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Try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember why you’d agreed to this.
Satoru’s countryside estate loomed above you, rustic and sprawling. Tall, wooden gates penned you in from behind, and in front of you, the marble steps leading up to his front door made for an insurmountable barrier – a mountain you just couldn’t seem to force yourself to climb. Hesitating now was stupid. You’d had plenty of time to panic in the hour’s long cab drive out of the city, and even before that, the better part of a day to talk yourself out of coming at all. Really, you should’ve known better the second you picked up your phone, the moment you heard Suguru’s voice on the other side of the line. For old time’s sake, he’d said. It’s been years. We miss you.
You blinked, letting your gaze flicker from the front door to your feet. If you had a therapist, they would probably say this was good. A form of exposure therapy. A way to conquer silly teenage fears.
That, or they’d point out the obvious emotional manipulation and tell you to get the fuck out. It was hard to tell, sometimes. You’d never actually gone to therapy.
A sudden creak. A rush of footsteps. You felt her arms before you realized you were under attack – muscular and warm and tight. And just like that, you were trapped for good.
You could only count yourself lucky that, out of all of your potential hunters, Utahime had sunk her teeth into you first.
She was already talking, an incoherent babble of greetings and compliments and nostalgia. Her cheek pressed into your temple, her arms keeping you pressed flush to her chest. She’d done the same thing when you were a student, too – especially when you were coming back from a mission or a particularly rough training session. There was a probably a reason why, even after transferring to Kyoto, you’d struggled to make friends. “And then Shoko said you might not come at all, and I’ve already had to listen Gojo talk for so long, and we wanted to ask you if—”
“Let the poor girl breath, sweetheart.” Shoko’s voice, steady and cool. She rested a hand on Utahime’s shoulder, and you were permitted just enough space to squirm your way out of her hold entirely. She pouted, but Shoko stepped forward, forming a protective wall between the two of you. “It’s good to see you.”
She held out a hand. After a beat, you realized you were supposed to shake it and complied. “Likewise. And—uh, sorry I haven’t called. They’ve been keeping me busy.”
It was a terrible excuse. You hadn’t so much as attempted to reach out to Shoko for years, and the best you could do was I’m busy. Thankfully, she’d never been the overly sentimental type. There was a shrug, a moment spent rummaging around her pocket to produce a carton of cigarettes. She took one to herself and then offered them to you. You shook your head. “I assumed Iori would’ve made you quit, by now.”
Shoko grinned. “She tried.”
“I succeeded,” Utahime corrected. “Suguru ruined her streak. We had to compromise.”
Again, Shoko held out her hand. This time, you noticed a thin silver band around her ring finger. Its twin hung from a chain around Utahime’s neck. “I could stop smoking or she could marry a doctor,” she laughed. “That was a few years ago. I could’ve sworn we invited you to the wedding.”
They had. The envelope had sat on your kitchen table for weeks, unopened and unwanted. Eventually, you forced yourself to burn it.
Your plastered-on smile felt painfully artificial. Stiff plastic that would crack with another ounce of pressure. “My bad. I’ve been moving around a lot – it’s pretty hard to track me down, these days.” And then, before things became too unbearably awkward, “I’m guessing Gojo and Geto are inside?”
Shoko nodded, turning on her heel and gesturing for you to follow. Utahime grimaced, but wound her arm through yours regardless, urging you forward.
It became very clear very quickly that your already narrow window for escape had closed entirely. You took one deep breath, savoring the feeling of fresh air in your lungs, then did as you were told.
The inside of Satoru’s estate was just as intimidating. Most of it was presentational, all the right furniture and all the expected décor for a wealthy man’s family rural get-away. There were a few personal effects – a display case packed with distastefully posed Gundam models, a stack of partially graded exams forgotten on an end-table, one of Suguru’s well-creased novels – but it felt accidental, a technician’s water bottle left on stage when the curtains rose. Weirdly, that helped you calm down. This was going to be a short night of shallow conversation and half-hearted niceties. You were all adults, and they were going to act like it.
Your destination was the kitchen; a bright, spacey room that could’ve easily housed the entire dining room and both bedrooms of your shoebox apartment. The island was set for a causal meal, with five chairs pulled up to it. You froze on the threshold. “Oh.” Utahime’s hold on you tightened, and you rushed to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I just—I thought Kento was coming, for some reason.”
