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Nobara was the one sharing a fruit cup with Maki; Sukuna’s vessel beside her, his mouth parted in a snore. Nobara had the same haircut Shoko used to - the ends of her hair tucking under her jaw, the white-sun shadows making it appear darker, Utahime blinking. Nobara was rowdier than Shoko had been - conflict-avoidant, while Gojo’s student seemed to love putting up a bastion when it came to her peers.
It was an overly warm autumn day - both pairs of sister school students were taking refuge in the blotted shade of a few mulberry trees after a joint mission. It was more of a fumigation - thousands of low-grade curses making a den out of an abandoned motorcycle factory, smelling like rubber and blood. Gojo and Utahime had found a surveyor’s office above the nest, watching their students scramble the monsters like rats.
Your kids are pretty good , he said, yawning. He had on one of his thicker black blindfolds, meaning he woke up with a headache. Utahime sometimes caught him rubbing fabric between his fingers in clothing stores, on high-end curtains, most likely wondering if they’d make a good blinder, looking for a new sash. Utahime didn’t look at him, instead marking how Miwa tended to isolate herself into a corner of the room. The girl shouldn’t always be on defense.
They still call you mommy?
Utahime ignored him.
It’s clear how much they love you . Gojo sighed, seemingly intent on filling the room with his own breath. She wondered what it was like to speak to her, only sensing her cursed energy - how dull she must look, with so many pillars and flares around them. Was she smoke, or fire? I would have loved a mother like that.
It startled her - Gojo never spoke of his family, let alone his parents, beyond calling his old man a servile pawn . His uncles sometimes spoken of as serial maggot breeders .
Utahime hadn’t replied.
Now, Utahime was pressing her thighs together on top of a picnic blanket, hoping everyone else didn’t notice her squirming in her folded position, knees tucked under her pants like a petulant child.
Satoru was sitting above his students on a decaying bleacher outside of the shade - sharing a rind of watermelon with Megumi, licking his palms after picking up a chunk of fruit. He threatened to flatten his wet palm against Megumi’s cheek, the student almost tipping over trying to lean away.
His hair was almost translucent, the color of light itself.
“Idiot,” Mai mumbled beside her, her legs spread out under her uniform on the blanket she was sharing with her classmates. Utahime realized she meant Gojo, glaring at him across the small field.
“Fushiguro’s kinda cute,” Momo was tearing the crusts off her sandwich, piling them on Miwa’s napkin. “Too bad he’s totally a Gojo boy. It’s super embarrassing.”
Utahime looked away, blinking back to her half-eaten nectarine resting in her palm.
She was having ravaging thoughts - Gojo at the center of them. Gojo, cracking a watermelon seed in the back of his jaw, Megumi cutting him another hunk. Gojo would feed it to himself in a scoop, crushing the gentle meat.
Gojo would eat her out if she asked – Utahime knew he would. He would probably beg to suck on her tits while he fucked her, plead with Utahime to leave marks on her skin.
She remembers getting grime on her face from a mission in a collapsed catacomb when they were teenagers, Gojo licking his thumb and wiping off her face after coming out of the underground. Utahime let him groom her, her eyes adjusting to the light levels that Gojo could so easily ignore.
She imagined him doing it to her folds, the small licks, the little touches. Gojo getting cuntstruck over finally getting access to her, lapping at her like a ripe fruit, imploding on itself. Getting overly invested in playing with her outsides that it took him hours to even pull out his dick.
It all made Utahime whine, thinking about it alone later that night - the slick inside her rushing to her entrance in a hot streak – she knew her panties would be soaked, stained to a bestial shade with how much her cunt ached for Gojo Satoru.
She needed Gojo. Wanted him enough that she could abandon herself.
Utahime had never bought a toy – the thought of doing so was humiliating, almost as much as going to a shitty bar to pick up a one-night stand. Besides, she knew nothing would be as good as Gojo - as filling, worthy – the thought alone made her seethe, willing to mutilate herself to get the thoughts of his cock out of the forefront of her mind.
Utahime had seen Gojo’s dick before – her, Shoko, Geto, and Gojo going skinny dipping the night of her graduation in the school’s pond, Mei Mei refusing on account of her hair being freshly groomed for the ceremony.
They were only a little drunk – enough they could rationalize, could process higher veins of thought than a household mutt. Mei stayed on the grass, spreading out two layers of towels before laying down.
Gojo had pulled Utahime under the surface of the lake after they had all gotten over the initial cold, water burning her nostrils, his hands on her calves, making her sink to the level of his dick.
She should have slapped his balls for tea-bagging her – instead, Utahime swam upward and got out immediately, ignoring both Shoko and Gojo’s catcalls as she dried off, going to sit next to Mei Mei on the embankment of the water.
