Skipptypaps101

you were both.

the length of his fingers rub between your sticky folds, their thickness forcing your netherlips to slot around them, and you squirm and pant, but it’s when he taps against your swollen clit that you really lose it. unlike any other man, when the rough pads make contact with your button, you don’t feel the sting on the exposed and vulnerable exterior nerves as if you’ve been spanked, but the raw power he could channel through his fingers. it surges through your core, seeping deep into you, reaching spongy, hidden clusters of sensitivity that should be impossible. as if he’d aimed right for them, he focuses each assault. your clit throbs, but it’s the iceberg’s submerged nerves that take the brunt of the impact.

“Y—Yujiro!” you cry out, as you twitch and writhe beneath him.

you didn’t know how this was possible.

how he could do this.

it shouldn’t have been possible.

and yet, when he did it again, battering your body’s defenses with a drumming of his two fingers against your clit, and you feel as though he’s struck you with a high voltage cattle prod, your back arches, desperate to push him off. your heels push against the mattress, eager to try and scramble away from the sensation.

“That—!” that hurts like hell. it’s too much. what are you doing? these all came to mind, but you couldn’t voice a single one. his fingertips drum against you, a barrage of rapid fire, superhuman pressure targeting your most sensitive depths, and you threw your head back, tears pricking against the corners of your eyes. it hurt, but there was more to it than just pain. as if he’d stuck the world’s most powerful vibrator directly against your hyper-sensitive interior nerves, a rush of flustered euphoria rushes to your stomach, knotting it up. “S-s—top—“

you weren’t sure if you really wanted him to, though. your body screamed and writhed, convulsing as he attacks your sex, but at the same time, your toes curl tight, and your breath turns into furious, warm puffs. your hips winding like a snake, trying to hump up against his large, rough hand.

“I-I’m— gonna—!”

“Cum from the abuse?” Yujiro’s voice is low, his mouth twisted in a hungry smile that could be misread as a grin. “Your little legs are starting to tremble; you’re sobbing but you can’t stop riding my hand, begging for me to keep hurting you. Do you know what that makes you?”

you look away, smearing your tear-stained cheek into the pillow as you pant and mumble, hoping for a mercy that you knew he’d never give you. “Yujiro… p-please…”

“Go ahead and say it.” tap. tap. tap. you gurgle and grunt, hips bucking as you smother your own whimpers. “What does that make you?”

you knew what he wanted to hear. the word he’s drilled into your head since day one. the word that he’s called you over and over. but you couldn’t say it. not without a little more persuasion, which he was more than willing to give you.

your face is tiny and delicate as he snatches it up by your chin, dragging it back and pushing the back of your head into the pillow. “Look at me,” his massive chest rises and falls, he snorts every, heavy breath through flared nostrils. you flinch, bathed in the heat of his ragged breathing, smushed into the mattress, forced on your back. you hear the smack of his palm making contact with your supple cheek before you feel the certain pain to follow, and it rocks your face to the side. in the moment that follows, fire floods your face and you see stars, and blink rapidly to maintain your eyesight. “One more time. Look here.” he says, his mighty thumb pressing against your chin as he pulls your face back into place. you’re staring at him in shock, his second mind numbing slap coming down hard on the same spot. to him, it was the mildest swat, but to you? your head was swimming, as if he’d slapped your brains loose, and you’re vaguely aware of the thickness of two, massive digits between your thighs pushing into your clenching hole.

“F—fuck—!”

“You’re covered in my marks, the shape of my hand will be a bruise on your face for a week, maybe longer.” he seems to chuckle at that, angling your face back to him. you worry he might hit you again. you prepare for impact, but it doesn’t come. he just holds your face there. you’ve no choice but to comply, peeking up at him with sparkling eyes and parted lips. “But you’re still fucking wet. Your cunt is still squeezing my fingers, and you’re still going to cum. What does that make you.”

“A…. Whore….” your voice is soft, and you choke on the word, almost not wanting to say it, but when you do, a wide, demonic grin stretches across his face, turning his muscles into elastic.

“Not good enough. Whose?”

“You gotta get us out of this mess, Gojo,” you say dangerously low, jabbing your finger into Gojo’s—your—soft chest. Fuck, you’re one moment away from snapping like a rubber band cooled too quickly. And you really don’t know what the consequences will be when you can feel Gojo's power hiding from you—Six Eyes tucked deep in the recesses of his body. You’re not keen to find out the damage a person can do when they wield the Gojo Clan power with all the training of a newborn baby. “What if the curse comes back, you imbecile?”

Gojo laughs, and the condescending peals of it ring high and shrill in the air. 

Is that really what you sound like to other people?

“It won’t come back,” Gojo states with an air of finality which would have you strangling the man if he weren’t trapped inside your body. 

“Oh yeah? Care to enlighten me? Your partner on this mission who could just, I don’t know… maybe, benefit from knowing such information,” you remind viciously, running anxiety-filled fingers through your hair—Gojo’s hair—fuck this is really messing with your head, and why is it so soft? You half-pictured him to use some 19-in-1 crap which surely wouldn’t achieve this silkiness. The attempt to ground yourself begins spiralling into panic. “I swear you fuckin' get off on being better than me or something, Gojo. Well, news flash! You are. Yet look where that genius brain of yours got us now. Nurture versus nature strikes again.” 

Gojo narrows his eyes at you, lips thinning at your attitude. This argument is going to be ugly. You can already tell—feel the familiar stirring of it in your bones. Compelled by fury and determined to meet the nasty retort you know it coming head-on, you yank down the blindfold over your eyes without sparing a thought to the consequence.

A split second later you're on your knees. Accosted by walls of spasming lights and strange shapes, distorting and jumping through colours you don’t recognise, and screeching rivers of particles persist in all directions and you can see sound, how can you fucking see sound? The air waves curl in front of Gojo’s mouth but you can’t hear them, your brain existing somewhere beyond typical overstimulation as it’s confronted with information you simply cannot comprehend. 

You curl up on the ground like a child and squeeze your eyes shut, no more than a decorated corpse. You are unaccompanied by even the presence of mind to pray your suffering will end soon. Only able to endure the atoms vibrating in your eyelids and the lights rotating past them, backlighting the infinite particles like a phantasmagoria designed for war torture.

Without warning, it dims considerably.

You inhale a rattling breath you weren't aware you’d been holding. 

“—alright, it’s— Look at— Hey—”

Gojo’s voice reaches you in fragmented slices. It takes a lifetime for your heart to calm the war drum beat its imitating, and longer still for you to peel open your eyes. Gojo hovers on his haunches an arm's length from your trembling form, and stares down at you with your face. There’s a pinch in his eyebrows but that is the only, and likely unintentional, indicator to suggest he may be perturbed.

“Look at me,” Gojo says, uncharacteristically soft.

You wonder if the natural tone of your voice is deceiving you. There's no way he's actually worried. His ego has cursed you to this body, and while you always knew it would get him in deep shit one day, you simply weren't prepared to be dragged down with him.

You exhale, still curled up pathetically on the ground. “I am.”

It’s the truth. At some point during your panic, Gojo must have slipped the blindfold back over your eyes, rendering him unable to follow your gaze. His own tracks your expression. For a moment he's silent. Then, he's fishing your phone out of his pocket, unlocking it with your face identification, and tapping on it impatiently.

The rings of a call pierce the air and you vaguely recognise Ijichi's voice lilting across the line in your exhaustion. You can do no more than lay there and watch Gojo's lips move.

At the beep of a call hung up, Gojo turns to you resolutely. "I'll sort this out."

—

In the staff common room, you're currently hovering in an armchair and debating the likelihood of you reaching it before the year is out.

You see, Gojo's Limitless technique decided to activate as soon as you lugged your ass out of the transport vehicle when it dropped you back on campus. Now you're finding out you took sitting for granted as you float approximately a couple of inches atop the actual chair cushion. Sceptically, you eye the sight. Doubt about your ability to control the Six Eyes only increasing each second you remain suspended in the air.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” you complain, tipping your head back into, surprise, the air above the chair’s backrest. “Can’t sit down, can’t drink a fuckin’ coffee—which I’m desperate for by the way, can’t go for a—”

“Please shut up,” Yaga monotones, cutting you off and taking a pointed sip of what you know to be coffee in his mug. Bastard. “Complaining will not help your situation.”

“Oh and silence will?” you bite, glaring at the best principal decal printed on the ceramic instead of Yaga himself. 

You may be mad but you're not suicidal.

“Maybe then I'll be able to have a productive thought about how to get us out of this mess,” Gojo pipes up in your light voice. Slouched on a wooden chair nearby, he’s mindlessly watching one of his manicured fingers trace shapes on the table. Like a baby captivated by a cheap, plastic galaxy spinning above its head. “A foreign concept for you, I’m aware.”

You scoff, flipping his back your middle finger. Childish? Sure. But it’s not like you can actually hit him in your current predicament so you have to settle for the small win. 

“How long are we gonna be stuck like this?” you press, ignoring both their requests for silence. “I keep tripping over your lanky fuckin’ legs, Gojo, stumbling like a new born deer or some shit, and this blindfold is makin’ me feel claustrophobic, and I kind of have to pee but I also really do not want to face that right now,” you ramble, leg bouncing with anxiety. “And if I have to touch your dick I might just kill myself to save everyone the trouble.”

You blow out a breath when the words stop their mad dash from your mouth. Noticing the barely-there smile Yaga is hiding behind his mug, and the way Gojo is snickering into the palm of his hand, a frustrated sound rips itself from your throat. Soon you’re going to blow a fuse and then they’ll really be sorry. 

“I’m serious!” you yell. “I do not want to touch your dick, Gojo!”

“Alright, alright,” Gojo laughs, palms lifted in surrender. “I get it… though I would love to be a fly on the wall. Watch you figure out how to piss with a cock.”

“Satoru,” Yaga warns, shooting Gojo a reproachful look.

“Stop acting like it’s some revered skill,” you snap, curling your lip up at the crudeness of his statement. “It’s a fuckin’ dick, Gojo, not rocket science.” You run a hand back through your short hair, tugging slightly at the strands in frustration. “God, you are genuinely insufferable. Yaga, please, let me go home! If I spend anymore time with this moron I’m going to lose braincells and it won’t be me who suffers the consequences considering who’s fuckin’ body I’m trapped in!”

“You know I can’t do that,” Yaga counters mildly, fingers flexing around his mug.

“I am going to kill him,” you emphasise, waving a frantic hand through the air in the vague direction of Gojo. “And he’s in my body!”

Yaga opens his mouth to reply but Gojo stands and cuts him off with an infurating whistled tune, as though he's jumped straight from a fourties cartoon. You mime a gag and Gojo's sharp eyes slide to you scornfully.

It's all you can do to not appear too pleased by the reaction.

And as it turns out, Gojo has that covered for you also; next to Yaga, your body looks much shorter than it feels when you’re in it. The height difference only highlighted from your foreign perspective.

Bristling at the wound to your ego, you sniff and turn away from the sight. You never noticed the corner of the staffroom has cobwebs.

“Why don’t I go back with her?” Gojo asks Yaga. When you flash them a brief glance, inevitably unable to keep your gaze from the bane of your existence for long, Gojo is looking up at the principal, yet somehow still managing to carry a general air of superiority that defies your stature. You fight back the urge to jam your fingers into your eyesockets. “I can keep an eye on her until Shoko gets back from Okinawa tomorrow, and then I can bring her in and we’ll reevaluate if long-term adjustments need to be made.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog, you prick,” you mutter, jaw tense. “‘Bring her in,’ who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Language,” Yaga chides, though you know by now it's more habit than formality. He ponders the idea for a moment and you shoot Gojo a nasty look while Yaga is distracted. Gojo sticks his tongue out at you back. Child, you think spitefully. “That could work,” Yaga agrees eventually. “There’s nothing more we can do without Shoko, unfortunately, but we also can’t afford to split the two of you at the moment with the danger of Six Eyes on a slack leash.”

“Perfect! So it’s settled then,” Gojo chirps, an awful grin on his face. Time slows to a stop as he claps his hands and beckons you forward in one sharp motion. “Heel.”

Your jaw drops. 

“But,” Yaga interrupts pointedly, waving a placating hand in your direction and now you really do feel like a dog. Gojo’s glee may as well be written on his face with black permanent marker for how obvious it is. “You must teach her to control it, Satoru, as best she can,” Yaga continues, voice grave. You both stiffen and turn to listen to him carefully. “Worst case scenario, you’re both trapped for an undetermined length of time. We cannot risk anything.”

Nodding absently, you’re already distracted by the concept of being stuck in Gojo’s body indefinitely. It’s nasty talons latch onto your brain and hold tight. Bile rises into your throat. And you're pretty sure your racing heart may be an early sign of cardiac arrest.

Probably nothing to worry about right now.

Yet if you die in this body, what happens to you? Does your consciousness zip back into your own body like rebooting a troublesome computer? Or would it only trap Gojo in your body for the rest of its lifespan and you'd be left to face whatever the afterlife entails for people with morally grey compasses and high curse body counts, leaving Gojo to run wild while most everyone will believe it to be you?

God, what a horrible thought.

“Make sure the blindfold stays on at all times,” Yaga utters, and you can sense the dismissal. 

Rising to your feet, you make sure to stare down the slope of your nose at Gojo disdainfully before snapping your head forward and striding out of the room. Like hell you’re going to let him lead. His quiet footfalls echo behind you, but mercifully he is silent—perhaps plagued by the same fear. 

How long could you be trapped in this body?

—

“I wasn’t joking about havin’ to pee,” you grumble as you step through the threshold to your flat with Gojo in tow. 

“I know you weren’t,” Gojo replies blandly, gaze sweeping the organised chaos you live in. You hear him kick the door closed behind you. “I needed a piss at the start of the mission. Real unfortunate timing, all things considered.”

Against the entrance walls, books are piled up haphazardly thanks to your bad habit of buying more novels than you’ll be able to read in ten lifetimes. You toe Gojo’s shoes off to join the stacks carelessly, not bothering to prompt Gojo to do the same before you round the corner into your kitchen.

Let him figure out the tiny buckles of your shoes by himself, you think sadistically. Serves him right.

But then you have to duck to get through the doorway and it's as though Gojo's miraculously cashed in his karma paycheck early. You kiss your teeth in irritation, feeling oversized in your cramped flat for the first time in all the years you've lived here. 

Your annoyance only worsens when Gojo's Limitless doesn't allow you to grab the fridge handle. You freeze. Try to control your breathing. And ultimately fail when your stomach pangs with hunger.

“How the fuck did your parents manage?” you call out to Gojo, frustration melding into bafflement at the reality of your situation. “Surely they couldn’t touch you?”

A crash instantly followed by a yelp of pain rings out from the hallway, and you get your answer as Gojo pads around the corner in pantyhose-clad feet. 

“My parents told me it used to activate randomly when I was a baby.” He doesn’t spare you a glance, breezing past to tug open the fridge like he hadn't just let out the most pathetic squeal you've ever heard. You can’t find the energy to stop him. “But most often when I was upset, or scared—when I was crying mainly, I guess. Must've been difficult for a baby to comprehend the entire universe and all. You know. You saw it. And they used to have servants check constantly if I’d released the technique so that they could feed me or hold me.”

You stew on the information, watching Gojo select a Yakult, peel off the foil lid, and drop it on your countertop like he owns the place.

On paper, he does anyway. And isn’t that a strange thought. 

“Apparently I learnt to control it by 10 months. And by the time I was almost 2, I was consciously turning it on and off so that my parents couldn’t stop me from climbing on the furniture or put me to bed if I wanted to stay awake.” Gojo laughs, as though recalling memories he can’t possibly remember. 

“So you were a nightmare child,” you surmise, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’d argue I was pretty cute,” Gojo offers, tipping his head back to swallow the last drops. You eye the motion, still finding it jarring to be seeing your own mouth move every time Gojo’s words grate in the air. “And either way, you’re being shown up by that little 2 year old me, so you should probably be feeling more worried about that than what my parents had to deal with.”

Scowling, you swipe a hand through the air to dismiss the half-baked insult. In the safety of your home, you find yourself slightly lost as to what to do, standing uselessly in the middle of the kitchen as a result. You’re unable to touch anything and that means you can’t drink or eat or sit down. Where does that leave you? Cursed to isolation until this is fixed? 

“C’mon,” Gojo murmurs, “a little curse and you lose all your fire? Lame.”

“‘A little curse?’” you repeat incredulously.

A grin splits Gojo's lips as though he was waiting for the precise reaction you just provided. Not for the first time, you wish you had the forethought to not retaliate to his provocations. But it's like he has an instruction manual detailing precisely how to push your buttons. There's no other rational explanation.

Gojo's head tilts. “Yep. And honestly… I don’t even think you could win a fight right now.”

You lean against the countertop behind you and drag your gaze down Gojo’s form. The familiar curves under your uniform, your tits, pressed together where Gojo is crossing his arms, and your face, grinning at you like a Cheshire cat. Gojo mimics you, leaning on the fridge and raking his eyes down your form in kind. You fight not to fidget under his gaze, though you don’t know why. It’s not like you feel self conscious or anything—this isn’t your body. 

You hum, non-committal. “Probably not. Though you’re forgetting that you can’t use my technique either.”

“Ah, but I am quite positive yours will be easy to wrangle,” he replies, turning his hand to inspect your nails. 

Something ugly unfurls in your chest at the jab. Everyone feels inadequate when confronted with the power Gojo holds—it’s a fact of life. But the notion still stings, wedged under your skin deep enough you cannot remove it, deep enough it bleeds into your words. 

“Perhaps,” you concede, loathing coating the back of your teeth. “But what if we didn’t use our techniques?”

Gojo’s eyebrows furrow. 

“I’m saying, what if it was a battle of pure strength?” you explain with a careless shrug.

On your best and your worst days, you despise acknowledging that Gojo can beat you in hand-to-hand combat. Now is no different, and you tuck your hands behind your back casually so you can dig your nails into your palms to ground yourself. You can feel the strong muscles lining your arms shift with the movement. 

“I would win.”

“You’re in my body, though,” Gojo questions, looking at you like you’re stupid.

Anger simmers deep and low in your gut. 

“So now semantics matter to you?” you ask, pushing yourself away from the countertop. “I thought you just claimed you’d beat me using my technique, Gojo.”

“And I would.”

“But you wouldn’t without,” you press, walking closer. Gojo watches you curiously until you stop a pace away from him. You could reach your arm out and touch him if his own Limitless wouldn’t stop you from doing so. “Admit it.”

Gojo frowns, staring up at you. 

“Admit you couldn’t beat me,” you breathe, taking another step closer. You can see the specks dotting your eyes now. Gojo's blindfold and bright hair reflecting back at you like a funhouse mirror. The air thickens between you both, and you shove your hands in your pockets, feigning nonchalance. You feel wrong—out of place in his hulking body as you stare down at your own—but Gojo has no way of knowing this if you don't clue him into it. “Admit that I could have you how I wanted in a heartbeat.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” Gojo murmurs, eyes flicking between your own. Recognition sparks in his gaze and he seems to be debating whether to play along.

“Not really.” You itch to reach out. Knowing you physically can’t only makes the urge more irritating. “Haven’t you ever been curious, Gojo? About what it’s like to be a woman?”

“Hasn’t every man?” he retorts. Gojo tips his head back against the fridge and his eyes turn lidded, glued to yours. As though he knows where they are even through your blindfold. Perhaps he does. It’s his own eyes he’s seeking out, after all. 

“Mhm. Not every man gets the opportunity to actually find out, though.” 

The corner of Gojo’s mouth quirks up. “Lucky me.”

The reality of your situation falls back atop your shoulders. Sudden as a strike of lightning. When the thunder claps, you knock your forehead onto the fridge above him, or try to, at least. Instead, your face stops an inch away from the metal, close enough that you wonder if you might be making subconscious progress adapting to Gojo’s powers. 

“I gotta pee.”

Gojo laughs. 

—

This might be the pinnacle of humiliation you’ve experienced to date. Knowing that Gojo is just outside the bathroom and listening only makes it that much more excrutiating.

“Let me come in and help!” Gojo calls through the door.

“No! Just—” you growl, frustrated. “Give me a damn minute I can’t focus knowing you’re right outside.”

“You don’t want me to talk you through it?”

“Hell no!” you shout, pinching your nose bridge. 

You exhale once, taking a moment to bolster your courage, before you tug Gojo’s zipper down in one smooth movement. You can see the light grey boxers he has on, and the vague outline of his soft cock underneath and you pull your hand away like you’ve been burnt. 

“Be nice to him!” Gojo says, followed by a thunk that tells you he just put his forehead on the bathroom door. 

“Freak,” you mutter under your breath, still staring down at your open fly.

“I heard that.”

“Stop listening!” you snap. “What the fuck, man!”

“I’m dying out here, pleaseeee can I come in?” he moans through the wood. 

“No!”

“Pretty please.”

“Gojo…” you sigh.

“I can hold it for you.”

For a moment, you consider it. You could close your eyes, take the quickest piss of your life, and come out of the experience unscathed considering you won’t have touched Gojo’s dick. Then reality strikes. 

“Limitless, dumbass,” you say. 

“Oh shit.” Gojo’s muffled voice sounds surprised. “I forgot about that for a sec, wow! Very unlike me.”

“Close your ears.”

That’s all the warning both of you get before you grit your teeth, pull the waistband from your hips, and lift Gojo’s cock out with a limp, reluctant hand. 

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

And then you realise, how the fuck are you going to piss without looking? 

You worry your lip as your eyes study the ceiling. 

Maybe there’s muscle memory to this kind of thing? You really don’t want Gojo's piss all over your bathroom floor though…

“You’re awfully silent in there for someone who claimed that pissing with a dick wouldn’t be rocket science.”

“Fuck off, I’m gettin’ there!” you bite. “God, this is the worst.”

“You’re telling me. You’ve got a whole different view down here. I feel like I’m in Honey, I Shrunk The Kids.”

“Prick. I’m not that short!" You sigh before admitting, "I do love that movie though."

“It's a classic," Gojo offers. "And no you're not. I'm just stupidly tall."

That, at least, you can agree with. Stupidly arrogant, too.

Gojo continues. “You still haven’t pissed.”

