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Utahime is twenty-one when she gets her soulmate mark.
Marvelling at today’s date imprinted on her skin, it is written in a scrawl most would deem carelessly elegant. With broad strokes and grand flourishes, her soulmate mark is curved around her left hipbone like a love letter. Or like a lover’s caress.
It’s about damn time, she thinks in elation, peering down at it in the bathroom with her sleeping shorts pushed down and the waistband of her panties hiked up. She’d been waiting three years for it.
Usually, people would get them the moment they turn eighteen. But there are instances when the other half of your soul is younger, and it’s only then when they turn eighteen that their marks appear on their partner’s.
Giddily, she runs her fingers carefully over that patch of skin where destiny and fate have decided her future—where it’s written down on her flesh like law. It’s odd, she realises, her fingertips tracing the letters that are parts of her soul. Just the appearance of it, of this hallowed date, her life has changed.
And to think that out there in a world that is as vast as the unending ocean, someone is walking about with her birth date etched on their skin.
Three years isn’t a huge difference, Utahime reflects, righting her clothes and brushing her hair. Plus, she isn’t exactly in a rush to meet her soulmate yet. She’s still young, a budding sorcerer who is intent on making a name for herself in their mostly male-dominated society. There is hardly time for romance and for all that entails.
Really, Utahime is just relieved to know that her person exists.
When her eighteenth birthday had come and gone and there still wasn’t a sign of a soulmate mark on her body, she’d been gripped with heart-wrenching fear. Fear that she was part of the minority who didn’t have a soulmate due to their other half having an unforeseen tragedy that led to their death. Such cases often left their partners with unspeakable loneliness that went bone-deep, causing them to pine and ache for something that will be forever out of their reach.
But waking up today and realising that her mark has finally made its appearance, words cannot express the waves of utter relief that flooded her body. Utahime thinks if she hadn’t been sitting, her legs would have gone weak from the shock and she would have found herself on her knees.
And in regards to the existence of her soulmate and their eventual meeting, she’s more than keen to adopt the mindset of letting things run their natural course. Because surely if fate had benevolently bestowed her a soulmate, things would work out naturally.
Que sera, sera and all that.
So with today being the seventh of December, it feels like Christmas has come early.
It’s safe to say she spends the following weeks with her head in the clouds, dreaming of being swept away on her feet, of meeting the absolute love of her life. Of having a happily ever after with the person who is meant to complement her in every way—with the other half of her soul.
And because Utahime is a private person, she doesn’t share the news with anyone. Not even Shoko or Mei Mei. She doesn’t have anything against them but the subject of her soulmate is something she’ll like to keep to herself for a little longer. Something to hold against her heart like a well-guarded secret. A cherished thing.
If her friends note the sudden change in her demeanour, of how she absentmindedly taps the spot where her mark lies above her hakama, they don’t utter a word, choosing to observe her with knowing eyes and obliging smiles.
Utahime is happy.
With the revelation of her soulmate clicking into place like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, she makes plans. It’s easy to say she practically has her whole life mapped out. Even to the tiniest of details. Like where she and her future partner will stay (somewhere in Kyoto so that she can be near her ageing parents), how many children they will have (three, because Utahime has always wanted a big family due to how lonely she’d grown up as an only child), and so on because she is a planner and she’s never liked spontaneity or surprises and being unprepared.
But of course, life is unpredictable and fickle, it will never bow or kneel to a mere mortal’s foolish yearnings and desperate grip on control of their reality.
So when a second mark appears on the third of February—sloping along the lines of her collarbone, Utahime’s dreams and well-crafted plans disappear like smoke, wafting through the air, slipping out of her grasp.
While it isn’t unheard of to have more than one soulmate, it isn’t an everyday occurrence. Utahime is shaken. Never has she thought that she would fall into the minority who has not one but two life partners.
Especially when there is a certain stigma that comes with having multiple soulmates.
Greedy.
Slut.
Whore.
Her lower lip trembles as she stands naked in the bathroom, fingers digging into her skin at the new mark she’s acquired.
Somehow, Utahime wonders as she harshly scrapes her nails against the newly formed mark, if she scratches hard enough to tear the flesh apart with raw bloodied fingers, will she be free of it? Will her mark be marred and ruined beyond recognition?
