Chapter Text
For Eve, who had the idea that Gojo would visit her midday because of course he can't stay away.
***
See you tonight?
October 31st, 2018
11:38 AM
You’re gonna need this, if you’re gonna take me.
Utahime was lecturing, working her way through a list of bullet points she had written on her chalkboard upon arriving at school in the morning. It was a good lesson, and one that she had planned at the beginning of the week, back when everything had made sense.
I’m gonna make you a list, senpai.
A heavy, heady swoop of feeling rolled through her body, burning everywhere Gojo’s hands had touched, and soft a hitch layered into her breath, breaking her words.
She cleared her throat to try and steady herself. It didn’t help, but she plowed on anyways, working to the next bullet point written on the chalkboard. Her eyes flicked to the clock hanging on the wall and frustration cut through her, sharp and helpless because it wasn’t even noon yet.
See you tonight?
How damning was it, Utahime wondered, if tonight felt like too far away?
She tried to keep her mind on her lecture as the minutes passed, but it was a wasted effort because her thoughts kept insistently, stubbornly, circling back to him, one recalled image after another. She remembered his blue shirt and his bare eyes, looking at her from across a table in a neat, perfect restaurant. She remembered the same shirt pulled taut over his shoulders sometime later, when they had hugged on the rooftop. And she remembered his hands, rough palms and long fingers, roaming over her body, mapping out the pattern of the lingerie he hadn’t actually gotten to see her in.
You’re killing me, Hime.
Her voice hitched again, breaking in the middle because something throbbed in her, another slow swoop of heady feeling.
Utahime glanced to the clock again, biting the inside of her cheek as she counted down the minutes to noon. She knew she ought to stop thinking about it but she couldn’t, remembering with a blazing vividness the way he had slid into her from behind, his head falling back, his throat arching in satisfaction.
And worse, so much worse, she remembered the warmth, the fullness, and the husky, vulnerable timbre of his voice as he’d spilled inside her, groaning his pleasure into her ear.
Twice. He’d come inside her twice. Utahime bit her cheek harder, almost drawing blood—because nobody had ever done that before. Not even once.
Satoru had done it twice.
Surely it was damning that she had wanted him to do it, wasn’t it? She had—she had asked him to.
“Early lunch,” Utahime said suddenly, interrupting herself directly in the middle of a sentence. “Um—happy Halloween.”
She could’ve stamped her foot at her own discomposure, annoyed at herself—but then another image took up residence in her mind as her students, all chattering happily at the early break, filed out of her room.
Gojo, kissing his way down her stomach, blinking at her with long white lashes and burning blue eyes. Gojo, pushing her thighs apart, so he could wedge his head between them. Gojo, working her into pleasure with his mouth, his eyes rolling back at seeing her gratification.
She sat down in her desk chair too hard, dropping her face into her hands, groaning into her palms. A mistake, because then she remembered his groans and the heavy, unrelenting roll of his hips as he had thrust into her, and his low laugh of satisfaction when he had made her come.
Gojo. Gojo.
She had told him she liked him, in that sleepy, sated moment after he had spilled inside her.
I like you, senpai.
I like you too, Satoru.
Like.
A nice word, and—and certainly true, even if she would deny it to anyone who asked. But it was troubling, almost uncomfortable as Utahime thought about it now, replaying the scene in her head, because she suddenly couldn’t figure out if like was quite the right word to describe what she felt for him.
What if—
The air in her room shifted before she could complete the thought, whipping outwards, and Utahime yanked her head upright, feeling suddenly breathless, because—
Gojo, standing not at her doorway as he always did, but at the back of her classroom instead, his blindfold firmly in place, his hands slid into the pockets of his jacket. Her heart jumped against her ribs in a motion that was almost painful, and Utahime tried to tamp down her excitement because his expression was cool and calm, casual like he was only stopping by for one of his regular lunchtime visits.
Cool, calm, casual, even nonchalant—but he wasn’t really casual at all, because Utahime could see the tension in his jaw and in his body too as he tilted his head to look around her room, tightly wound, almost shaking.
No, but maybe it was she who was shaking, Utahime realized as something throbbed in her stomach again, nerves and arousal smashing together. Maybe it was she who was tightly wound for thoughts of him.