“I don’t think I can,” you mumble pathetically, feeling the heavy weight of his soft dick in your hand and wanting to crawl out of your skin. “I might just wait until I piss myself. Is it too late to get a catheter?”

“You’re disgusting,” Gojo complains. You can practically hear the frown in his lips. “And you’re going to give me a UTI…”

“Wouldn’t be as bad as havin’ to touch your dick, I can tell you that much.”

“You wound me,” Gojo croons, and you can hear his back sliding down the door. Settling on the floor as though he knows you’ll both be here for a while. “Personally, I’m looking forward to going for a piss.”

Your face curls up in disgust and you whip your head to face the door as though Gojo will be able to feel you glaring through the wood. 

“There’s something seriously wrong with you. That is so violating.”

“Sorry,” Gojo says, not sounding particularly sorry at all. 

You huff, scrubbing an eye with the heel of your big hand. 

You can do this.

—

Turns out, pissing with a dick was decidedly not rocket science once you got over the tiny, minor detail of who’s dick you were holding. Once you're finished, you don't stick around to offer moral support as Gojo shoulders past you into the bathroom. You try not to cringe when you think about him seeing the plain cotton panties you threw on this morning when you had to rush out of your flat, or the unruly bush you were due to trim this weekend.

It truly doesn’t matter. Not when you have bigger issues. Namely the whole stuck-possibly-for-the-rest-of-time-in-Gojo's-body situation.

You’re hovering on your couch again when Gojo returns a suspiciously long few minutes later. He has a small, pleased smile on his face and you scowl. Staring down at your knuckles rapping against your thigh, you urge yourself to not picture what he was doing in the bathroom to look so self-satisfied. Pervert.

“Right then,” Gojo sighs loudly, sinking into an armchair across from you. “I should probably teach you how to control Limitless now that you’ve mastered pissing. It’s the next logical step.”

You roll your eyes. “And Yaga’s order,” you tack on. 

Gojo waves a hand through the air as though to dismiss the importance of your reminder. 

“Six Eyes is innately active,” he starts immediately, not waiting for your attention. You wish you could ignore him, but the way you're still hovering in the air closes any well-worn paths to such petty vengeance. “Think of it like the sun. We can’t turn the sun off, can’t kill it, can’t cover it up. The best we can do is cover ourselves.” Gojo nods towards where it’s wrapped around your head. You hum your acknowledgement. “But Limitless is like a light bulb. I can turn it on and off whenever I want.”

Already bored, you kick your legs out in front of you and tap your foot on the air surrounding the corner of your low coffee table for something to do. Gojo ignores the soundless action, but you see the corner of his jaw twitch in annoyance. 

“And Six Eyes is what enables Limitless. I can only manipulate what I can see.” He spreads his palms wide and swings them around the room. You squint at them, eyeing the veins pumping blood beneath your skin and the delicate woven fibres of your uniform cuff visible even through your blindfold. It's jarring, and invasive, and perhaps it's no wonder Gojo acts the way he does afterall. You might too if you could unveil a person's heart through no more than existing. “Do you see where I’m going with this?” Gojo questions expectantly. 

You bite your lip in contemplation and drag time out while you pretend to think. Really, you’re just watching the tiny hairs on Gojo’s face sway in a breeze you can’t feel. 

“Nope,” you reply after too long, popping the p sound carelessly. 

“You have to look,” Gojo stresses, leaning forward in his chair towards you. “See the world around you, see the infinite space Limitless has created, and stitch the divide back together.”

“Well then, if it’s that easy,” you say sarcastically. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Halting the tapping of your foot, you cross your arms and stare down at your legs intently. You’re expecting the gap between your thighs and the sofa cushion to be highlighted or some bullshit, like an object in a video game the developers didn’t want you to miss. But there’s nothing. You can see what you think may be air particles, countless atoms continuously melding together, then you stare at them long enough that you start second guessing yourself. 

“I see it!” you say instead, looking up at him excitedly.

Gojo’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline, and your mouth twists horribly as you try not to laugh. “Really?” he asks, equally thrilled. 

“Obviously not, dumbass,” you scoff, resuming the tapping of your foot once more. Gojo’s face drops and then he scowls at you a beat later when you tack on, “You’re kind of a shitty teacher, just so you know.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a shitty student.” 

“Ah,” you tut, shaking your head condescendingly at him. “A bad workman always blames his tools.”

“You’re definitely a tool, alright,” Gojo retorts, voice tight.

Despite yourself, you laugh. “This is a lost cause. Let’s just wait for Shoko’s opinion tomorrow, huh? Cut our losses while we still can.”

“As much as I would love to do that,” Gojo begins, tilting his head. You kiss your teeth at his lie, because Gojo would never abandon a chance to humiliate you. “I seem to recall someone saying ‘Yaga’s orders,’ earlier.”

Gojo’s expression is challenging, and every inch of his posture screams at you to bolt. You stay rooted to the air above your seat in defiance of your own instincts as you stare at the man currently captaining your body. 

When you don’t reply, Gojo blows out a sharp, frustrated breath and crosses his legs. “Work with me here,” he pleads. “Just try. Properly. Don’t half-ass it.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the gentle shake of his foot stops you. It almost looks like a nervous tick, and as quickly as your eyes dart to it, does his foot still. 

“Fine,” you concede. "Be quiet.” 

Gojo merely purses his lips and gestures at you lazily as though to say go on, then. 

Squinting as though it will help funnel Six Eyes, you focus all your attention on your foot still knocking into the air by the leg of your coffee table. It takes a few minutes to filter out Gojo’s disruptive presence. Even silent, he’s impossible to ignore. But, eventually, he begins drifting and you’re left with the shape of your foot, visible through the thousands of tiny cracks in Gojo’s leather shoes. You can see the air particles in your shoe—in between your toes, beneath the arch of Gojo’s foot. 

The air undulates, disturbed in ripples where your foot shakes. Like a stone thrown into a pond. Your lips form a circle and you slowly breathe out, letting everything fall away from you. Only then, can you see it. It being the gap, for lack of a better word you can't currently find. The… space. Like a void, stretching almost imperceptibly between each atom, bonded or unbonded. And then infinity comes into view. Atoms around your foot warped in a way making it impossible for you to ever hit the table leg when you begin to near it. 

The sound of your foot almost connecting with the coffee table is muffled, but you hear it still. Perhaps another feature of Gojo’s enhanced senses, or maybe a trick of the mind. It falls quiet again, and you sooth your heart and your mind and pinch the edges of infinity, drawing them together. 

Then…

Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You glance up at Gojo in amazement, mouth spread into a wide smile. He returns one of his own, oddly sincere. You only consider how strange the feeling is, Gojo being almost… proud of you, for a fleeting moment before you release it and embrace the success. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe quietly. “Holy shit.”

The rhythmic tapping echoes in your flat, sure and steady. You tip your head down and coax the infinity wrapped around you closed, sealing it like the folds of a letter. Your thighs touch the sofa. Then your back. You pat along the cushions disbelievingly and then laugh. 

You did it. You fucking did it. 

“Atta girl,” Gojo murmurs encouragingly. “I knew you had it in you.”

You truly have no idea how to unpack the tightness in your chest at his statement.

So you don't bother trying.

“Fuck yeah I do,” you grin instead. And if the tapping of your foot speeds up, well that’s no one's business bar your own. “Never doubted myself for a moment!”

Gojo scoffs, but it isn’t entirely mean. Not anymore. “History is rewriting itself right before my eyes. Is this how Winston Smith felt?”

You tilt your head back against the sofa, relaxing your body for the first time since you were both swapped. “Your Six Eyes has gotten way too much credit throughout history,” you say into the air. 

“Yours,” Gojo replies lightly. “For the time being, at least.”

Totally not a daunting thought at all.

You swallow uneasily, the corners of your mouth curling at the reminder. 

“Are you focusing on keeping it together?” Gojo asks. 

You shake your head, still talking to the ceiling. “Nah. I don’t know how long it’ll last but I must’ve closed it enough for now.”

Gojo hums thoughtfully. “You might wanna close your legs while you’re at it too.”

“Huh?” You make a questioning noise in the back of your throat and tip your head back down. All at once, you can feel your face light on fire.

You’re hard.

Hard.

You’ve somehow made Gojo’s dick… hard.

Great. Perfect.

This is just what you wanted to immortalise this humiliating experience. And you don’t close your legs—can’t close your legs—as you stare despondently at the sight. Slowly piecing together the feeling of an erection to what you’re seeing.

“Uhhhh—”

“I’m afraid I can’t teach you how to control that,” Gojo states, voice overflowing with mirth. He’s staring too, gaze darting between the stunned look on your face and the tent in your slacks. “There is one way to deal with it though…” he teases. 

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands and slump further down on the sofa. Now that you’re aware of it, you can feel your crotch throbbing. The warm but unfamiliar pressure of arousal tingling in your core. When you shift, the folds of your slacks brush over your erection and you hiss. 

“How long?” 

Gojo understands what you’re indirectly asking.

You can almost hear it in his voice when he shrugs. “Long enough. Quicker if you think about something gross.”

Something gross. Okay. You can do something gross. The smacking sound of people chewing with their mouths wide open. Bug carcasses squished into the pavement. Wet socks. Gojo. His gross personality. The stupid, condescending cadence of his voice. His cock, filling out between your thighs. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You peek out from between your fingers. Gojo shifts in his seat as he stares at your crotch, legs crossed tightly. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was squirming. 

Wait—

Narrowing your eyes, you can see his thighs tense and relax. Hips ever, ever so gently rocking back and forth. It’s so subtle you wouldn’t have spotted it if not for your Six Eyes. You can see the particles around him moving away in small ripples. You can see the blood thundering through his veins. And even without Six Eyes, you can see his dilated irises. 

“You’re turned on,” you accuse, jailing your hands on your thighs so you won’t be tempted to touch. “Why are you turned on?”

“I—” Gojo flounders, caught. “I don’t. Uh, know… exactly…”

“Wow,” you spit. “You are such a fuckin’ pervert, oh my god.”

“Wow… that’s rich coming from you!” Gojo protests indignantly. “You are literally hard right now.”

“This could be a fluke!” you insist. “I wasn’t even turned on,” you lie. “Maybe it’s just because I released Limitless.”

“That’s not how it works,” Gojo replies, but he doesn’t argue any further. 

“You have no excuse though,” you push, voice pitching higher and higher. “You’re so conceited it’s insane. Who gets turned on by themselves?!” 

“Me, clearly!” Gojo shouts, throwing his arms up in the air helplessly. 

“Yeah, fuckin’ clearly!” 

Silence. 

You’re both glaring at one another, locked in a battle of wills. Refusing to back down. Refusing to give in. Apparently, though, your brain doesn’t get the same memo. 

“What does it feel like?” 

It takes you a few long seconds to realise it was you who’d spoken—you who'd asked such an uncomfortably intimate question. You cringe at the perplexed expression Gojo has plastered on your face. 

“What?” Gojo snaps. 

“Is it different…” you start uneasily, confused as to why you’re so fixated on knowing the answer to what is objectively a pointless question. You know what it feels like. You've felt it first hand. Nothing in your life is going to change if you hear Gojo's answer but still you desire to hear it. “From the feeling. In your own body?”

“Being turned on?” he asks slowly.

You nod, careful, afraid to speak up again. 

“Yeah,” he breathes after a moment. His face is grim, as though accepting his fate. “It’s… everywhere. Not only where’d you’d expect it. I guess. It's in my, uh, my stomach. My toes, too. And it's warm. Kinda tingly. Hot. I feel… overheated.”

You recall the feeling all too well. 

“You?”

And this time it’s your face that pinches. You sigh, knowing you’re now morally obligated to answer. 

“I can feel the, uh, the blood. Pulsing almost. Like a wound.” You swallow nervously. “It’s kind of uncomfortable,” you say, parting with the words reluctantly. “Expectant almost. Like right before a sneeze. When all that tension builds up.”

When you fall silent again, Gojo nods. 

“I can teach you,” he says suddenly. 

“You can… teach me?” you echo dumbly. Then, when he merely hums you repeat his words again in shock, "You can teach me."

Why are you considering it? Why are you considering it?

A small smirk crosses Gojo's face, a blink-and-you-miss it expression you unfortunately didn't miss.

This is wrong. Unethical, surely. It must cross countless lines that HR have carefully laid out for colleagues in Jujutsu Tech. Breach so many contracts it’s laughable. There’s truly no reason you should be giving his offer the time of day.

But then again the Jujutsu Tech contract only stipulates interwork relationships. Ones where, presumably and logically, each party occupies their own body. While it has been a hot minute since you read through it, you don't recall anything discouraging such relations for colleagues who've had their bodies swapped.

Someone has to set the precedent.

“Okay,” you agree.

Gojo’s lips quirk up, as though he’s privy to the internal battle you just lost. “Okay,” he repeats. 

Neither of you move. 

Your foot speeds up. A rapid, thumping, tap tap tap tap tap filling the space between you. 

“You first,” you nod at him. 

Gojo’s expression morphs into confusion. “Me first?”

“I’ll…” Your sentence trails off before it’s even properly begun. You swallow and try again. “I’ll teach you. Too.” 

“Will you now?” he asks coyly. 

You huff, the familiarity of such teasing relaxing you, even though you’re near positive that wasn’t his intention. “I will,” you affirm, calmer now. 

“Well then, Sensei. Take it away.” 

Biting your lip, you gesture at his legs—your legs—before speaking. “Pantyhose off.”

Gojo doesn’t hesitate, but his actions are clumsy and unpractised. He tucks his fingers under the waist band of your skirt and tries to awkwardly roll the pantyhose down under the fabric until he can’t wedge his forearm any further. Huffing, he yanks his arm back and shoves it under your skirt, grabbing the bunched up material and pulling it down to his knees. You hear the painful sound of your tights ripping and wince. 

“Those were new, asshole…” you grumble, already mourning your recent purchase and the future one you now have to make. 

“Don’t care,” Gojo replies, clearly distracted as he tries to free one foot from the material, then the other, before throwing them straight at you. They land on your face and drop into your lap. You brush them aside. “They should invent pantyhose that aren’t impossible to get off.”

You hum dismissively, focused on your bare legs and the cotton panties you can see peaking out from beneath your skirt, slightly rucked up from his efforts. It’s beyond bizarre to see yourself from this angle. To see what previous hook-ups have seen.

No wonder you can’t seem to shake them off afterwards.

You look good. 

“You need patience to… get off, as a woman.” Adjusting yourself awkwardly, you try to ignore the throbbing in your crotch. Gojo’s fingers twitch impatiently where they’re resting on the arms of his chair. “Not everything feels good. It’s… experimental, I guess? It can take a long time to learn what your body likes.”

“It’s a good job that I have an experienced teacher, then,” Gojo murmurs. 

You tilt your head once in agreement. “I suppose it is.” 

This is so weird. So fucking weird. But you can’t seem to tame the part of you that is deathly curious to see how far you both will take it.

“You can start by. Uh, touching. Yourself. Over the fabric.”

Gojo’s smaller fingers come to rest over the skirt and press the fabric down, until folds of it are gathered in his crotch. He rubs them experimentally, before shooting you a mild glare. “I can’t feel anything.”

Meanwhile, you’re busy trying to muffle a laugh into your shoulder. “No—” You fail, a chuckle falling into the air. Gojo bristles, though you can tell the action isn’t wholly serious. You try again. “You— over your underwear.”

Your underwear.

Even when the words leave your mouth—as though your panties are truly Gojo’s, and your body is truly his—they don’t feel wrong. Not like they did earlier. When every action Gojo had taken in your body, inconsequential or not, felt like a premeditated, personal attack. 

A look of understanding dawns on Gojo’s face. “Right!”

Yanking the hem of your skirt up until it bunches around his waist, he slumps further down in the chair. You’re only allowed a second to gawk at his lack of embarrassment before he’s lifting a foot up onto the sofa beneath his ass, dropping his other knee further to the side, and cautiously running his middle finger up your panties. 

“Uhh—” you start unthinkingly, before snapping your mouth shut when you realise you can’t remember what you wanted to say.

Gojo only spares you a glance at the sound and then he’s looking back down at his fingers, drawing a strange path down to your perineum and circling there. You watch his nostrils flare and his eyebrows scrunch in concentration. Then, his thumb brushes up and you can almost feel the phantom sensation when it catches on his clit. He exhales sharply, and immediately zeroes in on it, dragging his thumb back and forth in short, quick swipes. 

“This is so weird,” Gojo breathes. 

“Yeah.” You can’t look away. “Yeah, it is.”

As though his strings have been cut, Gojo falls limp against the back of the armchair and slings his propped up foot over the armrest, clearly trying to get a better angle. 

“Little circles feel good,” you offer quietly. 

You watch as he obediently brings his pointer and middle finger up to start rolling them in small circles around his clit, and you definitely watch as he gasps at the feeling, jaw clenching.

“Your turn now,” Gojo says, pleasure twisting your voice into a strange, wobbly thing. Like mist drifting by on an early morning. 

In all honesty, you forgot this was the deal. You really didn't expect Gojo getting off in your own body to be so captivating, but here you are. Drinking in every little minute reaction your body has like you’ve never seen them before.

The way your toes twitch.

The slight tremble in your bottom lip.

The stuttered rise and fall of your chest.

You can’t tell what is thanks to Gojo and what can be attributed to your own body, but at this point it doesn’t matter. Not when you can feel yourself achingly hard at each sight all the same. 

Wordlessly, you unbutton Gojo’s pants and yank the zipper down, unwillingly to let your gaze leave the man in front of you. Your big, warm palm lands on your crotch and you grasp the length of him. Feeling along it curiously. Only then do you look down, confirming what you were too afraid to do in the bathroom earlier. 

He’s big. 

Gojo laughs breathlessly across from you. Your neck snaps up to shoot him a glare and you find him already staring at you. 

“Stroke the tip.”

Spreading your legs further, you dip your fingers down to fondle his balls curiously, feeling the dull sparks of pleasure. You drag your touch up his cock. Mapping out the path before gently bringing down your thumb to brush over the head of his cock as instructed. 

“Oh—” You repeat the motion, breath catching in your chest. 

“What did you tell me?” Gojo asks, and when you look at him dumbly in question, he doesn’t bother waiting before answering himself. “Little circles.”

You press harder at the confirmation your touch feels good, and start rubbing your thumb over the head repetitively. It’s only a matter of seconds before your shoulders tense and your mouth drops open. It feels good. Really good, in fact. And you can see arousal slowly darkening the light grey of his underwear in response. You can feel yourself leaking. So different from the sensation you are used to. You gasp. 

It’s hard to remember why you were so disgusted earlier. Not when you can feel his dick twitching under your touch, nor when you’re reaping the benefits—swimming in hot pleasure.

“This is so much— easier— what the fuck—”

Gojo merely hums, and then you hear a rustle. He lifts both legs up into the air and drags your panties off in one smooth motion. He brings the material up to his nose and breathes in deeply. You wrinkle your own nose. 

“Gross.”

“I'm so wet,” he says in wonder. 

Gojo drops the panties on his chest and splays his legs back out, fingers quickly dipping into your arousal as though to emphasise his words. 

“Surprised?” you ask. “Don’t tell me this is your first time getting a girl wet, Gojo.”

“Shut up,” he snarks, but the hitch in his breath as his fingers come back up to circle your clit, wet with arousal, betrays him. “God.”

You roll your eyes, and tug his boxers down to release his cock uncaringly. It bounces on your stomach and leaves a sticky mark on his uniform. You give yourself a few dry tugs before Gojo is speaking up again.

“Spit in your hand.”

You do, and the slide is so smooth you grunt in surprise. Pleasure zapping up your spine.

Gojo hardly hesitates as he sinks two fingers inside him, and you can tell from the twinge in his jaw it must sting.

“Let yourself adjust first," you offer, "Then try scissoring them." 

Gojo waits a few beats, and the slick sound of your hand jerking Gojo's cock fills the space. It feels too good to muster up any embarassment you should realistically be feeling.

Before long, Gojo bites his lip impatiently and decides he's had enough time to adjust. While you can’t see what he’s doing inside himself, his wrist and forearm flex rhythmically and you gather Gojo must be following your instructions.

You stare, transfixed, at your smaller fingers hidden inside your body. The best you’ve done is get off in front of a mirror, and that experience pales in comparison to the real thing before you. 

“Ow,” Gojo grunts, eyebrows furrowing in displeasure. “What the fuck?”

“Usually I start with one,” you say, unsympathetic. “You gotta relax, Gojo.” 

“I’m trying, but it’s kinda difficult with something shoved inside me. I thought this was supposed to feel good. You guys sure make it look like it does anyway.”

You scoff, slick hand working over your cock. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me! If I’m doing it wrong, it’s your fault.” 

“And I’m telling you, you gotta relax more. Nothing feels good when you’re tensed up like that,” you say, nodding to the taut line of his body. “That's why foreplay exists, dumbass.”

“What are you, a fucking sex guru?” Gojo asks incredulously.

“If you’re that blown away by the necessity of foreplay, I feel very sorry for your previous escapades,” you answer primly. 

Instead of snapping back at you, Gojo falls silent, his face twisted into what looks like self-consciousness. Maybe chagrin. You can’t quite place it. And all of a sudden, your stomach swoops as you start piecing the puzzle of this evening together. 

“Don’t tell me…” you whisper. 

Gojo’s eyes scrunch closed, and the still fingers inside himself get pulled out unceremoniously. “You sure know how to kill the mood,” he attempts to joke, but it falls flat when you don’t drop your suspicions. 

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask quietly, the hand on your dick stilling in shock. “Like you’re actually joking. You cannot be serious.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he declares, opening his eyes to meet your baffled gaze. 

“I think you do,” you reply. 

Gojo claimed you killed the mood, but when your eyes flick to his wet fingers, and the arousal still slowly dripping from him like honey, it’s difficult to believe. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re a virgin,” you say carefully, scared to hear the truth. 

“Surprise,” he says lightly, attempting an awkward smile. 

You lean back, gaze trained on him. “Wow.”

“Happy now?”

“Oh, quite.” You glance back down to his wet cunt and think for a moment, but that’s truly all it takes for an idea to take root. You never stood a chance. Not with Gojo like this before you. “If you want, I can show you a good time." 

“You can—” he starts, disbelievingly. “—show me a… good… time? What are you, a fucking uni student still? Who says that kinda shit anymore.”