“Finally getting tired of our dear juniors?”
Utahime huffed, throwing a wet clump of hair behind her. “Yeah.”
“I think they’ll miss you terribly,” Mei sighed, stretching out her legs, swatting a mosquito away. She was in a pair of denim shorts that were shorter than most of Utahime’s panties, moon-bathing. Utahime could hear some of her blood-ravens scouting above them, Utahime not wanting to know what view they were getting of her body. “Especially with you going to work in Kyoto.”
Gojo and Geto both appeared at the edge of the pond, breaking the surface, Geto grabbing at Utahime’s waterlogged leg to hold her in place. Gojo frowned, apparently hearing Mei’s commentary, pouting out his lips at Utahime, to which she rolled her eyes. “Get back in, Uta. I promise I won’t do it again.”
“No.”
“Please?”
Utahime shook off Geto’s hand. “No.”
Gojo pouted, but nodded towards Mei Mei, who was sitting next to their cooler. “Can you pass me a popsicle, Mei?”
“Of course, lovely.”
Gojo grinned. “Thanks a bunch. See, Uta? Mei knows how to treat a guy.”
Mei stifled a laugh as Utahime wrapped her towel further around herself, cursing the school’s meager rags. She shivered, wishing she brought the sweater Mei had gifted her after her family’s winter vacation in the mountains. Geto gave a pat to the top of Utahime’s foot before diving under the water again, slicking back his hair. She watched him wade over to Shoko, pushing her closer to the edge, whispering something in her ear as he tread backwards. Utahime looked away. “Whatever.”
Throwing the popsicle wrapper into the grass, Gojo split the treat with Geto – Gojo shoving it inside his maw, laughing as Utahime made a disgusted noise. Geto bit into the already melting bar – crushing the ice between his molars, wincing at the brain-freeze.
Utahime started sorting through her clothes, trying to find her underwear. Maybe some socks.
Meanwhile, Gojo had started at the base of his popsicle stick, wrapping his tongue around its length, sucking a noisy trail up the shaft.
Utahime thanked whatever god made the night dark – she was flushed, Gojo humming as he parted his lips, slurping red juice, some of it trailing down his chin and hands, the heated night-wind melting the flavoring.
Utahime burned, hating her body. Hating that Gojo was exactly the type of bastard she wanted, that it had to be someone like him.
When he had finished, Utahime had found a spot in the wet grass to chat with Shoko as she floated, crouching beside her in her bra and panties. Gojo began chewing on the stick, his mouth lined in an aureole of cherry.
Geto splashed water at him, Shoko floating by on her back, her hair starting to get longer. “You always make a mess.”
“Yeah, but I can just wash off here.”
Gojo flicked his stick into the distant water before pinching his nose, submerging himself, coming back to the surface while still scrubbing at his face. Utahime looked away as he climbed out of the pond, his dick swinging between his legs. Shoko moved for him, unphased.
It didn’t help Gojo had been the first of their lot to have taken his clothes off, his pile laying in front of Utahime.
He crouched beside her to tug on his boxers, leaning down to Utahime’s ear.
“Caught you looking.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re allowed to touch,” Gojo grinned, seeing how Utahime wrapped her arms more tightly around her chest. “If you want.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
Utahime had an unfortunate dream about blowing him – Gojo fucking her face until she cried, his thumbs wiping away the tears before they could drip onto his length. Calling her a good girl. His pretty girl, getting his dick wet so he could fuck her easier. Utahime pressed her face into the mattress, holding back a partial moan at the memory. Gojo would have fucked her into the mud, not caring if Geto or Shoko or Mei stayed to watch. Taking her in the water, just so it’d be slower, something just for them.
Utahime could hear his voice: I’ve never fucked someone in a flooded ditch. Never had someone this desperate .
She hoped he teased during a fuck. Just enough to make her needy, willing. For a man that liked to finish things quickly, she just wanted Gojo to cling to her.
Utahime knew it was her own brand of degeneracy wanting Gojo Satoru - everyone knew how she detested him, how he mistook her hatred as banter. How he doted on her, treating her like a little sister instead of his senior.
Thinking of him rubbing a square of watermelon alongside her cunt, licking the trail until all he could taste was sugar and cunt. Making his teeth lined with grit.
Utahime whined, hoping her girls next door were asleep as she shoved her fingers inside herself deeper, until three of them were tracking cum through her slit. She felt herself shaking as she reached upward to prod at her ass - slicking her fingers alongside her hole in a rut. Knowing it was going to hurt, wanting to feel how tight she would be for Gojo anyway.
She didn’t know if he would like it. She doubted he’d object - he’d take anything offered to him, like a hound at a feast.
Utahime wanted him to have parts of her she was scared of, wanted to resign that control over to him.
