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Utahime resists the urge to throw her baseball cap on the ground, because such a thing would be quite unprofessional, and she is still on the clock, after all.
It takes everything in her to keep an encouraging smile plastered across her face as her students drag themselves off the field and slink over to where she’s sitting on the bleachers.
“Sensei,” Nishimiya pouts, lugging her broom behind her. “I swear we had it.”
“They’re filthy cheaters,” Mai scowls. “Yuji’s strength makes him worth four of us.”
“That’s not true, Mai,” Utahime reassures her, reaching out to touch the fuming girl’s arm. “Momo’s right—you guys nearly had them. It was a really close game.”
“It wasn’t,” Kamo murmurs, looking down dejectedly.
Utahime sighs, struggling to keep the disappointment off her face. Her students work hard, just as much as the Tokyo kids do. It isn’t their fault their techniques can’t hold up against the other students’—they’ve got the Ten Shadows and Cursed Speech, for crying out loud. They’re lucky Okkotsu wasn’t present for this exchange event, because the boy had wiped the floor with them at the last one, and none of them are too keen on him repeating it.
“It’s not fair,” Miwa mumbles. “We always try so hard, and it never means anything.”
Next to her, Mechamaru puts a comforting metal hand on her shoulder while the other students voice their agreement.
Utahime’s chest tightens, a familiar ache twisting her innards. If anyone knows what that’s like, it’s her—she’s been gunning for an upgrade to full grade one status for what feels like an eternity, and it seems like no matter what she does, nothing can really score her that promotion.
“You did amazing,” she tells her students firmly, looking each of them in the eye. “I’m proud of all of you. Winning doesn’t mean you’re good sorcerers—putting up a fight as good as the one you guys did is the real proof of strength.”
This doesn’t give them back their typical confidence, but it does seem to rouse them from their resignation. Utahime reaches into her pocket to produce her wallet, fishing out some yen notes and handing them over to Kamo, the most responsible of the group.
“Why don’t you guys go into the city and treat yourselves to an early dinner?” she suggests. “Buy some sweets, too. You deserve it.”
As expected, they all perk up at that, beaming as they thank her. Kamo turns, and the rest follow. Before she goes, Mai leans over the railing and yells, “Todo! We’re getting food!”
Utahime looks out across the field to see Todo grinning wide as he says something to Itadori, slapping him on the back and making the poor boy wince a little.
“Can my brother come?” Todo shouts back, and Mai responds with a resounding no.
Todo reluctantly bids his friend goodbye, waving to Utahime as he jogs to catch up to his classmates. Once her students are out of sight, Utahime turns back to the field, observing Itadori and Fushiguro picking up the discarded baseball bat and pitcher’s glove. Mai’s sister is standing atop the pitcher’s mound speaking to Kugisaki, and Panda is gesturing animatedly to Inumaki. It softens her frustration a little, seeing the kids’ closeness, the way they all gravitate towards each other, eventually forming a little group as they walk off the field together.
“Planning to avenge your students already?” a familiar voice croons behind her.
Utahime grits her teeth, refusing to turn around. “Actually, unlike some people, I’ve got good sportsmanship, so I know how to accept defeat.”
“I’ve got good sportsmanship too!” the speaker insists, sidling up next to her. “Although, to be fair, I’ve never had a reason to display poor sportsmanship, considering my students and I always win.”
Utahime balls her hands into fists, turning to snarl something at him. But Gojo beats her to it, his blue eyes sparkling as he says, “Now, now, Utahime—hysterics are quite a turn-off for most men, you know that?”
“I don’t see any men around,” she sniffs, crossing her arms.
“Ouch,” he grins, reaching out to tug lightly on a strand of her hair. The afternoon sun turns his hair silver, limning his handsome face in gold. He’s wearing his stupid sunglasses, the ones that always slide down his nose, and he’s swapped out his usual teacher’s uniform for a powder blue button-down and dark pants. Seeing him in casual clothing is always a bit of a shock, Utahime’s brain unable to process the visible reminder that Gojo is as human as the rest of them, not just confined to his role as the strongest teacher to ever grace the Tokyo campus.
“What do you want, Gojo?” she demands, not in any kind of mood to put up with his usual antics. Their school just suffered a loss, and now here’s the main perpetrator, grinning like a fool while he rubs it in her face.
“What, I can’t say hello to a colleague?” he says innocently, bumping his shoulder against hers. His Infinity is up, so her body knocks against that hard, invisible shield around him, and it somehow only serves to infuriate her further.
“You know what? I don’t have time for your bullshit right now,” she scowls, turning on her heel.