But you can see his cunt clench in the cool air, and Gojo clearly doesn’t realise as such. You stand abruptly and walk over to where he’s splayed out in the chair. His head tips back as you approach and he watches you cautiously, tracking your movements. 

You dip down into a kneel. “Trust me.”

Forcing yourself between his thighs, you grab one of Gojo's legs with a big, warm hand before slinging it over your shoulder. Gojo makes a startled sound. He tries to dislodge your hold. You stop the motion—tightening your grip and using your free hand to pin his other leg against the chair's armrest.

Like this, Gojo's wide open for you, one knee by his ear, the other knee shucked over your shoulder. 

“What the fuck—” he gasps, scrabbling in an attempt to sit up and close his legs. He stares up at you with wide eyes. 

“Stop,” you murmur, flexing your fingers on the soft flesh of his thighs where you pin them in place. “Relax…” 

Glancing down, you study how his cunt flutters each time you dig your fingers into him. Interesting. As though testing a theory, you turn your head to the leg over your shoulder, breath ghosting over his knee. Then, keeping an eye on his cunt, you lean forward. Coercing his leg back against his body, opening him up to you even more. 

Gojo keens, a strangled sound in the back of his throat telling of the strain, and his cunt clenches, arousal weeping at the motion. You barely fight back a groan.

Covering his face with both hands, Gojo’s breaths are short and sharp, embarrassment lining every muscle in his body. It’s gratifying. And you don’t really care if he wants to hide, especially with what you’re about to do. 

Without warning, you dip your head forward to blow on his cunt. 

“Oh my god— wait—” Gojo gasps, hips jumping. 

You haven’t even touched him yet. 

“Wait, wait, wait—”

You blow again and grin when his cunt clenches once more. 

“Hold on—”

Experimentally, you dip your head to lick a broad stripe up his pussy. Gojo’s thighs tense under your hold. When he tries to speak, you repeat the action, before trailing your tongue down to the source of his arousal. Slurping it into your mouth and moaning as you can taste it on your tongue. The words die in his throat and Gojo whines instead, hips bucking up into your mouth. 

“This is—”

Pleased with the control you have over him, you bully your tongue inside him.

“—so—”

Thrusting it in and out. 

“—wrong.”

Scraping your teeth gently on his perineum. 

“I know,” you reply into his cunt, voice muffled and wet. 

You kiss your way up his pussy and trace his clit with your tongue before sucking on it. You pulse your mouth around it until Gojo starts spasming under you. A small hand comes to tangle in your hair and when he pulls in panic, you moan into him. Gojo keens at the vibration against his clit. 

“Oh my god, please don’t stop,” Gojo chokes, his free hand coming to rest over yours, still pinning his leg against the chair's armrest.

You don’t reply, but you squeeze your hand and dip back down to lick into him, nose bumping his clit with every thrust of your tongue. It’s a challenge, to force your tongue inside so far, but you’re determined to taste yourself as you smush your face deep into his cunt, burying yourself there. 

“Ah, fuck— just there— don’t move!”

You couldn’t even if you wanted to, Gojo’s grip is fast in your hair and it forces your face impossibly deeper into his cunt. Of course, if you really wanted to you could be out of his hold within a split second. It’s kind of nice though, to let him have his fun for once. Let him play house as the big, strong sorcerer he isn’t even the whisper of anymore. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

You flick your tongue back up to his clit, and Gojo either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when you slip a finger inside him, immediately curling it. He does, however, notice the second, moaning aloud as you start pumping them in tandem, curling them on every thrust to try and find his g-spot. 

He writhes on the armchair under your hulking body, undulating like a fish out of water. It’s a strange picture. The sorcerer who’s usually so restrained. Who’s only expressive when it suits him—when it’s a means to an end of manipulating someone into doing something for him.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon— please, just— nghh— right there—”

It hurts when he comes. 

Not him of course, a high, sharp keen reverberating in the air as he trembles through his first orgasm as a woman. Wave after wave wracking through his body. 

But you. 

Gojo’s grip in your hair turns punishing, too much so to be enjoyable anymore. And his other hand scrabbles on your forearm, scraping harsh pink lines into the exposed skin where your jacket sleeve has ridden up, a painful sting emanating where skin breaks under his nails. You can’t help but wonder if this is a trait of Gojo, or a trait of Gojo in your body. 

“Ahh… oh my— god,” the man in question finally gasps, twitching in overstimulation where you’re still lazily dragging your tongue through his cunt, fingers unmoving inside him. “Stop. Enough.”

You comply, mostly just to lessen his assault on the body you’re currently inhabiting. You remove your mouth and fingers. Settle back onto your haunches as Gojo pants like he’s just run a marathon.

Any lingering weirdness of your situation is well and truly lost on you in the face of Gojo's little body trembling through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Your thumbs subconsciously soothe over his skin but you don't release his legs.

Sticky and wet.

That’s how you feel. In more ways than one you suspect, if Gojo's widening eyes are anything to go by as he takes in the full mess he's made of his face.

Your face.

“You look…” Gojo begins, but you never get to find out. Instead, his gaze flicks between your eyes as he contemplates something, and then he’s blurting out one quick string of words, “Canyoufuckme?”

You raise a mocking eyebrow. “Come again?”

Gojo closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. “I said, can you fuck me?”

Fighting to control your expression, you don’t realise until a beat later how your fingers tighten around his legs painfully. 

“Just— When’s the next chance we’ll get to do something like this?” Gojo reasons, trying to pull his legs closer to his body self-consciously. He can’t get far with them still trapped by you. “It’s not like I want you to fuck me, I just want to know what it’s like to get fucked by me.”

“Narcissistic much?” you scoff, peering down at him and feeling less and less enthusiastic about it as each long second ticks by. “And I think you’re lying.”

“No.”

You place one hand on his stomach and press it down slightly. “You don’t just wanna feel what it’s like to be full? To feel like someone’s dick is in your throat? To feel every thought melt out your ears with a good fuck?”

Gojo swallows uneasily before brandishing a shining smile. “Nope. Self-performance review purposes only.”

“Mhm,” you hum, unconvinced. “Well I suppose I can help. I won’t be able to emulate your technique without any prior knowledge though,” you sigh. “So I guess you’ll just have to review the product itself.”

“Gross. What the fuck are you on about?” Gojo asks, lips curling at your crude phrasing. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you slide his leg from your shoulder, tuck it around your body, and heft him up with you by the waist as you stand. Gojo instinctively wraps his legs around you, afraid to fall. 

“Hey! Stop fuckin’ manhandling me...” But he sounds breathless, and hardly annoyed about it in fact. 

You don’t like that he’s so easy to carry—and you’re honestly not sure whether that’s thanks to his strength or your stature. You reach the sofa and sit down, tugging him onto your lap. Gojo doesn’t settle though, awkwardly hovering above your legs and staring down at you, once hand fisted in the sofa's backrest behind you. 

“Take it away,” you murmur. 

“The fuck do you mean, ‘take it away’?” he utters incredulously. “I asked you to fuck me.”

“I’ve already put in a good shift today. Can’t I cash in my payment? You’ve got my strong legs, Gojo." You pat his thigh with a firm palm. "It’ll be a breeze.”

The sorcerer looks at you strangely, as though scrutinising the truth of your statement. “You’ve done this before to know that?”

You scoff. “Obviously.”

“Okay. Well… Alright then. Put it in,” he finishes lamely. 

“I’ll let you do the honours,” you reply, laughter melting your tone into something warmer than you were intending. 

Gojo huffs as though greatly inconvenienced and rolls his eyes. He rises up onto his knees, takes a hold of your cock. You hiss and Gojo’s eyes flicker up to yours curiously. 

“You won’t last long,” he states plainly, mirth dancing across his expression. 

“Probably not,” you agree. “Longer than you will, though.”

“Infamously and statistically untrue.”

You strain upwards to speak into his ear, voice honey-smooth. “You’re in my body, Gojo. You don’t think I know what’s going to make you tick?” 

He makes a dismissive sound, lowers himself slightly, and brushes the head of your cock through the arousal slicking his cunt. You exhale through your nose. 

“Thought you said I gotta do the work?” he reminds you.

“I did." You sigh when the head of your cock slips inside him for a moment. “Maybe I’ll be nice if you behave though.”

Gojo remains suspiciously silent in response, and when you dare a look up at his face, his expression is twisted as though tasting something particularly sour. “Your dirty talk isn’t doing what you think it is,” he finally huffs. 

Wrapping your hands around his waist, you test your grip and startle when your fingers brush each other on the small of his back. You blink and ask, “No?”

“Nope.” Gojo shakes his head, letting your cock catch on his rim once more.

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to tug the sorcerer down to the hilt of you.

You pitch your voice down teasingly, “You don’t want to be good for me?”

“Not particularly,” he replies distractedly, dipping down a scarce few centimeters and back up again with a wince. 

You’re alert at once, perking up like a dog having a treat dangled in front of them. With the intent to soothe, you rub your thumbs across his stomach though it doesn’t seem to do anything but throw Gojo off his concentration, who makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. 

“Relax dude,” you insist, using your hold to pull him down an inch. 

“‘Dude’?” he asks disbelievingly, not appearing to notice how you’re sinking into him. “You’re kidding me. Such a fucking uni student I swear, you used to sleeping with younger people or what? Is that who you’re picking up your dirty talk from? A bunch of students who imitate bad porn?”

Fighting back a laugh, you kick up into his cunt and tug him down to meet your pelvis simultaneously. Gojo releases a high, breathy moan. His fingers clutch onto the meat of your shoulder and the short hair on your nape as he's knocked forward by the motion. 

“What was that?” you ask, voice similarly windswept at the tight heat engulfing your cock. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing before. No wonder guys think with their dicks. Perhaps you would too if this is what it feels like. 

“Oh my god—” Gojo breathes unsteadily, head hanging so that all you can see is the crown of his head. “That was… really underhanded.” 

Encouragingly, you coax Gojo's waist towards you and smile when he gasps. “You gonna move, then?”

“Gimme a second,” Gojo snaps, sharp nails pressing into your nape in warning. “So impatient to get your dick wet.”

“Yeah.” You ignore his request though, still moving his waist back and forth, enough so that Gojo’s mouth drops open silently as he tries to adjust to both the intrusion and the new sensation of your dick brushing his walls. “Is it weird that this isn’t weird?” 

“Kind of,” he chokes out, starting to move with your touch cautiously as though doesn't want you to realise that he’s ready yet. “I think we might’ve passed weird when you had your tongue in me, though.” 

“Or earlier,” you add thoughtfully, and slide your palms down to his hips to tilt them forward so his clit catches on the thatch of hair at the base of your dick with each gentle rock. Gojo exhales a pitiful noise and chases the sensation, gliding back and forth with a new fervour. “When you offered to teach me how to jack off.” 

“Maybe then,” he agrees mindlessly, clearly only half listening to you as he slides both hands to collar your trapezius muscles.

You can hardly be annoyed when the touch has you light headed, static creeping from the corners and lowering your inhibitions even further. He’s too warm inside, and while his movements feel good, you know they won’t be enough to get you off anytime soon.

You don’t think you can wait longer than soon, impatience buzzing under your skin. 

“C’mon, Gojo,” you murmur, lifting your hips up to knock your cock into him. He whines. Whines. And you are possessed by the noise to repeat the action, kicking into him in short, aborted thrusts where he’s still heavy on your lap. “Thought you wanted to— ah— test me out?” 

“Just keep doing that,” he demands instead, and you can see the side of his expression scrunching up every time you move. Gojo's face is still tucked between your bodies, reluctant to meet your eyes. 

Wanting what you were promised, you fall still, lean back, remove your hands from his soft body and interlace your fingers behind your head in an action so irritatingly lofty that even you can admit the way Gojo immediately bristles is utterly warranted. 

“Fine,” Gojo scoffs, lifting his head to glare at you. “I’ll get off how I was before then. Doesn’t bother me.” 

As though to punctuate his claim, Gojo starts rolling his hips again. 

“No you won’t.” You don’t move to stop him but he stills all the same as if you had. “Just try it properly.”

Gojo grumbles, seemingly debating something for a moment as the words he wants to speak sit on the tip of his tongue, but then he swallows them back and pivots his strategy. You furrow your eyebrows. “Whatever, if you’re that desperate for it…” 

Gojo rises onto his knees and you can feel the cool air hit your dick, already too accustomed to the warmth of him.

At once, there’s an itch behind your teeth to seat yourself back inside Gojo, so strong you feel it could bowl you straight off your feet if you were stood up. Gojo's expression is wary, but then he slides back down your length and it melts away, replaced with surprise. 

“That’s it,” you murmur. He rushes to lift himself back up, using the grip he has on the junction of your neck to aid himself before sinking back down. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Really good—” he grunts, dropping back to your lap. 

You can feel pleasure licking up your body, warming your mind, but somehow the sight in front of you is even better. Gojo’s face—your face—slack as he finds his rhythm, bobbing on your cock eagerly; Gojo panting, each laboured breath hitting your forehead, your nose, your chin as he moves; Gojo all-but drooling, lips slick with it. 

You glance down and you nearly come there and then at the sight of you two joined. There's a sticky rim of arousal and pre-come foaming around the base of your cock which you ache to drag your fingers through.

Then, you suddenly remember you have free will, and waste no time as you drop your hands from behind your head and finger the connection. Spreading the mess on Gojo's thighs, across his clit as he whines at the touch, through the thatch of pale hair above your dick. It should be gross really, but your head spins with arousal and you dip a thumb into the mixture before swiping it on his clit once again.

Gojo doesn’t disappoint. He keens, a sweet animalistic sound, and his thighs shake with no abandon. 

“Do that– hah— do that again.”

Wordlessly, you repeat the action, clumsily following his clit as he bounces on your cock. You’re positive it's barely enough consistent pressure to get him off, but his moans crawl higher and higher each time you manage to catch his clit. 

“Doing so well,” you pant. “Bouncing on my cock like you were made for it.”

Gojo moans, but when he responds he sounds mildly repulsed, as though his mind and body are at odds over how he's supposed to feel about your words. “I’m in your body!”

You shake your head, disagreeingly. “This is all you.”

“Idiot,” Gojo breathes, pace becoming sloppy, each rise becoming slower, each drop becoming harder. 

“Have you ever felt like this though?” 

“Stop talking, I can’t fucking think!” he snarls, shaking thighs lifting him up your cock once more. 

“I bet you haven't,” you speak for him. “Besides, you don’t need to think. Just chase the feeling Gojo. Start thinking and you’ll be on my cock forever. I told you it’s more difficult for women.”

Gojo groans, half-frustrated half-aroused. “Don’t tell me— shit— not to think when you’re making me— do all the work.”

Suddenly realising his annoyance, a laugh bubbles out of you, drenched in glee. “Mr. Control Freak doesn’t like being in charge, huh? Need me to dick you down? Quiet that big smart brain of yours?”

“I swear to god,” he warns, eyes darting to yours dangerously. “Talk to me like that again…” 

“Fine,” you acquiesce, pouting. But you can’t help but throw a bit of fuel on the fire when you murmur, “Baby.”

“I’m done,” he proclaims abruptly, lifting himself fully off your dick so quick he stumbles back from you when he stands. Your shock lasts for all of a few seconds before you’re distracted by the sight of his puffy cunt, glistening with arousal in the low light of your living room, his skirt in a pool around his ankles. “This isn’t worth it, you’re actually intolerable.” You force your gaze up to his eyes but they get stuck on the sight of his lips first, brain clouded with lust. “I’m just going to jack off, on your bed by the way,” he emphasises, as though that would bother you. As though Gojo’s pre-come isn’t dripping onto your sofa right now. “And we’re never going to speak of this again unless you want to die.”

When you don’t say anything, Gojo exhales an irritated breath and storms past the edge of the sofa in the direction of your bedroom. Before you can think about what you’re doing, you dart a hand out to grab his wrist and pull him awkwardly over the sofa's armrest before he can get any further.

For a brief moment you're surprised by your own strength. You’d only meant to stop him but now he’s bent over the arm of the sofa like he's on display.

“Get off me,” he snaps, an embarrassed flush tinting his features as he tries and fails to pry his wrist from your grip. 

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you?” you ask sincerely. 

Gojo drops his gaze to the sofa a few inches from his face. “A momentary lapse in judgement.” 

“That's it, yeah?” 

“Mhm, now lemme go raid your bedside table. I know you've got some freaky shit in there and I'm gonna take it for a spin.”

“Alright,” you pretend to agree. “Let me check something, first though.” 

Gojo sighs, but doesn’t argue. You place a hand on his shoulder blades and press him down onto the sofa, feigning using him to stand. In two quick steps you circle the sofa and fit another hand to the base of his spine where you stop behind him. Gojo realises that he’s been tricked and quickly tries to shove himself upright. You hold him in place easily.

“No, no no no— this is so degrading, we’re not— we’re not doing this.”

“Degrading? Seriously? Way to be progressive Gojo, jeez. There’s nothing degrading about playing a part in the miracle of life.”

And that really seems to make him panic. Gojo starts to press his hands into the sofa beneath him before giving up and kicking a leg back at you blindly. You bully forward to stop his flailing, until your clothed thighs are touching his, your hard cock sat snug in atop his bare ass. 

“I wanna eat you out again,” you murmur, eyeing the spread of his cunt where his hips are hooked over the armrest, his tiptoes barely touching the floor. “But another time. I wanna fuck you first. Properly fuck you. Make you nice and quiet like you were askin’ for. How ‘bout it, Gojo?”

Gojo covers his face with his hands and buries it into the sofa, soft trembles wracking his body. Whether from nerves or arousal or fear, you truly haven't a clue. 

“C’mon.” Sensing that he’s not going to move, you lift the hand from his lower back to your cock and swipe it through his wet cunt, a silent promise. “I’ll make you feel good.” 

Without waiting for his reply, you slip your cock into Gojo's cunt. Sliding back into his warmth so easily it's as if you've already carved out a home for yourself deep inside him.

Gojo keens into the sofa cushions, a foot lifting to wrap around the back of your calf subconsciously. You test your weight on his shoulder blades, letting him take it until he’s forced to turn his face to the side and heave in a stilted breath. 

You cant your hips back before snapping them forward. Immediately you start up a harsh rhythm, following your instincts as you try to ignore the pleasure fizzling through your own body and instead focus on giving Gojo the best fuck of his stupid life.

Gojo curses, and it tangles in a moan until you can't even tell what he was trying to say.

You angle your hips differently each thrust, aiming for the spot inside your cunt that you know from personal experience causes your brain to leak from your ears. It takes you many clumsy thrusts—not that Gojo seems to think as much by the way his back arches, startled whines slipping out his mouth as though he can’t even try to contain them—until you finally find it. 

Gojo cries like he’s been shot. Body locking up, drool leaking from his wide open mouth, toes curling against the floor and the back of your calf. 

You grin. 

Jack-rabbiting back into that spot over and over, until you can see his hands scrabbling on the sofa as he fights the last remaining dregs of his pride. A particularly hard press on his shoulder blades later and he’s thawing, going limp against the sofa like a puppet with their strings cut. 

“No thinking now, huh?” you pant, leering over his back to get a better look at the fucked out expression he’s plastered on your face. 

You expected to fixate on the sight of what you look like in this position, but you only find yourself wondering how the real Gojo would look.

How his pale skin would flush; how his white hair would be plastered to his sweaty skin; how his own deep voice would rise higher and higher as you fuck into him with the strap you keep tucked away under your bed for your particularly adventurous partners. 

Gojo makes a noise, perhaps trying to oppose your meaningless statement. You laugh, slightly cruel. Still warm. And brace both hands along his spine, leaning the bulk of your weight on him like a blanket. He only melts further beneath you, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight. At the quiet behind his eyes. 

Gojo’s high whines have tapered off into low, chopped keens at each sharp thrust, as though his brain has run out of capacity to react as it should. You can see his fingers weakly holding onto the sofa, his legs all but dangling from the edge of the armrest, his heaving chest.

And without warning, he comes. Body trembling like a leaf in the wind, voice lodged in this throat as his mouth opens on a soundless moan. His eyes squeeze closed and his back arches impossibly further. The sight of the curve so alluring you can’t help but lick along the sweaty skin, mouthing at him like an animal. 

“There you go,” you speak against him, voice rough and jagged. “You're so good, Gojo. Knew you were made for this.”

He doesn’t even complain when you continue thrusting into him, though you are at least kind enough to stop targeting his g-spot, chasing your own ignored high.

So much for you coming first. 

Far away, you can hear your own gravelled moans as you fuck into him like a dog in heat, laving your tongue along the ridges in his spine, listening to his quiet keens of overstimulated pleasure. And all it takes is a blissed out brush of his foot on your ankle for you to come too, the pressure exploding as you shoot thick ropes of come inside his cunt, shallowly rocking into him until the pleasure fizzles out into a mild pain. Not enough to stop you, but you still anyway, thinking about how different that was from your usual orgasms.

A very good different.  

“Shit,” you breathe, slowly coming back to yourself. “That was crazy.”

You tilt your head on Gojo’s back to peer down at him.

He’s gone. 

Floating. 

Drifting somewhere that isn’t this room you’re both in. The realisation that you’ve done this to him has pride simmering in your gut, arousal coating the edges of it. Slowly, you peel yourself from his back and pull out cautiously, conscious of how unpleasant the sensation can be. Gojo barely reacts bar a barely there scrunch of his nose. 

“You okay, Gojo?” you ask quietly, brushing some of your hair away from his sweaty face. 

He hums tiredly, expression content, and his eyes lazily flicker to yours for a second before flickering away again like there’s something more important to look at in the silence of his mind. 

“I really did a number on you, wow…” you murmur, rising to your full height to take in all of him. 

Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. 

But he does whine when you drag your fingers through the come dripping out of his cunt, scooping it up and fucking it back into him gently. There’s a hitch in his breath that rings out in the quiet of the living room. You curl your fingers, searching for that spot once more. 

“You can come one more time, right?” 

—

In the afterglow, clean and satiated, you share an order of chinese food on the floor of your living room. A film plays in the background. It’s not one you know—an older film, one Gojo had picked out when flipping through the channels on your TV while you called the restaurant. You’re barely watching it, only flicking your eyes to the flash of a new scene before your gaze inevitably lands on the sorcerer beside you once more. But the noise is kind of nice; comforting, if you were to put a word to it. 