But when a bead of crimson blood wells up from a vicious scrape, Utahime stares. She stares hard at the slightly blemished lettering.
Compared to the loud abrasive letters of her first mark, this one is different. It’s sleeker—polished. The slanted narrow angles of her second mark are imprinted onto her skin as though the owner is forcefully injecting it into her soul, as though it's a form of punishment for her initial rejection of its existence.
Utahime presses her lips into a thin line and hangs her head dejectedly. It isn’t her or her soulmates’ fault that they come in a set of three.
She lays all the blame and resentment at Fate’s altar, like a priestess’ bitter offering at the feet of the god she worships.
Naturally, Utahime feels a sting of guilt and shame for rejecting someone who must be equally glad and relieved—as she had been the previous year—to know that they are not destined to die alone in the world.
She recognises that she isn’t being fair. But she now comes to realise that life isn’t and will never be fair.
Still, Utahime tries to accept it, to get used to the idea. She’s never adapted easily to change, but she attempts her best to include one more person in her plans meant for two.
She struggles.
But the gods whose shrines her clan attends to have always looked kindly upon those who serve them faithfully. They are benevolent. So with each day that passes, the reality that is hers gets easier to swallow.
Tokyo is a city that Utahime doesn’t like.
It’s too loud in both appearance and noise. With it being the centre of ever-expanding capitalism and a hotspot for tourism, it’s too much compared to her culturally and socially conservative childhood and hometown in Kyoto. But she is a jujutsu sorcerer and Utahime will go wherever duty leads her.
Even if it means having to be in the presence of two of the most obnoxious sorcerers that have graced their society for a meeting that would end in less than an hour.
She scowls, recalling her brief meeting with Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru when they were around fifteen and she was eighteen.
Entitled. Selfish. Arrogant. Morally superior and condescending. These are words and terms that come to mind whenever she thinks of them.
Utahime doesn’t like them. In fact, she abhors their very existence.
It’s blatantly unfair that the pair of them have risen through the ranks at breakneck speed with their given abilities. It’d gotten worse when they had been afforded the rank of Special grade sorcerer—a rank that no other has achieved before with the exception of Yuki Tsukumo—whereas Utahime had to kick and claw her way just to be given a fraction of the recognition they’ve received.
She remembers how they mocked and belittled her promotion as a grade two sorcerer years ago.
Gojo had laughed raucously, bowing over and slapping his knee while Geto gave that nasty little smirk that spoke volumes of what he thought of her and her supposedly paltry achievements.
Utahime had resented them for ruining her night. For making her feel small and pathetic in comparison to their genius.
She still does.
One of the core values of her childhood is that the effort put into a task takes precedence over results. That as long as you have done your best, it would be enough. This was something that had been drummed into her head ever since she was a tot.
Utahime had put in her all and gave everything she had to be where she is today. And to have the blood, sweat and tears she’d shed to achieve her supposedly pathetic rank of grade two thrown in her face, it’s an understatement to say that she was driven to a point that led beyond rage.
Never again, she’d promised herself, would she allow anyone to look down on her. To spit at her. To demean her.
And so, with that vow in mind, she straightens her spine, steel-like, and trudges forward to the lands encompassing Jujutsu High.
It’s been years since she’s stepped foot here. Brief memories of running through the grounds as a student during annual exchange trips make her smile fondly. But all joy and amusement from her short reprieve into the past is erased when she catches sight of Gojo making a fool of himself near the gates.
She purses her lips, shoulders already stiffening, not missing the way Geto watches on from the side with a twist of his mouth. Nonchalant, he leans against a tree with his arms crossed. At that, Utahime is reminded of a documentary she has watched about animals in the wild. The panther in particular, with its languid sleekness and grace, is called forth to memory.
Sensing her approaching footsteps, Geto turns. He arches a brow and the wry curve of his mouth deepens, morphing into something of a derogatory smirk.
Utahime scowls, booted feet stomping onto well-maintained grass.
“’Supp, ‘Hime!” Gojo hollers. “What’s a weakling like you doing here?”
Some part of her, probably the insecure vulnerable teen that she’d been, recoils. Utahime supposes that some wounds will never vanish, even with time as its opponent. Such hurts are meant to linger and fester, to be either a learning point to overcome or a weakness meant for others to exploit.
