Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Absolutely not. All of them need to go.”

The staccato clicking of Utahime’s heels echoed against the polished tile floor as she marched back and forth beneath the high, vaulted ceiling.

“Immediately. Yes, all of them. I don’t think I can make myself any more clear.”

She pivoted sharply, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the tall windows that framed the darkening winter sky. The sight of her own scowl didn’t help her mood. She turned her face, moving the cellphone to her other ear, and then began to stalk back across the lobby.

“What do you mean, ‘three hours?’” she hissed. “The event starts in less than half!”

The voice on the other end of the line mumbled something about having low staff, and Utahime pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” she said flatly.

The voice crackled apologetically.

The clicking of Utahime’s heels halted as she came to a stop. Running her free hand through her hair, she sighed. “Need I remind you that I’m the client here, not that… that insufferable, idiotic—” She bit down on her tongue and clamped her mouth shut. As frustrating as it was, she was letting her temper get the better of her and she needed to get a grip.

And really, she should have known he’d do something like this.

When she spoke again, it was in a far sweeter tone. "I’ll expect this oversight to be addressed on the final bill," she stated politely. "Thank you. And happy holidays."

Ignoring the staticky, crackling protest on the other end of the line, Utahime ended the call and slid her phone into her coat pocket. She glanced down at her reflection in the glossy tile, watching her fingers curl and uncurl, and then up at the gold paper lettering above the large double doors that led into the main ballroom that read, Kyoto Sister-School Christmas Goodwill Event.  

This was supposed to be a celebration.

When Yaga had approached her a month prior about hosting some sort of holiday party for both schools, Utahime had actually been excited. The students at both schools had worked so hard that year, and she thought it a lovely idea to let them have a little fun.

She’d thrown herself into the preparations with her usual thoroughness: booking the venue, coordinating with vendors, ironing out logistics, even personally reviewing the catering menu down to the last canapé. After all, she’d been described as meticulous and hard working – compliments she was rather fond of, though she’d never admit it.

And it had almost been perfect.

She inhaled deeply, smoothed down the front of her coat and dress, and then strode through the double doors.

The ballroom was draped in streams of twinkling white and gold lights that spilled over the edges of high, arched windows like cascading waterfalls of starlight. There were wreaths the size of car tires mounted on every wall, their greens so fresh that they still smelled faintly of pine. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, reflecting a dizzying array of colors.

And, of course, there was mistletoe.

Everywhere.

Utahime had noticed it immediately when she’d first arrived because it was simply impossible not to. The mistletoe infested every doorway, dangled over every table, and, inexplicably, hung from several of the chandeliers that were suspended more than fifty feet off the ground. It was as though a mistletoe bomb had gone off with some form of holiday shrapnel.

She’d found Shoko lounging by the bar with a half-full glass of something amber already in her hand, though the party wasn’t officially going to begin for another half hour, looking like she’d been born to live in the comfortable haze of parties. 

“Shoko,” Utahime called out. “Tell me the mistletoe wasn’t your idea.”

“Not mine,” the doctor had said as she swirled her drink lazily. “That particular bit of mischief belongs to your favorite colleague.”

“Damn it.”

“He was here earlier. Insisted on ‘helping’ with the decorations.”

Utahime groaned. “He hung it everywhere. It’s impossible to avoid.”

“He did mention that was the point.” Shoko had taken another sip of her drink. “You could try to see if whoever you hired to do all the decorations can remove them.”

And that’s was how Utahime had found herself pacing the lobby on the phone with some hapless soul who could only babble about her colleague that had insisted on the last minute changes to the decor. How he’d managed to get the contact information for the design coordinator, she had no idea. 

This was exactly why she’d insisted on planning the event alone.

Now, feeling defeated, she trudged back to the bar.

“No luck?” Shoko asked as Utahime slumped against the counter. She had swapped out her previous drink for something even more colorful – a vibrant red cocktail with a sugared rim – and her cheeks were noticeably pinker than before.

“What does it look like?”

“Eh, don’t sweat it. If you drink enough, you’ll hardly notice the mistletoe. The bartender is excellent, by the way.” She waved over the rather exhausted looking young man wearing a jaunty Santa hat and beard behind the counter. “Hey! Could I get another Cosmopolitan for Utahime here?”

“How long have you been here?” Utahime asked with mild alarm. “How many drinks have you had? The party hasn't started yet.”

Shoko shrugged. “I’m doing a little quality assurance for the party, okay? Consider it my contribution to the planning.”

Another fun cocktail with a glittering rim was gently placed on a napkin in front of Utahime.

“A Cosmo for you, Utahime-sensei.”

Utahime nearly choked on her own spit as she managed a double-take at the bartender, examining the dark circles under his tired eyes, the black hair peeking out from under the Santa hat, the engagement ring.

“Okkotsu?! My god, what on earth…?” she sputtered.

Yuta smiled, or maybe it was a wince? It was hard to tell with his mouth entirely obscured by the fake Santa beard. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Gojo-sensei asked me this morning if I could fill in for the bartender after he, uh… scared him off.”

“You should have seen it,” Shoko laughed. “The poor guy tried to tell him to stop messing with the decorations. Big mistake.”