“If you tell anyone about this,” Gojo begins around a mouthful of noodles, oddly relaxed for the threat he goes on to say, “I will air out all of the blackmail I’ve been collecting these past few years.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning your back against the seat of the sofa. “Like what?”

“Like how you when you use other people’s mugs in the staffroom you only rinse them before putting them back in the cupboard.” 

You shrug, unphased. 

“And, how you gave Ijichi the wrong number two months ago so now Ino keeps getting sent on what are supposed to be your errands.”

At that you laugh, surprised Gojo even knew about that little stunt you’ve managed to pull off. It won’t be long before another sorcerer, probably Nanami knowing your luck, clocks on and actually does something about it. But you’ve been enjoying the reprieve from doing grunt work in the meantime. 

“And, how you are really, really bad at dirty talk.”

You smile, aimlessly stirring your boxed chicken around with your chopsticks. “You goin’ to tell everyone that?”

“I might,” Gojo replies haughtily, giving you a meaningful look. “But only if you tell first.”

“Well then,” you start, voice laced with amusement. “Guess I better keep my mouth shut.”

Gojo nods, before he mimes zipping his mouth closed and flicking the key towards your TV. You mimic the action, lean over to steal a bite of noodles from the container he’s holding, and chuckle when he squawks indignantly. 

—

A week later, you’re back in your own body. 

It’s strange to find yourself disappointed by what should be a cause for great celebration. 

But then Gojo is following you home to pick his belongings up and his mouth is on yours the minute you both pass through your front door and you find it remarkably hard to care at all. Not when he’s bending you over the armrest of your traumatised sofa in revenge. Not when he’s sliding into you like he’s coming home. And definitely not when he’s promising in that stupidly titillating voice of his how there won’t be space for a thought left in your head once he’s finished with you. 

As such, you ought to remove your rose tinted glasses soon. It isn’t healthy to live in the past after all, but your memories in Gojo’s body are too sweet to resist, even with his warm hulking body plastered to your back. 

Sue you. 

Reminiscing never killed anybody. 

‹‹ KINKTOBER 2025 | GENERAL M.LIST | READ ON AO3

“You gotta get us out of this mess, Gojo,” you say dangerously low, jabbing your finger into Gojo’s—your—soft chest. Fuck, you’re one moment away from snapping like a rubber band cooled too quickly. And you really don’t know what the consequences will be when you can feel Gojo's power hiding from you—Six Eyes tucked deep in the recesses of his body. You’re not keen to find out the damage a person can do when they wield the Gojo Clan power with all the training of a newborn baby. “What if the curse comes back, you imbecile?”

Gojo laughs, and the condescending peals of it ring high and shrill in the air. 

Is that really what you sound like to other people?

“It won’t come back,” Gojo states with an air of finality which would have you strangling the man if he weren’t trapped inside your body. 

“Oh yeah? Care to enlighten me? Your partner on this mission who could just, I don’t know… maybe, benefit from knowing such information,” you remind viciously, running anxiety-filled fingers through your hair—Gojo’s hair—fuck this is really messing with your head, and why is it so soft? You half-pictured him to use some 19-in-1 crap which surely wouldn’t achieve this silkiness. The attempt to ground yourself begins spiralling into panic. “I swear you fuckin' get off on being better than me or something, Gojo. Well, news flash! You are. Yet look where that genius brain of yours got us now. Nurture versus nature strikes again.” 

Gojo narrows his eyes at you, lips thinning at your attitude. This argument is going to be ugly. You can already tell—feel the familiar stirring of it in your bones. Compelled by fury and determined to meet the nasty retort you know it coming head-on, you yank down the blindfold over your eyes without sparing a thought to the consequence.

A split second later you're on your knees. Accosted by walls of spasming lights and strange shapes, distorting and jumping through colours you don’t recognise, and screeching rivers of particles persist in all directions and you can see sound, how can you fucking see sound? The air waves curl in front of Gojo’s mouth but you can’t hear them, your brain existing somewhere beyond typical overstimulation as it’s confronted with information you simply cannot comprehend. 

You curl up on the ground like a child and squeeze your eyes shut, no more than a decorated corpse. You are unaccompanied by even the presence of mind to pray your suffering will end soon. Only able to endure the atoms vibrating in your eyelids and the lights rotating past them, backlighting the infinite particles like a phantasmagoria designed for war torture.

Without warning, it dims considerably.

You inhale a rattling breath you weren't aware you’d been holding. 

“—alright, it’s— Look at— Hey—”

Gojo’s voice reaches you in fragmented slices. It takes a lifetime for your heart to calm the war drum beat its imitating, and longer still for you to peel open your eyes. Gojo hovers on his haunches an arm's length from your trembling form, and stares down at you with your face. There’s a pinch in his eyebrows but that is the only, and likely unintentional, indicator to suggest he may be perturbed.

“Look at me,” Gojo says, uncharacteristically soft.

You wonder if the natural tone of your voice is deceiving you. There's no way he's actually worried. His ego has cursed you to this body, and while you always knew it would get him in deep shit one day, you simply weren't prepared to be dragged down with him.

You exhale, still curled up pathetically on the ground. “I am.”

It’s the truth. At some point during your panic, Gojo must have slipped the blindfold back over your eyes, rendering him unable to follow your gaze. His own tracks your expression. For a moment he's silent. Then, he's fishing your phone out of his pocket, unlocking it with your face identification, and tapping on it impatiently.

The rings of a call pierce the air and you vaguely recognise Ijichi's voice lilting across the line in your exhaustion. You can do no more than lay there and watch Gojo's lips move.

At the beep of a call hung up, Gojo turns to you resolutely. "I'll sort this out."

—

In the staff common room, you're currently hovering in an armchair and debating the likelihood of you reaching it before the year is out.

You see, Gojo's Limitless technique decided to activate as soon as you lugged your ass out of the transport vehicle when it dropped you back on campus. Now you're finding out you took sitting for granted as you float approximately a couple of inches atop the actual chair cushion. Sceptically, you eye the sight. Doubt about your ability to control the Six Eyes only increasing each second you remain suspended in the air.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” you complain, tipping your head back into, surprise, the air above the chair’s backrest. “Can’t sit down, can’t drink a fuckin’ coffee—which I’m desperate for by the way, can’t go for a—”

“Please shut up,” Yaga monotones, cutting you off and taking a pointed sip of what you know to be coffee in his mug. Bastard. “Complaining will not help your situation.”

“Oh and silence will?” you bite, glaring at the best principal decal printed on the ceramic instead of Yaga himself. 

You may be mad but you're not suicidal.

“Maybe then I'll be able to have a productive thought about how to get us out of this mess,” Gojo pipes up in your light voice. Slouched on a wooden chair nearby, he’s mindlessly watching one of his manicured fingers trace shapes on the table. Like a baby captivated by a cheap, plastic galaxy spinning above its head. “A foreign concept for you, I’m aware.”

You scoff, flipping his back your middle finger. Childish? Sure. But it’s not like you can actually hit him in your current predicament so you have to settle for the small win. 

“How long are we gonna be stuck like this?” you press, ignoring both their requests for silence. “I keep tripping over your lanky fuckin’ legs, Gojo, stumbling like a new born deer or some shit, and this blindfold is makin’ me feel claustrophobic, and I kind of have to pee but I also really do not want to face that right now,” you ramble, leg bouncing with anxiety. “And if I have to touch your dick I might just kill myself to save everyone the trouble.”

You blow out a breath when the words stop their mad dash from your mouth. Noticing the barely-there smile Yaga is hiding behind his mug, and the way Gojo is snickering into the palm of his hand, a frustrated sound rips itself from your throat. Soon you’re going to blow a fuse and then they’ll really be sorry. 

“I’m serious!” you yell. “I do not want to touch your dick, Gojo!”

“Alright, alright,” Gojo laughs, palms lifted in surrender. “I get it… though I would love to be a fly on the wall. Watch you figure out how to piss with a cock.”

“Satoru,” Yaga warns, shooting Gojo a reproachful look.

“Stop acting like it’s some revered skill,” you snap, curling your lip up at the crudeness of his statement. “It’s a fuckin’ dick, Gojo, not rocket science.” You run a hand back through your short hair, tugging slightly at the strands in frustration. “God, you are genuinely insufferable. Yaga, please, let me go home! If I spend anymore time with this moron I’m going to lose braincells and it won’t be me who suffers the consequences considering who’s fuckin’ body I’m trapped in!”

“You know I can’t do that,” Yaga counters mildly, fingers flexing around his mug.

“I am going to kill him,” you emphasise, waving a frantic hand through the air in the vague direction of Gojo. “And he’s in my body!”

Yaga opens his mouth to reply but Gojo stands and cuts him off with an infurating whistled tune, as though he's jumped straight from a fourties cartoon. You mime a gag and Gojo's sharp eyes slide to you scornfully.

It's all you can do to not appear too pleased by the reaction.

And as it turns out, Gojo has that covered for you also; next to Yaga, your body looks much shorter than it feels when you’re in it. The height difference only highlighted from your foreign perspective.

Bristling at the wound to your ego, you sniff and turn away from the sight. You never noticed the corner of the staffroom has cobwebs.

“Why don’t I go back with her?” Gojo asks Yaga. When you flash them a brief glance, inevitably unable to keep your gaze from the bane of your existence for long, Gojo is looking up at the principal, yet somehow still managing to carry a general air of superiority that defies your stature. You fight back the urge to jam your fingers into your eyesockets. “I can keep an eye on her until Shoko gets back from Okinawa tomorrow, and then I can bring her in and we’ll reevaluate if long-term adjustments need to be made.” 

“I’m not a fuckin’ dog, you prick,” you mutter, jaw tense. “‘Bring her in,’ who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Language,” Yaga chides, though you know by now it's more habit than formality. He ponders the idea for a moment and you shoot Gojo a nasty look while Yaga is distracted. Gojo sticks his tongue out at you back. Child, you think spitefully. “That could work,” Yaga agrees eventually. “There’s nothing more we can do without Shoko, unfortunately, but we also can’t afford to split the two of you at the moment with the danger of Six Eyes on a slack leash.”

“Perfect! So it’s settled then,” Gojo chirps, an awful grin on his face. Time slows to a stop as he claps his hands and beckons you forward in one sharp motion. “Heel.”

Your jaw drops. 

“But,” Yaga interrupts pointedly, waving a placating hand in your direction and now you really do feel like a dog. Gojo’s glee may as well be written on his face with black permanent marker for how obvious it is. “You must teach her to control it, Satoru, as best she can,” Yaga continues, voice grave. You both stiffen and turn to listen to him carefully. “Worst case scenario, you’re both trapped for an undetermined length of time. We cannot risk anything.”

Nodding absently, you’re already distracted by the concept of being stuck in Gojo’s body indefinitely. It’s nasty talons latch onto your brain and hold tight. Bile rises into your throat. And you're pretty sure your racing heart may be an early sign of cardiac arrest.

Probably nothing to worry about right now.

Yet if you die in this body, what happens to you? Does your consciousness zip back into your own body like rebooting a troublesome computer? Or would it only trap Gojo in your body for the rest of its lifespan and you'd be left to face whatever the afterlife entails for people with morally grey compasses and high curse body counts, leaving Gojo to run wild while most everyone will believe it to be you?

God, what a horrible thought.

“Make sure the blindfold stays on at all times,” Yaga utters, and you can sense the dismissal. 

Rising to your feet, you make sure to stare down the slope of your nose at Gojo disdainfully before snapping your head forward and striding out of the room. Like hell you’re going to let him lead. His quiet footfalls echo behind you, but mercifully he is silent—perhaps plagued by the same fear. 

How long could you be trapped in this body?

—

“I wasn’t joking about havin’ to pee,” you grumble as you step through the threshold to your flat with Gojo in tow. 

“I know you weren’t,” Gojo replies blandly, gaze sweeping the organised chaos you live in. You hear him kick the door closed behind you. “I needed a piss at the start of the mission. Real unfortunate timing, all things considered.”

Against the entrance walls, books are piled up haphazardly thanks to your bad habit of buying more novels than you’ll be able to read in ten lifetimes. You toe Gojo’s shoes off to join the stacks carelessly, not bothering to prompt Gojo to do the same before you round the corner into your kitchen.

Let him figure out the tiny buckles of your shoes by himself, you think sadistically. Serves him right.

But then you have to duck to get through the doorway and it's as though Gojo's miraculously cashed in his karma paycheck early. You kiss your teeth in irritation, feeling oversized in your cramped flat for the first time in all the years you've lived here. 

Your annoyance only worsens when Gojo's Limitless doesn't allow you to grab the fridge handle. You freeze. Try to control your breathing. And ultimately fail when your stomach pangs with hunger.

“How the fuck did your parents manage?” you call out to Gojo, frustration melding into bafflement at the reality of your situation. “Surely they couldn’t touch you?”

A crash instantly followed by a yelp of pain rings out from the hallway, and you get your answer as Gojo pads around the corner in pantyhose-clad feet. 

“My parents told me it used to activate randomly when I was a baby.” He doesn’t spare you a glance, breezing past to tug open the fridge like he hadn't just let out the most pathetic squeal you've ever heard. You can’t find the energy to stop him. “But most often when I was upset, or scared—when I was crying mainly, I guess. Must've been difficult for a baby to comprehend the entire universe and all. You know. You saw it. And they used to have servants check constantly if I’d released the technique so that they could feed me or hold me.”

You stew on the information, watching Gojo select a Yakult, peel off the foil lid, and drop it on your countertop like he owns the place.

On paper, he does anyway. And isn’t that a strange thought. 

“Apparently I learnt to control it by 10 months. And by the time I was almost 2, I was consciously turning it on and off so that my parents couldn’t stop me from climbing on the furniture or put me to bed if I wanted to stay awake.” Gojo laughs, as though recalling memories he can’t possibly remember. 

“So you were a nightmare child,” you surmise, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’d argue I was pretty cute,” Gojo offers, tipping his head back to swallow the last drops. You eye the motion, still finding it jarring to be seeing your own mouth move every time Gojo’s words grate in the air. “And either way, you’re being shown up by that little 2 year old me, so you should probably be feeling more worried about that than what my parents had to deal with.”

Scowling, you swipe a hand through the air to dismiss the half-baked insult. In the safety of your home, you find yourself slightly lost as to what to do, standing uselessly in the middle of the kitchen as a result. You’re unable to touch anything and that means you can’t drink or eat or sit down. Where does that leave you? Cursed to isolation until this is fixed? 

“C’mon,” Gojo murmurs, “a little curse and you lose all your fire? Lame.”

“‘A little curse?’” you repeat incredulously.

A grin splits Gojo's lips as though he was waiting for the precise reaction you just provided. Not for the first time, you wish you had the forethought to not retaliate to his provocations. But it's like he has an instruction manual detailing precisely how to push your buttons. There's no other rational explanation.

Gojo's head tilts. “Yep. And honestly… I don’t even think you could win a fight right now.”

You lean against the countertop behind you and drag your gaze down Gojo’s form. The familiar curves under your uniform, your tits, pressed together where Gojo is crossing his arms, and your face, grinning at you like a Cheshire cat. Gojo mimics you, leaning on the fridge and raking his eyes down your form in kind. You fight not to fidget under his gaze, though you don’t know why. It’s not like you feel self conscious or anything—this isn’t your body. 

You hum, non-committal. “Probably not. Though you’re forgetting that you can’t use my technique either.”

“Ah, but I am quite positive yours will be easy to wrangle,” he replies, turning his hand to inspect your nails. 

Something ugly unfurls in your chest at the jab. Everyone feels inadequate when confronted with the power Gojo holds—it’s a fact of life. But the notion still stings, wedged under your skin deep enough you cannot remove it, deep enough it bleeds into your words. 

“Perhaps,” you concede, loathing coating the back of your teeth. “But what if we didn’t use our techniques?”

Gojo’s eyebrows furrow. 

“I’m saying, what if it was a battle of pure strength?” you explain with a careless shrug.

On your best and your worst days, you despise acknowledging that Gojo can beat you in hand-to-hand combat. Now is no different, and you tuck your hands behind your back casually so you can dig your nails into your palms to ground yourself. You can feel the strong muscles lining your arms shift with the movement. 

“I would win.”

“You’re in my body, though,” Gojo questions, looking at you like you’re stupid.

Anger simmers deep and low in your gut. 

“So now semantics matter to you?” you ask, pushing yourself away from the countertop. “I thought you just claimed you’d beat me using my technique, Gojo.”

“And I would.”

“But you wouldn’t without,” you press, walking closer. Gojo watches you curiously until you stop a pace away from him. You could reach your arm out and touch him if his own Limitless wouldn’t stop you from doing so. “Admit it.”

Gojo frowns, staring up at you. 

“Admit you couldn’t beat me,” you breathe, taking another step closer. You can see the specks dotting your eyes now. Gojo's blindfold and bright hair reflecting back at you like a funhouse mirror. The air thickens between you both, and you shove your hands in your pockets, feigning nonchalance. You feel wrong—out of place in his hulking body as you stare down at your own—but Gojo has no way of knowing this if you don't clue him into it. “Admit that I could have you how I wanted in a heartbeat.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you,” Gojo murmurs, eyes flicking between your own. Recognition sparks in his gaze and he seems to be debating whether to play along.

“Not really.” You itch to reach out. Knowing you physically can’t only makes the urge more irritating. “Haven’t you ever been curious, Gojo? About what it’s like to be a woman?”

“Hasn’t every man?” he retorts. Gojo tips his head back against the fridge and his eyes turn lidded, glued to yours. As though he knows where they are even through your blindfold. Perhaps he does. It’s his own eyes he’s seeking out, after all. 

“Mhm. Not every man gets the opportunity to actually find out, though.” 

The corner of Gojo’s mouth quirks up. “Lucky me.”

The reality of your situation falls back atop your shoulders. Sudden as a strike of lightning. When the thunder claps, you knock your forehead onto the fridge above him, or try to, at least. Instead, your face stops an inch away from the metal, close enough that you wonder if you might be making subconscious progress adapting to Gojo’s powers. 

“I gotta pee.”

Gojo laughs. 

—

This might be the pinnacle of humiliation you’ve experienced to date. Knowing that Gojo is just outside the bathroom and listening only makes it that much more excrutiating.

“Let me come in and help!” Gojo calls through the door.

“No! Just—” you growl, frustrated. “Give me a damn minute I can’t focus knowing you’re right outside.”

“You don’t want me to talk you through it?”

“Hell no!” you shout, pinching your nose bridge. 

You exhale once, taking a moment to bolster your courage, before you tug Gojo’s zipper down in one smooth movement. You can see the light grey boxers he has on, and the vague outline of his soft cock underneath and you pull your hand away like you’ve been burnt. 

“Be nice to him!” Gojo says, followed by a thunk that tells you he just put his forehead on the bathroom door. 

“Freak,” you mutter under your breath, still staring down at your open fly.

“I heard that.”

“Stop listening!” you snap. “What the fuck, man!”

“I’m dying out here, pleaseeee can I come in?” he moans through the wood. 

“No!”

“Pretty please.”

“Gojo…” you sigh.

“I can hold it for you.”

For a moment, you consider it. You could close your eyes, take the quickest piss of your life, and come out of the experience unscathed considering you won’t have touched Gojo’s dick. Then reality strikes. 

“Limitless, dumbass,” you say. 

“Oh shit.” Gojo’s muffled voice sounds surprised. “I forgot about that for a sec, wow! Very unlike me.”

“Close your ears.”

That’s all the warning both of you get before you grit your teeth, pull the waistband from your hips, and lift Gojo’s cock out with a limp, reluctant hand. 

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

And then you realise, how the fuck are you going to piss without looking? 

You worry your lip as your eyes study the ceiling. 

Maybe there’s muscle memory to this kind of thing? You really don’t want Gojo's piss all over your bathroom floor though…

“You’re awfully silent in there for someone who claimed that pissing with a dick wouldn’t be rocket science.”

“Fuck off, I’m gettin’ there!” you bite. “God, this is the worst.”

“You’re telling me. You’ve got a whole different view down here. I feel like I’m in Honey, I Shrunk The Kids.”

“Prick. I’m not that short!" You sigh before admitting, "I do love that movie though."

“It's a classic," Gojo offers. "And no you're not. I'm just stupidly tall."

That, at least, you can agree with. Stupidly arrogant, too.

Gojo continues. “You still haven’t pissed.”

“I don’t think I can,” you mumble pathetically, feeling the heavy weight of his soft dick in your hand and wanting to crawl out of your skin. “I might just wait until I piss myself. Is it too late to get a catheter?”

“You’re disgusting,” Gojo complains. You can practically hear the frown in his lips. “And you’re going to give me a UTI…”

“Wouldn’t be as bad as havin’ to touch your dick, I can tell you that much.”

“You wound me,” Gojo croons, and you can hear his back sliding down the door. Settling on the floor as though he knows you’ll both be here for a while. “Personally, I’m looking forward to going for a piss.”

Your face curls up in disgust and you whip your head to face the door as though Gojo will be able to feel you glaring through the wood. 

“There’s something seriously wrong with you. That is so violating.”

“Sorry,” Gojo says, not sounding particularly sorry at all. 

You huff, scrubbing an eye with the heel of your big hand. 

You can do this.

—

Turns out, pissing with a dick was decidedly not rocket science once you got over the tiny, minor detail of who’s dick you were holding. Once you're finished, you don't stick around to offer moral support as Gojo shoulders past you into the bathroom. You try not to cringe when you think about him seeing the plain cotton panties you threw on this morning when you had to rush out of your flat, or the unruly bush you were due to trim this weekend.

It truly doesn’t matter. Not when you have bigger issues. Namely the whole stuck-possibly-for-the-rest-of-time-in-Gojo's-body situation.

You’re hovering on your couch again when Gojo returns a suspiciously long few minutes later. He has a small, pleased smile on his face and you scowl. Staring down at your knuckles rapping against your thigh, you urge yourself to not picture what he was doing in the bathroom to look so self-satisfied. Pervert.

“Right then,” Gojo sighs loudly, sinking into an armchair across from you. “I should probably teach you how to control Limitless now that you’ve mastered pissing. It’s the next logical step.”