Shoko flashed a grin. “We’re not enough for you?”
“I would’ve invited him if—”
“There’s my favorite junior.”
Immediately, the words died on your tongue. Even after the better part of a decade, you recognized Satoru’s voice in an instant.
Unlike Utahime, he didn’t engulf you all at once. His invasion came by degrees – fingertips brushing against your side, then his hands on your waist, then his arm crossed over your midriff, hauling you against a broad chest. Your vision blurred. Your pulse slowed, then raced, then fell out of beat entirely. For one terrifying second, you thought you might actually throw up.
And then, Satoru was pulling away, slipping past you and toward the stove. “Tell Suguru I was your favorite senior, would ya? He’s being stubborn”
You moved out of the doorway just in time for Suguru to enter, lips pursed and exasperation evident. There was no hug, but the glance and nod he sent you by way of greeting sent its own terrible chill down your spine. “Please don’t encourage him.”
You took a deep breath, digging your nails into your palm. This was normal. They were normal. You were so, so normal.
“We were in the same year, Gojo. Iori’s the only senior here.”
Utahime snickered, Suguru shot you a thankful look, and Satoru huffed. “I was a senior in spirit, remember? I used to help you study and everything.”
“I studied with Ieiri. You always fell asleep fifteen minutes in.”
“And then tried to cheat off of me,” Suguru added.
“That’s ancient history.” And then, eager to move on, “Food’s ready. Grab a seat before Shoko bites our heads off.”
Everyone already seemed to know where they belong. Utahime and Shoko claimed one side of the table for themselves. Satoru took the head, too hyper to stay in his seat for more than a minute or so at a time. That left you next to Suguru at the opposite end, which you were alright with. Suguru was quiet. Suguru was stable. When Satoru cornered you in an empty classroom and demanded to know which of them you’d rather sleep with, Suguru would remain at his desk, toying with his lighter as he watched from a measured distance. He wouldn’t act without a catalyst, and you wouldn’t be giving him one.
Satoru had made tonyu ramen. It’d been your preference in high school, although you doubted he remembered. You or Suguru had both given up meat, something Shoko used to complain about at length. The conversation was pleasantly mundane – as mundane as would’ve been possible for a table’s worth of sorcerers, at least. It often drifted back to you and your life, but you couldn’t really complain about that. Everyone else had stayed in touch. You were the interloper, the unknown variable. Of course they were curious.
You kept your answers short, polite and predictable. Yes, you’d moved back to Tokyo, but only a few weeks ago, and you didn’t plan on staying for very long. No, you hadn’t gotten homesick while you were abroad, you’d had too much to do. Yes, you were planning on stopping by Jujutsu Tech. As soon as the higher-up cut you some slack, if they ever did.
Finally, Satoru asked the question. You must’ve known it was coming, but your stomach still dropped as his lips curled up into that terrible smile, as something sparked behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “You got a boyfriend yet?” And then, after Shoko dug her heel into his foot, “Fuck, fuck, ow, alright – Or a girlfriend, I guess. If we’re going full limp-wrist.”
“You’re married to a man, Satoru.”
“And?”
It was subtle, masked behind pleasant smiles and soft laughter, but you could feel four pairs of eyes gently shift onto you. For a moment, you considered lying. You could make up a new boyfriend in Tokyo, or a lover waiting for you in a country too far and too small to be worth visiting. But that was risky. They’d ask to see pictures or for a name, and you’d be in high school all over again, hiding your phone whenever Shoko asked who you were texting. It wasn’t worth the embarrassment.
“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ in an attempt to feign levity. “No boyfriend. Or girlfriend, for the record. I haven’t really had time to settle down.”
Suguru hummed. “No kids then, I’m guessing.” Your confusion must’ve shined through, because he laid his hand over Satoru’s and went on. “We’re thinking of getting a surrogate, and the girls are considering adoption. I guess you wouldn’t have a preference.”
For the first time that night, you genuinely laughed. “No, sorry. When it comes to kids, the only thing I’m having is an abortion.”
