Gojo glances at you from his phone, bursting with flirty notifications, eyes narrowing at the suggestive thought of Nanami.

Both of you were still in bed from last night. You were laying on top of Gojo, hearing the steady beat of his heart from his chest. The anticipating exhilaration of wanting to gently disrupt that slight calm in his chest, and mold him to your comfort, sends a shiver of excitement through your veins.

He drops his phone to the ground. “Whatever he could do—”

“No,” you push yourself off from his chest to straddle your hips on top of his. “The way Nanami treats me is much more than special, do you want to know how I know that—actually, no.” You retrace your thoughts, correcting your choice of words. “To show you how I know that? Make you feel what it’s like to be touched by Nanami?”

Loved by Nanami.

He exhales a scoff, placing his firm hands on your thighs, sliding them up to your waist and brushing his thumbs over your hips. “Enlighten me.”

It was a love that Gojo thought he knew, experienced, but didn’t. A love that died the moment he killed it—killed him. One he never got to fully experience in its whole raw form of an emotion.

Eloquently, like always, touch is the first sense you activate in Gojo; the feeling of your gentle fingers caressing underneath his jaw, satiating his touch deprivation—a specific type of touch deprivation. Not the ones that fill the void to curb the feeling of emptiness, but the one that makes him remember, reliving the shadows of his youth and what he took for granted; not that you could ever replace that feeling, his place, but you can feed it from time to time.

You didn’t even need to press your palm to the corner of Gojo’s jaw because the moment your touch connected with his nerves, he had been reawakened with desire—the need for a longing he misses and regrets. Gojo nudged his head into your palm, conforming to the shape of him; exhaling a release of tension that made him furrow his brows in a hurt expression as he’s reminded of the only person he loved the most.

Little did he know that your specialty was rooted in emotions, not just from everyone, but from anything capable of harbouring it—curses included, whether they know it or not because that is what they were birthed from: excess emotions of humans, excluding sorcerers (of course), but that didn’t mean sorcerers were incapable of withholding such complexities. To control one’s cursed energy is to control their emotions that drive it.

Only Nanami was able to fully control it on command and with fine precision, but that’s only when he’s not on overtime mode. When he wasn’t working, you could feel waves of his emotions boldly and more refined than anyone else's. His came in singular, upfront, formation making it known, rather than scattered and mixed—emotions hidden by other emotions—which was common in the majority of everything. Even in bed, watching him sleep soundlessly by your side, his emotions came in calm clear waves, whispering at you; a gentleness that surprisingly made you crave more.

But Gojo?

Gojo was nothing, yet everything. He was a vast void of emptiness, which scared you at first because he didn’t feel human, until you found out that in order to fill that emptiness, he had to feel something from someone. He was a pure recipient. There wasn’t an organism alive, or discovered, on this planet that was capable of being a pure recipient to your technique. You’ve trained yourself to only take, unable to test the possibility of giving, since you were the first of your kind.

Luckily, with Gojo, you were able to take a step into the discovery of giving with your technique: in order for it to be received safely, the recipient had to consent to it. The first emotion you tested with him was happiness, a safe option to start with. After testing out the main emotions, you’ve moved to the complex ones and have found out that you were an amplifier and a controller to sorcerers. You were an unlimited amount of cursed energy that can take and give when needed and when wanted. When in tune with a sorcerer, you were able to control the input and output of their energies, but every technique came with a consequence.

You begin to mimic Nanami’s emotional rhythm to Gojo, flooding his core of the absence with small doses of each emotion, absorbing everything you’re giving. Forcefully and violently, Gojo’s starvation tugs at you, consciousness and all, but you refuse to lose focus.

“This is what it’s like to be more than special.”

Gojo quivers at the feeling of you. You pull away, testing his neediness, but he firmly grabs you by the wrist bringing your palm back to where you placed it.

“Don’t,” he exhales.

The heat of his breath against your wrist as he kisses it, starving for more.

You slow down the flow of emotions, testing (again) how much he’s willing to take. Starvation is viewed as an easy fix, but dangerous when triggered, because once a body is aware that it’s starving and has been given a taste of what it’s like to be satisfied it will want more—uncontrollably more.

