Chapter Text
HELLO! had some sad family stuff last week, so I'm starting on this little romcom fic to cheer myself up :) pls enjoy
***
Utahime sat in the doctor’s office waiting room with her legs tightly crossed and a magazine balanced atop them, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. She could feel her heart beating, racing at the implications of being here.
No, she told herself firmly, squeezing her hands around the magazine so hard that she thought she heard a page tear. Practical. Smart. Responsible. That was all there was to it.
She shook the sleeve of her coat back enough so that she could see her watch, and let out a breath that felt tight.
12:30. Her appointment was supposed to have been at twelve.
She considered for a moment the idea of leaving, working through her plans for the rest of the day to see if she had time to stay—but her afternoon was, by her own design, entirely open, a blank slate on her calendar. She slid her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen, hoping…but then bit down on her back teeth angrily, because she hadn’t been assigned any missions either.
Utahime grimaced, and pushed her phone back into her pocket with more force than was necessary. The magazine in her lap slid to the floor with the movement, landing face down with a soft thump.
“Iori Utahime?”
Utahime jumped at the voice that cut through the silence of the waiting room, her eyes flying wide. Her cheeks turned red, and she picked up the magazine quickly, shoving it onto the little table beside her chair.
“Um, yes—“
She stood in a rush, her eyes skipping across the room until they landed on a nurse that had popped out of a doorway across the waiting room. She was smiling a little blandly, gripping a clipboard tightly in her hands.
“This way please.”
Utahime could still feel the heat in her cheeks as she nodded, hurrying across the room to where the nurse stood, and then hurrying again to follow her down the hallway that stretched out beyond the doorway, passing by rooms with closed doors until they reached one that had been left ajar.
Utahime glanced inside, and swallowed a little nervously at the exam table, sterile and clinical, with folded paper dressings sitting atop it. There was an informational pamphlet for an IUD lying next to it, but Utahime ignored it. She had already done all the research for this appointment on her own, pushed by her stubborn desire to know everything about everything.
“You’ll need to undress from the waist down, and the doctor will come by in just a moment,” the nurse said as she ushered Utahime inside.
She eyed the clipboard in her hands as if to double-check the information Utahime had filled out upon arriving, and then nodded, apparently satisfied.
“Thank you,” Utahime murmured.
The nurse looked up from her clipboard long enough to nod politely, and then she disappeared, slipping back out the door before she closed it behind her. The quiet click of the latch seemed to echo.
Utahime let out a breath, and slowly surveyed the room again, her eyes moving over the exam table and the cleanliness of it, and the informational pamphlet that she didn’t need to read. She slid her coat off of her shoulders, laying it carefully atop the chair in the corner of the room.
“This is so stupid,” she whispered to herself, relieved at being alone, exhilarated and annoyed at having come so far.
Her hands moved down to the waistband of her jeans, slowly working them off. A strange, heady sort of feeling was kicking at her heart and she couldn’t decide if it was nerves or freedom.
Smart, she reminded herself. This was smart, and that was all there was to it.
The thought steadied her a little, a streak of steel winding into her blood as she slid her jeans to the ground, pushing off her underwear too. She laughed at herself, exasperated as she folded up her underwear and her jeans too, neatly tucking them beneath her jacket on the chair like she was trying to retain some element of privacy here, when she was already half naked.
Utahime eyed the IUD pamphlet again as she scooted slowly onto the exam table, dragging the paper dressings over her lap, tightly crossing her legs. She thought of the coolness outside, and wondered idly if the weather would be like this on her birthday in a few weeks.
Twenty-five. She frowned at the number, disliking the feel of it. Then, slightly alarmed, Utahime wondered if her coming here was some sort of bizarre quarter-life crisis, irrationality overriding her usual logic.
Responsible.
Utahime bit her lip, and nodded at herself. It was responsible to be on birth control. It was logical. It didn’t mean—
The other half of herself; the small, wild voice that she often struggled to tame, pushed up to the forefront of her mind, interrupting her logic with imagination. Abruptly, she was thinking of a dimly lit bedroom, and soft, broken sounds of pleasure falling from her lips. She imagined hands rougher and larger than her own sliding over her body; touching, exploring, easing her legs apart, broad fingertips pressing into the flesh of her thighs.
Utahime glanced to the door, wondering if she had time to leave before the doctor came in but also wanting to stay put, feeling suddenly determined in the middle of her hesitance. She imagined a ragged gasp catching in her throat and her back arching against the plane of a mattress. She imagined sweat making her hair stick to her face, and a flush on her cheeks, and her fingers clutching at soft bedsheets.
She imagined something unknown to her; the sensation of fullness, the moment of sharing her body with someone else, sweetness, friction.