Suguru’s smile faltered and Satoru’s fell away entirely. Utahime shifted uncomfortable, and for a never-ending second, you thought you might’ve said something wrong, something you couldn’t recover from. Thankfully, Shoko saved you, sighing as she pushed herself to her feet. “I’m bored. Let’s drink.”
This was something all of you could agree on. The table was cleared, bottles selected from a generously stocked mini-bar, and you were gently ushered into the living room – all deep leather couches and dim lighting and snow-white carpeting. This time, you weren’t lucky enough to escape to the outskirts of the group. Satoru insisted that you sit in between him Suguru, where he could lean into your side and drape his arm over your shoulders and make you feel as if you were about to crawl out of your own skin. To cope, you emptied your wine glass quickly and nursed your refill, determined to survive at least another hour before finding an excuse to leave.
With your current life a now thoroughly barred topic, the conversation quickly veered nostalgic. Shoko told you and Utahime about the three months Satoru and Suguru had spent dragging her along on their dates while they were still in the denial-ridden, tension rife, ‘we’re all friends in the exact same way’ stage of their relationship. Suguru reminded Shoko how many of her cartons were probably still in Principle Yaga’s desk. Finally, Satoru squeezed your arm and told the others about the last sparring session the two of you had before your transfer to Kyoto. “You would’ve thought I’d broken her neck. I had her pinned there for, like, twenty full minutes.” Satoru was laughing too loudly. Suguru rested a hand on your knee apologetically. “She was crying and crying, and—Oh, get this, she threatened to tell Yaga if I didn’t let her go. I swear, that’s why she left Tokyo. Just couldn’t make it in the major leagues.” He glanced toward Utahime. “No offense, ‘hime.”
You drained what was left in your glass, desperate for any amount of liquid relief. The wine was hitting you harder than you’d expected, dulling your senses and numbing your better judgement. You might not have said anything at all, if you hadn’t suddenly been struggling to think straight. “That’s not why I transferred, Gojo.”
His grin only widened. “Oh?”
You moved to set your glass on the coffee table, but your hand slipped, your grip loosening beyond your control. Suguru lurched forward, catching your glass with one hand and wrapping his free arm around you. He guided your back, his expression suddenly simpering. “Maybe you should take it easy, love. This might not be the time to pick a fight.”
“I’m not fighting. I’m just saying what happened.” You were slurring, now, the words blurring around the edges. “I—I don’t care about some stupid training session. And he knows that, too. You know that. You were both there—Later that day, behind the gym—”
Again, Suguru cut in. “You’re getting worked up.”
“No, no, I want to hear this.” Satoru leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. “What’d I do wrong, princess?”
“He kissed me. We’d talked about it early that day, who’d been our firsts. I admitted I didn’t have one, and—” Your breath hitched, but you soldiered on. “And he cornered me behind the gym, threatened to break my arm, and kissed me.”
It sounded so juvenile when you said it out loud. There was more. Your hands pinned above your head, threatening to splinter the gym’s rotting wood. Satoru’s body against yours, his thigh lodged between your legs, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he swore that he just wanted a kiss, one kiss, then he’d let you go – but only if you promised to leave your door unlocked for him that night, too. The taste of sugar and cinnamon, so overpowering you could still feel pockets of it in the hollows of your cheeks. You wanted to say that. You would’ve given anything to say that, but the words got caught in your throat and Satoru was still laughing and Suguru was reaching for your—
Suguru.
“And you.” You snapped toward him, teeth bared. “You were there, too. You were always there, and all you ever did was stand by and watch. At least Satoru wanted something from me. You didn’t even care enough to look away.”
Suguru’s smile softened. “That’s not true, love.”
“That’s right,” Shoko chimed in. Utahime nodded in agreement. “He used to steal your—”
“I don’t care. I don’t care.” You pushed yourself up, swaying as you stumbled onto your feet. “Oh, god, you pretended to be my friend. You and Iori. Always inviting me out, always trying to be so nice, and then, the second I turned eighteen, you were telling me how prettyI was, how happy you were with each other, how much you’ve always wanted to try a third. You can’t imagine how stupid I felt for actually thinking—” You cut yourself off with a sharp groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is dumb. I’m going home.”