Loss of her control happened again when they went skinnydipping just a year ago, marking a decade anniversary of the original night.
Utahime was in Tokyo for graduation, several of Gojo’s seniors requesting Utahime’s attendance. She came wanting to get drunk on Shoko’s dime, ending up naked in front of Gojo in the school’s now converted fish pond.
Shoko had stripped first – Gojo laughed at the shitty voodoo doll tattoo that had faded on her hipbone, the lines blurry. She was mostly unshaven – Shoko enjoyed the primate-life, insisting hair made everything more sensitive.
“Shut up,” Shoko said around the butt of a cigarette as she peeled off clothes, flicking her blunt into the water, submerging herself after it. “I was drunk.”
Gojo hummed, taking off his shirt. “I bet guys think it’s hot.”
Shoko smiled, wetting her hair. “Well, is it?”
Gojo grinned. “Totally.”
Gojo had stripped more slowly than Shoko – he let his clothes fall into a pile, Utahime still toeing off her shoes behind him, lowering her pants. They were still so much like children it hurt her. What had she lost?
Gojo dived into the pond, sending Shoko under a small wave.
“Utahime,” Shoko spit out water. “Get in.”
“Come on, Uta.” Gojo went under again, slicking back his hair, a little too much Suguru. “It feels good.”
She was cleanshaven - it felt less humiliating somehow, Utahime dipping into the lake, easing herself towards Shoko.
Gojo pulled her under as she neared, his arms sliding up to her sides, raising her back up, pressing her front to his chest.
Utahime felt her nipples drag against his skin, blinking around the dripping water in her eyes. Shoko snorted somewhere beside her, watching Gojo squeeze Utahime.
Gojo’s voice was light, sniffing as water ran off his nose. “We have fun, right?”
She felt his cock against her thigh.
Utahime shoved away from him, treading over to Shoko, the water pressure suddenly hitting her chest. “You’re pushing it, Satoru.”
Shoko made a sound of bereavement towards Gojo with her mouth, pressing Utahime into her bare side. “Gojo! Are you being mean to our precious senior?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Shoko blew a raspberry on Utahime’s skin, making her laugh, turning to splash her. Gojo grinned, wading beside them, occasionally glancing towards the direction of the dorms.
It didn’t take long for them to get bored, a little hungry. Shoko slipped out to rifle through her clothes, pulling out a hand-rolled cigarette, the paper translucent. White as Gojo’s hair.
“It’s acid,” Shoko explained.
Gojo pulled himself out of the water, reaching towards the blunt with a wet hand. Shoko held it back, Gojo flopping beside Utahime.
Gojo took the first drag, turning it over to Utahime, skirting her fingers. His dick visibly twitched at the contact, curving to the side.
Utahime’s nose turned. “Gross. Cover that up.”
Gojo grinned. “Jealous? Utahime, did you know Shoko wishes she had a dick?”
Utahime rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows that.”
Shoko gave him a pointed look, crossing her legs. Hiding her cunt in the V of her thighs.
Gojo pouted. “Well, you can’t have mine.”
Shoko shook her hair out, her towel wrapped around herself in a belt as she stood, ignoring Gojo. She gestured out towards a tree, stepping into her flip flops. “I’m gonna go piss on that log. Don’t follow me or I’ll piss on you.”
Gojo snorted. “Noted.”
He stepped closer to Utahime as Shoko moved away, nudging her for a turn at the joint.
“You can have it,” he grinned. “If you want.”
Utahime blanked for a moment, before realizing it was another tease. Offering his dick to be petulant. She breathed out her words, keeping her voice low, angled away from Shoko. “What is wrong with you tonight?”
Gojo shrugged, still smiling. “Don’t know. Remembering the salad days, I guess.” Gojo picked up his blindfold, tying it back in a hairband, getting his wet hair out of his eyes. Utahime held her laughter at bay, feeling it surge through her. “I had a huge crush on you, you know.”
Utahime wished she had a larger towel – unable to cover both her cunt and nipples as she crouched beside Gojo. Sharing spit on the tip of Shoko’s acid-rolled paper. “What?”
“Yeah, I did anything for your attention.” Gojo scratched his wet head, sniffing after holding in a hit. “Kinda embarrassing, huh?”
Utahime was silent for a moment as Shoko stood in the distance, her silhouette returning to them. All the black in the world was very purple, suddenly. “You’re still embarrassing,” Utahime muttered.
She wanted him.
Shoko dug around before lighting another cigarette, putting on her shirt without a bra, her nipples flat. She didn’t seem very into her own candy.
“I know,” Gojo leaned into Utahime’s smoke. “Pathetic, huh?”
Shoko perked up. “Why’s Gojo pathetic?”
“I had a crush on Uta.”
“Oh,” Shoko frowned a little. “Just that?”