Gojo nodded, evidently satisfied at the emptiness of her room. He took a step forward, reaching up not to tug off his blindfold, but to pull down the zipper of his jacket. He wore a simple black shirt underneath, the scooped neck showing off the sharp lines of his collar bones. Utahime shivered, her eyes flicking between his chest and his belt buckle, stumbling over words, but Gojo managed to speak.
“How long do we have?” he murmured, jerking his head to the clock on the wall.
“Half an hour,” Utahime breathed, rasping a little, wondering why his words caused a soft pit of anxiety to form in her stomach.
Only half an hour now, but then all of tonight, she reminded herself. And—and the days after that, too, because they had fucked and it had meant something, so—
“Thank fuck,” Gojo muttered, blowing out a sharp breath.
He gripped his blindfold then, tugging it down to his neck so she could see his eyes and the jarring, almost unsettling beauty of his uncovered face.
Fire, blue flames, embers flickering with a hunger that was both old and new; long-held feelings finally realized. Moving on some sort of reflex, Utahime slid to standing, realizing that the classroom door was open and that she ought to shut it, but she grabbed the edge of her desk instead. She felt her knuckles turn white for the force of her grip.
“You still want me, Utahime?”
Gojo spoke softly as he regarded her, bluntly sliding his eyes over her body. Her heart jumped painfully against her ribs again as she felt the memory of the sensation of his hands tangled in her hair and his lips by her ear, whispering to her that she was going to make him come.
Inside me.
A frightening intimacy, almost terrifying—and she wanted him to do it again.
“Yes,” Utahime answered, wondering why the truth still felt like a shock.
Gojo’s eyes briefly closed as if he had expected a different answer, but his lips quirked up, his smile too slight for his dimples to show. He moved forward again, weaving through the desks to get to her.
“I like that,” he said, eyes heavy-lidded as they opened again. “Say it again.”
“I want you,” Utahime whispered.
He made a soft sound, low and raw and something she had heard before, amongst the intimacies of last night.
“I want you too, senpai,” he replied, rolling his smile around, some of his tightness seeming to fall away.
Want.
Utahime knew that wasn’t the right word either. And for a moment, Gojo stilled, meeting her eyes while the flames burned in his. He regarded her bluntly again, but he did not look away from her face this time, cocking his head curiously to the side.
Connection, spark, chemistry— like, want—
Utahime sucked in a breath, because what if—
Gojo’s eyes flashed, bright and near furious before he disappeared, slipping through the ether and then back out of it again, his feet thudding softly as he landed on the ground behind her. Utahime jumped, a shiver hitting her spine because she could feel him even though he wasn’t touching her, his breath ghosting through her hair to hit the back of her neck.
She gripped her desk harder, her eyes falling shut. Her belly clenched and it almost made her whimper because she was sore from him—his body, his fucking; a gentle ache from taking him inside her.
“Fucking couldn't stop thinking of you,” Gojo murmured from behind her like he was accusing her. “All morning.”
“Me too,” Utahime confessed, maybe too quickly.
She felt him lean forward when once he might’ve teased her, and she shivered again as the tips of his fingers brushed against her neck, pushing her hair out of the way.
“What about me?” he slid his thumbs up her neck, urging her to bend her head forward.
Utahime did, feeling her bangs fall down over her eyes, goosebumps springing up at the rough glide of his fingers over her skin.
“That it—meant something.”
“It meant something,” he agreed, his voice steady as he pressed his lips to her neck. His kiss was open-mouthed and slick, blazing hot instead of soft or sweet. “What else?”
Utahime tried to hold in her whimper but it slid out of her anyways as he kissed her again, his hands moving down to curl around her waist in a snug, possessive grip.
“What else?” he asked again.
It was easy, with his hands on her body and his lips on her skin, to fall back into memories, still so vivid. Gojo, standing outside her apartment in a dark shirt and sweats, his breath quick and his body tight. Gojo, tugging her up into his arms so he could kiss her. Gojo, watching her face as he fucked her with his fingers, his lips glossy from her own arousal. Gojo, sinking inside her with a satisfied grunt, kissing her messily as he slid deep.
“Everything,” Utahime said truthfully, gasping out a moan as he scraped his teeth against her, chuckling softly.
“Be specific,” he bit out, his voice low.
“Your cock,” Utahime whispered, because she was remembering the sweet ache of being full of him.
"Fuck," Gojo exhaled, and Utahime flushed, because his voice was rougher, urgent and sensuous.
