltered.

Oh, great. Was she blushing? "When did you have this dream?" He asked stiffly.

"Last night," her forehead crinkled as she concentrated. "I think he was trying to warn me."

"Warn you?" Gojo echoed. "Against what?"

"I'm not sure," she began chewing on one of her fingernails. "He greeted me as his bride."

"His bride?!"

"Well, we had that thing last year…"

"I goddamn know," he growled, earning himself a loaded look from her.

"What's your problem?" She confronted him. "Must I remind you why your ancestor began toying with me in the first place? No? Good. So in my dream, we walked together and he recited poetry near a pond. But then the plum blossoms withered and… something truly unsettling arrived. It even spoke to me. Something like… like…" She shook her head and sighed. "That part is unclear."

"I lost interest at 'he recited poetry near a pond'. What a loser!" Gojo stormed forward, ripping open the door to the honden, the inner sanctuary of the shrine. Poetry? She liked poetry? He could serve her that shit for breakfast any day!

"What are you, twelve?" Utahime stormed after him, her shoes clip-clopping loudly on the wooden floor. "This is what adults call 'having a conversation'. I'm telling you things that happened to me and you listen and then we discuss together what it could mean!"

"If you don't like my way of doing things, go have adult conversations with him in your dreams while he recites tacky poetry!"

"Oh, normally we fuck in my dreams," she hissed viciously. "And let me tell you, he knows his business."

Gojo stood frozen before the statue of the vengeful horned spirit, its imposing presence casting eerie shadows in the dimly lit room. The air seemed to grow heavy around him as the rush of blood thundered in his ears, drowning out all other sounds in the world.

He couldn't bear the thought of Utahime dreaming of anyone else. The mere idea of her sharing herself, even in the realm of dreams, with another killed him. He wanted her wholly and completely, body and soul, and the thought of anyone else touching her ignited a fierce possessiveness within him.

"Let's make a binding vow," he found himself saying, his voice hoarse with intensity. "You and I."

Michizane began to stir within him. A cold shiver ran down Gojo's spine as he sensed the vengeful spirit's influence pressing against his consciousness, like icy tendrils coiling around his thoughts. It was a storm of rage and bitterness brewing within him, whispering dark promises of vengeance and destruction.

"You," Utahime stepped up to him and took his hand. "Are such an idiot. I accept."

And before he could collect his scattered thoughts, she began to call out the terms of their agreement, with a voice that rang with authority.