Utahime closed her eyes, her hands toying restlessly with the thin paper dressing that covered her lap.
It was smart, she reminded herself again, to be on birth control. It was responsible. It had nothing to do with anything, and it especially had nothing to do with the intrusive, imagined scenes of losing her own virginity to—
To nobody.
She had decided that weeks ago, on the day she had made this appointment. The birth control was only something to have. It wasn’t pointed, it wasn’t specific, and it really did have nothing to do with—with anyone, or anything.
It was only…practical.
***
The dull, stabbing cramps that had settled into her belly following her doctor’s appointment had nearly disappeared by the end of the week, when Utahime found herself fighting through the crowd on a busy Tokyo street, cursing the delayed train she had waited too long for, and cursing herself for being late.
She yanked the sleeve of her coat back to check her watch, frowning at the time. She wasn’t even close to the restaurant yet and she was supposed to have been there ten minutes ago, the time slot for their reservation already passed.
Utahime huffed into the icy air that surrounded her, and kept walking, struggling to weave around slower, chattering, groups of tourists. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she knew without having to look that it was Shoko, probably already at the restaurant, checking in to make sure Utahime had arrived in Tokyo safely. Nanami would already be there too, Utahime guessed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him be late to anything, always punctual.
Fuck. Maybe she should—
Utahime yelped as something suddenly caught the hood of her jacket, jerking her to the side of the busy walkway. Instinctively, she tried to whip around, struggling to kick herself free—but then she heard a laugh ring out from somewhere behind her, sharp amusement catching on the cool breeze.
“Running late, Uta?”
“Shut up,” Utahime said automatically, responding without thinking.
Her cursed energy had bristled up at the thought of a threat, fluttering brightly, but she felt it settle back down because she knew that voice, and the laugh too, just smug enough to be irritating.
Gojo. Annoying, infuriating—and harmless, to those he considered a friend. Sort of.
Utahime scowled , setting her hands on her hips.
“Let me go, you moron.”
“Ooh, that’s rude, senpai,” Gojo laughed lightly from behind her. “Aren’t you supposed to be a good example for your kohai?”
Utahime tried to take a step forward but Gojo still held her hood, trapping her in place on the sidewalk. The people passing by were giving them a wide berth, looking quite alarmed as they stared in Utahime’s direction.
“I am a good example,” she hissed, rolling her eyes.
He'd never addressed her properly when they had been in school, and he hadn't made an effort in the years since they had graduated, either, only ever teasing her about her seniority to him. Utahime started to wonder if she'd be able to land a punch to his face if she tried it quickly, without warning, but decided against it amongst all the civilians.
Later. She'd punch him later. Consoled a little at the thought, she tipped her head straight backwards since he had not let her go, and glared furiously at him when she caught sight of his face floating above hers. He was grinning, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.
“Let’s see,” Gojo said in a familiar, teasing tone. “You’re late to dinner, and you’ve insulted me. I dunno, you might be a bad example, Uta.”
“You’re late too,” Utahime argued, entirely disgruntled.
Gojo laughed again, and Utahime suddenly lost sight of his face as he vanished into the air. She yanked her head upright, scanning the crowd—and gave another frown because she spotted him in an instant, standing a block in front of her, a head taller than anyone else on the street. He held a hand up, and his smile returned as he gestured for her to walk over to him, ignoring the stares cast his way.
“C’mon Uta! You’re laaaaate!”
Utahime rolled her eyes at him, feeling a spark of her temper pop within her at his teasing. But she hurried along to catch up with him anyways, because she was late. She didn’t even bother to check her watch to see how bad it was now, feeling a little relieved that, if she was going to be tardy, at least Gojo would be late too.
Gojo slid around her when she fell into step next to him, nudging her towards the buildings on the right side of the street. Cars passed by on his left, the yellow glare of the headlights reflecting off of his glasses as they walked together.
“So short, senpai,” Gojo teased, grinning at the way she had to quicken her stride to keep up.
“No,” Utahime said flatly, “you’re just too tall.”
“So many insults,” Gojo chided, clicking his tongue. He shot her another grin, a little mischief curling at his lips. “My date last week seemed to appreciate it.”
Utahime rolled her eyes again, feeling a fresh wave of irritation swoop through her. Her belly cramped and she winced, too conscious of her own body, and of her own imagination.
Rough hands moving over her skin, fingertips pressing into her thigh—
“What?” she said to interrupt her own thoughts, even though she had heard him quite clearly.
“My date last week, Utahime,” Gojo repeated, laughing at her surprise. “You’ve had a few, I assume?”
“Yes, you moron,” Utahime snapped. “I’ve had a few.”
Gojo laughed again, and the air of mischief about him hadn’t quite disappeared when he raised his eyebrows at her, looking curious.