But Utahime is turning twenty-two in a week. She is no longer that adolescent who flinches every time a sexist or misogynistic comment is thrown her way.
Vehemently, she grits her teeth and resists making the scene she wants. “Gojo,” she greets curtly. Out of courtesy, she affords his companion a short nod. “Geto,” she manages after a brief moment because Utahime has never liked Geto Suguru.
She can’t explain it but there is something about him that rubs her the wrong way. Something off. There are times when Utahime feels that some unsettling entity is watching her whenever their paths cross. That despite the way his eyes turn into crescent moons when he smiles, it raises her hackles, causing the alarm bells in her head to ring, telling her that a predator on the hunt is near.
Gojo, on the other hand, might not be any better, but he is easier to read—to manage, in a way. While his best friend has mannerisms that are equal to that of a snake lurking in the grass, Gojo Satoru is akin to a lion. Loud and brash, he is uncaring of what others think of him. So certain of his abilities and his place in the universe, he moves and lives as though everyone else and the trials and hardships they face is beneath him.
Empathy and compassion are probably concepts beyond his understanding.
And despite how much Gojo knows that Utahime loathes him for his spoiled attitude and insouciant behaviour, he has always come running to toss cruel taunts her way to infuriate her and perhaps, to see her brought to tears.
She isn’t stupid. Utahime knows it is because she’s one of the few girls in their age group that don’t fawn and simper over him, treating him as though he’s blessed, a gift from the gods.
Gojo ambles over, hands in his pockets with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. His sunglasses, round little circles that hardly shield his eyes from the blazing sun slip down his nose. “Utahime! Guess what!”
She fights back the urge to grimace. “No thanks,” she answers flatly, determined to keep on walking. Sparing any more than a second glance and Gojo would take it as a sign that she’s interested.
Which is something that will never happen for as long as she draws breath.
As she stalks forward, Utahime tries her hardest to ignore the way Geto watches her. His eyes are half-lidded as he stares shamelessly at her while the corners of his lips are pulled into a derisive smirk. It’s as though he is aware of a secret that she isn’t privy to and that her lack of knowledge about it is something he finds amusing.
Well, that suits her just fine. Utahime has no interest in any of the Terrible Two’s business. With how they wreak chaos and leave nothing but dust and debris in their wake, she wants nothing to do with them. Still, the arrogance dripping off Geto chafes. It bites, sending pinpricks all over her body.
Bypassing him, Utahime lifts her chin, studiously forcing her eyes on the path ahead. She will not let them intimidate her. She will ignore them and move on and get to the designated meeting hall where Yaga-sensei holds court, listen to whatever long-winded drivel the higher-ups wish to convey, and then she would go home, putting today’s events behind her.
Unfortunately, Gojo has never been one to be ignored. Catching up to her in three quick strides, he reaches out, grabs her arm and forces her to a stop. “C’mon, ‘Hime!” he whines in childish petulance. “I haven’t seen my favourite senpai in months and you’re walking away already?”
“What did you expect, stupid?” Geto calls out from his spot under the tree. Utahime doesn’t miss his voice adopting a mocking undertone. “You’re an annoying piece of shit. Give her a kiss or something. That ought to do the job in taking the stick out of her ass.”
“There’s an idea!” Gojo laughs, tugging her close, manhandling her like a doll as he wraps an arm around her waist, hand splayed out too close to the underside of her breasts. He slouches, leaning onto her, causing her to stagger and struggle from having to hold up half his weight. “Pucker up, senpai!”
Utahime’s cheeks darken as embarrassment and humiliation wash over her. Having them talk about her as though she’s nothing but a commodity to trade causes ugly indignation to well up in the recesses of her heart.
With a sudden burst of fury, she shoves Gojo off, grimacing when she can still feel the lingering heat of his fingers on her body. “Stop it, you goddamn bastards,” she snaps, angrily pushing away the locks of hair that have fallen into her eyes. Aware of how she’s garnered their attention from the rare curse slipping past her lips, she glowers hatefully and continues, “I don’t care what rank you two hold, but I’m still your senpai and at the very least, you owe me your respect!”