“Aw, c’mon, Uta, don’t be like that,” he needles, trailing after her as she makes her way down to the field. The Tokyo kids have left the bat and a mesh bag of mitts on the floor in front of the door that leads to the locker and storage rooms, so Utahime picks up the bat, intending to return the equipment to its rightful place. Gojo snags the mitts before she can, whistling as he strides on ahead of her, holding the door open.
Utahime steps through it, her jaw clenched. As they walk to the storage room, Gojo hums softly, a tune she recognizes to be from a well-known victory song, the kind they play while the winning team celebrates.
“Are you kidding me?” she snaps at him. “Can you stop shoving it in my face for two seconds?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Uta,” he replies innocently. “I was just humming.”
“Can you cut it out?”
“Well, theoretically, I can. But why would I?”
Knowing this is a losing battle, Utahime pushes into the storage room, fully intending to discard the bat and get far away from Gojo as soon as possible. When he follows her inside, however, he opens his big mouth once again and says, “Don’t worry, senpai. I’m sure you guys will bring it home next year. We should have Yuta back by then, though, but don’t worry—I can tell him to go easy on your kids, if it’ll help.”
Utahime points the bat she’s holding at him. “You think this is funny? You think I enjoy seeing how sad my students are after they lose to yours again and again?”
Gojo shrugs, smiling blithely. “It’s not my fault they’re as weak as you, Uta.”
She sees red, dropping the bat. It clatters loudly onto the floor, the sound echoing through the storage room.
“You are insufferable, and egotistical, and so—so—”
“Strong?” he supplies.
She’s in front of him before she can process it, her hand swinging at his face of its own accord. The next thing she knows, her palm is stinging and Gojo’s cheek is blooming red, his blue eyes hazy as he blinks down at her.
There’s a tense pause, during which Utahime considers apologizing. But her rage has overtaken her, swallowed her whole, so she keeps her mouth shut, her entire body buzzing.
“You’re angry,” Gojo observes, stupid as ever. “But is it because my students won, or because I beat you?”
“You are so self-absorbed, it’s honestly unbelievable,” she scoffs, her skin feeling hot, itchy. She has the animalistic urge to claw at herself, but she resists, her fingers twitching at her sides.
“I know why you want to win so badly,” Gojo murmurs after a moment, his gaze going dark, liquid, sliding down her body. “It’s because you want a chance to prove your strength. Right, Uta?”
“Stop it, Gojo,” she snaps, smarting as if he’s just slapped her back. He may as well have, rather than voice her deepest, most humiliating desire.
“Hey,” he says, reaching for her. His Infinity is down, his fingers warm on her wrist. “Do you want to?”
“Want to what?” she huffs, doing her best to hide how much his touch affects her.
“Prove your strength,” he replies. His expression is eager, honest in a way it so rarely is. It takes her a second to understand what he’s offering.
“Are you crazy?” she hisses, yanking her hand back.
“Yes,” he answers easily. “Slap me again, Uta.”
She stares at him, feeling unstable, uprooted. He’s always had this singular way of knowing exactly how to get to her, how to sneak right past her defences and uncover the very core of her. Who else has her spinning out this easily? Who else knows exactly where to poke and prod to press upon her weaknesses, her bruised ego?
“You are so messed up,” she spits at him.
“Mess me up even more, then,” he suggests, pulling his sunglasses off and setting them down somewhere behind him. “Take all your anger out on me. I can handle it.”
“I’m not doing this with you right now, Gojo,” she attempts to shoulder past him.
“Why not?” he blocks her path, preventing her from storming out. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”
“That—that was a mistake!” Utahime snaps, feeling her cheeks flame. “A one-time thing. I was drunk, and—”
“Save your excuses, senpai,” Gojo smirks. “I remember how much you liked it.” He pauses, leans down so he’s up in her face, close enough that she can see every pale eyelash framing his eyes, the brilliant blue rings of his irises almost blinding. “As a matter of fact, I remember how wet you were, too. And how hard you got off. It sure didn’t feel like a mistake back then. Especially when you were having so much fun pushing me around.”
Utahime swallows, her throat drying out, her skin feeling stretched tight over her bones. They’d agreed never to speak of that night again, but of course Gojo wouldn’t honor such a promise. Especially not when it comes to his own personal gain.
She can feel her temper flaring once more, her body practically shaking with fury. Without thinking, she reaches out and shoves Gojo backwards, his back hitting the wall none too gently.
“You are such an asshole,” she snarls, fisting her hands in his shirt. “You just can’t leave me alone, can you?”
“Of course not,” he simpers. “How can I? You were the best lay I’ve ever had, Uta. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night. You really rocked my world.”