“Oh my god.” Utahime moaned, dragging her palms down her face. Gojo. “I’m going to kill him,” she muttered under her breath. She turned to Yuta, pointing accusingly. “And you! You should be enjoying this party, not… not working for it! ”

Yuta waved his hands frantically. “No, it’s okay! I don’t mind, really! I mean, it’s kind of fun, and—”

“And you’re underage! You can’t even drink yet! Why are you saying ‘Cosmo’ like you have any idea what it is? Do you even know how to make cocktails?”

“I, uh…” His eyes darted to the bottles lined up behind the bar, then back to Utahime. “Well… I just mix the stuff that looks good together. And sometimes I use the ones with the coolest bottles?”

“You what? ”

“That’s why he’s excellent,” Shoko said. “The drinks are so strong. I don’t even know what’s in mine.”

Before Utahime could open her mouth to argue, the grand double doors swung open, followed by the excited chatter of the first group of students trickling into the ballroom.

Leading the pack were Panda, Toge, and Maki.

The young woman, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, glanced around at the decorations with a critical eye. “What’s with all this mistletoe?” Utahime could hear her words float through the air disdainfully, followed by a quiet snicker from Shoko beside her. Utahime snatched up the cocktail in front of her, quickly muttered, “Cheers,” and downed the drink in one go.

The fiery sweetness hit her like a train, and she coughed, blinking back tears. Gods, Shoko wasn’t kidding. It tasted like a mixture of several glugs of gin and a dash of Campari. It absolutely was not a Cosmopolitan. She set the empty glass down with a clink, then turned to Yuta.

“Good job,” she wheezed. “Only make drinks for the adults, understand?”

Yuta nodded so quickly that his Santa hat slipped to one side, and he hastily adjusted it with both hands.

A waiter approached the trio by the door with a plate of hors d'oeuvres. “Would any of you care for a bacon wrapped scallop?”

Toge nodded and reached for one. “Salmon.”

The waiter looked confused. “No, they’re scallops.”

Meanwhile, Panda, who had squeezed in a ridiculously tight suit jacket, seemed to be searching for something until his sights landed on the bar. “Maki, Toge! He’s here!” Panda waved with such enthusiasm that it was a miracle the seams on his sleeve didn’t tear.

The moment Maki spotted Yuta she immediately strode toward the bar. “Yuta,” she called. “What the hell are you doing back there? We were looking for you everywhere.”

“Bonito flakes,” Toge added helpfully.

Yuta froze like a deer in headlights, his face going an impressive shade of pink that clashed horribly with the red Santa hat that sat limply on his head. “Uh, I… uh—” he stammered, his hands fluttering uselessly, and he glanced at Utahime with a pleading expression.

Clearing her throat, she decided to chime in. “He’s helping out with the party. After an issue with the bartender, he kindly volunteered to step in.”

Maki narrowed her eyes. “Volunteered?” she repeated skeptically, crossing her arms. “Or did our idiot teacher put him up to this?”

Thankfully, before Utahime could reply or confirm Maki’s suspicions, the grand double doors swung open once more. Chatter and laughter poured into the ballroom as more students and faculty began to arrive, and the party officially kicked into full swing.

Utahime seized the opportunity to extricate herself. “Please excuse me,” she said politely, and smiled at the four students. “I need to make my rounds.” She turned to Shoko, slipping her coat from her shoulders. “Mind watching this for me?”

Shoko took her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. “Sure,” she slurred happily, and then patted Utahime’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, as long as Yuta keeps making these banger drinks I’m not going anywhere for a while. Go manage the party.”

“Thanks.” Utahime already felt the fatigue creeping into her muscles, but she straightened her posture, smoothed out her dress once more, and plastered on a smile before heading into the growing crowd.

.

.

.

.

Hours later, she found herself ladling punch into a glass. Her feet ached from all the standing in heels, and there was a faint pounding in her head.

Things were going remarkably well so far, all things considered. There’d been a slight mishap earlier involving Nobara, Yuji, and a very frazzled caterer. She still wasn’t entirely sure how two students had managed to upend an entire tray of yakitori, but at least the mess had been cleaned up quickly.

And, despite Gojo’s efforts, the students seemed to, for the most part, be ignoring the mistletoe. With no other major disasters, no irreparable damage to the venue – she supposed that counted as a win.

Maybe the night would go smoothly after all.

“Good evening, Iori-san.”

She turned to find Ijichi standing beside her, hesitating just slightly before reaching for the ladle to pour himself a glass. His demeanor, as always, was nervous and self-conscious, as though he might shrink into himself at any moment.

“Ijichi,” Utahime greeted in return. “Enjoying the party?”

“It’s, uh… it’s nice.” He shifted on his feet, adjusting his tie awkwardly, and took a tentative sip of his punch.

Utahime raised an eyebrow. “That didn’t sound convincing.”

“Apologies, Iori-san. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“You don’t say.” Utahime couldn’t help a small smile. “Still, I’m glad you could make it.”

Ijichi nodded quickly, eager to agree. “Yes, Gojo-san… encouraged me. It’s important for faculty to support these events.”

Encouraged. Was that a synonym for bullied? “Don’t let that man push you around,” she admonished, though as the words left her mouth, she felt a pang of hypocrisy. Gojo had, after all, effectively hijacked the mistletoe decorations. “Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him all evening.”

“He’s been busy, unfortunately. He was dispatched on an emergency mission earlier today.”

“Ah,” Utahime said quietly, frowning. “I see.”

A mission? Tonight? Her brow furrowed and she cast a furtive glance at Gakuganji, who stood near the far end of the ballroom, speaking in low tones with another elder.