A brief moment of silence settles. But Utahime would be a fool to think she’s cowed them with just a string of angrily spat words.
True enough, the pair exchange glances before Gojo howls into laughter and Geto snorts contemptuously, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze.
It is easy to forget—what with Gojo taking the limelight and hogging all the attention—that Geto is often the individual that comes up with stupid antics like this to tick her off. In a way, that makes Utahime even warier of him.
Makes her hate him.
Jaw clenching until she’s pretty sure her dentist would have a thing or two to say with all the grinding she’s doing on her molars, Utahime pivots on her heel, more than eager to get away.
“But you haven’t heard the best news yet!” Gojo calls out. “Don’t you wanna know?”
“No,” Utahime spits out waspishly over her shoulder. She would have ignored him but she has learned from their earlier interaction. Nothing good comes from ignoring Gojo Satoru.
For some indiscernible reason, she sneaks a glance at Geto.
He is still watching her.
Her stomach twists at the weight of his unyielding stare. Unnerved, she breaks away and marches forward, wanting more than anything to put some distance between them.
However, nothing can prepare her for the words that leave Gojo’s mouth.
“Suguru and I share the same soulmate!”
Her world comes to a standstill.
It’s taking everything in her not to react, even harder not to fall into basic instincts to tense and stiffen. Schooling her face, Utahime raises her brows, praying to all the deities she knows that her expression doesn’t show the turmoil and anxiety bubbling in her veins.
“What?”
Not giving room for the clawing apprehension blooming in her guts like weeds, she frowns. She refuses to accept the possibility—the idea that fate could be so unkind and malicious. It could all just be a coincidence, she tells herself. There isn’t a point in getting herself worked up all over this when—
Gojo grins, lupine-like. “Yeah! Our marks have the same birthdate!” He pulls up his sleeve, shoving his pale arm in Utahime’s face.
Right there along the expanse of his forearm, lies a mark that is etched with delicate feminine handwriting. The letters and characters are aligned in a neat row, as though their owner has taken great pains to perfect their writing, spending time practising to produce careful precise strokes that almost looked to be printed by a machine.
Utahime would know more than anyone.
It’s her handwriting.
It’s her handwriting spelling out her birthdate.
Her chest tightens and it feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her feet.
Distantly, she recalls that Geto and Gojo’s birthdays are the two dates marked onto her collarbone and hip respectively.
Right there and then, it’s as though gravity has shifted, pulling the earth away from its axis and Utahime is left floating and adrift—lost.
The blood roars in her ears and it takes all that she has to maintain her facade of disinterest. The unimpressed demeanour she’s adopted belies the panic and anxiety swimming in her veins from the sheer knowledge that all that she knows is gone gone gone.
She doesn’t react, doesn’t even trust herself to speak because her instincts are telling her, screaming at her that she’d be in unspeakable danger should the truth about them being soulmates come to light and—
No.
Utahime can’t think about that now. And she certainly won’t acknowledge it—not even in her mind because somehow, confirming it would make everything more real and she can’t deal with the potential hysteria nor the impending breakdown bubbling in the back of her mind.
And in that moment, Utahime thinks she has never hated anyone more than Gojo Satoru. For with his brash declaration, the castle she’d built in the sky crumbles before her, becoming nothing but a mountain of stone and ash and smoke—the remnants of broken dreams and wishes.
She needs to run. She needs to get away. Away from Gojo’s expectant grin and Geto’s speculative stare because the longer Utahime stays in their presence, she’ll accidentally let slip something and it’ll be far too late.
Lifting her chin, she scowls and pushes Gojo’s arm away from her face. “Congratulations,” she nearly spits. “I pity whoever is in your little trio because you two are sick.”
The irony of her response does not miss her and if she was in a better mood, Utahime would have let out a cynical laugh. Instead, her glare deepens as she ignores the oily feeling surfacing in her belly as Geto observes her, hooded eyes lingering on her face with a burning intensity that sends chills down her spine.
The lump in her throat grows bigger when the corner of his mouth curves up. Utahime quickly looks away.
She doesn’t think they are aware that she is the finishing piece that makes up their threesome. Gojo would have broken down her door all those weeks ago if he knew. Utahime has always been made aware of his want of her body, of his desire to dominate her both physically and sexually. All because of the challenge she presents.