“Oh my gods,” she groans, releasing his now wrinkled shirt. “I can’t even—you know, you only enjoyed it because no one ever puts you in your place.”
He licks his lips, eyes gleaming as he gazes down at her, still pressed up against the wall. “You definitely put me in my place, alright. And I think you should do it again, right now. Teach me a lesson for beating you, and for being a bad sport.”
“Absolutely not,” she refuses, stepping back. “You’re insane if you think I’ll do anything like that with you again.”
“But,” he pouts, looking down at himself, “I’m so hard. You won’t leave me like this, will you, Uta?”
She follows the line of his gaze down to the prominent bulge in his pants, her heart flipping over at the sight.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she shakes her head incredulously. “You seriously got hard just from getting pushed around?”
“I got hard because you’re unbelievably hot when you’re angry,” he corrects her. “And because I like it when you push me around.”
Utahime grinds her teeth together, her jaw aching a little at the pressure. Gojo’s cheek is still flushed from the impact of her slap, and his button-down is slightly disheveled due to her rough handling of him. Her body’s throbbing, anger sluicing through her veins. Anger and something else, something darker—a crazed kind of lust, the kind that makes you mindless. She certainly feels out of her mind right now, still trying to figure out how she even landed herself in this situation. It seems like every time she’s around Gojo, she loses something to him, his strength overpowering her, rendering her stupid and weak.
She’s so tired of feeling weak, so fed up with things never going her way. The last time she ever felt truly strong was—well, the night she drunkenly slept with Gojo. She’d taken the lead, had him obeying her every command. It had been a strength she’d never known, wielding such power over the strongest sorcerer of their generation.
And now, here he is, practically begging her to do it again.
Utahime’s a smart girl—she knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Gojo leans forward just then, seeing the look on her face, knowing what it means. But she turns her face at the last second so that his lips merely glance over her cheek.
“Don’t touch me,” she says coldly, putting a hand on his chest to keep him pinned against the wall. “You don’t deserve to.”
He pouts again, but obeys. His easy compliance makes heat pool in her gut, her limbs going warm and loose. That night they’d slept together, she’d been so startled by this side of her, having never known she could act in such a way during sex. But she should have expected it, in hindsight—Gojo’s always been a brat, and she’s never been one to stand for his behavior.
“Uta,” he whines, and she can hear how breathless he is, how desperate he is for her. It makes her throb between her legs, goosebumps prickling across her skin.
She narrows her eyes at him, channeling all the anger she’s feeling at her students’ loss and her own weakness into her movements as she reaches down and cups a hand over his erection.
“You’re pathetic,” she tells him with a curl of her lip. “You’re this hard just because I slapped you?”
“U-Utahime,” Gojo rasps, his cheeks flushing a dark, delicious red. “Please, I—”
“You wanted this, didn’t you?” she presses a finger into his cheek, turning his head so the side of his face is touching the wall. “You wanted me to take my anger out on you, right? Fine, Gojo. I’ll show you just how fucking angry I am right now.”
With that, she grabs his collar and hauls him over to a nearby stack of mats, the ones they use for training. Unceremoniously pushing him down onto them, she gestures at his clothes and orders, “Take them off.”
Gojo scrambles to obey, practically ripping at the buttons of his shirt, wriggling out of his pants with an almost amusing eagerness. Once he’s stripped down to his dark boxers, Utahime stares at him, her eyes tracing over the long, solid lines of his body. His abs flex as he breathes unsteadily, the muscles in his arms coiled tight. He’s watching her intently, looking poised to fulfill whatever command she might give him.
Wordlessly, she lifts her foot, placing her shoe on his lap. He understands the silent order, unlacing her sneaker for her, tugging it off and setting it down next to his own shoes before doing the same with her other one.
Utahime beckons him closer with a crook of her finger, and he moves like she’s got him hooked on some invisible leash. He helps her undo her belt, drags her navy shorts and black tights down. She removes her top herself, letting the navy jersey drop to the floor before she tugs the black turtleneck she has on underneath it over her head, taking her baseball cap with it. Now she’s left in her undergarments—a simple white cotton set, the cups of her bra scalloped, the crotch of her panties already embarrassingly wet. Gojo swallows at the sight, his eyes raking along the length of her body.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes reverentially. “You’re perfect, Uta.”
“Don’t speak,” she instructs, his words making her heart stumble.
He closes his mouth, his eyes shining as he stares at her. Utahime struggles to remember she’s supposed to be furious at him when he looks at her like this, so she pulls the bow from her hair and leans down, deftly wrapping it around Gojo’s eyes.