Immediately, Suguru was on his feet and in front of you. You tried to step past him, but he wrapped an arm around your midriff, pulling you against his chest. “No, you aren’t.”
He was still using that tone – soft and velvet and smooth as calm water. It hurt to listen to. Your ears were ringing. “I’ll call a cab.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then why aren’t you letting me leave?”
Suguru looked to Satoru. It occurred to you, maybe a little more slowly than it should have, that this was something they’d already spoken about. A step in a plan in which you were currently playing your part.
Not that you had much time to consider the finer mechanisms. Satoru nodded enthusiastically, and then, Suguru was cupping your cheek, pulling you that much closer. Kissing you.
Your mind went blank, panic overriding all else. His lips were soft and warm. That, on its own, wasn’t so bad, at least in comparison to the searing heat of his tongue as he forced it past your lips, to the bruising force of his grip as he tightened his hold on your face. Any gentleness he might’ve had was spent quickly. His tongue dragged over your teeth, lips moving harshly against yours. His hand slipped to your jaw, then the back of your head, cradling you against him. When he did pull back, the relief was delayed. It was hard to feel much safer when you were still in his arms.
“The master bedroom’s upstairs,” he said. There was no delusion that he was talking to you.
“The couch, please.” Oh, Utahime. Always so pragmatic. Always so polite.
Suguru sighed, but didn’t protest. He lifted you by your waist, and for a second, you couldn’t imagine what he could possibly be doing.
And then, your back hit the leather of Satoru’s couch and reality flooded back in.
There was a token effort at resistance. You kicked at Suguru, dug your nails into Satoru’s hands when he caught your shoulders, tried to summon the cursed energy which suddenly seemed miles and miles beyond you. Even for the amount you’d drank, you were moving too slowly, struggling too hard to blink away the haze over your conscious mind. Satoru kissed your temple, and it felt as if a white-hot brand was being pressed into your skull. Suguru squeeze your waist, and it felt like he’d reached his hands into your chest and tried to tear out your hard.
In your peripheral, you could see Satoru shifting, moving onto his knees, reaching for his waistband. Utahime was on her feet in a heartbeat. “Hands off. We had a deal, and you’ve already gotten your taste.”
He pouted. “That was five years ago.”
“Be patient, Satoru.” Shoko smothered her latest cigarette, letting Utahime help her to her feet. “We’ve all been waiting a very, very long time for this.”
There was a groan, then an exaggerated sigh. Satoru pulled away and Suguru followed, ever the faithful guard dog. Weak and uncoordinated, you did your best to push yourself up, to stand, to run, but Utahime was on top of you before you could even get off the couch, straddling your waist as she pulled you into a kiss just as deep and twice as hungry as Suguru’s. It was a small mercy and an immeasurable cruelty that her attention drifted quickly. Grasping, graceful hands slipped underneath your top, finding the latch to your bra and pulling it loose. Her mouth fell to your throat, latching onto the side of your neck. You might’ve screamed, but you couldn’t be sure. Your heart was beating too loudly to hear anything else.
Shoko wasn’t quite so zealous. She sat behind you, pulling your upper body into her lap. When Utahime drew back, she teased your top off entirely, leaving you exposed despite your attempts to grab for the fleeting material. “She’s so cute,” Shoko muttered, as Utahime’s mouth fell lower, her pale lipstick leaving a trail of stains over the curve of your breast. “Do you remember the day you graduated? When we took you to that nice restaurant with the private rooms and the open bar?”
You did. The night had been terrible. You’d already been desperate to get out and despite claiming to want to keep their relationship private until the age gap was a little less conspicuous, they’d been all over each other. Utahime drank too much too quickly and tried to slip her hand under your skirt, mistaking you for Shoko. Shoko, unhelpfully, had described their sex life in horrific amounts of detail, her cold eyes and unwavering composure daring you to interject. It’d been embarrassing for everyone. At least, that was what you’d assumed at the time.
“She’d wanted to do this way all the way back then,” Shoko explained. Utahime latched onto your nipple, her tongue running over the sensitive bud. “Pulled me into the bathroom halfway through dinner, begged so prettily for permission to slip something into your drink and carry you home with us. I had to make her cum twice before she remembered why we agreed to wait.”