Utahime blatantly ignores the dark whispering in her ears that claim otherwise, refusing to recall the memories of Gojo, who on occasion, had gotten too familiar with her. Be it barging into her personal space or a hand that skimmed too close for comfort, his actions never ceased to draw out a temper that is solely reserved for him. Utahime will not even bring up the times she’d caught his bastard of a counterpart watching her far too often for no explainable reason.
It wouldn’t be a stretch to claim that Geto had been undressing her with his eyes.
Squirming in discomfort at that thought, Utahime lifts her chin defiantly and waits.
In short, it’s a challenge she has no right to make. But she is horrified and wounded at the revelation of who exactly her soulmates are. Raw desolation and irrationality win, overpowering sensibility and fear, enabling Utahime to take her rage out on anyone and everyone. The death of a dream and the agony of mourning a life she’ll never have fuels her.
So even though she wants to flinch and cower away, she crosses her arms and stands her ground, eyes sparking as she practically dares Gojo to even attempt something foolhardy.
If Utahime is expecting him to be offended by her overt insult, she would be disappointed for he sniggers abrasively and takes a step back, smirking widely. His teeth gleam under the sun and she has never realised until now that his incisors and canines seem to be sharper and longer than the average human's.
“Fair enough, ‘Hime,” he concedes with a sugary mocking tone, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants. He pushes up his sunglasses and at that moment, Utahime catches the predatory glint in those blue eyes. “I guess we’ll see you around sometime.”
He smiles, razor-sharp.
Utahime wonders if she’ll bleed.
Giving in to the urge to sneak a glance to the side, the look that Geto affords her has all the blood within her body freezing. Something dark and twisted—something unholy and unwanted coils low in her belly.
She swallows thickly.
Distinctly, Utahime senses that a trap has been set and she is all but walking into it. No, she mentally corrects herself. With the hairs on her arms standing, and how loud the alarm in the back of her head wails, she has already been ensnared.
Unable to stop her lower lip from trembling, Utahime bolts off without another word.
And as she hurries away, she is all too aware of the eyes on her back.
Her grandmother had once said that soulmates are a blessing.
Now that Utahime knows that Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru are the persons she’s meant to be with, she believes with a solemn certainty that soulmates are a curse.
A week passed and her birthday came and went. Predictably, Utahime decides that the concept of soulmates is absolute rubbish, utter rot that is hardly accurate as what the masses are led to believe.
Basically, she has given up on it.
She would be a liar to say she isn’t devastated at the cards Fate has dealt her, but she has accepted it with the finality that one uses to accept the death of a loved one.
Though, there is a part of her, a huge part that mourns the loss of a long-cherished dream. Growing up, the culmination of all her life goals had banked on her soulmate. But she supposes with how things have gone up in smoke, the human yearning to be loved, to be blessed with children and to live a life that others have, are perhaps, things not meant for her.
Because what is it about her soul that complements monsters like Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru?
Utahime doesn’t want to dwell on it. So she doesn’t.
She tries to be optimistic. Surely there are others in the world who wants to rebel against their matchups. After all, there isn’t a law that dictates she can’t be with anyone other than her soulmate. Or soulmates.
Feeling more hopeful about the future that had been ruined beyond repair, she climbs up the stairs of her apartment building and fishes the keys out from her purse. Juggling her grocery bags, she manages to push the key into the lock, only to falter when she realises the door is already unlocked.
Had she forgotten to lock up in her haste to get dinner?
She frowns and takes a cautious step into her apartment. At first glance, nothing seems amiss and she lets her shoulders slacken, taking two more furtive steps into the darkness. The light from the corridor creates a narrow path, illuminating the entryway, but it is enough for her to turn to the side to find the light switch.
That is her mistake.
A hand is clamped over her mouth and the door slams shut, bathing her in total darkness.
Riding on nothing but her instincts, she struggles and juts her elbow out, only to hit nothing. Terrified, Utahime squirms as another hand grab her hip to hold her still. Panicked at the loss of her sight, no matter how temporary, her chest begins to constrict. Desperately, she wills her eyes to get used to the dark as she fights to get free.