“Are you going to be good for me, Gojo?” she asks in his ear, unable to stop her smile when he shivers at her words.
“Yes, Uta,” he promises, licking his lips. She finishes fastening the blindfold around his head, putting a hand on his chest to push him flat on his back. He goes willingly, and she straddles him as soon as he’s down, making sure to keep her weight off his hardened cock.
“I’m gonna touch you,” she tells him, struggling to keep her voice steady, her lust overwhelming her, making her feel insane. “And if you cum without my permission, you’ll never get to do this with me ever again. Got it?”
“Okay,” Gojo nods quickly. “I’ll be good.”
Satisfied with his response, Utahime drags her nails down his chest, watching his abs flex as he hisses at the feeling. When she slips her hand into his boxers and palms at his stiff cock, he twitches beneath her, his brows furrowing.
“Please,” he begs, shifting his hips as she begins stroking him carefully. “Uta, please, I need it so bad.”
“I told you not to speak, didn’t I?” she reminds him coolly. “Or do you need to be gagged, too?”
Gojo shakes his head, his mouth clamping shut. Utahime gives his cock a rough tug to show her approval at his obedience, and his hips jump. He’s throbbing in her hand, hard enough she’s certain it has to hurt. Taking pity on him, she pulls his boxers down to free his cock, jerking him off faster, rougher.
“Mm—” the whine comes from the back of his throat, his back arching a little, canting his hips up into her grip. Utahime gazes down at him beneath her, taking in his flushed cock between her fingers, the lean muscles of his body. His hair is a tousled mess, and his cheeks are a lovely, dusty shade of pink. He’s so beautiful, so addictive—it infuriates her all over again, this shameful, ridiculous hold he has over her. Even when she’s in control, it still feels like he has some kind of perverse power over her.
Gritting her teeth, Utahime squeezes his cock, beginning to pump him at an almost brutal pace. Gojo moans hoarsely, shuddering as she brings him dangerously close to his peak.
“Uta,” he moans, his hands clawing at the mat beneath him. “I’m—I’m almost there, I’m gonna—”
“No,” she bites out, immediately releasing his cock.
Gojo cries out at the sudden loss of stimulation, his hips bucking upwards into the air, chasing a touch that’s no longer there. She puts a hand on his throat, not squeezing but keeping it there so he knows who’s really in charge, and yanks her ribbon from over his eyes. He blinks at her, his blue eyes cloudy, a little wet.
The sight of his tears makes her cunt ache.
“I told you, you’re not going to cum until I give you permission,” she snaps at him, ignoring the need throbbing through her body.
“I wasn’t going to,” he whimpers, his expression twisted into one of pleading. “I was gonna be good, I swear—”
Without warning, Utahime slaps him across the face for the second time this afternoon, watching his pupils blow wide upon registering the pain and degradation of the action. She’s silent for a moment, her blood simmering, ready to boil over. Then she lifts her hand and slaps him again. This time, he releases a broken moan, the black of his pupils nearly swallowing the blue of his irises, like storm clouds blotting out the sky. His entire body trembles, and her mouth parts with surprise when she glances down and sees he’s just cum all over himself, white liquid pooling in the divots of his abs.
“Seriously?” she barks a sharp laugh. “You’re such a whore, Gojo.”
“’M sorry, Uta,” he whines softly, looking more apologetic than she ever thought him capable of, his panic at her promised punishment evident in the way his voice shakes. “It just felt so good—I couldn’t help myself.”
Shaking her head with disapproval, Utahime swipes a finger through his sticky cum. Grasping his jaw with her other hand, she forces his mouth open and sticks her finger inside it, making him suck his own cum off it.
“Pathetic,” she drawls. “A couple slaps is all it takes to bring down the strongest, huh?”
He makes this needy sound, something like a cross between a moan and a stifled sob. Utahime stares down at him for a moment, considering what to do with such a brat.
Well. He’d told her to take all her anger out on him, hadn’t he?
“If you cum again without my permission, I’ll make you regret it,” she warns him as she hooks her panties to the side and takes hold of his still hard cock, pressing it to her soaked entrance.
“Fuck, okay,” he gasps, tossing his head back against the mat, his cock probably still sensitive.
Utahime sinks down onto him, her pussy stretching to accommodate his size. She bites back a moan, laying a hand on his chest to hold herself steady.