His hands on her hips dragged her backwards and she moaned again, her eyes still squeezed shut, because she could feel him; the hard, hot line of his erection pressing into her ass. He throbbed against her, groaning deep in his throat.
“Oh,” she squirmed against his grip, rocking back into him.
Gojo leaned forward again and Utahime felt his lips on her ear now, exhaling against her skin to make her shudder, tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue to make her gasp.
“Do you like that?” he murmured. “Feeling how much I want you?”
Something shook in her, a sharp tremble of arousal pulling her body taut.
“Yes,” she breathed. “I—like feeling you.”
Gojo’s laugh was darkly tinted as his lips touched to the hollow beneath her ear.
“I like fucking you, Utahime.”
He rolled his hips against her once, and then again, sucking softly against her skin. Utahime reached backwards for him, seeking, and Gojo swore softly as she pressed her hand to the back of his head, her fingers getting lost in his hair.
“Satoru,” she sighed, losing her breath as he sucked at her skin again, harder this time, biting down, tugging with his teeth to leave a bruise.
“I like that too,” he said as he grazed his lips along her jaw, not kissing, only brushing his lips against her. “You saying my name like that.”
Her eyes slid open and she shifted in his arms, making to turn around and he let her, loosening his grip on her hips only to tighten it again when she faced him. Her neck tingled as she moved her hands up to touch to his broad shoulders, and then his cheeks, cupping the shape of his face.
“Hey, senpai,” Gojo said, turning his head to the side to press his lips to the center of her palm.
He’d done that last night, Utahime remembered, recalling the vision of him between her thighs, and how he had tugged her hand from his hair to kiss her, her own arousal on his lips dampening her skin.
Heat filled her cheeks and she saw Gojo notice it, his pupils expanding outwards, the fire in his eyes turning dark.
“Hi, Satoru,” she whispered.
Gojo’s lips ticked up, and the noise he made was impatient as he bent to her, edging down to her to catch her lips with his own. Utahime whimpered, jolting because it felt like a shock, a hot spark of electricity to kiss him, still a little new, still a little unfamiliar.
It was so— good.
Gojo said something but Utahime didn’t hear what it was as he pressed deeper into her kiss, his mouth opening; the soft, wet heat of his tongue making her gasp. He slid one of his hands to the small of her back to push her into his body as her fingers found the high collar of his jacket, tugging, pulling, urging him closer.
From somewhere far away, or maybe simply from the entrance to her classroom, the door still flung open wide, Utahime heard a sound; a thud that was too loud, echoing, and then a hushed, frantic gasp. But before she could look or worry that someone had seen them, air was rushing past her ears as Gojo pulled her with him into the darkness between worlds.
“Hime,” he said in a voice that felt like liquid, his hands cupping her ass to hitch her up against his body.
Her hair whipped around her because he was moving quickly like he always did, too swift to be called running, too weightless for her to bounce in his arms. And he grunted, tilting his head to expose more of his throat, because somewhere in the middle of it, Utahime let her lips fall down to his neck, sucking on his skin like he had done to her. A mark, a bruise, something that might stick on his skin and still be there when she saw him tonight.
“We have to be quick,” she was breathing hard, panting against his throat.
“I can be quick,” Gojo promised, chuckling softly, squeezing her ass.
Her hair fell back down into place over her shoulders as he came to a stop, sitting down with her straddling his lap. Her knees sank into something that was soft and slightly familiar—the old, faded red cushions of the couch he kept in his apartment, a relic from his years as a student.
Utahime drew her eyebrows together, bemused but not unhappy, too lost in her own arousal to feel anything else.
“Here?”
Gojo’s amusement was quick, grinning as he nodded, touching his thumb to her chin, and then pushing some of her hair behind her ear.
“Mmhm,” he ran his knuckle across her brow to smooth it over. “Here.”
His hair had fallen into his eyes and Utahime reached for it, letting the one wayward curl wrap around her finger, soft and white. And, when Gojo bent to her again, it felt like a fever had settled into the air, a sudden frantic heat blazing up inside her.
"Can't fucking stay away from you," Gojo muttered as he licked into her, his hands roaming selfishly over her body, running his fingers through her hair, fisting her kosode so that it wrinkled, rolling her against his thighs, palming her tits. "Dunno how I did it before."
