Work Text:
1:31 AM.
Outside, the world was still — trees, mountains and a glassy lake, quietly holding the reflection of a young crescent moon.
Utahime sat at the kitchen table, while Gojo lay on the couch nearby, his arm draped over his eyes. Alcohol didn’t sit well with his body. She might’ve smirked at the sorry state he was in if she didn’t feel just as awful. The only difference was that Gojo hadn’t even finished his first beer. She, on the other hand, had managed four. And now they were both paying the price.
Iori ran a hand across her face, as if trying to rub away the fog still clouding her mind. The cold water had helped. So had the pill. But that wasn’t what bothered her.
She couldn’t remember when exactly it had happened. She’d missed the moment when the two of them ended up alone. Just a little while ago, the place had been full — Shoko, Mei Mei, Nanami — all of them celebrating Shoko getting her medical license. Or maybe they just needed an excuse to escape the city’s noise, the hustle and bustle with all its work routine, head into the mountains for one night in a cabin, get drunk and forget about the rest of the world. A reason, indeed, was needed. Shoko gave them one.
Even Satoru had agreed to come — though he made it very clear he wouldn’t be staying for long, claiming he’d never been much of a drinker. The smell of alcohol turned his stomach. Shoko teased him, of course: “What, scared it’ll blow the lid off?” And, well... everyone got the picture. It was better if he didn’t drink. Gojo was a handful when sober and drunk him… oh, was someone you’d only want to face with a cross in your hands.
Utahime dropped her gaze on the glass of water and the white capsule beside it — a medicine Shoko had brought from overseas.
“When you feel like absolute crap,” she’d said.
And half an hour later, she had to admit, it did help. Same with Gojo — they’d finally managed to get him horizontal. Though he’d fought it like a tantrum-throwing child the entire way.
She pushed the chair back to stand. Her body ached to move, maybe stretch a little, to step outside for the air.
“I didn’t mean to barge into your room,” came a voice from behind.
She flinched and then froze for a second. Wait — was that… an apology?
Annoyance bubbled up. Because of course, that was only half an apology. It pissed her off. Gojo being Gojo — always blurring the line, crossing it like it never existed. Like wind crashing through a damn shut window.
And what was worse — even now, wrapped in this half-assed excuse —
she still couldn’t quite ignore him.
Could not hear him.
Could not look.
Couldn’t stop feeling that jagged, disordered pull that kept her from truly, fully hating him.
A couple of hours ago, when they’d just arrived at the cabin, that clown thought it’d be hilarious to douse Utahime with cold water. She hated the cold. So, she’d shrieked like she’d been stung and bolted straight to the bedroom, fuming.
She just wanted to change before a possibility of catching a cold. Of course, in her rush — furious, wet, and half-freezing — she’d forgotten to lock the door. Her whole mind was focused on three things: how freaking cold it was, how her clothes clung unpleasantly to her skin, and how Gojo had already managed to ruin her mood.
And then the door creaked open behind her.
“Don’t be mad, Uta—”
She froze.
So did the man in the doorway.
Knocking? Please. Gojo never knocked. He tried the handle — it turned — and he walked right in. Now he stood there, staring at her. In her bra.
White.
Lacy.
Pretty.
Her face, however, was flaming red.
“Get out!” she barked, already reaching for the cup on the nightstand. She was this close to hurling it at his idiotic head.
Gojo vanished instantly and hadn’t said a word to her since. Not until now.
She was still angry. Not because of the room — well, not just that — but because he never apologized for the water and never would. But what he’d done after? That had been too much, even for him. She opened her mouth, ready to throw something sharp but he cut her off:
“You have beautiful breasts.”
“You — ” she flushed.
A dozen words surged up at once — idiot, pervert, creep — and the urge to finally lob that damn cup at his head. However, when she turned toward him, aiming to glare…
She froze.
Those eyes.
No smirk, no teasing glint. Just that piercing, focused blue. Studying her. Seeing her.
What the—
“Are you serious?” she breathed before she could stop herself.
“Yeah.”
Her breasts weren’t big, but they were well-shaped. She liked their form. The size, though... She’d always thought men preferred something else, more. It made her less sure that anyone could actually like them.
But Gojo had said beautiful and there was no mockery in his voice.
Somewhere deep beneath the embarrassment and the irritation, a quiet heat stirred inside her warm flickered to life. It felt... good. She tried to shake the thought loose, blame it on the alcohol fogging up her brain.
“Gojo...” she began and stopped. His gaze catching hers again. She rarely saw his eyes. He was always hiding behind that blindfold or a pair of tinted glasses. She’d assumed they’d be cold. But they were burning. He was looking at her the same way he looked at a curse he was about to take apart — only this time, she was the thing he was dissecting.
His gaze slid over her body — unhurried, unfiltered.
Somewhere between breath and silence, desire stirred.
Drunk.
Stupid.
Way too bold.
“Do you want to... touch them?”
She looked away, almost squeezing her eyes shut. Stupid. Now he’d definitely laugh. Remember it forever and bring it up at every chance just to mess with her. Only… he didn’t laugh.