Her unsaid prayers come true when the light is flicked on and she is met with the colour blue.
The blue of the seas when the sun is at its peak.
The blue of the cloudless skies.
The blue of Gojo Satoru’s eyes.
She pales.
But it is the sharp scent of cedar wood and musk that causes her terror to grow tenfold. Utahime’s body goes still as realisation dawns on her that while it’d been Gojo who had shut the door—trapping her, it is Geto who holds her captive.
Unlike his usual stance of forever watching from afar, this time, it is Geto who is pressed against her back, his hand over her mouth and the other, curled around her waist, thumb teasing her hipbone through the denim of her jeans.
Never has she thought that she’ll be in a position such as this.
“W-what are you two doing?” she demands shakily, voice muffled as she stares at Gojo with wide eyes.
She’s tried to take on an authoritative tone, but with the tremor lacing her words, no one is fooled.
Utahime doesn’t dare to turn around, not when the heat of Geto’s touch burns. The slight relief that washes over her when his hand drops from her mouth is quickly replaced with trepidation when it settles on her throat. It is a warning and a reminder, and it makes her mouth go dry.
“This isn’t funny,” Utahime tries again. “Let go.” She pushes against Geto, losing her balance in the quasi-tussle and staggers forward. But the grip he has on her resembles that of a steel band. “Stop it,” she hisses, jabbing her elbow into Geto’s gut but stiffens when he tightens his fingers around her neck.
She is pretty sure he can feel the erratic beat of her pulse where his thumb rests over her carotid artery.
Gojo takes a step forward, drawing her attention back to him. “C’mon, ‘Hime,” he wheedles, looking too amused for her liking, like the cat who caught the canary. “Don’t act all surprised. I told you we’ll be seeing you soon.”
Geto snorts. He’s never been much of a talker, she remembers. He shifts on his feet and presses close—closer than before and Utahime jerks. She can feel the rigid heat of his erection against the small of her back, insistent and so very hard.
The acrid taste of hysteria and fear shoots through her. Adrenaline begins coursing through her veins and Utahime begins to struggle wildly as tears blur her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”
“Are you really asking that?” Gojo raises a brow. “Or are you just going to play stupid like the last time?”
With that, Utahime knows that they know.
That they are soulmates.
Her stomach drops and her lower lip wobbles.
With Geto’s wandering hands on her body and the lascivious smirk on Gojo’s mouth, it isn’t hard to guess what they intend to do with her.
“Please,” she whimpers, trembling when Gojo takes another step closer. At the same time, she can feel Geto slipping a hand up her blouse, the callouses on his palm dragging along her skin. She bucks, wriggling. “Stop it, I—”
“Are you denying us? Again?” Gojo croons, voice soft. He reaches out and his fingers follow the path of her tears on her cheek, feather-light. “You shouldn’t make that a habit. You’re gonna hurt our feelings. Could you imagine how I felt when Shoko told us your birthday was on the eighteenth?”
“You don’t have any feelings, you bastard,” she snaps but her brief show of defiance is stamped out when Gojo leans down to slide his hand between her legs, cupping her clothed cunt.
She squeals in mortification as he tugs on the zipper and yanks down her jeans with a violence that is a forewarning of the events to come. Blood rushes to her cheek when her pants are wrestled off her kicking legs, baring her naked thighs and white cotton panties. Utahime squeezes her eyes shut. This cannot be happening.
Uncaring to her discomfort, Gojo hums as he runs his hand over the most intimate parts of her. Utahime squirms, trying to shift her body out of the way, but before she can, Gojo shoves the gusset of her underwear to the side, baring her naked cunt for his perusal. He begins to touch her, fingers sliding through her folds with a dexterity that surprises her.
“Hey, whaddya know? She’s soaked.”
Behind her, Geto laughs, something mean and smug. “Told you that she’ll like it rough.”
Utahime burns in shame and humiliation.
She scratches at Geto, nails digging into his skin with the intention to draw blood, but the man merely releases her neck to snatch her wrists, tightening his grip until she can hear the creaking of her bones.
“Behave,” he murmurs into her ear. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.”
Utahime chokes out a sob. “But why? You don’t even like me.”