Utahime pulled back from them both, finding her pants. “We should go. You don’t want your students seeing you like this.”
Shoko seemed to agree, turning down Gojo’s offer to huff more acid. Shoko found pants, putting them on without her underwear, stuffing her underthings into Utahime’s bag.
“Uta,” Gojo pinched the edge of her towel wrapped around her like a top, before lowering his fingers. “Let’s ditch Shoko.”
“You’re lonely,” Utahime eyed him. Whispered, “You’re just missing him right now.”
Gojo was silent.
“Why don’t you talk to Shoko about him?”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” Gojo looked away, exasperated. Eyes filletted with dead sprigs. The acid felt not entirely good. “I want to talk to you.”
Utahime paused, watching Shoko step over the grass tufts to them; they had forgotten her. Utahime tried to right herself, slipping into a tank top. “Let’s all go dry off.”
“Sounds good to me,” Shoko said, inhaling her cheap tobacco down to the filter. “I want a burger.”
“Me too. Gojo?”
Gojo was in the worst of it, having to lean on both of their arms to walk. Spacing out. They went into a chain restaurant, wetting the plastic seating with their damp asses, Gojo staring blankly at a paper-wrapped sandwich Utahime knew he liked.
He kept trying to hold her hand, Shoko looking away each time.
Utahime had made a habit of ignoring Gojo’s persistent advances – she let it slide when he kissed he was feeling like shit, allowed him to crowd her space when they took public transport together, his front laying perfectly against her backside.
She ignored it when he stared at her – Utahime meeting his gaze – and Gojo only smiling back, refusing to stop looking.
In all honesty, she wanted him to take her, rail her, make her forget that she was even alive.
But Gojo wasn’t that type of man – not with anyone, let alone Utahime. He loved the hunt – consummation, in all probability, was boring to him.
Utahime refused to bore him.
“Why don’t you want me?” Gojo had ended up with Utahime in Shoko’s apartment, their mutual friend telling them to split the fold-out couch before running a bath for herself. Gojo was pressing his chest into Utahime’s face as she tried to drop him on the mattress, the springs outlined in a pattern on the surface. He smelled like clove and smoke - no doubt fumes lingering in his hair from Shoko’s acid straw. “I’ll be nice, I promise.”
Utahime still couldn’t see black. It was as if it was removed entirely from her receptors, cones and rods vanishing into her bloodstream, ready to be pissed out. “You don’t want me, Gojo. Not really.”
Gojo whined. “I do.”
“Call me when you’re sober and tell me that.” Utahime ran a hand through his hair, enjoying how his eyes twitched at the sensation. How his eyelashes were wet enough they looked purple, too. How, actually, white was a little purple now. “Then I’ll believe you.”
“It’s so hard to talk to you like that.” Gojo groaned, blowing air out through his nose like chattel, burning his face into her shoulder. “I get shy.”
“Goodnight, Gojo.”
Utahime had been wet ever since – it didn’t help she hadn’t gotten laid in years, that she couldn’t bring herself to think about anyone but Gojo Satoru burying himself inside of her. She knew he would change her life, would make her beg to take his cock again, to feel his release.
She could not let that happen.
Utahime pressed her face into her pillow, tilting her hips upward.
She could dream Gojo would take her like this. Would hold her down and use her like a wet hole. Utahime was so ready for him, so open – she knew she’d burn as he took her, the stretch unnervingly perfect.
She couldn’t speak of it. Not to anyone. Not Shoko, not Mei. Let alone Gojo himself.
Utahime knew Gojo had his fair share of women, some men; he was a lot more proactive in ensnaring dates when he was younger. Now, he seemed to not have the time, or simply not care to give into carnality.
Utahime hated that her body still had the same level of intense desire, that she flushed thinking about Gojo pulling her back onto his cock, coming inside her, filling her already hot pussy with warm seed. For all the men she had been with, it was never enough. Thinking of Gojo, however, lit her entrails like dynamite.
She let out a small sound as her leg slipped out from under her, flattening herself against the mattress. Humping its surface, wishing her arms were longer, her hands bigger.
Maybe then she wouldn’t want Gojo Satoru at all.
She came, her slick sticking between her fingers, woven in milky strands. Utahime had splattered her bedsheets – the fabric damp, the backs of her thighs dripping with release.
She thought about texting Gojo, existing half in a delusion. She needed someone to clean her up, to push her around, make her sit up straight.
She wasn’t sure if that was Gojo.
He was difficult to train.
Utahime reached for her phone anyway, it’s case smelling like oranges from her palms.
Are you up?
It was half a minute before Gojo replied. Yea
Utahime turned her phone off. He’d call her about it. Maybe not.
At least at breakfast he would tease her about it, which was almost as good.