For all his antics and arrogance, Gojo deserved a break as much as anyone. Was this timing coincidental, or was it yet another calculated move by the higher-ups to keep him in check? Assigning him a mission on the night of the party felt like some subtle, vindictive power play.

To her surprise, the thought left her bothered. She hadn’t realized how much she’d expected him to be here, and now that he wasn’t… 

The party felt quieter without him.

“I hope he’s okay,” she said, softer than before.

Ijichi opened his mouth to reply, but then his gaze shifted over her shoulder, and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. His eyes went wide, then he glanced above them. Instantly, Ijichi’s face paled.

“What?” Utahime asked, looking up to see nothing out of the ordinary. Just a chandelier, she thought.

“I, uh— I just remembered something!” Ijichi yelped, nearly spilling his drink as he stumbled backward. “Something I need to… uh, check on! Right now!” His words came out in a rushed jumble as he all but bolted into the crowd, leaving Utahime blinking in confusion. His retreating figure disappeared behind a cluster of students.

What on earth was that about?

Shaking her head, she let out a sigh and turned back toward the punch bowl. She didn’t get far before a large hand clapped down on her shoulder, and she staggered slightly under its weight. She struggled briefly, only to be pulled into a side hug with one long arm slung casually around her shoulders.

“Utahime!”

She instantly wondered why she’d ever felt bad for him at the sound of his unmistakable voice. Her headache returned with a vengeance.

“Gojo,” she growled, shrugging his arm off her shoulder. “What are you doing here? I heard you were on a mission.”

“Mission’s done,” he told her happily. “Didn’t think I’d let those old bags ruin our holiday party, did you?” He turned toward the far end of the room where Gakuganji stood stiffly, scowling at the new arrival. Gojo cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Merry Christmas, Gakuganji! Or should I say, Grinchuganji? Try not to suck all the joy out of the room, yeah?”

Gakuganji’s eyes narrowed into thin slits, and his grip on his cane tightened visibly, but he said nothing, turning back to his conversation without a word, though with a noticeably tighter jaw.

“What do you want, Gojo?” asked Utahime, feeling the weight of his attention settling on her like a spotlight.

“Just wanted to see how you were enjoying my contribution to the decorations. Did you see all the mistletoe?” He leaned against the punch table and grinned.

“You’re kidding, right? It’s literally everywhere.”

It was only now, with him standing still, that she allowed herself to really look at him, against her better judgment.

To her deep, begrudging annoyance, he looked… good . Very good.

He was wearing a deep, inky black tailored suit that contrasted perfectly with his hair, while his tie was a sharp, striking blue that matched his eyes. The fabric of the suit clung just enough to his lean, athletic frame. And, on his lapel, a boutonnière of a single sprig of mistletoe.

It irritated her. It wasn’t fair that anyone could look this good while being so… so…

Her eyes narrowed on a small splatter of red on his cheek, just by the corner of his mouth. Another on his neck, trailing faintly toward his collar.

“Did you come here directly from your mission?” she asked him, suddenly concerned.

“Maybe. Don’t worry, it’s not mine.”

Without thinking, she grabbed a napkin from next to the stacked cups on the punch table, stepped closer, and reached up to wipe the blood from his face. “Hold still,” she said gently. His skin was warm.

Gojo leaned slightly into her touch, watching her intently. His eyes seemed brighter than usual. “You’re fussing, Utahime.”

“Well, you should’ve cleaned up first,” she muttered, ignoring the heat creeping into her cheeks. “You look like a damn mess.” Utahime hoped he couldn’t hear the lie in her voice. But perhaps he did, because he caught her by the shoulder and leaned in.

“And you look beautiful tonight.”

Utahime reared back as her heart leapt into her throat. “I— what?” she stammered.

The dress she was wearing was a vibrant burgundy satin, chosen hastily and without much thought earlier that day. The fabric hugged her figure more than she was used to, with an off-shoulder Bardot neckline and a tasteful side slit. She’d paired it with simple earrings and her most comfortable heels, aiming for practicality more than anything else.

She certainly wasn’t expecting to catch anyone’s eye, let alone his.

“It’s just… what I had,” she said faintly, quickly dabbing the last of the blood away.

When she stepped back, she still felt too close to him. The napkin crumpled in her hand.

“Thanks,” he said lightly, before he smiled again. “I really did have to rush. Needed to come back in time to fully enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

Utahime wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about?”

Before Gojo could reply, Yuji called out excitedly from across the room. “Utahime-sensei! Gojo-sensei! You’re standing under the mistletoe!”

Utahime froze. She’d missed it earlier, but high above her, nestled amidst the crystal of a chandelier, was a sneaky sprig of mistletoe, and she realized that this must have been what Ijichi had seen. Her stomach dropped.

Gojo's complete lack of surprise did not surprise her. He grinned and gave the boy a thumbs-up. “Good eye, Yuji!”

Utahime yelped, stumbling backward as if the mistletoe had suddenly burst into flames. “Absolutely not!” she sputtered, and her hands flew up as if to ward him off. Then, pointing at him, she warned, "Don't come near me."

“It’s tradition,” Gojo said, taking a half-step forward. “Think of the students! You wouldn’t want to ruin the holiday spirit, would you?”

