A Man's World ─── gojo satoru / reader
For years you’ve envied Gojo’s strength. After a body swap curse strikes during a mission, you no longer have to.
CONTENT: 18+ body swap kink. afab jujutsu sorcerer reader, soft dom reader, canon universe, arguing as foreplay, one suicide joke in the second scene, frenemies, mutual masturbation, fingering and oral (gojo receiving in female body), riding, p in v sex, manhandling, unsafe sex, creampie, brief breeding kink mention, reader has very cheesy dirty talk. 13.3k wc.
MEL'S NOTE: criminally late but the final instalment of my kinktober is finally here! very proud to have finished it against all odds. this spiralled away from me bc who doesn't want the chance to dick this man down lmfao. req from the gorgeous @hisokamywaifu, i hope you enjoy lovely <3
‹‹ KINKTOBER 2025 | GENERAL M.LIST | READ ON AO3
How unfair it is, the strength written into each limb you now command. Jealousy bubbles in the back of your throat until you’re choking on it, and you twist your fist in the front of your uniform to snarl down at Gojo.
“This your fuckin’ fault,” you spit, hating the smug look he’s plastered on your face. You bare your teeth to communicate as much. “Always gotta taunt the fuckin’ curses, huh, tough guy? Well look at where it’s landed us now!”
Shoving Gojo away, you barely suppress the urge to scream. Instead you gesture down at his body which, by some sardonic twist of fate, you possess to emphasise the predicament the two of you are trapped in. Gojo, in your fucking body, stumbles back a few gratifying steps before finding his balance among the wreckage of a conflict, heated until mere moments ago. Right before the curse you were fighting decided to vanish in a plume of smoky rubble. Closing the distance, you stalk forward.
Rage is all you can taste.
“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
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