You roll your eyes. “And Yaga’s order,” you tack on. 

Gojo waves a hand through the air as though to dismiss the importance of your reminder. 

“Six Eyes is innately active,” he starts immediately, not waiting for your attention. You wish you could ignore him, but the way you're still hovering in the air closes any well-worn paths to such petty vengeance. “Think of it like the sun. We can’t turn the sun off, can’t kill it, can’t cover it up. The best we can do is cover ourselves.” Gojo nods towards where it’s wrapped around your head. You hum your acknowledgement. “But Limitless is like a light bulb. I can turn it on and off whenever I want.”

Already bored, you kick your legs out in front of you and tap your foot on the air surrounding the corner of your low coffee table for something to do. Gojo ignores the soundless action, but you see the corner of his jaw twitch in annoyance. 

“And Six Eyes is what enables Limitless. I can only manipulate what I can see.” He spreads his palms wide and swings them around the room. You squint at them, eyeing the veins pumping blood beneath your skin and the delicate woven fibres of your uniform cuff visible even through your blindfold. It's jarring, and invasive, and perhaps it's no wonder Gojo acts the way he does afterall. You might too if you could unveil a person's heart through no more than existing. “Do you see where I’m going with this?” Gojo questions expectantly. 

You bite your lip in contemplation and drag time out while you pretend to think. Really, you’re just watching the tiny hairs on Gojo’s face sway in a breeze you can’t feel. 

“Nope,” you reply after too long, popping the p sound carelessly. 

“You have to look,” Gojo stresses, leaning forward in his chair towards you. “See the world around you, see the infinite space Limitless has created, and stitch the divide back together.”

“Well then, if it’s that easy,” you say sarcastically. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Halting the tapping of your foot, you cross your arms and stare down at your legs intently. You’re expecting the gap between your thighs and the sofa cushion to be highlighted or some bullshit, like an object in a video game the developers didn’t want you to miss. But there’s nothing. You can see what you think may be air particles, countless atoms continuously melding together, then you stare at them long enough that you start second guessing yourself. 

“I see it!” you say instead, looking up at him excitedly.

Gojo’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline, and your mouth twists horribly as you try not to laugh. “Really?” he asks, equally thrilled. 

“Obviously not, dumbass,” you scoff, resuming the tapping of your foot once more. Gojo’s face drops and then he scowls at you a beat later when you tack on, “You’re kind of a shitty teacher, just so you know.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a shitty student.” 

“Ah,” you tut, shaking your head condescendingly at him. “A bad workman always blames his tools.”

“You’re definitely a tool, alright,” Gojo retorts, voice tight.

Despite yourself, you laugh. “This is a lost cause. Let’s just wait for Shoko’s opinion tomorrow, huh? Cut our losses while we still can.”

“As much as I would love to do that,” Gojo begins, tilting his head. You kiss your teeth at his lie, because Gojo would never abandon a chance to humiliate you. “I seem to recall someone saying ‘Yaga’s orders,’ earlier.”

Gojo’s expression is challenging, and every inch of his posture screams at you to bolt. You stay rooted to the air above your seat in defiance of your own instincts as you stare at the man currently captaining your body. 

When you don’t reply, Gojo blows out a sharp, frustrated breath and crosses his legs. “Work with me here,” he pleads. “Just try. Properly. Don’t half-ass it.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the gentle shake of his foot stops you. It almost looks like a nervous tick, and as quickly as your eyes dart to it, does his foot still. 

“Fine,” you concede. "Be quiet.” 

Gojo merely purses his lips and gestures at you lazily as though to say go on, then. 

Squinting as though it will help funnel Six Eyes, you focus all your attention on your foot still knocking into the air by the leg of your coffee table. It takes a few minutes to filter out Gojo’s disruptive presence. Even silent, he’s impossible to ignore. But, eventually, he begins drifting and you’re left with the shape of your foot, visible through the thousands of tiny cracks in Gojo’s leather shoes. You can see the air particles in your shoe—in between your toes, beneath the arch of Gojo’s foot. 

The air undulates, disturbed in ripples where your foot shakes. Like a stone thrown into a pond. Your lips form a circle and you slowly breathe out, letting everything fall away from you. Only then, can you see it. It being the gap, for lack of a better word you can't currently find. The… space. Like a void, stretching almost imperceptibly between each atom, bonded or unbonded. And then infinity comes into view. Atoms around your foot warped in a way making it impossible for you to ever hit the table leg when you begin to near it. 

The sound of your foot almost connecting with the coffee table is muffled, but you hear it still. Perhaps another feature of Gojo’s enhanced senses, or maybe a trick of the mind. It falls quiet again, and you sooth your heart and your mind and pinch the edges of infinity, drawing them together. 

Then…

Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You glance up at Gojo in amazement, mouth spread into a wide smile. He returns one of his own, oddly sincere. You only consider how strange the feeling is, Gojo being almost… proud of you, for a fleeting moment before you release it and embrace the success. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe quietly. “Holy shit.”

The rhythmic tapping echoes in your flat, sure and steady. You tip your head down and coax the infinity wrapped around you closed, sealing it like the folds of a letter. Your thighs touch the sofa. Then your back. You pat along the cushions disbelievingly and then laugh. 

You did it. You fucking did it. 

“Atta girl,” Gojo murmurs encouragingly. “I knew you had it in you.”

You truly have no idea how to unpack the tightness in your chest at his statement.

So you don't bother trying.

“Fuck yeah I do,” you grin instead. And if the tapping of your foot speeds up, well that’s no one's business bar your own. “Never doubted myself for a moment!”

Gojo scoffs, but it isn’t entirely mean. Not anymore. “History is rewriting itself right before my eyes. Is this how Winston Smith felt?”

You tilt your head back against the sofa, relaxing your body for the first time since you were both swapped. “Your Six Eyes has gotten way too much credit throughout history,” you say into the air. 

“Yours,” Gojo replies lightly. “For the time being, at least.”

Totally not a daunting thought at all.

You swallow uneasily, the corners of your mouth curling at the reminder. 

“Are you focusing on keeping it together?” Gojo asks. 

You shake your head, still talking to the ceiling. “Nah. I don’t know how long it’ll last but I must’ve closed it enough for now.”

Gojo hums thoughtfully. “You might wanna close your legs while you’re at it too.”

“Huh?” You make a questioning noise in the back of your throat and tip your head back down. All at once, you can feel your face light on fire.

You’re hard.

Hard.

You’ve somehow made Gojo’s dick… hard.

Great. Perfect.

This is just what you wanted to immortalise this humiliating experience. And you don’t close your legs—can’t close your legs—as you stare despondently at the sight. Slowly piecing together the feeling of an erection to what you’re seeing.

“Uhhhh—”

“I’m afraid I can’t teach you how to control that,” Gojo states, voice overflowing with mirth. He’s staring too, gaze darting between the stunned look on your face and the tent in your slacks. “There is one way to deal with it though…” he teases. 

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands and slump further down on the sofa. Now that you’re aware of it, you can feel your crotch throbbing. The warm but unfamiliar pressure of arousal tingling in your core. When you shift, the folds of your slacks brush over your erection and you hiss. 

“How long?” 

Gojo understands what you’re indirectly asking.

You can almost hear it in his voice when he shrugs. “Long enough. Quicker if you think about something gross.”

Something gross. Okay. You can do something gross. The smacking sound of people chewing with their mouths wide open. Bug carcasses squished into the pavement. Wet socks. Gojo. His gross personality. The stupid, condescending cadence of his voice. His cock, filling out between your thighs. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You peek out from between your fingers. Gojo shifts in his seat as he stares at your crotch, legs crossed tightly. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was squirming. 

Wait—

Narrowing your eyes, you can see his thighs tense and relax. Hips ever, ever so gently rocking back and forth. It’s so subtle you wouldn’t have spotted it if not for your Six Eyes. You can see the particles around him moving away in small ripples. You can see the blood thundering through his veins. And even without Six Eyes, you can see his dilated irises. 

“You’re turned on,” you accuse, jailing your hands on your thighs so you won’t be tempted to touch. “Why are you turned on?”

“I—” Gojo flounders, caught. “I don’t. Uh, know… exactly…”

“Wow,” you spit. “You are such a fuckin’ pervert, oh my god.”

“Wow… that’s rich coming from you!” Gojo protests indignantly. “You are literally hard right now.”

“This could be a fluke!” you insist. “I wasn’t even turned on,” you lie. “Maybe it’s just because I released Limitless.”

“That’s not how it works,” Gojo replies, but he doesn’t argue any further. 

“You have no excuse though,” you push, voice pitching higher and higher. “You’re so conceited it’s insane. Who gets turned on by themselves?!” 

“Me, clearly!” Gojo shouts, throwing his arms up in the air helplessly. 

“Yeah, fuckin’ clearly!” 

Silence. 

You’re both glaring at one another, locked in a battle of wills. Refusing to back down. Refusing to give in. Apparently, though, your brain doesn’t get the same memo. 

“What does it feel like?” 

It takes you a few long seconds to realise it was you who’d spoken—you who'd asked such an uncomfortably intimate question. You cringe at the perplexed expression Gojo has plastered on your face. 

“What?” Gojo snaps. 

“Is it different…” you start uneasily, confused as to why you’re so fixated on knowing the answer to what is objectively a pointless question. You know what it feels like. You've felt it first hand. Nothing in your life is going to change if you hear Gojo's answer but still you desire to hear it. “From the feeling. In your own body?”

“Being turned on?” he asks slowly.

You nod, careful, afraid to speak up again. 

“Yeah,” he breathes after a moment. His face is grim, as though accepting his fate. “It’s… everywhere. Not only where’d you’d expect it. I guess. It's in my, uh, my stomach. My toes, too. And it's warm. Kinda tingly. Hot. I feel… overheated.”

You recall the feeling all too well. 

“You?”

And this time it’s your face that pinches. You sigh, knowing you’re now morally obligated to answer. 

“I can feel the, uh, the blood. Pulsing almost. Like a wound.” You swallow nervously. “It’s kind of uncomfortable,” you say, parting with the words reluctantly. “Expectant almost. Like right before a sneeze. When all that tension builds up.”

When you fall silent again, Gojo nods. 

“I can teach you,” he says suddenly. 

“You can… teach me?” you echo dumbly. Then, when he merely hums you repeat his words again in shock, "You can teach me."

Why are you considering it? Why are you considering it?

A small smirk crosses Gojo's face, a blink-and-you-miss it expression you unfortunately didn't miss.

This is wrong. Unethical, surely. It must cross countless lines that HR have carefully laid out for colleagues in Jujutsu Tech. Breach so many contracts it’s laughable. There’s truly no reason you should be giving his offer the time of day.

But then again the Jujutsu Tech contract only stipulates interwork relationships. Ones where, presumably and logically, each party occupies their own body. While it has been a hot minute since you read through it, you don't recall anything discouraging such relations for colleagues who've had their bodies swapped.

Someone has to set the precedent.

“Okay,” you agree.

Gojo’s lips quirk up, as though he’s privy to the internal battle you just lost. “Okay,” he repeats. 

Neither of you move. 

Your foot speeds up. A rapid, thumping, tap tap tap tap tap filling the space between you. 

“You first,” you nod at him. 

Gojo’s expression morphs into confusion. “Me first?”

“I’ll…” Your sentence trails off before it’s even properly begun. You swallow and try again. “I’ll teach you. Too.” 

“Will you now?” he asks coyly. 

You huff, the familiarity of such teasing relaxing you, even though you’re near positive that wasn’t his intention. “I will,” you affirm, calmer now. 

“Well then, Sensei. Take it away.” 

Biting your lip, you gesture at his legs—your legs—before speaking. “Pantyhose off.”

Gojo doesn’t hesitate, but his actions are clumsy and unpractised. He tucks his fingers under the waist band of your skirt and tries to awkwardly roll the pantyhose down under the fabric until he can’t wedge his forearm any further. Huffing, he yanks his arm back and shoves it under your skirt, grabbing the bunched up material and pulling it down to his knees. You hear the painful sound of your tights ripping and wince. 

“Those were new, asshole…” you grumble, already mourning your recent purchase and the future one you now have to make. 

“Don’t care,” Gojo replies, clearly distracted as he tries to free one foot from the material, then the other, before throwing them straight at you. They land on your face and drop into your lap. You brush them aside. “They should invent pantyhose that aren’t impossible to get off.”

You hum dismissively, focused on your bare legs and the cotton panties you can see peaking out from beneath your skirt, slightly rucked up from his efforts. It’s beyond bizarre to see yourself from this angle. To see what previous hook-ups have seen.

No wonder you can’t seem to shake them off afterwards.

You look good. 

“You need patience to… get off, as a woman.” Adjusting yourself awkwardly, you try to ignore the throbbing in your crotch. Gojo’s fingers twitch impatiently where they’re resting on the arms of his chair. “Not everything feels good. It’s… experimental, I guess? It can take a long time to learn what your body likes.”

“It’s a good job that I have an experienced teacher, then,” Gojo murmurs. 

You tilt your head once in agreement. “I suppose it is.” 

This is so weird. So fucking weird. But you can’t seem to tame the part of you that is deathly curious to see how far you both will take it.

“You can start by. Uh, touching. Yourself. Over the fabric.”

Gojo’s smaller fingers come to rest over the skirt and press the fabric down, until folds of it are gathered in his crotch. He rubs them experimentally, before shooting you a mild glare. “I can’t feel anything.”

Meanwhile, you’re busy trying to muffle a laugh into your shoulder. “No—” You fail, a chuckle falling into the air. Gojo bristles, though you can tell the action isn’t wholly serious. You try again. “You— over your underwear.”

Your underwear.

Even when the words leave your mouth—as though your panties are truly Gojo’s, and your body is truly his—they don’t feel wrong. Not like they did earlier. When every action Gojo had taken in your body, inconsequential or not, felt like a premeditated, personal attack. 

A look of understanding dawns on Gojo’s face. “Right!”

Yanking the hem of your skirt up until it bunches around his waist, he slumps further down in the chair. You’re only allowed a second to gawk at his lack of embarrassment before he’s lifting a foot up onto the sofa beneath his ass, dropping his other knee further to the side, and cautiously running his middle finger up your panties. 

“Uhh—” you start unthinkingly, before snapping your mouth shut when you realise you can’t remember what you wanted to say.

Gojo only spares you a glance at the sound and then he’s looking back down at his fingers, drawing a strange path down to your perineum and circling there. You watch his nostrils flare and his eyebrows scrunch in concentration. Then, his thumb brushes up and you can almost feel the phantom sensation when it catches on his clit. He exhales sharply, and immediately zeroes in on it, dragging his thumb back and forth in short, quick swipes. 

“This is so weird,” Gojo breathes. 

“Yeah.” You can’t look away. “Yeah, it is.”

As though his strings have been cut, Gojo falls limp against the back of the armchair and slings his propped up foot over the armrest, clearly trying to get a better angle. 

“Little circles feel good,” you offer quietly. 

You watch as he obediently brings his pointer and middle finger up to start rolling them in small circles around his clit, and you definitely watch as he gasps at the feeling, jaw clenching.

“Your turn now,” Gojo says, pleasure twisting your voice into a strange, wobbly thing. Like mist drifting by on an early morning. 

In all honesty, you forgot this was the deal. You really didn't expect Gojo getting off in your own body to be so captivating, but here you are. Drinking in every little minute reaction your body has like you’ve never seen them before.

The way your toes twitch.

The slight tremble in your bottom lip.

The stuttered rise and fall of your chest.

You can’t tell what is thanks to Gojo and what can be attributed to your own body, but at this point it doesn’t matter. Not when you can feel yourself achingly hard at each sight all the same. 

Wordlessly, you unbutton Gojo’s pants and yank the zipper down, unwillingly to let your gaze leave the man in front of you. Your big, warm palm lands on your crotch and you grasp the length of him. Feeling along it curiously. Only then do you look down, confirming what you were too afraid to do in the bathroom earlier. 

He’s big. 

Gojo laughs breathlessly across from you. Your neck snaps up to shoot him a glare and you find him already staring at you. 

“Stroke the tip.”

Spreading your legs further, you dip your fingers down to fondle his balls curiously, feeling the dull sparks of pleasure. You drag your touch up his cock. Mapping out the path before gently bringing down your thumb to brush over the head of his cock as instructed. 

“Oh—” You repeat the motion, breath catching in your chest. 

“What did you tell me?” Gojo asks, and when you look at him dumbly in question, he doesn’t bother waiting before answering himself. “Little circles.”

You press harder at the confirmation your touch feels good, and start rubbing your thumb over the head repetitively. It’s only a matter of seconds before your shoulders tense and your mouth drops open. It feels good. Really good, in fact. And you can see arousal slowly darkening the light grey of his underwear in response. You can feel yourself leaking. So different from the sensation you are used to. You gasp. 

It’s hard to remember why you were so disgusted earlier. Not when you can feel his dick twitching under your touch, nor when you’re reaping the benefits—swimming in hot pleasure.

“This is so much— easier— what the fuck—”

Gojo merely hums, and then you hear a rustle. He lifts both legs up into the air and drags your panties off in one smooth motion. He brings the material up to his nose and breathes in deeply. You wrinkle your own nose. 

“Gross.”

“I'm so wet,” he says in wonder. 

Gojo drops the panties on his chest and splays his legs back out, fingers quickly dipping into your arousal as though to emphasise his words. 

“Surprised?” you ask. “Don’t tell me this is your first time getting a girl wet, Gojo.”

“Shut up,” he snarks, but the hitch in his breath as his fingers come back up to circle your clit, wet with arousal, betrays him. “God.”

You roll your eyes, and tug his boxers down to release his cock uncaringly. It bounces on your stomach and leaves a sticky mark on his uniform. You give yourself a few dry tugs before Gojo is speaking up again.

“Spit in your hand.”

You do, and the slide is so smooth you grunt in surprise. Pleasure zapping up your spine.

Gojo hardly hesitates as he sinks two fingers inside him, and you can tell from the twinge in his jaw it must sting.

“Let yourself adjust first," you offer, "Then try scissoring them." 

Gojo waits a few beats, and the slick sound of your hand jerking Gojo's cock fills the space. It feels too good to muster up any embarassment you should realistically be feeling.

Before long, Gojo bites his lip impatiently and decides he's had enough time to adjust. While you can’t see what he’s doing inside himself, his wrist and forearm flex rhythmically and you gather Gojo must be following your instructions.

You stare, transfixed, at your smaller fingers hidden inside your body. The best you’ve done is get off in front of a mirror, and that experience pales in comparison to the real thing before you. 

“Ow,” Gojo grunts, eyebrows furrowing in displeasure. “What the fuck?”

“Usually I start with one,” you say, unsympathetic. “You gotta relax, Gojo.” 

“I’m trying, but it’s kinda difficult with something shoved inside me. I thought this was supposed to feel good. You guys sure make it look like it does anyway.”

You scoff, slick hand working over your cock. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me! If I’m doing it wrong, it’s your fault.” 

“And I’m telling you, you gotta relax more. Nothing feels good when you’re tensed up like that,” you say, nodding to the taut line of his body. “That's why foreplay exists, dumbass.”

“What are you, a fucking sex guru?” Gojo asks incredulously.

“If you’re that blown away by the necessity of foreplay, I feel very sorry for your previous escapades,” you answer primly. 

Instead of snapping back at you, Gojo falls silent, his face twisted into what looks like self-consciousness. Maybe chagrin. You can’t quite place it. And all of a sudden, your stomach swoops as you start piecing the puzzle of this evening together. 

“Don’t tell me…” you whisper. 

Gojo’s eyes scrunch closed, and the still fingers inside himself get pulled out unceremoniously. “You sure know how to kill the mood,” he attempts to joke, but it falls flat when you don’t drop your suspicions. 

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask quietly, the hand on your dick stilling in shock. “Like you’re actually joking. You cannot be serious.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he declares, opening his eyes to meet your baffled gaze. 

“I think you do,” you reply. 

Gojo claimed you killed the mood, but when your eyes flick to his wet fingers, and the arousal still slowly dripping from him like honey, it’s difficult to believe. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re a virgin,” you say carefully, scared to hear the truth. 

“Surprise,” he says lightly, attempting an awkward smile. 

You lean back, gaze trained on him. “Wow.”

“Happy now?”

“Oh, quite.” You glance back down to his wet cunt and think for a moment, but that’s truly all it takes for an idea to take root. You never stood a chance. Not with Gojo like this before you. “If you want, I can show you a good time." 

“You can—” he starts, disbelievingly. “—show me a… good… time? What are you, a fucking uni student still? Who says that kinda shit anymore.”

But you can see his cunt clench in the cool air, and Gojo clearly doesn’t realise as such. You stand abruptly and walk over to where he’s splayed out in the chair. His head tips back as you approach and he watches you cautiously, tracking your movements. 

You dip down into a kneel. “Trust me.”

Forcing yourself between his thighs, you grab one of Gojo's legs with a big, warm hand before slinging it over your shoulder. Gojo makes a startled sound. He tries to dislodge your hold. You stop the motion—tightening your grip and using your free hand to pin his other leg against the chair's armrest.

Like this, Gojo's wide open for you, one knee by his ear, the other knee shucked over your shoulder. 

“What the fuck—” he gasps, scrabbling in an attempt to sit up and close his legs. He stares up at you with wide eyes. 

“Stop,” you murmur, flexing your fingers on the soft flesh of his thighs where you pin them in place. “Relax…” 

Glancing down, you study how his cunt flutters each time you dig your fingers into him. Interesting. As though testing a theory, you turn your head to the leg over your shoulder, breath ghosting over his knee. Then, keeping an eye on his cunt, you lean forward. Coercing his leg back against his body, opening him up to you even more. 

Gojo keens, a strangled sound in the back of his throat telling of the strain, and his cunt clenches, arousal weeping at the motion. You barely fight back a groan.

Covering his face with both hands, Gojo’s breaths are short and sharp, embarrassment lining every muscle in his body. It’s gratifying. And you don’t really care if he wants to hide, especially with what you’re about to do. 

Without warning, you dip your head forward to blow on his cunt. 

“Oh my god— wait—” Gojo gasps, hips jumping. 

You haven’t even touched him yet. 

“Wait, wait, wait—”

You blow again and grin when his cunt clenches once more. 