Her face flushed, though from embarrassment or indignation she wasn’t sure, and before he could close the distance any further, she spun on her heel and bolted, weaving through clusters of students and faculty. Gojo’s laughter trailed after her.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind her, and she braced herself against the sink. The porcelain felt cool under her hands while her reflection in the mirror stared back at her. Beet red. Hair slightly frazzled. She reached up to smooth it instinctively.

“Why are you letting him get under your skin?” she asked under her breath. Her reflection didn’t answer.

She exhaled, then squared her shoulders and straightened up. It must have been the compliment he gave her. That was it. He wanted to rattle her, right? Surely he didn’t mean it. When had he ever complimented her before? Clearly, he just wanted to poke the bear.

“Not tonight,” she told herself.

She wasn’t going to let him win.

.

.

.

.

Utahime did her best to keep to the edges of the hornets’ nest otherwise known as the ballroom, carefully navigating away from doorways and arches where mistletoe lingered.

But somehow, Gojo always found her.

The next time, it was at the bar. She had just reached for a glass of whatever concoction Yuta had made when his voice came from over her shoulder.

“Utahime,” he sang. “Is our bartender giving you a hard time?”

“Hi, Gojo-sensei!” Yuta chirped.

She turned with a scowl already plastered on her face, only to realize he was standing beneath another sprig of mistletoe. “Look! At! That!” he gasped from behind his fingers, having clapped his hands to his mouth. “What a coincidence, huh?”

Shoko, who had, true to her word, remained at the bar, whooped drunkenly and nudged Utahime’s shoulder. “Just kiss him already!”

Her heart leapt to her throat, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to step away, muttering something about refilling the punch bowl.

Later, it was the dessert table. Panda had just accidentally toppled the cupcake tower, and in the ensuing chaos, Utahime bent down to help retrieve a frosting-covered plate. When she stood, Gojo was there, pretending to have somehow found his way to be directly in front of her.

“Looks like we’ve been caught again,” he said conspiratorially, leaning closer and pointing at the tiny sprig dangling above them. “Third time’s the charm?”

She gave him a withering glare, and then shoved the plate into his hands and stalk off toward the far side of the room.

For what it was worth, Utahime felt like she was doing a decent job dodging Gojo as the evening wore on. Though there had been too many close calls for her liking, but she’d managed to escape each time with her dignity mostly intact and her lips unkissed.

She should have known it was too good to be true.

She really should have known.

Miwa, perhaps a little too enthusiastic in her attempt to carry an overloaded tray of drinks, tripped over a stray chair leg. In an instant, the tray tipped, and a cascade of bright red punch arced through the air. Utahime barely had time to react before the drinks crashed down, soaking her from shoulder to hem.

The cold punch seeped into the fabric of her cocktail dress, and immediately she felt horrifyingly sticky. 

“Oh no,” Miwa whispered with mounting horror. “Iori-sensei, I—”

“Utahime!” Gojo pushed through the crowd and was by her side in seconds.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said quickly, mortified. Her now-drenched dress clung like a second skin. She shivered, and then let out a choked laugh. “It’s just punch. At least my dress is red, too.”

“Just punch?” he echoed incredulously as he shrugged off his suit jacket. “You’re freezing.”

Before she could stop him, he draped his jacket over her shoulders, and the warmth of it, of him, enveloped her instantly.

“It’s okay, students!” he announced dramatically. “I, Gojo Satoru, will take care of everyone’s second-most favorite and beloved teacher!”

“Second?!” Utahime scowled, feeling her annoyance spike once more. “You… get away from me!”

“She’s delirious! C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

“I can handle it,” she tried to protest, but his arms already came around her, and he clasped his hands together.

There was a brief moment of weightlessness before the world yanked itself out from under her feet. Her stomach lurched violently as the chandeliers and gathering crowd of students vanished, swallowed by nothingness, and by the time the floor solidified beneath her again, the nausea hit like a train.

Utahime gagged, doubling over and clamping a hand over her mouth as her body rebelled. “Why would you do that without asking?” she moaned, willing the bacon wrapped scallops and Yuta’s drinks to stay where they belonged.

“Oops, sorry! I should have warned you,” he trilled, guiding her carefully to a sofa. “Take deep breaths, the nausea fades pretty quickly from what I hear. You’re just not used to it.”

“Of course I'm not used to it,” she snapped weakly.

He’d taken them to his condo, she realized. She’d been here before. Once. A memory surfaced of a regrettable night drinking alone, or so she had planned. But he’d shown up at the bar, insisting that she probably had enough that night, and closed her tab. She’d ended up crashing on his couch – had it been this same couch? – and woken up with a blanket tucked over her along with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen left on the coffee table next to a note that read: “Don’t die on my couch plz xoxoxo”

She’d been mortified.

“Stay here,” he ordered, then disappeared behind a corner only to return with a stack of towels and a bottle of sparkling water. “Would you believe me if I said sparkling was the only kind of bottled water I own?” he said with a small laugh. He knelt beside her and began to blot at the now-sticky satin of her dress. “This might be cold. Lift your arm a little,” he murmured.

“I’m going to ruin your couch.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I want a red couch,” he teased. “Besides, you cleaned me up earlier. Lift your arm.”

She huffed but complied, raising her arm as he worked to clean the worst of the punch. He moved slowly, but she still couldn’t help but flinch when his fingers touched her skin. His touch was gentler than she’d expected, but somehow that made it worse. And when his palm shifted to steady her by the waist as he pressed harder to soak up the punch, her heart fluttered.