“You feel amazing, Uta,” Gojo mewls beneath her, nearly going cross-eyed with pleasure. “So wet and tight, squeezing my cock so fucking good—oh, gods, you’re perfect, you’re everything, you’re—”
“Shut up,” she clasps a hand over his mouth to stop his mindless babbling. Her body’s fizzing with pleasure, her cunt tingling at the way he splits her open. She’s never had anyone as big as him, nor has she ever had anyone as good. But she’d rather die than tell him that, so she keeps her mouth shut and begins riding him, a slow, steady pace that gradually increases, until she’s bouncing on his cock, his hips rising to meet hers on every downwards thrust.
Gojo moans something against her palm, gripping her hips, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her waist so hard she’s certain she’ll bruise tomorrow.
Of course he wants to leave his marks all over me, she thinks angrily, fucking herself on him harder. It’s just like Gojo, to want the world to know of his victories.
But this win isn’t his—it’s hers. She’s the one with all the power right now, the stronger one between them. Gojo’s always been stupid when it comes to her, and sure, maybe she’s just as dumb to let him anywhere near her, but at least they both know who’s the real champion here.
“You’re nothing but a pathetic little slut,” she croons in his ear, tangling the fingers of her free hand in his silken hair and yanking hard, his back bowing at the sudden sting. “I bet you dream about me. Bet you fuck your fist to the thought of me riding you like this every night. You’d beg for it if I told you to, wouldn’t you? You’d get on your knees like a dog and follow me around until I bothered to notice you. Do you want to be my dog, Gojo? You want a collar and a leash, want to do everything I tell you to and be rewarded for being a good boy?”
Gojo’s shaking beneath her, tears sliding down his cheeks, his crystalline eyes glimmering. He sobs something against her hand, the words muffled but intelligible enough for her to make out—please, Uta.
“Baby boy wants to cum, huh?” she coos down at him, the squelching of her cunt around his cock obscene as she gets wetter the closer she gets to her climax. “If you ask me nicely, maybe I’ll let you do it in me.”
Gojo flushes a deep, dark crimson at that, clearly liking the prospect of filling her with his cum. When Utahime removes her hand from his mouth, pleas tumble from his lips like a dam unstopped.
“Please let me cum in you, Uta, please, I’ll be so good for you, I’ll do anything,” he babbles, sounding almost delirious.
Utahime smiles, victorious. Her school may have lost against his, but she’s the real winner between them.
“You can do better than that, Satoru,” she purrs his name, rolling her hips in a way that makes him writhe.
“You’re so strong,” he gasps out unexpectedly, and she falters at that, losing her rhythm, her limbs going hot and tight, her chest caving in on itself. “You’re so much stronger than me, Uta. I’m—I’m nothing but a pervert, and you’re perfect, and I want you so bad all the time. Please let me cum inside you—I know I don’t deserve it, but—”
Utahime kisses him so suddenly that their teeth clink against each other’s. Gojo’s mouth is warm and wet, and he immediately parts his lips so she can slide her tongue against his, moaning softly. She’s orgasming in the next second, her cunt clenching tight around him, making him break the kiss as he practically thrashes beneath her at the feeling.
“Please, oh, please, fuck, please, please,” he begs mindlessly, his voice like roughened sandpaper. Utahime shudders as soon as her orgasm’s finished rolling through her, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder.
“You were so good, Satoru,” she mumbles in his ear. “You can cum now. Fill me up like a good boy.”
Gojo shuts his eyes and bucks up into her once, twice, three times, and then he’s spurting warm cum into her, another tear escaping his left eye as he lets go. Utahime takes everything he gives her, clinging to him as he cries her name and shakes through his orgasm.
Once he’s finished, he drops his head back against the mats, panting, “Fuck, that was—that was insane. That was probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”
“You’re welcome,” she mutters, tracing an idle finger over the sharp line of his collar bone.
Gojo chuckles breathlessly, curving an arm around her waist, nuzzling his face into the side of her neck, his voice slightly muffled as he asks, “You still mad?”
“No, Satoru,” she sighs. “I’m not mad.”
“You wanna get some dinner in the city?” he suggests after a moment. “I’ll take you to my favorite spot.”
Utahime looks at him, his pink cheeks, his dreamy blue eyes, his soft lips curved up in a little smile as he gazes back at her. She knows that if she accepts, it’ll be as if she’s lost to him all over again.
But, then again, she’s always been a good sport. Perhaps this is a loss she can accept, if only for today.
“Fine,” she acquiesces. “But you’re paying.”
Gojo grins, his face glowing beneath the storage room lights. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“I can’t make everything easy for you, now can I?”
He laughs, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss to her cheek. “I like having you here in my city, you know. You Kyoto folk should come visit more often.”
“Yeah,” Utahime murmurs, reaching out to wipe away a tear still clinging to his waterline. “Maybe we should.”