“I do,” he said simply.
Her heart skipped a beat, cheeks flared hot, and something deep inside her ached — not from shame, but from… a need. Hotter. Sharper.
She heard the faint rustle as he shifted into a sitting position. Out of instinct, she turned her head — and there he was, just as she’d expected: elbow resting on his knee, chin in hand, legs spread like he owned the damn room.
The stupid male habit she normally hated. And yet… now, in this moment, it felt different.
Grounded.
Steady.
Dangerous in a way that made her pulse trip.
“Come here,” he said, not a command, a fact. Something that simply was.
She wanted to protest, to snap back at him but hesitated. One part of her was already standing, already halfway to him. The other clung to the chair, to reason, to anger.
But now…right now she just wanted…
The legs of the chair scraped softly against the floor. She stood. Took a step towards, meaning to sit beside him.
“No.”
He stopped her with just that. And then nodded subtly toward… what?!
“You want me to sit between your legs?!”
The words came out sharper than she meant, too loud for the stillness of the night.
She bit her lip. No one would hear — it was too late, everyone was asleep. But still. The silence after her voice suddenly felt too quiet.
“With your back to me,” he said with no teasing, no smirk. Just calm certainty. And that was the strange part. Maybe he just wanted her to obey, maybe he'd locked his usual sarcasm behind closed doors, just this once. Maybe it was the alcohol dulling his edges.
But no —
She knew him well.
Gojo wasn’t a fool because of the mood.
It was wired into him, bone deep.
She frowned but still took a few slow steps and moved between his legs.
He leaned back, giving her space. Utahime sat with her back to him, careful to keep some distance and not to brush against him with her back or hips, holding onto silly illusion of the distance.
That only made her thoughts worse.
Her thoughts slipped. Unwanted images started popping up. Her cheeks flushed at the images they conjured.
He pulled her closer, his hands settling on her waist. Warm and steady. She felt his breath against her neck and instinctively turned her face away.
A low chuckle followed.
“Shy? After already saying yes?”
Ah — there he was. Gojo, in his teasing tone. The switch had flipped the second she was where he wanted her. Like someone had turned the light back on.
“Your breath is tickling me,” she snapped, clinging to her usual defenses.
“But you like it,” he murmured and his hands, feather-light, slipped beneath her clothes.
“Hey—! Over the clothes, I said—”
“No,” he said — quiet and low.
“I want to feel you. Really.”
He touched her over the bra. Once. Then again. A little firmer. She let out a slow, shaky breath. His hands were big and warm, his fingers long and precise. He moved slowly, almost lazily, like he was learning her through touch.
“Can I take it off?” His breath tickled against her ear.
“Gojo…” Her voice trembled. With want. With hesitation. With the fear of just how badly she did want it.
“I won’t do anything you don’t like.”
She nodded. A minute later, her bra was gone, and her head was resting back against his shoulder. He was touching her bare chest — palming, kneading, playing.
Slow, steady movements. And inside her, she felt like everything filled with warm water. Her body softened. Her thoughts unraveled, drifting out of reach like mist. Nothing felt solid anymore. Her mind floated, thoughts slipping just out of focus, like words forgotten on the tip of the tongue. Strangely, it didn’t scare her, it felt… absurdly light.
Then his lips brushed her neck. And she let out a quiet moan, unable to hold it back.
“I want to taste it.” His voice had gone rough. She felt him — hard against her back.
The weight of it. The heat. And still, part of her kept thinking: this was too much.
She was Utahime. Sitting between his legs. Gojo’s. It didn’t make sense. But her stomach twisted with heat, and she blamed it on the alcohol.
She exhaled — slow and shaky.
“Then taste.”
“Turn around. Sit on me.”
His voice dropped — low, edged with something that wasn’t quite a request. This time, it was almost a command. Utahime had never heard him speak like that. Her heart pounded too fast, too loud. She didn’t know what she wanted more — to push him away, or to give in. The second was dangerous. But infinitely more tempting. And so, she gave in.
He lifted her shirt. His palms slid over her skin — warm, steady. One hand tangled in her hair, pulled gently, angling her back just how he wanted. Then his mouth closed around her nipple — first a slow lick, then he sucked, deep. She moaned, arching into it, her body already answering before her mind caught up. He moved to the other nipple and did the same.
“Gojo…”
A moan — choked, breaking. She pulled him closer, pressing his head against her chest, her fingers firm at the back of his neck.
His hand released her hair. Slid under her chin. Lifted her face to his.
His thumb traced her lower lip. Slow, with just enough pressure to make her breath catch.
“Just don’t bite,” he murmured, and pushed two fingers into her mouth.
She watched the satisfied curve of his smile. Her cheeks burned red, her hands gripping his shoulders. His fingers filled her mouth, and the look of his eyes told her — he wanted more.
For a moment, Utahime hesitated. Then, slowly, she ran her tongue along one finger.
Then the other. Tentative. Testing.