“Gojo,” Utahime warned before he could say anything, throwing on a tone that she hoped sounded threatening.
Gojo’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything as he ducked around a tourist, his posture loose. Utahime shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, suddenly feeling like she’d trodden onto dangerous territory, wondering if he'd spotted her lie.
There hadn’t been any dates. Or, at the very least, there hadn't been any recent dates. No awkward dinners with men she didn't know well enough to trust, and no phone calls that went too late into the night when she wanted to be sleeping. Only peaceful solitude, only contended aloneness.
A good thing, and Utahime felt certain of the fact. She had been growing stronger in her technique, and fighting higher-level curses with more constant success. She hadn't gotten injured on a mission in months, and hadn't sustained a wound so serious as the one that had scarred her face for almost a year. She had grown more efficient, more powerful, and she suspected that she might be due for a promotion soon.
It was a good thing, she thought again, that there hadn't been any dates. She didn't want there to be dates. She didn't want the stress of it all, the complications, the emotions that she wasn't sure she'd be able to control. She didn't want the awkward conversation with men she didn't know well enough to trust.
She wanted—
Something caught on her jacket again and Utahime squeaked in surprise as Gojo pulled her out of the way of an oncoming pedestrian, deftly preventing a collision. Her shoulder bumped against his and she jolted at the contact, surprised to hit his body instead of his Infinity.
"You exorcised a grade one curse the other day," he said, chuckling at her clumsiness, "but you can't walk in a straight line to save your life, Uta."
A little miffed at the direction her thoughts had taken, Utahime turned her head to peer up at him curiously as his hand loosened from her jacket. She had exorcised a grade-one curse earlier in the week, the very day after her doctor's appointment. It had only been a little thing up in a rural village, but it had been quick and powerful, hungry for blood.
"How'd you know about that?"
"Saw a copy of the mission report," Gojo shrugged, reaching up to adjust his glasses on his nose. "Nice one."
Utahime frowned, wondering if he was teasing, but his voice was light and casual instead of rife with mischief.
"Thanks," she murmured, slightly taken aback.
Gojo shrugged again, but he was smiling.
"Weakling."
"Shut up—"
Utahime swung for him, deciding that it perhaps didn't matter at all whether or not she punched him on a busy street, but Gojo had already disappeared, blipping through space and out of it again to once more land a block in front of her, waving cheerily at her to hurry up.
He was such a moron. Annoying, infuriating, harmless—
She caught up to him quickly, and managed to land a smack on his shoulder this time, pleased at herself even though she knew he had let her hit him. And for some reason she started to think about dates again as they walked, or maybe her own reluctance to go on any. Complications, emotions—she really didn't want that. Not now, not when everything felt like it was falling into place, her life lining up in a neat order.
Her hand pressed to her belly, over the slight cramping sensation, the vision of the doctor's office flashing through her head. She had gotten birth control, and it had nothing to do with anything, but she sometimes thought that maybe she did want...something. Something...simple, something easy. She was a virgin, and maybe she didn't want to be.
A fragment of a thought, an idea, flickered suddenly to life somewhere within her, but Gojo spoke again before the idea could properly articulate, his voice cutting through incomplete thought.
"We're here," he murmured, tapping her shoulder so she'd stop walking.
Utahime jolted to a stop as her eyes landed on the restaurant with the reservations she was very late for now, spotting Shoko and Nanami sitting at a table through the window. They were already halfway through the cocktails that were sat on the table in front of them, deep into conversation that Utahime was missing.
"Shit," Utahime muttered, and she thought she heard Gojo laugh at her concern as she darted forward into the restaurant, weaving through the tables until she could slide into her seat.
The restaurant was crowded, busy at rush hour, and Utahime found herself giggling as she sat beside Shoko, working through a few drinks of her own as they ate. Fizzy beers, pretty amber liquid served in a clear glass—and decorated with four paper umbrellas that Gojo had stuck around the rim, taken from whatever sweet, non-alcoholic drinks he had ordered. Blue, purple, green, yellow.
He really was a moron.
Utahime wasn't sure if it was the slight buzz from the beer or the prodding of her own, sometimes wild-conscious, that led her eyes to wander throughout dinner, sliding up from her plate of food to where Gojo sat across from her, teasing Nanami about the new job he had taken.
Annoying moron.
But Utahime had noticed, with only the smallest pull of curiosity, that he looked a little different than she was used to, small changes that she had somehow missed out on the street. His glasses were new, not the round ones to which she was accustomed, but rather oblong, pitch dark lenses too dark for anyone but Gojo to see through.
Utahime giggled, sipping beer, pushing away the umbrellas that Gojo had stuck around the rim. She felt the alcohol hit her stomach, fizzing up, bubbling around, rising up to her brain and turning everything a little hazy.