Though she didn’t want to admit it, his quiet attention felt… nice.

Maybe this is dangerous, she thought, and curled her fingers slightly into her thighs.

She had Gojo Satoru, the closest thing that jujutsu society has to a god, on his knees, tending to her and her dress like a devoted servant.

This is dangerous.

“I think that’s good enough,” she muttered, trying to suppress the warmth rising to her cheeks.

“No, I don’t think so,” he hummed back. “Good enough is never good enough for Iori Utahime.”

When his eyes met hers, Utahime wondered briefly if he had the same thought that she'd had – and liked it. There was something heavy in the way he looked at her.

“You know, I put up all this mistletoe hoping I could catch you under it.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“And I really do like your dress,” he continued, ignoring her. “But I also hate it.” He gently pressed the towel further down on where her hips formed a crease with her thighs. The slit on her dress exposed more of her skin than she’d ever thought would show when she'd selected her outfit earlier that day.

“I can’t get it out of my head,” Gojo added as an afterthought, and then ran a finger down the slit.

“Shut up,” she whispered, desperately trying to not let her voice show just how much he was affecting her. “You’re just making fun of me.” She pressed her legs together, trying to quash the heat building low in her stomach. His careful ministrations were doing something to her.

“Utahime. Look at me.”

No, no, no. She couldn’t. If she looked at him, he’d see the dark want behind her eyes. If she looked at him, this would stop being a game.

She felt the couch cushion dip as he sank into the space beside her, the towels left forgotten on the floor. Her fingers fully curled into fists, but she found his hands reaching for them, tugging them into his lap.

“Does this feel like I’m making fun of you?”

Her hand brushed against his thigh, and then – oh. Her brain stalled as she realized what she was feeling – him, straining against the fabric of his dress pants.

Oh. Fuck.

Every neuron in Utahime’s brain short circuited, leaving her unable to string together any sentence more complicated than, “You like me?”, which she uttered stupidly.

Gojo laughed, pleased, pulling her fingers to his lips where he placed a kiss on her knuckles. “For years,” he admitted. “I’ve wanted you for years.”

“I… I don’t believe you.” Utahime stared at him with open disbelief.

“Really?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Obvious?” Her indignation flared. She tried to wrench her hands back but he laughed, kissing her knuckles again as she continued to rant. “You bully me all the time, tease me and call me weak – for god’s sake, you even pulled on my hair when we were younger!”

His unapologetic grin widened. “And can you blame me? You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but then he tilted his head, his expression softening. “You’re right, though,” he murmured in a low voice. “Maybe I deserve to be punished.”

Punished?

Another flare of dark excitement coiled tight in her, and she squirmed, desperate to relieve the pressure building inside her. To her horror, the warmth between her thighs had become slick and wet, and she knew she was ruining the back of her dress.

“What do you say, hmm?” 

Utahime swallowed. “What about the party?”

“Relax, that’s what the coordinators you hired are for, right? Let them take care of it.”

“Won’t people notice we’re gone?”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled. “They’ll probably figure it out.”

Was this even happening right now? Something rational in the back of her mind was telling her that this was insane, that they should probably talk about all these… feelings? Complications? Whatever it was between them. But the rest of her, all electrified and buzzing with the rushing heat and tension of the moment, decided that rationality could wait.

It decided that she really liked the way he was looking at her right now.

Slowly, she leaned forward. Gojo’s eyes widened and then darted to her lips, pupils dilated, but when he moved to meet her halfway, she pushed him back, placing her hand on his chest. His heart was pounding beneath her palm, and confidence surged within her.

He was nervous, too.

Her gaze dropped to the boutonnière still pinned to his lapel, the unassuming sprig of mistletoe wrapped in silk ribbon. With a delicate hand, she plucked it free and rolled the stem between her fingers. “You caused quite a mess with your little mistletoe stunt earlier,” she mused softly.

His eyes glittered. “I did. It was a terrible thing to do. Truly awful.”

Utahime twirled the mistletoe one more time between her fingers then tilted her head to the side, exposing the curve of her neck. She dangled the mistletoe above it.

“Kiss me here,” she demanded. “And only wherever I hold this.”

It was as though she’d fired a starting pistol into the air when she finally gave him the permission. Gojo pulled her into his arms, greedily, desperately, and she felt his lips on her throat. Now seated in his lap, she could feel the rock hard length of him pressed against her own slick in such a satisfying way that she moaned, grinding her hips into him, uncaring that she was ruining the front of his pants.

He growled against her skin, bucking upward uncontrollably. His other hand threaded into her hair, gently at first, before tugging her head back to gain more access to her neck.

So he likes control, Utahime thought faintly. Would he give it up if she insisted?

When he pulled back to capture her lips with his own, she planted a firm hand over his mouth. She could feel his breath hot against her palm.

“Uh-uh,” she teased in a low voice. Her free hand lifted the sprig of mistletoe, lowering it between them until it hovered just above her collarbones. “You need to follow the rules.”

“You’re fucking killing me,” Gojo sighed from behind her palm. His hands crept up her back, one splayed out over her shoulder blades and the other snaked around the small of her waist. She caught the glint in his eye a moment too late. The world spun, and with a startled gasp, she found herself on her back with the couch cushions soft beneath her. He loomed above her now with his white hair falling messily into his eyes as he braced himself with one arm, caging her in.