Utahime lifted her head. Her breath was hot against your spit-soaked skin, but you couldn’t be sure if that was the reason why your blood suddenly felt molten in your veins. “But you left.”
Shoko laughed. “That’s right. Left us high and dry. Aren’t you going to apologize?”
Your mouth was dry, your tongue cotton, but you managed to spit something out regardless. “I—I’m sorry.” And then, trying and failing to swallow back the tremble in your voice, “Can I leave now?”
“Always in such a rush.” Shoko pecked the top of your head. “Why don’t you sit back and let Uta take care of you, sweetheart?”
Not that you could resist. Not that Utahime needed your permission. Your jeans were removed with a militaristic precision, no moment wasted, her own clothing discarded with a similar rushed intensity. Somehow, that scared you more than anything. You were used to feeling exposed around them, on display for an audience eager to soak in every scrap of skin, every suggestive gesture, every implication of intimacy. But that’s all they ever were – an audience. The closest thing to active participation you’d ever had to deal with was Satoru, and that’d been enough to send you running.
The feeling of Utahime’s skin against yours was strange, alien. It was too hot, and there was too much – soft and hard and cold and warm in all the wrong places. Toned muscle weighted heavy against the plush of your stomach, the cold mental of the ring hanging from her neck burning into your chest, and your previous phobias abruptly seemed like child’s play, an assumed pinnacle of misery when you’d actually only reached the tower’s first floor. Her head dipped between your legs, her tongue running over your cunt once, twice, but that wasn’t her goal. Shoko grinned as her wife straddled your upper thigh, sloppily crushing her pussy against yours. She was wet. Belatedly, you realized that you were, too.
Her pace was ruthless. One knee planted in the cushion and the other thrown over your waist, she ground her clit into yours, letting your mixed arousal stain the inside of your thighs and drip down the curve of your ass. The pleasure was rough, blunt, all force with no friction. Arching your back, bucking against her – they were survival strategies, not acts of submission, no different than a drowning man swimming toward the surface. Shoko pulled you flush against her, circling your left nipple lazily with her thumb. All the cruelty without the strain.
You did your best to swallow back any stray sounds, choking moans into whimpers and sobs into long, cracked whines. Utahime wasn’t so shy. Her dark eyes were focused on your face, your expression; her lips left parted for anything, everything to spill out. “So pretty…”
“The prettiest,” Satoru all-but sung. You could see him in the corner of your eye, collapsed into a seat next to Suguru. He had his hand in his husband’s lap. You didn’t want to know why.
Utahime’s lips curled back, eyes narrowing into a half-hearted glare. “Shut up.” She ground her hips into yours, and you gasped, hands darting up to cover your face. Shoko was quick to correct you, cooing as she peeled them away. “I didn’t wanna share,” Utahime went on, voice cracking. “I love you. And Shoko, too, but I love you—”
There was no time to draw back, no time to think. Her lips were on yours and then, she was kissing you, moaning into your mouth. Her pace faltered as her climax washed over her, but you weren’t far behind. The humiliation was almost unbearable, red hot and raw. Resentment and regret and anger and abject misery all rolled into one terrible, shattering, euphoric orgasm.
Utahime took her time. Even as the last of the aftershocks began to face, she held her ground, grinding lazily against you. Shoko shifted behind you, cupping her wife’s cheek and gingerly raising her head. “You happy?”
Her lips quirked downward, falling into a defined sulk. “Do we have to? We could just go home and—”
“That’s not fair, honey.” Shoko kissed Utahime’s forehead, then yours. “We’re all friends here. C’mon—you can help me out while the boys hold up their end of the deal.”
A pit opened up at the bottom of your stomach.
Your voice was weak, hoarse and cracked and pathetic. “…deal?”
“Oh, oh, let me explain.” Satoru, never one to be ignored for very long, was already edging Shoko out of her territory. She sighed, but relented without a fight, collecting Utahime and depositing her on a loveseat across the room. There was a sick sense of betrayal to the sight, as if you were a beaten dog finally abandoned by its cruel owner. This wound should have scarred over years ago, and yet, here you were. Bleeding out all over again.