A little bolder. She licked tracing along the joints, then took them in deeper, sucking.
His gaze darkened with arousal.
She exhaled softly, the tremble in her body betraying just how hard it was hitting her. She didn’t look away. Her movements grew more sure, her tongue curling, her lips tightening around him.
He let out a sharp breath. Short, strained, like it almost undid him.
Then he pulled his fingers free and before she could catch another thought, his mouth was on hers.
Hungry.
Deep.
Tongue pushing past her lips like he owned her breath. She moaned, but kissed him back just as fiercely, pressing herself against him, needing more. But then Gojo pulled back, his breathing unsteady. There was hunger in his eyes — sharp, unmistakable — but he was holding it back. It had gone far enough. Too far. It was better to stop now, go back to the room, and tomorrow… Tomorrow they’d pretend it was nothing. Blame it on the alcohol.
Yes.
It was the alcohol.
So…
“I’m wet,” she whispered.
She leaned in. Whispered against his ear in the same tone he’d used on her moments ago. Then moved a little closer. He froze. His muscles tightened as if a jolt of electricity hit him. She noticed. And liked it. Liked having that effect on him. Making someone like him — Gojo — feel vulnerable.
“Wet,” she repeated, watching the way his breath caught, heavy and ragged.
“Wanna see for yourself?”
She’d never been this bold. Not in real life. Not with a man. But now seeing the balance shift, seeing him undone… she wanted to push it further.
“Utahime…”
He exhaled her name like it was already too much.
She took his hand. Slowly guided it down over her stomach, and then a little lower.
“Your fingers are so long…”
He looked up at her. And she stilled. His eyes had darkened as if he was standing right at the edge of losing control.
He pulled her closer. His hands tightened around her waist. Their faces were nearly touching.
“You want to come on my fingers?” he whispered against her lips.
“I do.”
And he didn’t hold back. His mouth crashed into hers — greedy, certain. The heat of his body pressed down on her, and before she could understand what was happening,
he’d shifted them and laid her beneath him.
His fingers slipped between her legs, pressing, stroking. Even through the fabric, it made her jolt. Her lips broke away from his, and a moan escaped — low and breathless. His shoulders, beneath her palms, were solid. She gripped them without thinking, pulling him closer, like she needed to anchor the moment or herself. She didn’t want to think about how many times he’d done this before. Right now, she only cared that he was very good at it.He pressed harder, a bit rougher with the just right amount. She dug her nails into his skin, no restraint.
It was pleasure.
It was surprise.
It was burning shame.
Then, suddenly, the pressure vanished. She let out a frustrated noise, soft and annoyed.
He chuckled near her ear.
“Patience.”
And just like that her underwear was gone. So fast she barely understood how.
Now it was just skin. And the breath. His breath. Above her. Beside her. At her neck.
Utahime arched with a gasp when his fingers touched her again — this time, nothing in between. The feeling was sharper now. Clearer. He stroked, pressed — searching for the spot that would make her louder.
With his palm.
With his fingers.
He changed the pressure, and her legs trembled. His fingers moved with a steady rhythm, pulling more moans from her lips. He pressed deeper, seeking to slip inside and then stilled. Utahime held her breath. Not from pain. But because he’d realized.She hadn’t said anything but the silence between them thickened. She braced herself, waited for the joke.
“Huh. Still a virgin?”
But it never came. Instead, his touch returned, but softer now, gentler, a slight shift in angle, watching her every reaction. Then his mouth found her neck and he kissed. Slowly, with whispered words between each breath, words that made her blush. And when she moaned with her head tipped back, nails digging into his shoulders —he didn’t smirk, didn’t laugh.
He just kept touching her.
Kissing her.
He pulled back slightly. And for a moment she saw him. The Gojo that cursed spirits feared. Fierce. Unpredictable. But right now, his eyes were only on her.
Her breath was uneven, her body trembling from everything he’d already drawn out of her. She hadn’t even noticed his fingers at his belt, not until the soft sound of his voice cut through the haze:
“Close your thighs.”
“What—”
He did it himself, closed her thighs with his hands, and slid his cock between them, starting to move. He didn’t want to take her virginity. Not like this. She’d understand that later. But he couldn’t hold back anymore. His grip tightened on her hips as he thrust between her legs, using the pressure of her body around him.
His moans were low, restrained, his face buried in her neck.
His breath, hot and broken, burned against her skin, and his pace — fast, rough — sent jagged waves of friction through her. He bit her neck. Held her tighter as if trying to keep himself from losing control completely. She didn’t stop him. Only gasped, head falling back, as every thrust stole another piece of her breath. He came with a raw, muffled groan, collapsing over her. His weight heavy, his breath searing warm against her skin. A few seconds later, Gojo playfully bit her ear. She heard his quiet laugh. Low and smug.
“Great tits,” he murmured.
Utahime genuinely didn’t know whether to slap him… or moan again.
In the morning, she’d blame it all on the alcohol and would go back hating him. Except the moment she caught him looking at her like that again, she’d be dragging him into the nearest empty room to do it all over again.