“Whoever said that?” Geto’s voice is smooth and even. And if it isn’t for his dick grinding slowly and sensually into her back, Utahime thinks he could be discussing the goddamn weather or what he ate for breakfast. “You’re our soulmate,” he states as he forces his leg between hers to spread them further apart. “This is meant to happen. It’s fate.”
She can only whimper in response as Gojo deftly flicks a thumb over her clit, strumming the swollen bundle of nerves, easily playing her as though she’s a well-tuned instrument.
Unwanted pleasure skates across her nerves, bringing her to the edge of cruel bliss. “S-stop,” she moans, back arching as her body bucks from Gojo’s touch.
“Stop?” Gojo raises a brow. A malevolent grin forms on his mouth. “Nahh, I don’t think so.” With that, he pushes a finger into her and before Utahime can adjust to the sudden intrusion in her cunt, he adds another.
She keens, breath hitching as she topples headfirst over the cliff. Her first orgasm is wrung out of her being with the very violence that Gojo promised. Ripples of heat crash over her, pulling her under and Utahime can’t even make a sound when Geto manhandles her, tugging her limp and shivering body to her bedroom.
The bed dips and dazed, she can only mewl in protest when someone yanks at her blouse, causing her shirt to rip and buttons to fly. The plastic discs scatter haphazardly onto the wooden floor, producing sounds that are reminiscent of the crashes and rolls of a stormy night. Her head lolls back when someone, probably Geto—she can make out the darkness in his eyes and smell that cursed scent of cedar wood—pulls her sagging body against him.
“There is it.” A finger drags along her sweat-slicked clavicle and weak as she is, Utahime doesn’t miss the reverence in Geto’s tone as he traces what is probably his birthdate on her collarbone.
Weak and overwhelmed as she is, she can also sense Gojo sucking on his mark on her left hipbone.
“This,” Geto says against the tender skin of her neck, “just shows that we’re meant for each other. So why bother fighting it? We promise we’ll take good care of you.”
For all she knew, he could be quoting a religious text but Utahime doesn’t care. Her oversensitive body is still shuddering from the rawness of her orgasm as Gojo starts to pet her cunt once more, fingers prying her lower lips apart to stretch her out.
“Still wet,” he comments, sounding pleased. “But probably too tight.”
“Fucking figure it out,” Geto drawls as he gropes at her breasts, fingers pulling and pinching at her nipples that have stiffened from the cool draughty air.
“You’re just making me do all the work, asshole.”
Geto grunts, letting out a low laugh. “So? It’s not like you don’t enjoy breaking things.”
That snaps Utahime out of her stupor. She can’t—she won’t let them have their way this easily. Utahime has never been a pushover and she’ll rather go down with her dignity intact. She begins to fight once again, kicking and throwing her fists out with newfound vigour. “No, I don’t want this,” she shrieks. “I don’t want you—either of you!”
“What’s the point of fighting it?” Geto runs his thumb along the curve of her cheekbone in a mimicry of a lover’s tender caress. It stings, like a knife cutting into her skin. “You’re ours. Ours to do as we want. It’s not like we don’t know you’re a virgin. Who else is gonna fuck you when we’re around?”
The reality that she’s well and truly caught finally sets in and the fumes that she’s running on sputters out, the fight leaving her as quickly as it had appeared. Utahime sobs.
Too bad for her, her pleas and cries fall on deaf ears.
Gojo gets on top of her while fucking his fist gracelessly, but it is the hungry and wicked look on his face that draws her eye, makes her knees tremble. “I promise I’ll try to be gentle, ‘Hime,” he announces cheerfully.
“Liar,” Geto mocks but makes room for his brother in all but name to settle in between her legs.
Utahime doesn’t have the chance to respond because Gojo dives right in. She tries to squeeze her thighs together in some weak attempt to block him off but she’s too slow. With her heart in her throat, she can feel the head of his cock bumping against the swollen and soaked folds of her cunt.
“Please let me go,” she sobs brokenly, feeling like a ragdoll with her aching body sandwiched between the two. She can’t even muster the shame and embarrassment of being naked in front of them, nor can she ignore the tantalising strokes of hands roaming along every inch of exposed skin.