Shoko glanced over her shoulder, catching your gaze. Without ever looking away, she pulled her belt loose and shrugged her dress pants off entirely before planting a knee on either side of Utahime’s head. She pulled her panties to the side, then settled as her wife eagerly went to work. “Be delicate. The poor thing’s always been fragile.”
“Don’t listen to her.” Kneeling in front of you, Satoru hooked his arms under yours and hauled you onto your knees. You nearly collapsed into yourself, but Suguru was already behind you, already wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck as Satoru went on. “It’s not that bad. You remember how we mentioned that we’re all trying for kids, right?”
Something blunt ran over the length of your slit – the head of Suguru’s cock. A ragged, distressed whine tore past your lips, but Suguru only cooed. “He’s going to need an answer, pretty girl.”
“I—I do.”
“Well, we gave it a lot of thought, and after so many years of not hearing from you at all—” Suguru eased into you, splitting you open. You lurched forward, clawing at Satoru’s chest. “We decided to kill two birds with one stone. Grow our little family and make sure our little princess stays where we can see her.”
Understanding came hot and fast. Suguru ground his hips against your ass, groaning into the curve of your shoulder. He was too big. He was too warm, searing a hole through your core and burning against your back. His movements were short and rough, hair’s width thrusts that left you constantly full, constantly abused, constantly rocking back against him. A large hand slipped between your thighs, two calloused fingers pushing tight circles into your clit. The sounds that spilled out of you were unabashedly miserable, now. A torrent of pleasure and suffering you couldn’t seem to stop.
“The—fuck, the kid, ‘toru,” Suguru panted, his cock twitching inside of you. “Tell her about the kid.”
“Ah, right. That part.” He was shrugging his own pants low on his hips, now. His cock was hard enough to tent the fabric, and once freed, drip iridescent beads of pre-cum down the knuckles of his curled fist. “If it’s Suguru’s, it’ll go to the girls. If it’s mine, Suguru and I get to keep it. We thought that would keep things fair.” He paused, laughed. “That, and I think ‘hime would have an aneurysm if she had to raise something that was half me. She’s mean, like that.”
His attention dipped. His forehead resting against yours, he dragged the tip of his cock over your clit, then lower, smearing his arousal down to Suguru’s base. You shook your head violently, but that didn’t matter. Satoru was grinning, pressing himself that much closer to you. He’d taken off his glasses at some point, stripping away the last protection you could’ve hoped for. You recognized that look, that feeling, that proximity. He’d been just as happy and just as love-struck on the day he kissed you.
The first moments of it were awful. The long, terrible minutes that followed, even worse. Satoru pushed himself into you beside Suguru, their cocks stretching you open in a way you only ever could’ve imagined in some terrible, far-away nightmare. Their pace was unorganized and discordant. They both seemed to want to push that much deeper, to stay inside for that much longer, to push you towards your breaking point that much faster.
Suguru drew patterns into your clit with one hand while pawing at your tits with the other. Satoru kept his hands on your hips, holding you steady as he and his husband ground into you. The last sparks of your last climax were still burning, leaving you sensitive, reactive, prone to twitching in his hold and clenching down, holding tight to what you would’ve done anything to get rid of. You heard Satoru laugh, then felt his lips on your cheek, the bridge of your nose. By the time his mouth found yours, you were almost too far gone to care.
Almost.
He tasted like cinnamon.
You didn’t remember your own orgasm, let alone theirs. There was only a blank moment, void and thoughtless, and then an undeniable warmth in the pit of your stomach, a fullness you didn’t want to get used to. Satoru laughed and Suguru cursed. They drew back slowly, easing you onto your back at the same time. Satoru kept the flat of his palm pressed your bloated pussy, careful to let as little of their spend escape as possible.
Your blinked, and then your head was in Suguru’s lap, a pillow shoved underneath your hips. He sighed as he carded his fingers through your hair, glancing toward his husband. “Tell her what you told me, ‘toru.”
“It was sappy.”
“She’s going to be the mother of our child,” he urged, blunt nails scraping over your scalp. “Do it.”
“Fine.” Feigning reluctance, Satoru sprawled himself over you, propping his chin on your stomach. “I don’t really care whose it is.”
Even through half-lidded eyes, you could see that his smile was sun-bright and clear as day.
“I’d be happy with anything, as long as it means you can’t leave us again.”