Utahime wanted to laugh, or maybe to scold him, but she was kissing him, her tongue in his mouth as she fumbled with his belt, yanking down the zipper to his uniform pants.
Tonight, she thought to herself, would have been too far away. The truth, damning or not.
"Come here," he murmured, and she felt him working the ties to her hakama, making stitches pop in his impatience.
Utahime stood, kicking her hakama away as she watched Gojo edge down his pants so he could stroke himself with his long fingers. He was still hard, and he looked up to hold her gaze at her as he touched his index finger to the head of his cock, catching the drop of precum that had beaded at the tip.
His eyes glittered, the flames sparking with a fierce heat.
"Come here, Utahime,” he murmured again, inclining his head to her.
Utahime felt something jump inside her as she sank back down into his lap, jolting at the feel of the scratchy material of his pants rubbing against her bare thighs. And his hands were gentle as he slid his thumb beneath her chin, tilting her head back a little.
"I'm not on my best behavior today," he said slowly, humor curling deep in his eyes.
"No?" Utahime said, frighteningly aroused, her eyes flicking between his face and the small shininess that she could see on the tip of his finger.
"No," he said firmly. His thumb moved over her lips, slightly parting them. "Open."
Utahime, flushed and trembling, left her eyes on his as she opened her mouth, and she moaned softly when he slid his finger past her lips, hollowing out her tongue to give him room. Her stomach clenched, because she could taste the faint salt of him as she sucked lightly, his cum on her tongue.
"Fuck," Gojo whispered, pushing his finger a little deeper into her mouth.
Utahime rocked against him, unable to help herself, sucking harder when his thighs shifted beneath her. Gojo groaned, his eyes fluttering, then he pulled away, sliding free, gripping her hips to drag her forward. Utahime swore, dropping her forehead down to rest against his as the head of his cock brushed against her cunt through her underwear, parting her through soft, damp cotton. His fingers shook as they held her hips.
“Can you take it?” he murmured roughly, lifting her slightly so he could pull her underwear to the side. “Can you take me?”
He thrust his hips up before she answered and Utahime moaned as he pushed into her a little, a slick, insistent stretch. Gojo said nothing, his gaze intent.
“Yes,” she breathed, feeling the wetness of her own arousal and the urgency in her body, trembling, empty when she wanted to be full of him.
The smile that slid over his face was as dark as it was proud, the fire in his eyes hazing over from lust. And he was deliberately slow as he lowered her down onto his cock, gradually sliding inside her, as deep as he could get. Utahime dug her nails into his shoulders, her eyes rolling back at the stretch, her cheeks flaming at the wet noise of it.
“Jesus, Utahime,” Gojo groaned, his head falling back, his jaw clenched tight. “It’s so fucking good—“
Utahime buried her head into the crook of his neck, her eyes squeezing shut at the fullness, breathing his name against his skin as if it were a secret. Gojo curled his arms around her, one hand splaying out across her back and the other cupping the back of her head, his fingers partially unraveling the bow from her hair.
"You good?" he whispered.
Utahime could feel him trembling with the effort of keeping himself still.
"Yes," she gasped, blindly kissing his jaw, rolling her hips once in search of friction.
Gojo chuckled roughly, and he rocked upwards once, sinking deeper with a groan. Utahime arched against him, gasping again, and the pace he set was purposeful as he thrust up into her, as she rode him, as they found a rhythm together that made pleasure spark to life. He pulled her hair to urge her head back, and Utahime watched his face as he fucked tension into her body, fascinated by the way color spread over his cheeks now when she had never, ever seen him break a sweat before, even in a fight.
Only just now, and only last night. Only in bed, alone with her.
He laughed again when she came, low and enraptured rather than amused, his eyes roaming over her face as she shuddered in pleasure against his body. And again, as Utahime had thought about all morning, he spilled inside her when his own pleasure broke over him, one hand wrapped loosely around her throat, his lips pressed to her forehead.
Three times now, Utahime thought as she collapsed against him, her body limp, a fresh soreness building in her belly. Only him, only Satoru. An intimacy she had allowed no one else.
She dressed in a flustered hurry afterwards and Gojo helped her, flicking her nose because she frowned when he tied her hakama a little unevenly, his eyes twinkling in fond amusement. And when he warped her back to her classroom that was still empty, he was grinning lazily, his eyes clouded over from his orgasm.