Gojo side glances at you, glaring at you through narrowed eyes, aware that you stopped the input of what he longed for, but you keep your composure waiting for his next action.

Startling you, he flips you onto the bed and hovers over you, not knowing what to do next—where to take from you. You have already established auto-consent of your technique between you and him, much like how his limitless technique runs automatically when it’s on, so he’s able to take it whenever. Whatever much satisfies him.

Gojo leans into you, pressing his lips against yours, parting them with his tongue. With every kiss he places on you, he takes it greedily and with a loathed expression, hating how much he knew he needed it—needed you.

You gasp at the rush of adrenaline arching your back, curling your toes, as you bite your lip to stifle a laugh. “How does it feel?” You probed.

He was heavily breathing against your skin. “Not enough.”

This is what it was like to be loved by Nanami: feeling wanted from your past to your future, desired every fibre of your being, attention, longing. He was capable of anything immeasurable because he was the balance to everything. If you were chaos, he’d be your calm, and if you were calm, he’d be your chaos; the epitome of Yin and Yang. To Gojo, Nanami would be his calm.

“Then do it. You know it feels best that way.”

Gojo’s fingers twitched, hesitatingly tightening his grip around your waist, trying so hard to fight the addiction of your technique, but—as always—he gives in.

“You know I hate you for what you are,” his kisses trail further down your stomach.

“Yet you desire me, whether you like it or not you gravitate towards me. You didn’t need to treat me special because I already know I am.” You gasp, feeling his tongue pressing against your clit.

“Then why mention Nanami?”

“Because he is your trigger.” Your fingers run through his hair, chest steadily heaving from Gojo’s pleasure. “He is the closest shape to what you lost—Geto—you miss him too much to function properly that you refuse to move on from your past.” Gojo lifts his head from your cunt, jerking his cock in his hand, preparing to press it into you and focus on only taking.

Gojo guides your legs, folding your knees to your chest. He rubs the length of him against your slicked cunt, appetizing you for what’s to come next. He didn’t have to look at you to show you that he acknowledged the truth behind your words, he didn’t have to admit, because you can already feel the sharp waves of his remorse as you tone it down. They were adamant waves, pleading for you to take it away, erase it—please, I’m begging you. Make it anything, but mine. It hurts so much, so please—but your technique doesn’t allow one to feel numb.

You dialed down the influx of sadness, remorse, regret and guilt, replacing them with love, lust, gratitude whatever it is; driving him to continue past the influences of your words. “You are not the strongest. You are the weakest with a strong technique.” He glares at you with the sliver of anger you gave him. The tip of his cock slowly enters, pressing all of his length against your walls, stretching you with his girth.

“You’re wrong,” his voice gruff with torment, thrusting into you with hate.

A ripple of ecstasy shoots through your body, almost making you lose your concentration. “No, you needed to know why you felt so empty all this time. Once you got a taste of what I was capable of, you finally found your answer. Except—fuck.” You stifle a moan as your walls hug around his cock. His hands tighten around the back of your thighs. “Except, you didn’t crave me to fill that void for you. You crave me because you love the feeling of absence. Not my absence, but the absence of the emotions you didn’t relish enough in your youth.”

He spreads your legs wider apart, shoving his cock to the brim of you, but stops.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” You cooed, pulling Gojo into your arms as you cockwarm him, making him trust the feeling of your comfort.

Gojo shuts his eyes.

The weight of him and his feelings coiling in on you and wrapping his arms around your head, slightly peeking from the curve of his neck.

You tune up the lust, overflow him with it so that it reciprocates back to you; hints of his wants purposefully scattered in the river of emotions, pleading for you to take it.

In order to keep Gojo under control, the higher ups have hired you to keep him in check. Obviously, you don’t trust them, so you only allowed them the basic knowledge of your technique.

Little do they know that the consequence of your technique would turn you into a curse itself—the first curse to be created by sorcerers, drained of your humanity.

You would be the first curse created by Gojo, and he wouldn’t even realize it until it’s too late.

“Stay like this,” Gojo wraps his arms around you tightly, still keeping the flow of emotions consistent.

You run a finger down his spine as you increase the one feeling that would break him—the cherry on top.

Betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” you softly replied with laughter in your eyes. “But we’re just getting started.”

You press your lips to his forehead, initiating his addiction.