New Glasses Gojo. She suddenly imagined him trying them on in front of a mirror, and wanted to giggle again, wondering if he smiled at his own reflection in the way he smiled at everyone else.
He probably did do that, Utahime realized, snorting to herself. She gripped her drink tightly as she studied him again, frankly curious now, wondering what else she had missed out on the street and determined to find it. Except, quite to her disconcertment, Gojo had slid his eyes to her at the sound she had made, smirking at her from across the table.
"You're druuuuunk," he whispered conspiratorially as he leaned across the table, shaking his head in false disapproval. "Such bad behavior, Uta."
“Am not,” Utahime argued, furrowing her brow, but then it smoothed over when she giggled again, unable to hold her anger.
She was drunk, just a little. Maybe.
Gojo cracked a smile at her denial, eyeing her almost-empty beer glass.
“You want another?”
Utahime knew she shouldn’t, but she nodded anyways, liking the fizzy feeling in her body. Gojo shook his head again, but he was still smiling as he pulled her glass out of her hands, slipping from his seat to head to the bar at the far side of the dining room. Utahime felt her eyes follow him even though she wasn't sure she had meant for them to, still wanting to figure out what else had changed in his appearance.
New Glasses Gojo. And, she noticed with a feeling of triumph, new hair Gojo.
"Knew it," Utahime murmured, tilting her head curiously to the side as she looked at him.
It was as messy as always, long on top and falling down into his eyes, but there was a difference, something new. The back wasn't as shaggy as it had once been but rather shaved close to his head, fine and white and unexpectedly stylish.
She snorted again, bemused at Gojo being stylish. And even more bemused that the combination of the new glasses and the haircut somehow suited him, giving him an air of easy masculine beauty, sharp and obvious.
Utahime turned around quickly, looking at the table rather than at Gojo. He was...attractive, but she supposed she'd always known that, and so the odd twist in her stomach didn't quite make sense. She'd known him for years, and he'd always been attractive, and—
"Here you go, Bad Example," Gojo's voice came from behind her, making her jump as he set her full beer onto the table in front of her, five umbrellas around the rim now instead of four.
"Don't call me that," Utahime muttered, her eyes flicking rebelliously over to him as he slid back into his seat.
Gojo winked at her like he had no intention of doing any such thing, and he dragged his own drink up to his lips that were stained red from strawberry syrup. Utahime watched him drink, her eyes lingering for much longer than felt wise.
He was attractive, she thought again, reaching for her beer. She felt curious, drunk and impulsive, fascinated by the movement in his throat as he drank, studying the way the glass he held looked small in his hands. She liked his jaw, sharp and pretty, and how his hair had fallen down into his eyes and the way he had left it there, evidently unbothered by it, messy and casual.
Rough hands sliding over her skin, easing her legs apart, her fingers clutching at soft bedsheets—
Utahime tipped her head back to take a drink from her glass, swallowing down alcohol that did nothing to push the hazy, lustful thoughts out of her head. Instead, it yanked them up, forcing them to the forefront of her mind and dragging with them the incomplete thought from before on the street, interrupted before it could find meaning.
She did want something. Something easy. Something straightforward, something without complication.
She eyed Gojo again in a way that she hoped was covertly, sneaking a glance because he was talking to Nanami again, his fingers trailing idly over the rim of his glass. And she could feel her heart beating a little too frantically, a little too wildly, as she started to pull together an idea that felt as insane as it did reasonable, her tipsy mind throwing together pieces of a puzzle to make them all fit.
He was attractive. A blunt fact, because Utahime had already realized that tonight. Tall and messy-haired and easily handsome. Quickly, as if she were trying to line up all her thoughts before the haze lifted, Utahime moved on to the next point, lining it up like numbers in a list. Attractive, and she knew he dated casually because he was always mentioning dates, ever since they had finished school, and because he never spoke much about the details. Only a mention and a quick, suggestive smile after, glittering blue eyes filled with insinuation instead of complication.
He wasn't a virgin. Utahime felt certain of it. And, problematically, he was excellent at everything he tried, always able to master a skill with alarming quickness. She remembered that from school, thinking of the way she used to work weeks to learn something new and how Gojo would pick up on it instantly, laughing at his own genius.
Utahime took another drink, swallowing quite heavily. Her heart was still beating frantically but her mind had slowed down, processing, mulling everything over. Her thoughts felt a little dreamy, tinted by the fizzy beer.
Gojo was pretty and he dated casually and he was good at everything. Utahime felt herself flush a little, glancing very quickly over at him again, because it stood to reason that he would be good at—at that too, to match his excellence at everything else.