“See you tonight?” he flicked her nose again, laughing when she scrunched it up to glare at him.
Utahime was still glaring, her eyes narrowed with no bite behind them, when she nodded, biting her lower lip as it curled up into a smile. She thought of the blue lingerie he hadn’t gotten to see and imagined him sliding it off of her, his hands impatiently pushing away pretty lace.
Utahime reached up to cup his jaw, her palm rubbing against the slight roughness of the stubble he must not have been able to shave before work.
“See you tonight,” she nodded, her teeth still sunk into her lip.
Gojo’s dimples showed as his smile grew; the deeper, more prominent one in his right cheek and the softer, usually hidden one in his left.
He didn’t tug lightly at her hair like he always did when he said goodbye, but rather grasped a handful of it, tipping her head back as he bent down to her, catching her lips in a kiss that was neither soft nor gentle. It was hungry, his mouth warm and inviting, forcing a sound out of her throat that she had not meant to make.
He was still grinning when he pulled away and Utahime saw why a moment later as he held something victoriously in front of her face, fluttering white slipping through his fingers.
“Think I’ll keep this,” he said, winking at her with his long lashes, proud of his own mischief.
Utahime knew she should scowl but she flushed instead, shaking her head at him as her hair fell loosely down around her face, bereft of its ribbon.
“Idiot,” she muttered, but she was smiling.
Gojo shrugged, clasping his fingers with her ribbon still tangled amongst them.
“You love it.”
Utahime started, stuck on his words, but he had already vanished, sliding backwards into darkness.
Connection, spark, chemistry, like, want —
Or maybe something else entirely.
***
October 31st, 2018
6:46 PM
Her phone vibrated when she was getting ready, buzzing atop her bathroom counter while she was furiously running her fingers through her bangs to try and get them to lie in the way she liked. And without having to look, Utahime knew it was a mission. Of course it was a mission.
She wrestled her bangs into behaving before she dared to check the notification, and even though she had been expecting it, her stomach sank when she saw that it was indeed an assignment, a group mission with her students somewhere south of Kyoto. Urgent, the message said. Do not delay.
She texted Gojo first, mentally pushing back the timeline of the evening, resolutely refusing to cancel.
Utahime: I have a mission assignment. I don’t think I’ll be long
She was dragging her miko attire back on, pulling a fresh ribbon from her bathroom drawer to tie back her hair when he responded, his humor apparent even over text.
Gojo: ha, sucker
Gojo: just you?
Gojo: i’ll tag along
Gojo: i'll behave this time
Gojo: ;)
Utahime rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again, not actually annoyed.
Utahime: no you moron
Utahime: I have students with me
It was over an hour later when he responded again, her phone vibrating in her pocket as she boarded the train, pulling her attention away from her students that had already begun to bicker.
Gojo: damn I got one too. some shit up in shibuya
Gojo: bet i’ll beat you
Gojo: loser buys dinner
Utahime rolled her eyes again, because of course he would be finished first. He would be done before she had even arrived at her own mission, there and back in his apartment in the space of a blink.
Utahime: you are…so annoying
Utahime: i want sushi
His response was quick this time, her phone buzzing before she had hardly pressed send.
Gojo: that's lucky, so do i
Gojo: better have ur wallet ready
Gojo: be careful
And Utahime, without quite knowing why, pushed perhaps by the warm flutter in her chest at his concern or maybe the pit of anxiety in her stomach, present again after its brief appearance earlier, said the same thing to him, even though—even though he of course needed no well-wishes.
He was Gojo, she told herself. He, of all people, would be fine.
Utahime: you too
It was sometime after eight thirty when she was able to check her phone again, standing with her students in the aftermath of their mission, blood from a curse coating her fingertips. But instead of smiling like she had expected to, the pit of anxiety in her stomach grew when she saw the slew of notifications that flooded her screen, because she had missed calls from almost everyone she knew; every sorcerer, every window, and both principals.
Every single sorcerer, except for him.
Her texts were flooded too, overflowing—but it was Gojo's name that caught her eye, because there were five messages that she hadn't been able to check, all spread out.
Gojo: i’ll be late
Gojo: looks like i’m buying, senpai
And then the last few, where his tone was serious in a way that made dread pool in her belly over where she was still sore from his rough, careful fucking.