“But fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll play along with your little game.” He didn’t try to kiss her lips again. Instead, he dipped his head, his mouth brushing against her collarbones, exactly where she had indicated, before moving lower, nipping at the plush swell of her breasts, tonguing the edge of her dress’ neckline.

Utahime moaned, then clapped her free hand over her mouth at the sound. Barely touched, she thought, her cheeks burning. And I’m already—

She could feel his mouth curl into that familiar, infuriating smirk against her skin. “Stop smiling!” she complained, embarrassed, her voice muffled by her one hand as she shoved at his shoulders with the other. The flush on her face burned hotter with every second. Gojo allowed her to move him – up to a certain point. Once her arm was fully extended, he sat back on his haunches and caught her wrist with ease. The mistletoe dangled from her fingertips.

“I can only kiss where the mistletoe is, right?”

Her eyes traced an invisible line down from the mistletoe to where it hovered above… oh.

“Gojo, wait—” Utahime squirmed under him, but he caught her and scooped her back.

“Nah, no waiting,” he cooed. “I’m following your rules, aren’t I? I’m being good.”

He released her hand only to hook his arms underneath her knees and lift her easily, as though she weighed nothing at all. Utahime yelped as her dress draped at the slit and folded back towards her chest, revealing her shamefully soaked panties.

“Put me down,” she yelped, trying to pull the hem of her dress back into place.

Gojo was silent for a moment. The only thing she could feel that proved he wasn’t some statue holding her was the faint tremor in the way his fingers flexed against her thighs, his grip tightening just enough to send a shiver coursing through her. It was that, and the barely restrained cursed energy roiling off him.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?”

It was a rhetorical question, because he didn't wait for her answer before he dipped his head, his breath warm against her skin. And then, without hesitation, he dragged a slow, languid stripe of his tongue over the soaked fabric of her panties.

The sensation was overwhelming – wet heat meeting soaked silk. Utahime gasped as a wave of pleasure rippled through her. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the cushions beneath her, desperate for something to hold on to. She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

He didn’t give her the choice.

His lips followed the path his tongue had traced, pressing kisses through the fabric. The tip of his tongue darted out again, finding her clit just beneath the soaked cloth, and her hips jerked in response. A low, satisfied hum rumbled from his throat, and the vibration sent another shiver down her spine.

“Satoru—” she whimpered. The heat building inside her was unbearable, an ache that demanded release, and he seemed determined to drag it out as long as possible.

His name on her lips seemed to stir something in him, and it left him almost unrecognizable. His pupils were blown wide – wild and utterly animalistic.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Before she could protest, he dropped her back onto the sofa and his fingers hooked into the delicate waistband of her panties, tearing through them in one swift motion. He tossed them aside without a second thought. “I’ll buy you more,” he promised, voice thick. “As many as you want. Ones with mistletoe on them.”

His hands returned to her thighs, thumbs pressing into soft flesh as he spread her legs wider, lowering himself between them. She barely had time to process the loss of her underwear before his mouth was on her again, this time with nothing in the way. 

If he managed to wreck her completely with her panties on, there was no hope for her with the way his tongue felt directly on her skin. He parted her lips with his tongue, then lightly suckled her clit, leaving her gasping and hands flying to his hair.

This was so fucking unfair, she decided dimly. It was so unfair that Gojo Satoru, with all his gifts, all his looks, also had to be so fucking good at this.

And he knew it.

A low moan that sounded close to something like “Fuck,” rumbled from him, vibrating against her and sending shimmering sparks through her body. In one fluid motion, he pulled her to the edge of the couch and then dropped to his knees on the floor, settling her legs over his shoulders with ease.

The new position left her entirely at his mercy.

“Perfect,” he babbled. “You have the prettiest pussy.”

“Shut up,” Utahime hissed, trying to cover herself with a hand, though he caught her wrist and lifted it away easily. “Don’t look so closely.”

“I can’t help it. I have good eyes.”

She felt the gentle press of his fingers against her, testing lightly before slipping one inside with a friction that made her toes curl. “Do you have any idea,” he murmured, almost contemplative, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Fucking you on this couch?” His finger moved in a beckoning motion with each stroke, coaxing a quiet moan from her lips. “And faculty meetings with you? Absolute torture. Do you know how many times I had to jerk myself off afterward just to think straight?”

He leaned forward after that, and his tongue found her clit once more.

It was all over for her.

“Ah—!” Her voice broke in a cry as he added another finger. Were his fingers always this long? The stretch was perfect, and the way his tongue focused on her clit while his fingers plunged inside her left her unable to think of anything else.

“Look at you,” she could hear him muse in a low, rough voice after he pulled away for a moment to take her in. “You’re falling apart so beautifully, Utahime.”

She was cumming before she even realized it. Her body tensed, back arching off the couch as the pleasure crashed over her in a wave so intense it stole the air from her lungs.

Whether Gojo was phased by her thighs suddenly crushing him, he gave no indication. He continued to lap at her, savoring every drop like he couldn’t get enough.

When her breathing finally slowed and her legs finally stopped shaking, she glanced down at him only to meet his eyes. Brightest blue and joyful and unabashedly happy. His lips were glistening with her. He leaned up slightly to press a kiss to her inner thigh.

“You taste so good,” he said. “I can’t believe this is happening right now. You’re so beautiful, Uta. I can’t wait to do that again. I’m good, right?”