She suddenly remembered the way his hand had grabbed her jacket outside, and the way he had pulled her effortlessly to the side of the street, the sound of his laughter in her ear. Stupidly, she connected the memory with her own imagination, layering it overtop the scenes of her back arching against a mattress, and the hands moving over her skin. And she connected them to the thoughts of fullness and friction, unknown sensation, unexperienced sweetness.
It made sense, Utahime realized through a wave of tipsy shock, a spark like electricity racing up her spine. There wouldn't be dinners with awkward conversation, because she knew him already. And she did trust him, despite his...everything, and he was Gojo and he was a moron, so there wouldn't be any chance of the complicated, uncontrollable emotion she wanted to avoid, so—
So, it would be...practical if it happened with him.
"Shit," Utahime whispered to herself, blinking slowly.
Across the table, Gojo turned away from his conversation to look at her, catching her eye with a curious glint in his. Utahime, to her vehement disappointment, felt her own eyes grow immediately wide, feeling as though she'd been caught in the act of wrongdoing.
"You mad at me, Utahime?" he grinned before he smoothly knocked back the rest of his drink. "You shouldn't be, I just bought you a refill."
"I'm not," Utahime stammered hastily, already looking away from him to talk to Shoko instead.
She tried to push her thoughts of him away through the rest of the night but they stuck around stubbornly, clinging to her even when the buzz of alcohol started to fade. And so Utahime was lost in thought again as they all walked back to the train station as a group even though she had insisted she could go alone, shivering and wedged between Shoko and Gojo on the sidewalk.
She had thought, perhaps naively, that her idea would start to feel insane as she sobered up and saw reality, but it had somehow managed to remain staunchly logical as it occupied her mind. She wanted something simple and easy, and Utahime felt certain Gojo...wanted the same out of whatever girls he took out.
Something twinged in her at the thought of the dates he always mentioned, a faint hint of a feeling that she didn't like. Utahime ignored it, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, breathing out mist into the frigid air. Above them, the sky had clouded over like it was going to rain; the cold, wet downpours of winter that Utahime hated.
It would be practical if it happened with him. She had been repeating the sentence to herself, rolling it around again and again, waiting for it to feel crazy. But it still didn't, the words flat and sensible, reading like a fact.
It would be practical. She was a virgin, and she didn't want to be, and Gojo was casual enough with the women he saw to not make a big deal of it, and to not be caught up in complication if they did do it—
Utahime sighed, tripped up on words, lost in thought. She shivered again as a breeze fluttered through the air, icy and cold and damp, carrying the promise of the rain Utahime wanted to avoid. Beside her, Gojo grunted like he had felt her shiver, and a faint heat slid over her body as he leaned down to talk to her without breaking his stride.
"Fucking freezing," he muttered, the sound of his voice drawing Utahime's eyes up and over to him. He raised his hands, impishly wiggling his fingers. "Want me to warp you? Spare you the train."
“ No,” Shoko interjected before Utahime could say anything, speaking around the cigarette stuck between her lips. “You can’t do long distances yet. You lost both your eyebrows last time. And your left pinky toe.”
“That was two months ago!” Gojo protested, sounding indignant. “I figured it out—“
“It’s fine,” Utahime murmured. “I don’t mind the train.”
It finally started to rain when she was somewhere between Tokyo and Kyoto, watching the landscape blur outside in the darkness. Cold and frigid, icy sheets of it pouring down, the clouds thick overhead. Utahime tried to distract herself by watching it, but her mind still wandered, that same feeling from the doctor's office catching her again as she rolled her idea around and around. Nerves, or maybe freedom.
Was it really so crazy to—?
She couldn't determine the logic of it, or if it was crazy, even when she had made her way into her apartment, soaking wet and freezing. She couldn't decide as she dragged herself into a hot shower, and then into her pajamas afterwards, a too-large, too-old t-shirt from some school event she had forgotten. And she couldn't decide as she tried to get herself to sleep, her blankets pulled up to her chin, her fingers interlocked atop them.
Utahime stared up at the ceiling, wanting to laugh and wanting to scoff at herself, everything tangled up. Her belly was cramping in earnest now, no longer soft but sharp again, reminding her that she could do this, because she had already thought everything through. She was on birth control, and she trusted him, and he'd...and it would probably be good, so she at least wouldn't have to do it again with someone else afterwards to straighten out the whole experience and make it worthwhile.
Utahime covered her eyes with her hands, groaning in frustration as she thought. She had realized that he would almost certainly tease her if she were to ask, and then she realized that she'd actually have to ask him, and that felt almost too mortifying to consider. She'd never tried to ask anyone else to sleep with her, or to bring it up with anyone she'd ever gone on a date with, and she suddenly couldn't figure out why on earth she had decided she'd be able to ask Gojo to do it.
Gojo, of all people. But...was it really so crazy?