“Hold on—”

Experimentally, you dip your head to lick a broad stripe up his pussy. Gojo’s thighs tense under your hold. When he tries to speak, you repeat the action, before trailing your tongue down to the source of his arousal. Slurping it into your mouth and moaning as you can taste it on your tongue. The words die in his throat and Gojo whines instead, hips bucking up into your mouth. 

“This is—”

Pleased with the control you have over him, you bully your tongue inside him.

“—so—”

Thrusting it in and out. 

“—wrong.”

Scraping your teeth gently on his perineum. 

“I know,” you reply into his cunt, voice muffled and wet. 

You kiss your way up his pussy and trace his clit with your tongue before sucking on it. You pulse your mouth around it until Gojo starts spasming under you. A small hand comes to tangle in your hair and when he pulls in panic, you moan into him. Gojo keens at the vibration against his clit. 

“Oh my god, please don’t stop,” Gojo chokes, his free hand coming to rest over yours, still pinning his leg against the chair's armrest.

You don’t reply, but you squeeze your hand and dip back down to lick into him, nose bumping his clit with every thrust of your tongue. It’s a challenge, to force your tongue inside so far, but you’re determined to taste yourself as you smush your face deep into his cunt, burying yourself there. 

“Ah, fuck— just there— don’t move!”

You couldn’t even if you wanted to, Gojo’s grip is fast in your hair and it forces your face impossibly deeper into his cunt. Of course, if you really wanted to you could be out of his hold within a split second. It’s kind of nice though, to let him have his fun for once. Let him play house as the big, strong sorcerer he isn’t even the whisper of anymore. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

You flick your tongue back up to his clit, and Gojo either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care when you slip a finger inside him, immediately curling it. He does, however, notice the second, moaning aloud as you start pumping them in tandem, curling them on every thrust to try and find his g-spot. 

He writhes on the armchair under your hulking body, undulating like a fish out of water. It’s a strange picture. The sorcerer who’s usually so restrained. Who’s only expressive when it suits him—when it’s a means to an end of manipulating someone into doing something for him.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon— please, just— nghh— right there—”

It hurts when he comes. 

Not him of course, a high, sharp keen reverberating in the air as he trembles through his first orgasm as a woman. Wave after wave wracking through his body. 

But you. 

Gojo’s grip in your hair turns punishing, too much so to be enjoyable anymore. And his other hand scrabbles on your forearm, scraping harsh pink lines into the exposed skin where your jacket sleeve has ridden up, a painful sting emanating where skin breaks under his nails. You can’t help but wonder if this is a trait of Gojo, or a trait of Gojo in your body. 

“Ahh… oh my— god,” the man in question finally gasps, twitching in overstimulation where you’re still lazily dragging your tongue through his cunt, fingers unmoving inside him. “Stop. Enough.”

You comply, mostly just to lessen his assault on the body you’re currently inhabiting. You remove your mouth and fingers. Settle back onto your haunches as Gojo pants like he’s just run a marathon.

Any lingering weirdness of your situation is well and truly lost on you in the face of Gojo's little body trembling through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Your thumbs subconsciously soothe over his skin but you don't release his legs.

Sticky and wet.

That’s how you feel. In more ways than one you suspect, if Gojo's widening eyes are anything to go by as he takes in the full mess he's made of his face.

Your face.

“You look…” Gojo begins, but you never get to find out. Instead, his gaze flicks between your eyes as he contemplates something, and then he’s blurting out one quick string of words, “Canyoufuckme?”

You raise a mocking eyebrow. “Come again?”

Gojo closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. “I said, can you fuck me?”

Fighting to control your expression, you don’t realise until a beat later how your fingers tighten around his legs painfully. 

“Just— When’s the next chance we’ll get to do something like this?” Gojo reasons, trying to pull his legs closer to his body self-consciously. He can’t get far with them still trapped by you. “It’s not like I want you to fuck me, I just want to know what it’s like to get fucked by me.”

“Narcissistic much?” you scoff, peering down at him and feeling less and less enthusiastic about it as each long second ticks by. “And I think you’re lying.”

“No.”

You place one hand on his stomach and press it down slightly. “You don’t just wanna feel what it’s like to be full? To feel like someone’s dick is in your throat? To feel every thought melt out your ears with a good fuck?”

Gojo swallows uneasily before brandishing a shining smile. “Nope. Self-performance review purposes only.”

“Mhm,” you hum, unconvinced. “Well I suppose I can help. I won’t be able to emulate your technique without any prior knowledge though,” you sigh. “So I guess you’ll just have to review the product itself.”

“Gross. What the fuck are you on about?” Gojo asks, lips curling at your crude phrasing. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you slide his leg from your shoulder, tuck it around your body, and heft him up with you by the waist as you stand. Gojo instinctively wraps his legs around you, afraid to fall. 

“Hey! Stop fuckin’ manhandling me...” But he sounds breathless, and hardly annoyed about it in fact. 

You don’t like that he’s so easy to carry—and you’re honestly not sure whether that’s thanks to his strength or your stature. You reach the sofa and sit down, tugging him onto your lap. Gojo doesn’t settle though, awkwardly hovering above your legs and staring down at you, once hand fisted in the sofa's backrest behind you. 

“Take it away,” you murmur. 

“The fuck do you mean, ‘take it away’?” he utters incredulously. “I asked you to fuck me.”

“I’ve already put in a good shift today. Can’t I cash in my payment? You’ve got my strong legs, Gojo." You pat his thigh with a firm palm. "It’ll be a breeze.”

The sorcerer looks at you strangely, as though scrutinising the truth of your statement. “You’ve done this before to know that?”

You scoff. “Obviously.”

“Okay. Well… Alright then. Put it in,” he finishes lamely. 

“I’ll let you do the honours,” you reply, laughter melting your tone into something warmer than you were intending. 

Gojo huffs as though greatly inconvenienced and rolls his eyes. He rises up onto his knees, takes a hold of your cock. You hiss and Gojo’s eyes flicker up to yours curiously. 

“You won’t last long,” he states plainly, mirth dancing across his expression. 

“Probably not,” you agree. “Longer than you will, though.”

“Infamously and statistically untrue.”

You strain upwards to speak into his ear, voice honey-smooth. “You’re in my body, Gojo. You don’t think I know what’s going to make you tick?” 

He makes a dismissive sound, lowers himself slightly, and brushes the head of your cock through the arousal slicking his cunt. You exhale through your nose. 

“Thought you said I gotta do the work?” he reminds you.

“I did." You sigh when the head of your cock slips inside him for a moment. “Maybe I’ll be nice if you behave though.”

Gojo remains suspiciously silent in response, and when you dare a look up at his face, his expression is twisted as though tasting something particularly sour. “Your dirty talk isn’t doing what you think it is,” he finally huffs. 

Wrapping your hands around his waist, you test your grip and startle when your fingers brush each other on the small of his back. You blink and ask, “No?”

“Nope.” Gojo shakes his head, letting your cock catch on his rim once more.

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to tug the sorcerer down to the hilt of you.

You pitch your voice down teasingly, “You don’t want to be good for me?”

“Not particularly,” he replies distractedly, dipping down a scarce few centimeters and back up again with a wince. 

You’re alert at once, perking up like a dog having a treat dangled in front of them. With the intent to soothe, you rub your thumbs across his stomach though it doesn’t seem to do anything but throw Gojo off his concentration, who makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. 

“Relax dude,” you insist, using your hold to pull him down an inch. 

“‘Dude’?” he asks disbelievingly, not appearing to notice how you’re sinking into him. “You’re kidding me. Such a fucking uni student I swear, you used to sleeping with younger people or what? Is that who you’re picking up your dirty talk from? A bunch of students who imitate bad porn?”

Fighting back a laugh, you kick up into his cunt and tug him down to meet your pelvis simultaneously. Gojo releases a high, breathy moan. His fingers clutch onto the meat of your shoulder and the short hair on your nape as he's knocked forward by the motion. 

“What was that?” you ask, voice similarly windswept at the tight heat engulfing your cock. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing before. No wonder guys think with their dicks. Perhaps you would too if this is what it feels like. 

“Oh my god—” Gojo breathes unsteadily, head hanging so that all you can see is the crown of his head. “That was… really underhanded.” 

Encouragingly, you coax Gojo's waist towards you and smile when he gasps. “You gonna move, then?”

“Gimme a second,” Gojo snaps, sharp nails pressing into your nape in warning. “So impatient to get your dick wet.”

“Yeah.” You ignore his request though, still moving his waist back and forth, enough so that Gojo’s mouth drops open silently as he tries to adjust to both the intrusion and the new sensation of your dick brushing his walls. “Is it weird that this isn’t weird?” 

“Kind of,” he chokes out, starting to move with your touch cautiously as though doesn't want you to realise that he’s ready yet. “I think we might’ve passed weird when you had your tongue in me, though.” 

“Or earlier,” you add thoughtfully, and slide your palms down to his hips to tilt them forward so his clit catches on the thatch of hair at the base of your dick with each gentle rock. Gojo exhales a pitiful noise and chases the sensation, gliding back and forth with a new fervour. “When you offered to teach me how to jack off.” 

“Maybe then,” he agrees mindlessly, clearly only half listening to you as he slides both hands to collar your trapezius muscles.

You can hardly be annoyed when the touch has you light headed, static creeping from the corners and lowering your inhibitions even further. He’s too warm inside, and while his movements feel good, you know they won’t be enough to get you off anytime soon.

You don’t think you can wait longer than soon, impatience buzzing under your skin. 

“C’mon, Gojo,” you murmur, lifting your hips up to knock your cock into him. He whines. Whines. And you are possessed by the noise to repeat the action, kicking into him in short, aborted thrusts where he’s still heavy on your lap. “Thought you wanted to— ah— test me out?” 

“Just keep doing that,” he demands instead, and you can see the side of his expression scrunching up every time you move. Gojo's face is still tucked between your bodies, reluctant to meet your eyes. 

Wanting what you were promised, you fall still, lean back, remove your hands from his soft body and interlace your fingers behind your head in an action so irritatingly lofty that even you can admit the way Gojo immediately bristles is utterly warranted. 

“Fine,” Gojo scoffs, lifting his head to glare at you. “I’ll get off how I was before then. Doesn’t bother me.” 

As though to punctuate his claim, Gojo starts rolling his hips again. 

“No you won’t.” You don’t move to stop him but he stills all the same as if you had. “Just try it properly.”

Gojo grumbles, seemingly debating something for a moment as the words he wants to speak sit on the tip of his tongue, but then he swallows them back and pivots his strategy. You furrow your eyebrows. “Whatever, if you’re that desperate for it…” 

Gojo rises onto his knees and you can feel the cool air hit your dick, already too accustomed to the warmth of him.

At once, there’s an itch behind your teeth to seat yourself back inside Gojo, so strong you feel it could bowl you straight off your feet if you were stood up. Gojo's expression is wary, but then he slides back down your length and it melts away, replaced with surprise. 

“That’s it,” you murmur. He rushes to lift himself back up, using the grip he has on the junction of your neck to aid himself before sinking back down. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Really good—” he grunts, dropping back to your lap. 

You can feel pleasure licking up your body, warming your mind, but somehow the sight in front of you is even better. Gojo’s face—your face—slack as he finds his rhythm, bobbing on your cock eagerly; Gojo panting, each laboured breath hitting your forehead, your nose, your chin as he moves; Gojo all-but drooling, lips slick with it. 

You glance down and you nearly come there and then at the sight of you two joined. There's a sticky rim of arousal and pre-come foaming around the base of your cock which you ache to drag your fingers through.

Then, you suddenly remember you have free will, and waste no time as you drop your hands from behind your head and finger the connection. Spreading the mess on Gojo's thighs, across his clit as he whines at the touch, through the thatch of pale hair above your dick. It should be gross really, but your head spins with arousal and you dip a thumb into the mixture before swiping it on his clit once again.

Gojo doesn’t disappoint. He keens, a sweet animalistic sound, and his thighs shake with no abandon. 

“Do that– hah— do that again.”

Wordlessly, you repeat the action, clumsily following his clit as he bounces on your cock. You’re positive it's barely enough consistent pressure to get him off, but his moans crawl higher and higher each time you manage to catch his clit. 

“Doing so well,” you pant. “Bouncing on my cock like you were made for it.”

Gojo moans, but when he responds he sounds mildly repulsed, as though his mind and body are at odds over how he's supposed to feel about your words. “I’m in your body!”

You shake your head, disagreeingly. “This is all you.”

“Idiot,” Gojo breathes, pace becoming sloppy, each rise becoming slower, each drop becoming harder. 

“Have you ever felt like this though?” 

“Stop talking, I can’t fucking think!” he snarls, shaking thighs lifting him up your cock once more. 

“I bet you haven't,” you speak for him. “Besides, you don’t need to think. Just chase the feeling Gojo. Start thinking and you’ll be on my cock forever. I told you it’s more difficult for women.”

Gojo groans, half-frustrated half-aroused. “Don’t tell me— shit— not to think when you’re making me— do all the work.”

Suddenly realising his annoyance, a laugh bubbles out of you, drenched in glee. “Mr. Control Freak doesn’t like being in charge, huh? Need me to dick you down? Quiet that big smart brain of yours?”

“I swear to god,” he warns, eyes darting to yours dangerously. “Talk to me like that again…” 

“Fine,” you acquiesce, pouting. But you can’t help but throw a bit of fuel on the fire when you murmur, “Baby.”

“I’m done,” he proclaims abruptly, lifting himself fully off your dick so quick he stumbles back from you when he stands. Your shock lasts for all of a few seconds before you’re distracted by the sight of his puffy cunt, glistening with arousal in the low light of your living room, his skirt in a pool around his ankles. “This isn’t worth it, you’re actually intolerable.” You force your gaze up to his eyes but they get stuck on the sight of his lips first, brain clouded with lust. “I’m just going to jack off, on your bed by the way,” he emphasises, as though that would bother you. As though Gojo’s pre-come isn’t dripping onto your sofa right now. “And we’re never going to speak of this again unless you want to die.”

When you don’t say anything, Gojo exhales an irritated breath and storms past the edge of the sofa in the direction of your bedroom. Before you can think about what you’re doing, you dart a hand out to grab his wrist and pull him awkwardly over the sofa's armrest before he can get any further.

For a brief moment you're surprised by your own strength. You’d only meant to stop him but now he’s bent over the arm of the sofa like he's on display.

“Get off me,” he snaps, an embarrassed flush tinting his features as he tries and fails to pry his wrist from your grip. 

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you?” you ask sincerely. 

Gojo drops his gaze to the sofa a few inches from his face. “A momentary lapse in judgement.” 

“That's it, yeah?” 

“Mhm, now lemme go raid your bedside table. I know you've got some freaky shit in there and I'm gonna take it for a spin.”

“Alright,” you pretend to agree. “Let me check something, first though.” 

Gojo sighs, but doesn’t argue. You place a hand on his shoulder blades and press him down onto the sofa, feigning using him to stand. In two quick steps you circle the sofa and fit another hand to the base of his spine where you stop behind him. Gojo realises that he’s been tricked and quickly tries to shove himself upright. You hold him in place easily.

“No, no no no— this is so degrading, we’re not— we’re not doing this.”

“Degrading? Seriously? Way to be progressive Gojo, jeez. There’s nothing degrading about playing a part in the miracle of life.”

And that really seems to make him panic. Gojo starts to press his hands into the sofa beneath him before giving up and kicking a leg back at you blindly. You bully forward to stop his flailing, until your clothed thighs are touching his, your hard cock sat snug in atop his bare ass. 

“I wanna eat you out again,” you murmur, eyeing the spread of his cunt where his hips are hooked over the armrest, his tiptoes barely touching the floor. “But another time. I wanna fuck you first. Properly fuck you. Make you nice and quiet like you were askin’ for. How ‘bout it, Gojo?”

Gojo covers his face with his hands and buries it into the sofa, soft trembles wracking his body. Whether from nerves or arousal or fear, you truly haven't a clue. 

“C’mon.” Sensing that he’s not going to move, you lift the hand from his lower back to your cock and swipe it through his wet cunt, a silent promise. “I’ll make you feel good.” 

Without waiting for his reply, you slip your cock into Gojo's cunt. Sliding back into his warmth so easily it's as if you've already carved out a home for yourself deep inside him.

Gojo keens into the sofa cushions, a foot lifting to wrap around the back of your calf subconsciously. You test your weight on his shoulder blades, letting him take it until he’s forced to turn his face to the side and heave in a stilted breath. 

You cant your hips back before snapping them forward. Immediately you start up a harsh rhythm, following your instincts as you try to ignore the pleasure fizzling through your own body and instead focus on giving Gojo the best fuck of his stupid life.

Gojo curses, and it tangles in a moan until you can't even tell what he was trying to say.

You angle your hips differently each thrust, aiming for the spot inside your cunt that you know from personal experience causes your brain to leak from your ears. It takes you many clumsy thrusts—not that Gojo seems to think as much by the way his back arches, startled whines slipping out his mouth as though he can’t even try to contain them—until you finally find it. 

Gojo cries like he’s been shot. Body locking up, drool leaking from his wide open mouth, toes curling against the floor and the back of your calf. 

You grin. 

Jack-rabbiting back into that spot over and over, until you can see his hands scrabbling on the sofa as he fights the last remaining dregs of his pride. A particularly hard press on his shoulder blades later and he’s thawing, going limp against the sofa like a puppet with their strings cut. 

“No thinking now, huh?” you pant, leering over his back to get a better look at the fucked out expression he’s plastered on your face. 

You expected to fixate on the sight of what you look like in this position, but you only find yourself wondering how the real Gojo would look.

How his pale skin would flush; how his white hair would be plastered to his sweaty skin; how his own deep voice would rise higher and higher as you fuck into him with the strap you keep tucked away under your bed for your particularly adventurous partners. 

Gojo makes a noise, perhaps trying to oppose your meaningless statement. You laugh, slightly cruel. Still warm. And brace both hands along his spine, leaning the bulk of your weight on him like a blanket. He only melts further beneath you, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight. At the quiet behind his eyes. 

Gojo’s high whines have tapered off into low, chopped keens at each sharp thrust, as though his brain has run out of capacity to react as it should. You can see his fingers weakly holding onto the sofa, his legs all but dangling from the edge of the armrest, his heaving chest.

And without warning, he comes. Body trembling like a leaf in the wind, voice lodged in this throat as his mouth opens on a soundless moan. His eyes squeeze closed and his back arches impossibly further. The sight of the curve so alluring you can’t help but lick along the sweaty skin, mouthing at him like an animal. 

“There you go,” you speak against him, voice rough and jagged. “You're so good, Gojo. Knew you were made for this.”

He doesn’t even complain when you continue thrusting into him, though you are at least kind enough to stop targeting his g-spot, chasing your own ignored high.

So much for you coming first. 

Far away, you can hear your own gravelled moans as you fuck into him like a dog in heat, laving your tongue along the ridges in his spine, listening to his quiet keens of overstimulated pleasure. And all it takes is a blissed out brush of his foot on your ankle for you to come too, the pressure exploding as you shoot thick ropes of come inside his cunt, shallowly rocking into him until the pleasure fizzles out into a mild pain. Not enough to stop you, but you still anyway, thinking about how different that was from your usual orgasms.

A very good different.  

“Shit,” you breathe, slowly coming back to yourself. “That was crazy.”

You tilt your head on Gojo’s back to peer down at him.

He’s gone. 

Floating. 

Drifting somewhere that isn’t this room you’re both in. The realisation that you’ve done this to him has pride simmering in your gut, arousal coating the edges of it. Slowly, you peel yourself from his back and pull out cautiously, conscious of how unpleasant the sensation can be. Gojo barely reacts bar a barely there scrunch of his nose. 

“You okay, Gojo?” you ask quietly, brushing some of your hair away from his sweaty face. 

He hums tiredly, expression content, and his eyes lazily flicker to yours for a second before flickering away again like there’s something more important to look at in the silence of his mind. 

“I really did a number on you, wow…” you murmur, rising to your full height to take in all of him. 

Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. 

But he does whine when you drag your fingers through the come dripping out of his cunt, scooping it up and fucking it back into him gently. There’s a hitch in his breath that rings out in the quiet of the living room. You curl your fingers, searching for that spot once more. 

“You can come one more time, right?” 

—

In the afterglow, clean and satiated, you share an order of chinese food on the floor of your living room. A film plays in the background. It’s not one you know—an older film, one Gojo had picked out when flipping through the channels on your TV while you called the restaurant. You’re barely watching it, only flicking your eyes to the flash of a new scene before your gaze inevitably lands on the sorcerer beside you once more. But the noise is kind of nice; comforting, if you were to put a word to it. 

“If you tell anyone about this,” Gojo begins around a mouthful of noodles, oddly relaxed for the threat he goes on to say, “I will air out all of the blackmail I’ve been collecting these past few years.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow, leaning your back against the seat of the sofa. “Like what?”

“Like how you when you use other people’s mugs in the staffroom you only rinse them before putting them back in the cupboard.” 

You shrug, unphased. 

“And, how you gave Ijichi the wrong number two months ago so now Ino keeps getting sent on what are supposed to be your errands.”

At that you laugh, surprised Gojo even knew about that little stunt you’ve managed to pull off. It won’t be long before another sorcerer, probably Nanami knowing your luck, clocks on and actually does something about it. But you’ve been enjoying the reprieve from doing grunt work in the meantime. 

“And, how you are really, really bad at dirty talk.”

You smile, aimlessly stirring your boxed chicken around with your chopsticks. “You goin’ to tell everyone that?”

“I might,” Gojo replies haughtily, giving you a meaningful look. “But only if you tell first.”

“Well then,” you start, voice laced with amusement. “Guess I better keep my mouth shut.”

Gojo nods, before he mimes zipping his mouth closed and flicking the key towards your TV. You mimic the action, lean over to steal a bite of noodles from the container he’s holding, and chuckle when he squawks indignantly. 

—

A week later, you’re back in your own body. 

It’s strange to find yourself disappointed by what should be a cause for great celebration. 