Gojo: go home and stay there. don’t come here even if they tell you to.
Gojo: don’t take any trains.
Gojo: please.
Utahime clenched her jaw, because she knew that seriousness. She had seen it in him before, in moments of danger.
She ignored all of the missed calls as she clicked Gojo’s contact, dialing his number first. And again, when he didn’t pick up the first time. And again after that, when he didn’t pick up the second time either.
Her vision started to blur and she couldn’t figure out why as she started to call Shoko instead, needing someone to answer. But her fingers felt suddenly unsteady, and her phone slipped through them before she could press any buttons, hitting the ground with a tinkling clatter that told Utahime her screen had shattered.
“Damn,” she whispered, dropping to a knee—but Miwa was faster, bending down to pull her phone from the pavement.
Utahime still could not see when she straightened up, her vision still blurred.
“Sensei, you’re crying,” Miwa said with her hand stretched out in Utahime’s direction, tilting her head in question.
“No, I—“ Utahime started to protest, but when she touched her cheeks, her fingers came away wet.
The unsteadiness in her hands felt as if it was spreading, expanding out into her body when she finally got Shoko on the phone, and learned the tangled, jumbled up details of what was happening where Gojo had been told to go, in Shibuya.
Her eyes closed after that and Utahime thought they stayed that way for a long while, even when the next phone call came, an order to go and fight with everyone else. She accepted, even though Gojo had told her not to.
See you tonight?
“Come on,” she tried to speak loudly to her students but all that came out was a soft tone, too calm, almost a murmur. “We’re needed in Shibuya.”
***
It was ages; long hours spent in darkness before she was ordered to return to Kyoto. Utahime could not quite remember how she got home; it was all a blur, sitting in the backseat of a car, or maybe a train. Maybe she had walked, and maybe it had taken days.
She knew at least that it was daylight when she unlocked her door, and that the sun was streaming in through her bedroom windows as she sank down onto the floor, gazing at her bed that was a wreck, messed up because Satoru had slept beside her, her covers askew because he had thrown them aside when he had roused her in the middle of the night, urgent to have her again.
She stared for too long, long past when her vision blurred again, gripping her cracked, ruined phone with her unsteady fingers. Some emotion had settled somewhere in her but Utahime could not pinpoint where, or what it was. It was a heavy, slimy feeling, difficult to get ahold of, curling through her veins or maybe sinking into her bones. Names flashed in her mind as if she were drawing them from a hat.
Satoru. Kokichi. Nanami. Satoru. Nobara. Satoru.
And so many more, so many nameless civilians, so many innocent people. But, selfishly, she kept returning to—
Satoru.
Utahime was still sitting on the floor, trying to force away the slimy feeling and even worse; the blinding, still-vivid memories of his his warm mouth moving over her body, his hungry kisses, when her phone vibrated in her hands.
A single buzz, short and sharp and jarring. Utahime jolted, trembling and stupidly hopeful, because maybe—
But when she looked down at her screen, her mouth dropped open in uncomprehending confusion, bewilderment slowing her thoughts.
A message, a notification from one of the dark, handsome men on the dating app that she entirely forgotten about in the hours since she and Gojo had—
“Fuck,” Utahime whispered and she didn’t mean to, but her arm moved, lashing out before she could tell it to stop, her phone hurtling across the room.
She watched as it crashed against the wall behind her messy, unkempt bed, and a laugh broke from her throat when she heard the sound of the screen shattering further, cracks spreading across already-broken glass.
Utahime didn’t move for what felt like hours, her eyes glued to the sight of her bed, and then her phone on the floor beside it, and then at the blue lingerie on the floor beside that. She'd meant to wear it for him, because Gojo had asked. He had felt the lace of it with his fingers through her dress and he had asked to see it on her, and now—
See you tonight?
Her hand touched to her belly, over the soreness that felt like him and the dread too, both swirling around, crashing together, clashing in a way that made nausea rise to her throat.
See you tonight?
“Fuck,” she whispered again.
Another memory hit her, one final flash of vividness before her nausea spilled over, forcing her to run to her bathroom lest she vomit on the floor.
Gojo, standing in the doorway to her bedroom, his smile lazy and sleepy, his long white eyelashes swooping down in a wink.
Happy Halloween, Utahime.
***
Part two coming soon! thanks for reading, friends <3
Join me on twitter, if you like :)