"Fuck," Utahime muttered, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes.
She could see shapes, fireworks of color bursting behind her eyelids, and wondered frustratingly why she couldn't be satisfied even when things were going well in life. She had just exorcised that grade-one curse, and she was due a promotion, and she hadn't been hurt in ages—
And she wanted more.
Only something simple. Only something good.
She wasn't sure how long she laid there, in the too-big t-shirt with her hands pressed over her eyes, before she very slowly reached towards where her phone lay on her nightstand, cautiously setting her fingers atop the screen. It lit up at her touch, glowing softly blue to break up the darkness of her room.
"Gojo," Utahime said to her room, wondering if it would feel insane if she said it out loud. It didn't, and so she tried again. "I want to sleep with...Gojo."
It sounded confusing, and maybe slightly embarrassing, but not quite insane. So she tried once more, this time conjuring up an image of him in her head, picturing the way he had looked at the restaurant with his new glasses and the haircut that suited him. And his hands, wrapped around his drink. And his voice, teasing her from across the table.
"Gojo," she whispered, as something curled in her belly, just beneath where the cramps bothered her.
It still didn't feel crazy. It didn't even sound crazy, not with the picture of him in her mind, and not as thoughts of him once again joined up with her imagination, mixing with the visions of her own pleasure.
Suddenly, it was his hands touching her, and his hands easing her legs apart. Suddenly, it was him sliding inside her, and him giving her the sensation of fullness and sweetness, dragging up pleasure from wherever it was buried in her body.
"God," Utahime breathed, because it all felt very vivid, too-easily imagined, too-easily thought up.
Gradually, she sat up, placing her phone in her lap and staring at time at the top of the lit-up screen. A couple hours past midnight, and much too late for a phone call, or even a text, to be misconstrued as something innocent. But she unlocked her phone anyways, pulling up her contacts list until she reached the number she'd saved years ago, sometime during her last few months of school.
Moron (gojo).
Utahime smiled slightly, rolling her eyes at herself because she could remember that moment, his grinning teenage self punching his number into her phone. He had tugged at her pigtails when she'd saved it under that name, already laughing. And her fingers shook a little as they gripped her phone, soft hesitance weaving into her body.
This was crazy. Wasn't it? Or, worse, what if he was with a girl?
Utahime frowned, feeling anxious in a way that didn't make sense, sweating beneath her shirt. Her thumb was hovering over the call button, still hesitating. But then, so suddenly that she shot out of bed in surprise, her phone buzzed in her hands, the sound of the vibration echoing through her room. Her stomach flipped wildly over, heat jumping up to fill her cheeks, because it was Gojo calling, his contact name filling her screen, the image of it burning into her eyes.
Shit, had she somehow called him—?
Shaking, breathless, Utahime yanked her phone up to her ear, furiously trying to get the flush to disappear from her cheeks.
"Iori Utahime," she said automatically, and then she wanted to smack herself because that was how she answered her phone when Windows called her with a mission assignment, and not Gojo calling at two in the fucking morning—
"Uh...Gojo Satoru?"
It was him, his familiar, irritating voice, maybe a little lower than usual. Utahime jerked her phone away from her face long enough to stare incredulously at the screen, and then pulled it back to her ear, her heart pounding wildly. She wondered if she should sound like she was annoyed at him for calling so late.
"Gojo?" She tried for a grumpy tone but she only managed surprise, squeezing her eyes shut through a wave of restless feeling. "What are you—"
"Were you asleep?" Gojo broke in curiously.
"Um—no," Utahime answered. "I was awake."
She could hear Gojo's smile through the phone, and she exhaled a little too forcefully because she knew it would be insinuating, pointedly sly. She could hear rain in the background, almost drowning out his voice.
"Oh yeah? What were you doing, senpai?"
"Sleeping," Utahime said without thinking, confused at what was happening.
But then her cheeks burned again, because Gojo laughed on the other line, a slow chuckle that she knew too well.
"You just said you weren't sleeping," he pointed out, sounding suggestive. "You having some fun, Uta?"
"No," Utahime said furiously, stomping her foot on the floor. "No—"
"Of course," Gojo chuckled again. "Whatever you say."
He still sounded suggestive and Utahime decided instantly that her idea was stupid. She couldn’t sleep with him, because she might strangle him first.
“Gojo—“
But the line suddenly clicked, cutting off before she could say anything else. Utahime, speechless, stared at her screen again, wondering if her heart was beating so fast because she had imagined the whole conversation. But when she went to look at her recent calls, Gojo's name was at the top of the list, with the little symbol next to his name confirming that he had called her, and not the other way around.