But then Gojo is following you home to pick his belongings up and his mouth is on yours the minute you both pass through your front door and you find it remarkably hard to care at all. Not when he’s bending you over the armrest of your traumatised sofa in revenge. Not when he’s sliding into you like he’s coming home. And definitely not when he’s promising in that stupidly titillating voice of his how there won’t be space for a thought left in your head once he’s finished with you. 

As such, you ought to remove your rose tinted glasses soon. It isn’t healthy to live in the past after all, but your memories in Gojo’s body are too sweet to resist, even with his warm hulking body plastered to your back. 

Sue you. 

Reminiscing never killed anybody. 

‹‹ KINKTOBER 2025 | GENERAL M.LIST | READ ON AO3

"was this your idea?" he speaks into the darkness, guessing based on stories he'd heard that someone's here with him. his voice breaks as the words pass his lips, his throat nearly burning as it's so dry. "this is your plan to get intel, isn't it?" he goes quiet as he tries again on his ropes, although it's futile. "whoever the fuck you are, you won't get anything out of me."

the silence that answers him makes his ears ring. without cause, his heart skips a beat before it picks up pace. someone's right in front of him. he can feel it; he just can't see them. doesn't know what kind of threat they pose. it makes his skin break into goosebumps.

he tries to ignore the strange feeling rising in his chest and looks down at the knots tied over his stomach, assuming the knots would be the same everywhere and looking for a weak point. he mutters a quiet 'fuck' under his breath when he feels stinging in his wrists; he's broken skin.

he pauses when he hears footsteps closing in. lifting his head, hyunjin sees you — whoever you are. he doesn't recognize you, which is odd considering he knows exactly why he's here.

he sighs. "finally. hi," he offers faux-politely, a sarcastic edge to his words.

you raise a brow and let out a small laugh. "hello."

"so," he starts, looking around the dark room. "what is this?"

"it's you, tied to a chair."

"i see that," he says. "let me guess, you're with lim?"

your lips curl into a small smile as you lean down a little closer to take a look at the mask adorning his face. it's an off-white color, angel wings engraved on the cheekbones of the skull shape.

"sure, you could say that."

"mmh, i see. well… you can tell your boss to go fuck himself." hyunjin huffs and shifts his shoulders back. "you will never get anything out of me. you hear me?"

"hmm… promise?" you ask. hyunjin hears an odd tone in your voice but chooses to ignore it.

he scoffs. "whatever you do, no worry, i can take that pain."

"oh, i'm sure of it," you say condescendingly, standing up straight to traipse around behind him. he can't see you now, and it makes him more nervous than it should.

"i've been down this road before," he says, almost too confidently. "might as well put a bullet in my brain now."

you chuckle. "i'm sure you'd like that, the easy way out." he feels you lean down close to his ear, and you let out a soft laugh. "pathetic how you're trying to take that route after you were so sure of yourself," you whisper.

hyunjin ignores your taunts.

"you think you can break me?" he asks, shaking his head. "mmh… i don't know about that." you walk back to stand in front of him as he talks, listening to his words carefully. "but it's funny that you would think that."

you lean down, your face right in front of his. your fingers dance along the edge of his mask, your eyes following the curve of the skull before you look into his eyes. when you tug gently on his face cover he takes a sharp breath through his teeth.

"getting a bit close, are we?" he asks, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice.

you smile. it's almost too sweet for the situation you're in, and it's unsettling to hyunjin in more ways than one.

"you're lucky you know how to tie a knot," he whispers.

you straighten your back before delivering a sharp punch to his jaw. he lets out a grunt, and just an instant later he hears the clattering of plastic on the cement floor — his mask's band has broken. the only thing covering his face now is the ski mask he wears underneath.

another blow comes not long after the first and hyunjin lets out a groan before muttering fuck under his breath again.

you pull your knife from its holster on your hip and switch the blade free, the clicking making hyunjin's eyes turn immediately to meet yours. he lets out a strained laugh.

"yeah? what is it you're planning to do?" he breathes heavily as he looks up at you. "death by a thousand cuts?" he laughs. his brain feels fuzzy, the impact of your punches more than any hit had been in times passed.

"i promise you," you begin, placing a hand on each arm of his chair and leaning close to his face. "there's more where that came from."

he sucks in a breath, shaking his head doubtfully. "i don't know; kinda seems like you're making this up as you go."

you know he's just taunting you, and you let him. he's fighting for dominance he doesn't have in a battle he's already lost.

"do i need to repeat myself? you will get nothing out of me today."

"is that so?" you ask, tilting your head. he nods. you laugh, backing away from his chair as you put your knife away. "mmh, still…" you slip your finger underneath the fabric of his ski mask. "let's get this out of the way, shall we?" hyunjin's breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your skin on his.

you pull the mask back agonizingly slowly, revealing his features one by one. once the mask slips off completely you throw it to the side, and it slides to a stop next to his skull mask.

"such a pretty face," you coo mockingly. "what a waste." the words pass your lips just before you raise your hand to wrap around his throat.

he doesn't try to hold back the sounds of his hindered breathing under your grip. he lets out a growl-like noise and a chuckle between gasps, doing his best to provoke you even when he's unable to breathe.

when your hand falls from his throat again he takes in a deep breath, groaning at the sharp pains in the sides of his neck. your fingers had dug in deeper than he thought, and he swears he feels blood trickling down his neck.

he lets out a whimper before he speaks.

"i swear to god, as soon as i'm out of these, you're gonna regret that."

you smirk, pulling your blade out again and taking a swipe at his cheek. now he's sure that there's blood, and he gasps as you cut him.

he chuckles and does his best to ignore how his cheek burns.

"you seem oddly confident," he states.

"i could say the same about you," you retort.

he laughs to himself. "and why's that?"

"i've broken hundreds before you."

"sounds like you're all bark no bite." hyunjin hates that you can see his face because he's sure his pupils are blown and his face is red. "you're just a scared amateur, a little gi—"

his words are cut off when you deliver a slap to the place you've just cut him. he lets out a gasp followed by a whimper, but he tries his best to stay quiet and takes in a deep, shaking breath.

you get close to his face again, gripping his jaw and looking him over. his skin is beginning to turn red in the shape of your hand, his skin broken in places you hadn't realized you'd hit him.

"what do you think you're doing?"

"examining," you say simply.

"examining what?" he scoffs, staring into your eyes as you look him over. your gaze falls to his neck and he realizes he can't see your other hand, but it's too late — a needle slides quickly into his skin, and a cold fluid rushes into his veins when you slide the plunger down its tube.

"…what did you just do?" he asks.

you ignore his question. "i'm asking, nicely; last chance. tell me where they are," you tease, still holding onto his jaw.

he hates the way you say it but he can't help it: "fuck. you."

you smile as you toss the needle into the dark abyss behind hyunjin's chair, listening to him ramble.

"like i told you. like i keep telling you — you'll get nothing, nothing from me. so no matter wh…" his voice trails off and his words slur. he tries to shake it off, starting over. "no matter w… wh-wha—" his vision begins to blur and he feels like the room is spinning. "n-no matter what you d…do," he forces out, "y-you…"

hyunjin lets out a whimper as he tries to look you in the eye, barely capable of controlling the way his eyes keep rolling back.

"wh-what… what d'you do?" he asks, his voice soft. his breathing shakes as he looks down at his lap, trying to ground himself — maybe he's just dizzy. but the aching in the side of his neck screams at him, and there's a voice in his head telling him to go, run, run far away. but he can't. even if he wasn't tied up, he wouldn't be able to go five feet without collapsing.

you stare down at him wordlessly, watching his gaze drift from place to place as it hits what you've done.

"wh…what did you just give me?" he slurs, letting out soft whimpers instead of regular breaths.

"hmm… truth serum." your lips curl into a barely-there smile, and he squints at you.

"th-that shit doesn't exist," he says. he whines at the pain, suddenly amplified infinitely by the drug coursing through his body. you let him question himself, softly muttering messy words under his breath as he tries to decipher the situation at hand.

"y-you won't get it out of me," he nearly mewls. "i won't tell you."

you grab his jaw gently and make him look at you.

"mm-mm," he whines weakly, shaking his head as his eyelids drift shut momentarily. "n-no—"

another slap to his face. he can't even try to hold in the cry of pain, but it gets cut off by your hand wrapping around his throat again.

"i-i won't," he forces out through his dizziness. you simply smile down at him, watching the way his eyes close and snap open repeatedly.

you pull your hand off of him, and he takes in ragged breaths.

"f-fu… f…" hyunjin can't even form the two words he's been throwing at you consistently since he'd woken up. he swallows thickly and looks up into your eyes, his pupils blown so much you can hardly see the color in his eye.

"where are they?" you ask softly.

"y-you want mm…me to tell you. but i-i'll, nev…never tell." he whimpers again. "y-you won't get anything out of me," he slurs, repeating the words over and over until he seems to fall into a momentary daze. his eyes skip over your face as he tries to ground himself again. "i won't t-tell you anyth…thing,"

more whimpers and failed attempts at speaking pass his lips. you take hold of his jaw again and make him look at you.

"just hope the side effects work how i want them to," you state, your voice gentle. he's so out of it that you need to talk down to him for him to understand anything coming out of your mouth.

"s-side effects?" panic rises in his chest. "wh…what side effects?"

"it's had a history of… causing a certain kind of reaction," you smirk, glancing down into his lap. he picks up on your implication and laughs weakly.

"s-so that's your plan? make a h-h…half-assed play, work up my l-lust and desire, thinking i'll tell y…you whatever you want? j-just because your little serum here has got me a l-little excited?"

you smile a little, nodding. "pretty much."

"n-no," he mutters. "n…no, no no no no no…" his voice trails off into silence as his words slur from his mouth. when he snaps back he glares into your eyes as best he can. "you underestimate m-me. you will not get anything… out of me."

"mmh, we'll see about that." you release his jaw and sink onto your knees, reaching for the buckle of his belt. you undo the clasp and unzip his jeans, noticing that he's already getting hard. when you pull his cock free of his boxers he whimpers, your skin warm on his. as he watches you tug his jeans off, his mind fills with a race of thoughts; he needs to leave, he needs to cum, he needs to get out.

"wh…what're you doing?" hyunjin asks quietly. "s-stop." you don't acknowledge his words, instead holding eye contact and slowly moving to jerk him off.

he bites his lip and throws his head back, letting his soft moans and whimpers out freely. every movement makes his cock throb, his head spinning with pleasure already.

"yeah? y-you think i'll break? y…you think so?" his face is red, burning at the sight of you touching him. it feels so good — every sensation is amplified tenfold with the drug swirling around in his brain, both pain and pleasure.

he moans under your touch, over and over, weaker and weaker each time. he lets out a quivering breath.

"come and f-fucking try it." he's trying so hard to be strong, and it's hardly working; he knows that. but he knows if he can resist, just keep his mouth shut… sooner or later you'll let him go. or kill him, whichever you decide fits your plan at the time.

you run your thumb over the tip of his cock and gather the bead of precum that's formed there, using it to lubricate the way you touch him. he lets out a cry of pleasure at the feeling of you touching his most sensitive parts, but he refuses to fold.

"n-nothing," he says, "nothing you do w…will ever make me. mm-mm," he hums, shaking his head weakly.

you move your hand faster, just a bit to drive him crazy. every whimper encourages you, pushing you deeper into this mindset you've fallen into. part of you isn't in it for the mission anymore; he just looks so pretty like this, barely coherent with his cock throbbing for you.

"so cute," you mutter. it's almost against your will the way it falls from your lips — ironic. he lets out a loud whine at your praise, closing his eyes tightly. you can see his core tightening as he tries to thrust into your hand, but his restraints won't let him.

he breathes heavily, shaking his head mindlessly as he refuses things you're not asking for.

"f…fuck, fuck. please—" he moans, doing his best to hold back the words pushing at his throat. "i-its gonna take much more than th-that."

"oh, i'm sure," you coo. every teasing word makes hyunjin's cock throb and he throws his head back, crying out at the sensations running through his body.

"mm-mm," he hums, letting out an empty-minded giggle. "n-no, mm-mm… g-god, fuck—" his voice breaks as he whines, swallowing hard. "f-fuck you, fuck… fuck you fuckyou fuckyou… f-fuck." every word makes him fall apart more and more, his voice cracking. his lower lip slides between his teeth as his eyes roll back.

you move your hand even faster, letting him whine and whimper.

"mm, f-fuck," he forces out, closing his eyes tightly. he shakes his head again; no, you can't win. you won't — he won't let you.

but he's falling apart under your touch, and he knows it. you somehow know exactly what to do to get him to break, pleasuring him beyond belief as his head spins.

"oh, g-god, please…"

"you love this, don't you," you ask softly. he tries to shake his head but his body won't let him, and he nods without hesitation.

"y-your h…hand, fuck— i'm gonna cum," he whispers. he wants to beg, plead; please, more. but he can't form coherent thoughts as an orgasm tightens in his abdomen.

you speed up your hand just enough to bring him to the edge of orgasm before you pull your hand away, watching as he twitches against his ropes. his cock throbs and precum leaks out of his cock, running down his shaft slowly. he takes in a sharp breath through his teeth at the loss of contact; he was so close that he can almost feel his cum built up in his cock, just needing a tiny bit of pressure to let him finish.

"y-you're fucking…" he lets out giggles that turn into cries, hurting so good, desperate for an orgasm. he can feel it slipping away from him, fading from a pending action to just a thought. his head falls back and his chest heaves harshly as he takes in deep breaths. "mm-mm," he hums. "no no no…" you run your thumb over the head of his cock softly, focusing on the spot that'd made him quiver earlier.

he cries out, tears forming in his eyes as he looks down at you. flustered laughs pass his lips as he tries to thrust up into your fist, part of him wants you to stop — he's so overstimulated that his mind is barely present anymore — and the other part wants you to keep going. it feels so good he thinks he's going crazy, fucked out, and dizzy.

"w-won't tell," he whimpers.

"i'll just keep edging you then," you say.

"n-no, please—" he interrupts himself with a loud moan as you move your hand up and down his cock again, less and less friction as his precum drips down his shaft to lubricate your movements. "f..fuck, fuck…" his voice turns from loud moans to soft, broken whimpers. they're high-pitched as he mixes in mutters of 'fuck' and 'please'.

you can tell he's about to cum again with the way he twitches and you stop again, pulling away and resting your hand on his thigh. he almost growls at the loss of sensation, and he looks up at the ceiling, a pained smile on his lips.

you rub soft circles into the skin through his jeans, and somehow the sensation is enough to make him whimper.

"y-you're the worst."

"is that so?" hyunjin's eyes widen when he sees you move your hand under your mouth, letting saliva roll off of your tongue into your palm. "what about if i give the opposite, hm?"

"n-no, wait, please—" you wrap your hand around his cock again, moving at a pace fast enough to bring him close but too slow to push him over the edge.

"doing so good for me," you whisper.

he nods eagerly, unable to meet your eyes as you touch him. you smile at the way he's crumbling; he's easier than you thought.

"n-no, please, please please please…" more moans, breaking through his pleads, showing that no matter how much he denies it, he's loving this. "f-fuck, p…please, more— faster, faster please," he whines, curling into himself as best he can.

"gonna cum, darling?"

he lets out a shaking breath, "y-yes, p…please, fuck." you do as he asks, speeding up your movements, and you watch as tears roll down his face. "please please please, fuck, d-don't stop."

he whimpers, pleading and begging under his breath.

"pretty boy," you say softly. he lets out a cry and throws his head back, nodding urgently.

"please please please, fuck— g…god i'm cumming," hyunjin's voice cracks as his cock twitches in your hand, his body quivering against his restraints. cum spurts out of his cock, messing up his shirt. the flow trickles to a stop and it runs down your hand, dripping onto his jeans.

but you don't let up. you keep jerking him off, and he whines.

"p-please, stop, stop stop…"

you tilt your head, faking a sympathetic look. "oh, but you wanted to cum so badly baby." he moans louder and louder with every movement, his cock still hard but so overstimulated it's making his head hurt. he continues to mutter stop under his breath, over and over, stumbling over his words.

"w…wait wait, please, fuck—" another moan, broken and shaky, before he growls under his breath. "f-fuck you," he whines, hardly able to force the words out as he cries from overstimulation.

he swears under his breath over and over, groaning and letting out nearly painful laughs of exasperation.

"i-i'm gonna cum," he cries. he twitches again just like before, gasping deeply. he lets out a string of profanities and whimpers in the same breath, feeling the air run out in his chest but forcing through the strain.

he coughs as he inhales again.

"cum for me."

it's just what he needs to push him over, and he quivers under his ropes as he cums again. his orgasm washes over him and his eyes roll back.

but again… you don't stop. he's so overstimulated that it hurts; pain, not pleasure. his head spins and he shakes his head, trying to pull away.

"stop, stop stop please, i-i'll tell you, please just stop—" he cries, his chin to his chest as he tries to get away from you. you slow your hand to a stop and pull it away, resting your hand again on his thigh.

your thumb rubs on his skin softly, more giving yourself a distraction from edging him than calming him. he does his best to catch his breath. he breathes nervously, looking at you with tear streaks on his face.

"bahng's plan," he forces out, "is to visit lim's mother, in the dead of night—"

a slap to his face. not as hard as you'd been before, but still enough to sting overwhelmingly under the effects of the drug. and again, your hand wraps around his throat, cutting off his oxygen. his head spins as he struggles.

he's lied to you, not that you're surprised.

when his shoulders start to shake, attempting to move away, you let him go.

he lets his head fall to his chest as he takes in deep breaths, exhaling them as laughs.

"told you it wasn't gonna be that fucking easy," hyunjin snaps. he feels victorious for some odd reason. you're not sure why; it's not like he's free. he's still tied up, entirely trapped at your disposal.

but you're not having it.

you wrap your hand softly around his cock, without moving.

he's confused, and he's not sure if he wants you to get off of him or to keep touching him.

you look up at him, a soft smile on your face, before you place your thumb against his frenulum.

"wh-what are you—" he cries out again when you rub against the tight tissue softly. shocks of pleasure rush through his chest, making him whine and quiver. you can tell how much he's enjoying it, despite his best efforts to hide it.

"you're gonna tell me."

"f-fuck, more, please—" he moans, broken whimpers falling from his lips.

"i'll get you to, one way or another." he shakes his head, desperately trying to get away.

"y-you can't, i don't wanna… no, n-no no no no no…" you work your fingers in the same pattern, over and over, driving him insane.

"come on," you encourage, "tell me, darling."

"th-there… there's a stash house," hyunjin whines. he can feel an orgasm building but he tries to push it down, forcing out the words so you'll let up. "s..stash house on 41st—" he pauses to moan, his voice breaking "—a-and young. it's where he… they keep all of th-their shit there."

he's not done. you can tell by the way his lips quiver, trying to form words. you speed up your movements and he moans loudly, his chest heaving as he takes in deep breaths.

"he plans o-on moving in on y…your boss." he needs to take a moment from talking, letting himself whine and shake as he tries to catch his breath. "on monday," he manages to say. "fuck, f…fuck, please, i'm s-so hard, please… m-more, please, i told you what you wanted to know, please—" you finally let up on his frenulum, instead moving to jerk him off again.

"mmh, good boy," you coo.

"n-no, stop, please—"

"shh," you say softly.

"please, it hurts," he whines, shaking. you smile softly at his pretty noises, watching him nod his head. "right there right there right there, please…"

you know what he means, and you move your other hand to rub on his sensitive spot. the combination of stimulation on his cock and his tip makes him moan so loud it's nearly a scream.

"please, anything you want, i'll do a-anything you want, please, i-i'll tell you, just please—" you don't stop, and he hates it; he wants to cum so desperately but you're doing just enough to edge him, and it's unfair. "i-i promise, i promise, please…" he's not just whimpering anymore; he's crying. he's never been so desperate before.

you pull your hands away from him and he shakes his head, whining. that's not the right solution; not what he wanted.

his cock rests against his stomach, pulsating. the fabric of his t-shirt is nearly enough to make him cum. he's sure that if he could just move his hips a little more, he could thrust against himself and cum.

"please, please, please…" he whimpers, his mind failing him; all he can do is beg now, broken beyond fixing.

you smile, standing up from the floor. you realize then that your knees are sore but you ignore it, placing your hand under his jaw. you make him look up at you.

tears slip down his face, his cheeks red, his lip swollen from how he'd been biting it.

"f-fuck… you're beautiful," hyunjin whispers. in the back of your mind, a tiny voice tells you that you've done it; he's broken. completely, utterly ruined. just for you. "you're… you're amazing, 'n' y-you're gorgeous, fuck— i-i'm sorry, s-sorry i-i should've told you f-from the beginning, should've t-told you when you asked, 'm sorry—"

you interrupt him, leaning close and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips; he returns the kiss needily. he pushes himself into you as much as he can, desperate for any contact. but when you pull away he notices that you're no longer wearing your jeans, instead only in your t-shirt.

he whimpers when you climb into his lap, your entrance hovering just over his cock. he tries to thrust up into you, his abs clenching visibly under his tight t-shirt.

"look at you," you tease, "such a needy little thing,"

he nods his head, his eyelids heavy. "n-need you," he whispers.

"yeah?"

he should've thought that through.

you lower yourself down onto his cock painfully slowly, and he cries out.

"w-wait, please, please—"

"shh, you're okay," you say softly. he shakes his head, resting his forehead against your chest. loud moans fall from his lips when you lift yourself slowly up before sinking back down.

"please, o-oh my god, y-yes, please," he mumbles.

"you're doing so good for me," you praise, lifting his face with your finger to look up at you. his eyes split open and you notice the tears beading in his eyes; he's about to break.

"f-feels so f…fucking good, don't stop, please—" his words turn into incoherent giggles mixed with whimpers as you ride him slowly, careful not to move too fast.

"don't cum until i say you can," you tell him. he pouts, continuing to whine and beg.

"please," he begs, tears rolling down his cheeks. his shoulders shake as he cries, edged so bad that it hurts. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, please… th-there's a safe house, i-i can tell you where… i-it's where they're hiding—" he has to pause to catch his breath, taking in a deep breath and letting out loud whines. "i-i'll tell you anything, just please, please keep going, please keep fucking going…"

you smirk, proud that he's given you more information. but at this point your mission meant nothing to you; all you wanted was him.

"good boy," you praise quietly. he nods desperately, wanting so badly to touch you, wrap his arms around you while you use him so you can't leave.