“Go?” Gojo murmurs, eyes glazing over as he works his cock into her, the tip slipping between her folds to glide along her soaking slit. He pushes in and Utahime thinks she could have been punched for the air in her lungs is expelled in one swoop. His hips begin to move jerkily and he sighs, face contorting into an expression of utter bliss. “Go where? We’re right here.”
She opens her mouth, but the only sounds that leave her throat are those of moans and groans and whimpers as Gojo begins to fuck her, squeezing his length into her partially-prepared cunt with an earnestness that swallows her whole.
“Fuck,” Gojo moans as he throws his head back, exposing the strained tendons of his neck. “And to think you wanted to hide your cunt from us. How fucking rude.”
Tears line her lashes as her walls stretch to make way for the intrusion. Utahime pants and she might truly be sick for she turns to Geto. For what, she doesn’t know but he leans down to cup her cheek before kissing her.
She sinks deeper into the spell and is taken off guard when her second orgasm of the night comes. It is unexpected and quick, but no less powerful than the first, similar to that of a wave crashing over the rocky coast.
She is lost, drifting in the wide expanse of the sea of euphoria, free and wild.
“Oookay, that should do it,” Gojo groans as his hips still. It doesn’t escape Utahime’s notice that he hasn’t spilt himself into her yet. “Man, she’s fucking tight. It’s on a whole new level.”
“Oh?” Geto hums. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Dimly, she can feel someone manoeuvring her around, but too addled from being fucked and given two foundation-shaking orgasms, she isn’t aware of what’s happening until it’s too late.
Her eyes widen and she bucks frantically, heels digging into her mattress. “No!” she howls, turning to face Geto pleadingly. “I can’t! That’s not possible! It won’t fit! Take it out!”
He ignores her and from where she and Gojo are so intimately joined, Utahime can feel the head of another cock nudging at her entrance forcefully.
She can only twist and squirm in protest because this isn’t natural. It isn’t normal. She can’t possibly be taking two cocks in her. She isn’t built for that, but when Geto manages to shove the head of his dick into her already-filled cunt, Utahime wheezes, body turning to stone.
She doesn’t dare to move because she thinks she might actually be torn into two. Geto had said Gojo liked breaking things, hadn’t he?
Geto grunts, groaning as his hips begin to thrust until he is fully seated within her. He mutters something too muffled for her to hear but really, at this point, all she can focus on is the indescribable sensation of the stabbing and searing of pain and pleasure as she pushed to the limit.
Her chest heaves in both incredulity and panic when they begin to move in unison.
“Good girl. See, it does fit. You can take it, baby girl. I know you could. Suguru thought so too,” Gojo breathes out, somehow managing to sound smug. “Your greedy cunt is made for us.”
Utahime can only warble out a cry in response.
Heat sparks up her spine at the dual and novel sensation of not one, but two cocks moving in her. One of them pulls out and the other pushes in—like some kind of see-saw, she thinks—and this dizzying concoction of bliss and misery tugs on her fraying nerves.
Her head spins and she can only hold on for dear life as her soulmates take and use her for their pleasure, heedless to her whimpers and moans. Fingers scrabbling in the twisted sheets for purchase, she is ridden to near-insanity; the line separating reality and fantasy blurring beyond recognition.
It doesn’t help that Geto has an arm wrapped around her torso under her bared breast while the other strokes her clit. Tight circles are rubbed over her throbbing bud and that, she realises, is far worse because she doesn’t want to feel good, doesn’t want to feel anything, really.
Because finding pleasure in this… what does that make her?
She comes when Gojo takes her hand and places it where the three of them are joined. Beneath her fingers, she can feel the sticky viscous mixture that is her arousal and precum. But what throws her off the deep end is the feeling of her cunt, lips stretched wide to take both her soulmates as they pump into her.
Blackness creeps into the edge of her vision and Utahime wails as her coiled body convulses. Tears leak down her cheeks and drip down her chin, splattering the salty liquid all over her naked chest.
Gojo leans down to lick them, tongue laving across her skin and the swells of her aching tits, but it is the look in his eyes that makes her blood turn cold.
It is adoration in the sickest of senses.
Stricken, she turns to Geto but stops short. Instead of twisted devotion or ardour, what she sees is sadistic satisfaction.
And Utahime breaks.