She stood in the middle of her room, blinking in confusion, her phone clutched tightly in her hands. But then there was a noise that made her jolt to a near-electrifying awareness, a soft thud echoing out from her bedroom doorway. Utahime whipped her head around, and her eyes landed immediately on the shadow that had materialized in the doorway, too tall and too familiar to be mistaken for anyone else.
"It's dark in here," the shadow complained in Gojo's voice, even though Gojo could see in the dark and had no reason at all to complain.
"Gojo," Utahime spluttered, almost dropping her phone in her astonishment.
Her room suddenly brightened as the shadow reached for the light switch on the wall, and Utahime had to squeeze her eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of light.
"What are you doing?" she hissed in the direction of her doorway.
She curled her fingers into a fist around her phone as she waited for him to explain himself, her eyes still squeezed shut against the light. She opened them a little when Gojo didn't answer, squinting at the shape of him but not quite managing the frown that normally would've come easily to her.
His hands on her body, his mouth moving over her skin.
But when Utahime opened her eyes completely, she only felt more confused, staring blankly at him as he stood in the doorway. He was...wet, soaked to the bone and shivering, dripping water onto her floor. His hair was plastered to his forehead and she could see water droplets gathered on the lenses of his new, fancy glasses, his eyes just visible over the rims. Quite problematically, he wore a white shirt and that was wet too, clinging to his skin and almost translucent, giving her a troublesome view of his abdomen, more tightly muscled than she remembered from school.
"What—" she murmured, but then cut herself off, at a loss for words.
"I dunno what to do with this thing," Gojo explained, and Utahime only noticed that he was holding something in his hands when he thrust them forward, his fingers curved protectively around a small, also wet, ball of fluff that sat in the center in his palms, four little paws and a tiny pink nose.
It was a cat, she realized, her mouth falling open. A tiny little kitten with wet fur sticking up everywhere, trembling a little in Gojo's hands as if it were just as cold as he was. Gojo, frowning, was staring down at it, rainwater dripping off of his nose.
"It won't stop purring," he continued, his brow tightly furrowed. "Watch this."
He shifted the kitten more solidly into one hand so he could raise the other, and Utahime watched as he poked it very lightly on the head between its tiny ears, just enough to make it squeak in indignation. But then Utahime heard a slow, contented rumbling noise begin to echo out from it, much louder than she would've thought possible from such a small creature. It teetered around in a little circle before it lost its balance, falling straight into Gojo's thumb.
Gojo studied it for a moment, still frowning as the kitten nuzzled against his thumb, and Utahime found herself struggling to bite back a smile as he raised his eyes to look at her, seemingly at a loss for words. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen him so dumbfounded before, his frown still in place but his eyes sparking with confusion and amusement.
"Gojo," she said slowly. "How did you—"
"I was—uh, sleeping," Gojo interrupted her, one side of his mouth ticking wryly up. "And I heard this noise coming from outside, and then I went to investigate, and I had to drop Infinity to grab it—" He trailed off, glancing down to his wet hands. "What the hell do I do with it?"
He met her stare for a moment, still looking a little dumbfounded, but he laughed when she did, the amusement in his eyes spilling over. Her belly was hurting, cramping while she laughed and she pressed a hand to her stomach to try and mute the sensation, bewildered at the turn her night had taken.
She maybe wanted to sleep with him—if she didn't strangle him first—and now he was here at two in the morning with a kitten of all things, dripping all over her floor—
"Do you want—um, do you want clothes?" Utahime blurted in the middle of her laughter, wondering what on earth she had in her apartment that would fit him.
Gojo stopped laughing too, glancing ruefully down over himself as he shivered.
"Yeah, I'll need some," he said little sheepishly. "I am still figuring out the warping shit. I start losing fingers if I go too many times in a row, or too far. And toes."
"And eyebrows?" Utahime asked dryly, eyeing him suspiciously.
Gojo snorted, and he shook his wet hair away from his forehead to show her that his eyebrows were indeed both present, bright white and arched in amusement.
"Not this time," he said with a grin.
He was smiling, but then she saw it slip a little, fading into something else as his eyes dropped from her face, moving over her body as if he had only just realized her relative state of undress. Utahime, also realizing how much of herself that he could see, shifted on her feet, suddenly restless.
Gojo moved slightly like he felt the restlessness too, slowly rolling his shoulders, quietly clearing his throat.
"This what you sleep in?" he murmured, looking at where the hem of her shirt met her thighs, soft cotton tickling her skin.
Utahime bit her lip, feeling too hot beneath the cool blue of his gaze, partially covered by his glasses.
"Yes."
Gojo's gaze was slow as it traveled back up to her face. He had an unfamiliar look in his eye, a glint amongst the blue that Utahime didn't recognize. His smile was slow too, one side of his mouth hitching up and then the other, not quite wide enough for his dimples to show.