“Stop talking,” Utahime managed hoarsely. She barely had the energy to glare at him but tried her best anyway.

Gojo was clearly delighted by her reaction. He sat back on his knees and reached for something beside the couch. When he straightened, the forgotten sprig of mistletoe dangled between his fingers. He held it above her.

“You know,” he began, slumping beside her on the couch, “I think we missed something important earlier.”

He lowered the mistletoe until it hovered just above her lips, then leaned forward to claim her mouth in a kiss. It was soft and delicate. Innocent, in a funny, backward way, considering everything they’d just done. She could taste herself on him, and the realization made her head spin.

He went down on me before we even kissed for the first time.

The thought thrilled her in a way she didn’t think it would. When they finally parted, her eyes trailed down the lines of his body. He was still hard. Painfully so, probably, considering his rather large erection straining against his pants, which she couldn’t help but let her fingers brush lightly over.

The effect was immediate.

He bucked into her touch involuntarily and a shaky laugh escaped him as his head fell forward, resting against her shoulder. “Careful,” he said in a rough voice. He looked up at her with a weak smile. “I might cum in my pants. You’re so fucking hot.”

Utahime’s brows shot up, and she fought the urge to laugh. “You what? You know, you really do talk too much,” she said with a smile, and her hands moved to his belt buckle, fumbling slightly in her eagerness.

Gojo let out a soft, incredulous laugh and settled his hands over hers. “This,” he said, taking over and helping her with the buckle, “is the greatest day of my life. Merry Christmas to me.”

When she pulled him free from the confines of his trousers, her breath hitched. To her dismay – and her growing frustration – he was perfect, because of course he was. Long and thick with veins along the length, his cock was flushed a deep, enticing pink at the tip. It was beautiful, for lack of a better word. 

Would he even fit inside her?

So fucking unfair, she thought again.

Her gaze lingered on the tiny pearlescent drop already forming at the tip. It caught the light, gleaming faintly, and without thinking, she reached out and brushed her thumb over it experimentally, smearing it slick across the head.

Gojo hissed sharply as his hips jerked forward once again on instinct. His hand quickly shot out and wrapped around her wrist carefully, peeling her away from him. He tilted his head back and groaned, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment in a mix of pleasure and desperation.

“Utahime,” he warned in a hoarse voice. When he opened his eyes again, they were dark and heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide. He looked at her like a man barely holding himself together. “If you keep doing that, I might—” He broke off, his grip on her wrist tightening slightly. “I will cum all over you.”

Utahime wanted to laugh in a giddy rush. Here was Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in history, looking genuinely undone and teetering on the edge of control. And it was because of her, the scarred, semi-grade 1 who had never had a lick of power in her life.

It was intoxicating.

She smiled, and then leaned forward and nipped at his lips. “Good,” she said softly. Her thumb pressed against the tip of his cock again, slippery from precum, moving in slow circles, watching in fascination how his body trembled under her touch.

Until his large hands found her hips. “No,” he breathed in a strained tone. “Not good. Not until I fuck you.”

He pushed her gently back down against the couch, then let his cock settle heavy against her stomach. She could feel the heat from him even through the satin of her dress.

Gojo tilted his head and smiled. “See?” he said, dragging his hand leisurely along his cock as if to measure the distance. “I’ll be this deep in you.”

The words sent a flush of heat through her. Her body seemed to react before her mind could catch up. She wrapped her legs around his hips as she glared at him. “Stop messing around.”

He laughed. “I’m just trying to buy some time,” he admitted with a hint of strain. “If I don’t calm down a little, I’m gonna have to start thinking about Gakuganji in a Grinch costume when I fuck you.”

The mental image was so absurd that this time Utahime did choke out a laugh, her head falling back as she covered her eyes with one hand. “Stop it!” she groaned, trying to stifle the lingering laughter. “You don’t always have to say whatever pops into your head, you dummy.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “Not that you need to hear it,” she added begrudgingly, “but you were… quite good, when you…”

Tongue-fucked me so well that I almost thought I died and went to heaven? Absolutely not. Those words would never, under any circumstances, physically leave her mouth.

He would never let her live it down, she was sure.

Gojo’s brows lifted in mock offense and he let out a dramatic gasp. “Quite good?” he repeated. “Utahime. Quite good isn’t good enough for me.”

The flush on her cheeks deepened even further and she opened her mouth to respond, but the words died when she felt him hike the skirt of her dress up, and then guide his cock between her folds, using her as a lubricant.

“Ready?” There was that dark look in his eyes again, like before. He carefully studied her face as if to catalog her expressions as he slowly pushed himself into her.

Even just the tip of him stretched her, and immediately it pulled a gasp from her. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching at him as her body adjusted to his girth.

Gojo’s breath came out in a trembling exhale. His self-control was fraying, clearly. “You okay? Oh, fuck, you’re so tight.”

Her nails dug into his shoulders slightly. “Y-yeah,” Utahime whispered. “It’s been a while. Keep going.”

“You’re doing so well.” His lips found her temple before moving lower to her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s…” she started, though the words died in her throat as he pushed in a little more, filling her slowly. “It’s not too much,” she continued in a tight voice. “Just… keep going.”

Gojo’s grip on her hips tightened as he obeyed, sliding in deeper, until finally, he was fully seated inside her.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned shakily.