"p-please, i'm gonna cum, please, i-i'm sorry— i-i'll promise you anything, anything you want, anything. i'll tell you anything you want just please d-don't stop—" he interrupts himself with a loud moan.

"cum for me," you say. that's all he needs, and he's shaking again, quivering underneath you as you ride him. you can feel his cum pouring into you as you listen to him whimper and cry. before long he's shaking his head, looking up at you as more tears run down his face.

"s…stop, please, s-stop stop please, i'm fucking s-sensitive, please," he whines, continuing to whisper profanities under his breath. he can barely keep his eyes open, trying to hide from how good it feels but how painful it is.

but suddenly he's nodding, begging for you to keep going; he's about to cum again.

"f-fuck, fuck— i'm close, please, please don't stop please…" you lean to kiss his neck, biting at the skin hard enough that you're sure it'll bruise.

"you're taking it so well, darling," you whisper into his ear. before long, you're about to cum, and you start clenching around his cock as your orgasm approaches.

"w-wanna cum, please," hyunjin pleads.

"cum with me, angel," you order him. he nods quickly, throbbing inside of you. you bounce on his cock faster, trying to bring yourself to the edge faster to give him some pity. you've been tormenting him for hours now; he's been mostly obedient and deserves some reward.

"c-cum, please, pl—" you interrupt his words with a moan, throwing your head back as you slow your hips. the feeling of you cumming on his cock pushes him over the edge and he shakes almost violently underneath you, resting his head on your chest again as he cums inside of you.

he continues to tremble and whimper even after you stop moving. you let him relax on your chest, catching his breath. you run your fingers through his hair, trying to help him down from his almost constant chain of orgasms.

you move to lift yourself off of his cock and his head shoots up, tears in his eyes; those aren't from overstimulation.

"w-wait, please don't leave, don't leave me, please—"

"shh, relax darling. you're okay," you say quietly. "i'm right here."

that's when it truly hits you — he's yours now. he didn't care that you were the enemy; you'd broken him so well that you'd be it, forever.

you reach slowly behind him, your fingers grazing the rope holding his hands together. you can see his fingers twitching. it occurs to you that he hasn't touched you at all, and your heart aches just a bit for him. he's been so desperate for so long and he hasn't been able to touch you.

poor thing.

you gently untie the knot, careful not to rub against his already reddened wrists. the second his hands are free he wraps his arms around you, holding you as close to himself as he can.

"son't go, p-please," he whispers. you hug him close, kissing him softly at the crook of his neck.

"you did so good, baby." he hugs you tighter when you say this, sniffling into your shirt. "let me see your wrists," you say gently, pulling out of the hug.

he offers his hands to you and you take a closer look at him. his wrists are bright red, his skin broken enough in places that he's got scabs forming. his eyes flicker between his wrists and your face, watching you examine his condition.

"we'll need to take care of this," you say. his eyes widen at your words.

"y-you're not leaving me?"

you chew your lip in thought, knowing that there were only two options.

"you can either come back with me, and go through the process of proving you're not a roach, or…" you pause. you don't want to say it; it hurts your heart to even think about it.

"or what?" hyunjin asks, nervous about what you're going to say.

"you go back, and they… they probably kill you, for giving up intell."

his shoulders drop. it's not a hard choice; he knows that. he doesn't want to die now after he's found you — or rather, after you stole him. but he's scared to never go home, never see his friends again.

"i'll support you either way," you say, almost too quiet to hear. he knows you're lying; he can tell by the tone in your voice that you want him to stay, but it's his call.

"i wanna stay with you," he tells you. your lips curve into a smile and you lift your hands to cup his face softly, recalling the way you'd treated him hours ago when he'd first woken up. the cut on his cheek is scabbed over, but the blood that'd dripped from it was still on his face, dried and streaky from his tears.

"i promise i'll patch you up myself," you say, running your thumb softly over the cut. he winces; he's surely going to have bruising from your punches and a scar from the cut. as for the slaps… he still has your handprint glowing bright red on his cheek.

your body was draped over his, a blanketing weight that pressed him into the mattress and made him stay exactly where you wanted him.

with his hips raised slightly, your fingers danced around the area he needed you most. it had been a the longest hour and a half of his life, he couldn’t even count how many times you’d edged him since the show started and at this point he was fucking soaking.

he couldn’t find it within himself to be embarrassed, not now anyway, not with how desperate he was to cum. embarrassment was the absolute last thing on his mind.

the show is long forgotten by this point, his brain is a messy scramble of pure need while you continue to toy with him.

“you’re so m-mean,” he chokes out as he wriggles his hips in an attempt to get you to touch him in any meaningful manner.

you leave a kiss right below his ear that sends a shiver down his spine. “oh love, i have been a bit mean hm?” you feign curiosity and your fingers trail lower and lightly trail over his clit. his inhales sharply and relaxes into your hold, “i’m so, so sorry baby.. i’ve been so mean.” your kisses feel cool against his warm, sweat slicked skin. your fingers dance against his clit, rubbing tight circles that leave him gasping shallow breaths.

“i need more,” he cries out in frustration. his brows are threaded together into a soft frown and tears fill the waterline of his eyes, threatening to fall. he feels you grin against his cheek, “more?” he nods furiously, panting and needy for it.

his body falls lax the moment two of your thick fingers plunge into his cunt. “thankyouthankyouthankyou hnng, f-fuck!” he babbles mindlessly, pussy quivering around your fingers. your pace is fast, unrelenting even, in and out of his sopping wet cunt.

he all but squeals, falling lax and ignoring the show completely. “plea-se, i-i need to cum! ‘m so close!” he whimpers, sounding as wrecked as ever. “i want to hear you get desperate for it, baby, i wanna hear you beg.” you grunt into his ear.

“please. i-i‘ve been so g- fuck, good for you! please i c-can’t,” he keens, clenching around your fingers like a vice. he continues to mindlessly beg, pleading for you to give him permission to finally cum. he’s desperate for it, yearning as if it’s all he needs.

but, you aren’t particularly swayed.

you can feel his muscles clench and tense up as he nears his peak. he’s gritting out curses through his teeth, trying to stave off for as long as possible.

just when you can feel he’s truly at his end, you withdraw your fingers. the tears that had gathered at his waterline began to fall. he sobs out in defeat as his thighs press together at yet another denied orgasm.

It was raining outside, the distant thunder and pitter patter of raindrops hitting the window creating a lullaby that was lulling you to sleep. Combined with the soft rumbling of the bus, you could feel your body’s desperate need for rest after a grueling shift at work. 

Familiar streets and roads were tracked by your eyes, the expected relief of almost getting home brightening up your mood despite the gloomy weather. You estimated that you'll reach your destination in less than half an hour, rummaging through your purse to take out your phone to set up a timer in case sleep overtakes you and you miss your stop. 

Pressing the lever of your seat to recline, you got comfortable and laid your cardigan over your chest, finally giving in to the urge of closing your eyes. Seconds ticked by and all you could think about was how you couldn't wait to be in the comfort of the soft bedding on your mattress. Your muscles were practically begging for relief and you had enough pillows and blankets waiting for you back home to alleviate this problem. 

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes that passed– your mind completely disassociating from reality while you snoozed– when your peace was shattered. A shiver of unease ran through you, waking up your consciousness abruptly and causing you to jolt awake. 

The same feeling that’s been haunting you for weeks now was back.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood and your heart rate picked up.

It hadn’t always been like this. You could still remember a time when you climbed inside the vehicle without your gut twisting anxiously. At first, you chalked it up to it being caused by some low level of anxiety you were experiencing or lack of restful sleep. Something that could be easily remedied by swallowing a pill stashed inside a drawer back home.

However, as of late, a feeling of wariness and fear seemed to consume you, your fight or flight response triggered whenever you climbed up the stairs of the bus, each step weighing heavy on your legs as you went to take your seat.

It felt like someone was looking at you. 

A predator looking at a fawn.

Waiting for the right moment to sink its powerful jaws into its frail neck, and tear it apart.

The paranoia getting to you, you turned your head to the right, swallowing down your nervousness as you tried to find the source of your panic. 

There was a man seated in the opposite seats across from you. His stretched out and bulky frame took up much of the space, the black cap on his head and the mask he wore obscuring his features and giving him a mysterious vibe. The turtleneck shirt clung to him, emphasizing the broad muscles of his upper body even in his relaxed state. His back was to the window, his left leg bent in a careless fashion along both seats, facing you directly as he was browsing through his phone. 

At least, you thought that's what he was doing. You didn't want to believe that the man was taking unwanted pictures or videos of you while you slept. 

You didn't realize you were staring for too long, the stranger’s attention shifting away from his phone when he could feel your gaze, freezing you in place as your eyes connected with those dark depths. For some reason, you couldn’t look away, too afraid to blink as a chill took over you from being under the perusal of those piercing eyes. There was something wrong, you just couldn’t explain it. He tilted his head to the side, regarding your stunned state for a moment before his eyes crinkled with amusement. He waved good naturedly at you, a normal gesture of greeting that you would've returned if not for the twisting of your gut that warned you against doing such a thing. 

When you didn’t return his gesture, the stranger’s eyebrows furrowed in dejection, bringing his hand down to lay against his lap almost disappointedly. 

A good few seconds passed with both unwilling to look away from each other. 

Your eyes, firm and guarded while his were inquisitive and curious.

As if finally sensing your unease, the stranger backed off by turning to sit properly in his seat and shifting his focus back to his phone. 

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you grabbed your purse and whipped out your phone, your shaky hands nearly dropping it when you first grabbed it. Turning the screen on, you realized you had taken a ten minute nap with seconds to spare from your alarm ringing. You were mere minutes away from arriving at your stop.

Taking a quick glance at the stranger once more, you tried to rid your paranoid thoughts that he was the reason for your being on edge these past few weeks. It couldn’t be, you tried reasoning to yourself. If anything, you were in the wrong for staring at him funny when you’ve never seen him before. Maybe this was his first ride on the bus and you made his experience weird because you kept looking at him as if accusing him of something heinous. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly and not spook you when you caught each other’s eye by accident. Maybe your groggy mind was making things up about a complete stranger. 

Could the stress of work and your responsibilities piling up for the past few months be messing with your awareness? There was nothing special about you. You weren’t an important person. There was nothing, no gifted ability or priviledge, that separated you from the throngs of people you saw every day while heading to work. Why would someone want you with your bleak existence and no future aspirations?

Your anxiousness and worry slowly left you when you drew those conclusions about yourself, replaced with self pity as you realized you really had nothing going for your life. The somber expression staring back at you through your phone’s black screen only dimming your mood further. 

It was a while before the bus slowed to a stop, the driver’s familiar voice announcing your destination and making you stand to walk to the front. Not paying attention to your footing, you tripped over your own feet and felt gravity pull you under. A small yip tumbled out of your lips, feeling pain on your left elbow from the hard impact on the floor. Your purse went flying in a comical fashion, your disoriented mind not sure in which direction it landed or if anything fell out of it. 

Embarrassment quickly flooded you, feeling the eyes of other passengers stare at you and hearing a few snickers amongst them. Wincing from the blossoming pain in your arm, you had barely braced your hands on the floor ready to stand up, when you felt warm hands encircle your waist.

“Here,” a deep voice whispered against your ear. “Let me help you, sweetheart.”

You were lifted from the floor easily, your weight meaning nothing to the man as he held you gently until you got your bearings straight. You looked up at him, having to crane your neck upwards due to his tall height and seeing it was the masked stranger.

“I, uhm.. Thank you,” you stuttered over your words, a flush of heat blooming in your face at his proximity. You wanted to kick yourself for how high pitched your voice sounded, unable to maintain eye contact with him when he gazed so intently back at you. If you dared to say, it felt like he was trying to memorize every small detail about your face– birthmarks, the slope of your nose, shape of your lips, the emotion in your eyes. Realizing that you still held on to his arms wrapped around your waist, you nervously laughed before going to break yourself away from the intimate embrace. 

“I’m okay now, you can let go,” you assured him, the fake smile plastered on your face concealing your tense disposition from his closeness. 

You chose to ignore the way his fingers dug momentarily into your waist, gripping you a little too tight to be normal before he loosened his grasp, allowing you to generate a more respectable distance between you and him. Seeing your startled reaction to his handling of you, the stranger immediately apologized for his actions.

“You’ll have to forgive me for my forwardness.” He told you, imploring you with his eyes that he meant no harm. He bent down to pick up something on the floor, his other hand holding up the strap of your purse for you to take it. “I only wanted to make sure you wouldn’t trip over yourself again.”

“Oh! I-It’s ok really, I-,” your words were interrupted by the harsh voice of the driver telling you to hurry to the front if you planned to get out. You quickly snatched your purse back, ignoring the little jolt of electricity that zipped through you when you grazed his fingers. “Um, I have to go but thank you, again! Bye!” 

You turned to walk briskly down the steps of the bus, thanking the bus driver for his patience and stepping out into the familiar streets of your neighborhood. Luckily for you, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, an umbrella not needed for the small trek you took to arrive at the apartment where you’ve been renting for the past year. 

Locking the door behind you, you sighed audibly before throwing your purse at the chair nearest you. You walked over to your room, kicking off your shoes to land haphazardly along the floor because you were too tired to bother putting them away. Removing your damp clothing, you grabbed a towel and some night clothes to head to the shower.

Relaxing under the spray of lukewarm water, you found your mind straying to the stranger in the bus. 

Who was he? 

You weren’t lying that you had never seen him before. A man of his formidable size would have been easy to spot, sticking out from the rest of the passengers like a sore thumb. He was dressed peculiarly too, his attire giving off the impression that he values secrecy and privacy. And his voice! Goodness, you could feel yourself nearly melt remembering the richness of it. The way he held you like a dainty object didn’t escape your notice either, your cheeks aflame at how good his hands felt around your waist. The feminine thrill that his presence ignited was hard to subdue, unbidden thoughts of his hands squeezing and trailing over your naked body filling your mind.

Would his hands be soft and gentle? Or would they be strong and rough? 

As if your hands had a mind of their own, they moved up your body to cup your breasts making you gasp at the contact. You looked down at your chest, seeing the peaks of your nipples hardening under your soft touch. You tried envisioning his hands squeezing the doughy flesh, your head tilting to one side as you wondered if he'd be satisfied with your size. Small moans escaped you as you continued to fondle yourself, closing your eyes and imagining him whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he teased your breasts. You were sure he’d trail a line of kisses down your neck, pressing his naked front against you so you could feel his excitement poking at the small of your back. A sudden hard pinch to your nipple brought you out of your fantasy, the thought of his cock causing your fingers to twist the sensitive tip excitedly. 

You shook your head under the shower, trying to calm your racing thoughts before they got more explicit. 

To think such things about a man you hardly knew wasn’t good. What if you see him again tomorrow? Could you bear to look at him knowing where your thoughts were straying at this moment? 

You winced, memories of the loaded eye contact you threw his way making you want to smack yourself. Maybe you should apologize next time you see him. To prove to him that you weren’t a crazy lady that regularly gave the stink eye to neighboring passengers. Explain that your stress was getting to you. Perhaps be the first to wave at him next time to show there was no animosity between you. Maybe something could develop once you introduced each other, a giddy little voice tickled your ears.

Once you were done showering and drying your hair, you went back to the living room for your purse. You had placed your phone inside so the rain couldn’t wet it. You needed to wake up at a good time tomorrow to get ready for work so setting up an alarm was crucial. When you grabbed your purse, you noticed it felt lighter and looked down to see it was unzipped and wide open. 

Oh No. There’s no way…

You dug your hand inside, hoping to feel the familiar mass of your phone only to come out empty handed. Then you remembered your fall from earlier.

“Damn it, it must have fallen off when I fell,” you cursed under your breath, gnawing on your fingernail in worry for a minute before sighing tiredly. You needed to sleep and staying up late thinking about your lost phone was not going to help. You’d have to wait until tomorrow morning to ask the driver if anything was found.

Turning off all the lights in your place, you finally headed to bed, a yawn leaving your mouth as you placed a knee in your mattress. Under the covers of your blanket, you tried clearing up your mind so you could sleep quickly. A sudden image of the masked stranger flashed through your head, your growing curiosity of him affecting you even in your most tired state.

Right before you slept, a nagging at the back of your mind told you to be wary of him.

~

A man lay on his bed alone, hair plastered to his forehead as he breathed harshly. His shirt was raised to his waist, exposing his naked pelvis and muscled thighs as he pumped his rigid dick at a furious tempo. 

His choked groans and huffs were muffled by his mask, the man tilting his head back on his pillows to bask in the pleasurable sensations of his hand firmly stroking his length. Perspiration ran down every inch of him, the sweat dampening his bed and making him grunt at how his sheets clung to his heated skin. He slid his hand down his shaft– tightening his grip when he got to the base– hissing when it caused his cock to twitch before sliding it up once more to tease his cockhead and repeat the process. The squelch of the lubricant coating his dick was a decadent symphony next to his pleasured grunts, the aggressive handling of his pleasure nearly causing him to erupt as he continued to fuck his fist. 

He was nearly there, half lidded eyes eyeing the drop of precum threatening to slide down his shaft and mix with the lubricant. 

No, he didn’t want to cum so soon. Not without the image of the pretty bird he’d been stalking for the past month etched in his brain. God, she was so beautiful. Never had he seen a more perfect woman than you. His hands tightened remembering how soft and demure you were when he picked you up. The slight tremble in your body and your skittish behavior making him want to devour you where you stood. 

Biting his lip, he slowed his pace and closed his eyes in concentration, conjuring up an image that would help to reach his climax.

In his mind, it was no longer his hand wrapped around his dick. 

Instead, smaller hands were slowly stroking him in an almost reverent manner, seeming to worship every protruding vein and jerk of his member. A small gasp escaped you when cum drizzled out of his tip, smearing your fingers with the warm liquid to combine with the lube drenching his dick. He could feel the stickiness of it running down his thighs and balls, causing him to shudder at the sensation. 

He could see you biting your lip anxiously, staring at him with those expressive eyes of yours waiting for his instruction. Unable to resist, he'd grab your hair and yank you his throbbing cock, your flushed face gasping at the heat emitting from his rod of meat pressed against your cheek. He hoped you were a smart girl, knowing what he desired from you as he slapped his dick on your lips. 

He'd stare you down, arching an eyebrow as he waited for you to open that sweet mouth of yours. He knew he wasn't a small man–his girth was enough to intimidate even his most experienced past partners– but he was sure he could teach you how to swallow him down like a good girl.

You'd hesitate for too long, testing his patience. He’d need to be firm with you then. He'd pinch your nose between his fingers, blocking your airways and driving you to open your mouth to take a breath. It was all he needed to shove half of his cock inside your heated orifice. A guttural groan would echo in his room, the warmth of the hot cavern of your mouth and wiggling tongue on the underside of his dick making him see white for a second.

He could picture your muffled whimpering, your hands bracing against his thighs to pull away. He'd lift his upper body to get a better grip on your head, not allowing you to escape and forcing more of his dick down your throat. He'd praise you for being so good and lovely for him. Telling you to relax your throat, to make it easier for you. Before long, you'd obey his commands and start bobbing your head slowly to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. 

He'd allow you to work at your own pace, content with seeing your tear ridden face for a few minutes more before taking over when you were going too slow for his liking. Your eyes would widen with alarm when he thrusted his hips up, a gargled whine vibrating through his manhood from the fierce jab in your throat. He’d repeat the same action again, a pleased groan rumbling out of him at the feel of your mouth struggling to accommodate him. From there on, he'd use you like a fleshlight, gripping your hair tightly to pull your face down to every one of his savage thrusts. Spittle and cum would rain down your jaw, messing your appearance as you gagged and moaned around the dick hammering your throat. 

It was the fantasy of seeing you look up at him, eyes pinched with distress and tears streaming down your heated and sweaty face, that made him finally snap.

His hips jerked up in his hand, his body vibrating violently just as his cock shot out endless ropes of cum in the air. He grunted with each twitch of his pelvis, feeling the warm liquid pooling in the crevices of his contracting abs and staining his shirt. His chest heaved with exertion, the stranger breathing heavily as a result of cumming from his heightened lust. His mask hid his delirious smile, the stranger chuckling to himself at the euphoria he felt and the mess he created.

Only you could make him cum so strongly to drive him to lose himself.

Minutes passed until he was able to get his breathing under control, begrudgingly getting out of his bed to clean himself up. 

Something about you had him hooked. What started off as a fleeting crush morphed into a distorted and unhealthy obsession, the stranger falling deeper in love with you every passing day, as well as the urge to take you growing exponentially worse. .

He longed to know what it felt like to have you in his arms, the thought keeping him up often at night.

Luckily for him, his wish finally came true tonight, remembering the softness of your body in his hands. You were a small little thing compared to him, barely reaching his chest. It wouldn't take much to overpower you, the statement giving rise to depraved thoughts of your squirming body underneath him, naked and helpless under his ardent touch. It took everything in him not to pull you closer, wanting to feel your delicious shape against his frame as the fantasy played in his head. He hated his mask at that moment, realizing he could've caught a whiff of your scent too if he wasn't keen on hiding his identity. 

The stranger's eyes furrowed in displeasure at this, angry at himself for missing an opportunity to know you more intimately. Turning off the sink, he didn't bother to dry his hands when he ripped his mask off and flung it in the trash. 

In a foul mood, he exited his bathroom and marched towards his study. It was already past midnight but there was something important he had to do before he slept.

Entering the room, he didn't bother to close the door and sat down, sliding the chair closer to his desk to get to work. He was inputting his PC’s password when he glanced at the rectangular object next to him.

It was your phone. 

He inspected it, taking note of your phone cover and thinking it suited someone like you. He pressed the on button, seeing your phone screen light up and ask for the passcode to access it. He typed in a few guesses and not to his surprise, none worked. 

No worries. This would only be a momentary issue. Nothing that he couldn't crack open once he plugged your device to his computer. Sure enough, within a few moments, all your browsing history and personal information was revealed to him. His eyes traveled greedily over all your files, desperate to know who you were and what you liked.

His impatience to claim you was nearing a tipping point. He already had a small taste of you and it was not enough. HIs hands clenched into fists. He wanted more. Desired to thoroughly possess you and infect you with his love. 

One way or another, you were going to be his.

He would make sure of it.