"Did you know that's mine?" he asked, softly curious.
Utahime started in surprise, and she glanced down at the design printed on the shirt, cracked and faded from being washed too many times. She thought, now that he had mentioned it, that she vaguely remembered that it was his, her bag getting mixed up with his at some school event too long ago. She hadn't realized she'd kept it, certain that her teenage self would've thrown it at him in disgust—but it was still with her, even after the conflict had been forgotten.
"No," Utahime said honestly. "I didn't."
"Keep it," Gojo murmured. "Looks good on you."
"Thanks," Utahime whispered.
She stared at him, looking at the puddle that had formed by his feet and his hands that were closed around the little kitten, which was still purring loudly enough for her to hear all the way across her room. And the rest of him too, his shirt that was stuck to his skin, and his mouth that was curled up in a half-smile, his eyes slid unabashedly back down to her bare thighs.
Fuck. She'd lost her mind. Insane. Insane.
Utahime was speaking before she knew what she was saying, words slipping, sliding, tumbling out of her mouth and into the space between them.
"I was thinking—I haven't ever...I think I want to sleep with someone," she said in a rush, her voice shaking, "I mean, I think I want to sleep with, um, you. For the—for my first time. Just the once."
She felt frozen after her voice quieted itself, her eyes wide and astonished, wondering if she'd try to take it all back. She realized that she could salvage it, maybe. She could say it had only been a joke, or she could come up with some story, or maybe she was actually asleep and all of this—Gojo in her bedroom, the kitten in his hands, his shirt on her body, and the frantic, frightened, throb of her heartbeat—was only a dream.
But then she heard herself speak again, no louder than a whisper.
"If—if you wanted. Just..so I'd know."
Her eyes were unwittingly glued to where Gojo stood in her doorway, and so she could see too clearly that his own eyes were wide like hers behind his glasses, and that his mouth had opened very slightly in what she thought was shock. She could see the tips of tiny white ears peeking from between his fingers, the little kitten squeaking again in his hands, and she saw Gojo touch his thumb to its head, carefully stroking it to make it purr.
She couldn't look away from him, not sure what the jittery, heady, fearful feelings in her stomach were, and so she saw when he shifted the kitten into one hand again so he could reach up to pull his glasses from his face, his eyelashes falling down very slowly as he blinked.
"Just so you'd know what?" he said in a voice that was perhaps more hoarse than normal, but not, to her relief, harsh or cold or teasing.
"What it feels like," she breathed. "That's—that's all."
"Sex?" Gojo asked, too blunt. "You want to know what sex feels like?"
Her breath caught somewhere in her throat because his voice sounded low, still not harsh.
"Yes," Utahime whispered.
Gojo closed his eyes for a moment, his tongue darting out to touch to the corner of his lips.
"You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes," Utahime whispered again, realizing that her hands were shaking, still gripping her phone.
Gojo's eyes opened again, finding her, and Utahime thought they looked dark, his irises stormy and clouded instead of bright and clear as was their usual countenance.
"For the first time," he stated, like he was trying to get his facts straight. "You haven't...it would be your first time?"
Utahime nodded cautiously, unable to breathe because everything felt too tense. Gojo's eyes followed the movement of her head, and then they stilled, looking at her in a way that felt almost too steady. His thumb still stroked the kitten's head between its little ears.
"Alright," he said, speaking when she had anticipated silence. "Yeah, Uta."
"You...you want to?" Utahime stammered.
She felt the nerves, the jitters in her stomach, something like freedom as Gojo smiled a little wryly, a lock of damp hair falling between his bare eyes.
"Do I want to have sex?" Some of his usual humor had slipped back into his tone. "Uh, yeah, Utahime. Pretty much always. Do you?"
Utahime closed her eyes, thinking of her back arching against a mattress, and the soft, broken, imagined sounds of pleasure falling from her lips. And—and white hair threaded between her fingers, and the sound of Gojo's voice whispering into her ear, roughened and raw.
"Yes," she whispered for the third time that night.
Her eyes slid open again, and she wasn't sure why it was a surprise to see that Gojo still stood in her doorway, and that he had leaned to one side to rest his shoulder against the doorframe. He'd stopped shivering, she noticed. His body was stock-still, as steady as his eyes, even his thumb pausing atop the kitten's head.
"Then let's do it," he murmured.
"Okay," she breathed. "Just...so I'll know."
Gojo nodded to break his stillness, and his smile shifted a little, some of the wryness turning to something darker.
"Right," he said slowly. "Just so you'll know."
Utahime swallowed, looking into his eyes and thinking of practicality.
It would be practical.
Wouldn't it?
***
I actually have this planned out by the chapter which..has never actually happened for me, so there shouldn't be any additions this time! Professionalism 😎
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