She, on the other hand, had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. His cock was just so fucking big. She didn’t think she’d ever been filled so fully and deeply before. The stretch bordered on pain, but felt so good. She needed more.

“Utahime,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “You feel—” He broke off, biting back a curse as he thrust his hips experimentally, earning a tiny yelp from her in return.

He paused at her sound, mistaking it for pain. Desperate to relieve the aching pressure inside of her, she shifted beneath him, rolling her hips slightly to test the angle. This drew a sharp hiss from him.

“Don’t do that, please,” he said, his voice strained, a wry smile flickering across his lips. “How quickly do you want this to end?”

A spark of defiance ignited in her chest. “Then move,” Utahime whined.

His laugh was low and hoarse, but the glint in his eyes returned. “So bossy,” he quipped. “Yes, senpai.” He adjusted his positioning one more time before he began to thrust into her at a steady pace.

The friction was overwhelming.

Shocks of pleasure spiraled through her as her body arched beneath him. Now that she had time to fully adjust to his size, his cock felt like it was made for her – touching every part inside her that caused her to writhe under him. Gojo, for his part, seemed to chase every sound she made, every tremble of her body. If she made a particular whimper or moan he enjoyed, he fucked her in a way that ensured he could hear that sound again, and again, and agin.

“I’m going to need you to cum on my cock,” he panted. “I’ve never needed anything more in my life. Can you do that for me?”

Utahime could only mewl pathetically, scraping her nails along his back as she surrendered to his rhythm. The couch creaked beneath them, mingling with her soft moans. Every thrust pushed her closer to the edge, and she could feel her body tightening around him as the tension built.

“Satoru— there,” she gasped.

His movements grew more desperate, his hips pumping against hers in a frantic way that left her making sounds she’d never thought she’d make. He angled his hips just right, his cock managing to hit a spot that made her cry out, causing a rush of heat to course through her. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, deeper. He needed to be deeper – this was the only truth she understood at the moment.

She could feel the powerful muscles of his back flex as he panted into her ear. “I’m going to cum, Uta, baby,” Gojo whimpered under his breath. “Fuck.”

She would have laughed at the desperation in his voice if she could breathe, but all that came out was a broken moan as her own climax rippled through her, so powerful it left her seeing stars. She could feel herself clenching around him, followed by a strangled cry tearing itself from Gojo’s throat as he shuddered, thrusting into her one last time in a stuttering, jerking motion. She could feel his cock pulsing, throbbing, buried deep inside her.

Utahime struggled to catch her breath. She’d just had sex with Gojo Satoru. The thought made her stomach flip, especially when she realized that she had liked it, maybe even loved it. Utahime blinked up at the ceiling, struggling with those odd, flickering feelings bubbling in her chest – warmth, annoyance, happiness, and a quiet, dangerous kind of satisfaction.

They were colleagues. He was… him, and she was just her. This could never work, right?

But deep down, she wished it could.

She wasn’t sure what to do with those feelings, so like many other things in her life she didn't know how to handle, she tucked them away somewhere in the back of her mind for now.

“Shit,” Gojo moaned, breaking the silence. “Sorry, that was so fast. I couldn’t help it, you’re just…” His lips found her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her skin as he moved, his breath tickling her ear. “But give me a minute and I can probably go again,” he hummed happily into her hair.

“Again?!”

“Oh, are you too sensitive?” He was still inside of her, so he tried pushing his still half-hard cock deeper.

“Ah— s-stop!” Utahime batted at his shoulders, trembling from overstimulation. “It’s too… too much.”

He laughed, settling back on his haunches and pulling himself free with a wet sound, and Utahime shivered from the sudden loss of him. “Okay, okay. We can just do it again tomorrow. With no clothes next time.”

“You seem pretty confident,” she muttered, pushing herself up weakly into a sitting position. Only then did she notice the massive pink punch stains and wet marks on the once-pristine white couch. “Oh no.” Utahime groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Your couch! The punch… I'm so sorry—”

“I don’t care,” Gojo yawned, laying back down on the ruined sofa having buckled himself back up, propping his upper body up on the arm rest and crossing his legs in the space between her back and the couch cushion behind it. “You’ll just owe me. And by ‘owe me,’ I mean we’ll do this on the new couch too.” He cracked an eye open to peek at her cheerfully. “And on my kitchen table, and in my bed, and in the storage closet next to your classroom, and in your classroom, and—”

“Shh!” Utahime hissed, swatting at him weakly. “I think you’re getting way too ahead of yourself.”

He caught her arm and pulled her down on top of him. He was so incredibly warm, and suddenly her eyelids felt very heavy.

“All I know is that you’ve made me the happiest man alive tonight,” he finished softly.

Utahime blushed, relaxing into his breathing. “Maybe we should talk about all this? About us?” She yawned, fighting the sleep that was threatening to overtake her, and then continued, mumbling, “Figure out what we are to each other…” She barely had the energy to think.

Gojo chuckled, and Utahime could feel the sound vibrate through her. His fingers brushed through her hair absently, and she felt him deposit a kiss against her crown. “What’s there to figure out?” he asked lightly. “You’re finally mine.”

She huffed softly, too tired to argue or push up against the steel arms that had wrapped around her fully, though a small, sleepy smile played on her lips.

As her breathing evened out, she faintly heard him whisper, “Merry Christmas, Utahime.”

It was the last thing she heard before sleep claimed her, warm and safe in his arms.