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“...”
A small smile. And then nothing.
Looking back on it, there wasn’t much Gojo could recall from those first few months after. And to be frank, it wasn’t like she particularly wanted to either.
From what she could remember, she’d been hard at work, busying herself with whatever new assignment, irregularity, concern cropped up. Anything to muffle the silence that would ring in her ears when she was alone, the way her thoughts would flood into that gap, roaring.
Gojo Satoru was not an emotional person. She was strong, she was capable, she was talented, and she was a hard worker. It wasn’t that emotions opposed any of that, simply that Gojo was not an emotional person. So it shouldn’t have been that confusing when she threw herself back into work and into fighting curses and teaching her beloved students. It was just how she operated.
No matter what Principal Yaga, Shoko, or anyone else said, she was fine. Or at least she would be fine if she could just make it through those next few hours, next few days, next few months, until she could just stop thinking. She would be fine.
Everything would be fine. Definitely. It had been so long, what was she even holding onto? What was there for her to miss? To think about? There were curses, and there were students, and there was…
Curses, and students. It made for a busy life. So busy that Gojo could hardly be blamed for the obvious tells she’d missed. Work got intense in the aftermath, so it was only fair that there were things even she could overlook.
“Gojo,” Principal Yaga had said, “There’s something I want you to check out.”
His tone had been as heavy as ever, his eyes refusing to reach hers. He was distant and it infuriated her. She had felt her ability turn off a moment before she had yanked the papers out of his hands. In the back of her mind, a voice that didn’t sound like hers complained about her disrespect. Gojo shuddered, walking away faster.
Looking down from high up on the sleepy village of name-she’d-not-bothered-to-remember, something something Awa or Yama, she feels a bit of her tension melt away. There was something slightly peaceful about being in such an uninhabited space, how she was in no true danger of anyone bumping into her or her ability. Even years later, she found it hard to acclimate to the awe-inspiring beauty of being surrounded by nothing. Especially at night and in the boondocks, where there was truly little else around or to be heard—Gojo felt her skin buzz with the gravity of being so small surrounded by endless vegetation. It was overwhelming in a way that drowned out everything else.
It was the type of feeling that made it hard to breathe let alone think. And so, she finally unwound the string around the paper folder. She knew it was a bit of a formality that existed only for her. Most other assignments usually went by word of mouth. But with the sheer amount of heavy lifting she’d done recently, the higher-ups had felt it crucial to keep some sort of trace on her. It was probably why this had been given directly to her in the first place, she notes looking at the areas of previous spotting.
All places she’d visited. Almost in the exact order she’d visited them. And now unusual activity of a similar nature in a small town off the coast. Gojo blinks, lowering back down one of the white bandages. Huh.
A tangible amount of cursed energy that had lingered after she’d removed the initial curse—had she gotten sloppy? She rubs at the back of her head, feeling the short hairs at the base of her neck and contemplating. Yes, she’d been busy, but not so busy that Six Eyes could miss something like this.
A part of her nags that if she’d gone through the proper protocol of setting up a barrier, she’d have had confirmation of this sort of thing not happening. So, with a clenched fist, she descends downwards from her mid-air perch as fast as she can, toes tapping the floor lightly, or as much as infinity would allow before her heels sink into wet moss.
As it’s late at night, Gojo doubts she’d run into any of the villagers. Regardless, she had no plans to ask any of them questions, choosing to land already knee-deep into the surrounding woods.
As a child, Gojo used to have had some level of fear over staying out on the grounds around the Gojo estate. Although the clan members had tried their best, she’d often managed to dodge their sight, slipping into the underbrush naturally when a head was turned or jumping behind some pile of snow come winter. But, she’d always come back rather quick, always hyper-conscious about some bug crawling its way toward her. Now, years later, she stands in the silent woods around whatever random village and feels that same prickling at the back of her neck.
With her abilities, there was usually little to be worried about. Especially after she’d hunted down any possible threat to that, she knew with hard-earned precision that it’d be a cold day in hell before a crawly beetle or malignant curse slipped past her defenses. And yet, for the first time in years, she feels uneasy. Almost as if she were a child again, lost in the thick forest that trapped her within the walls of the clan.
She rubs at her sweaty brow, and tells herself it’s the humidity. She swallows, and wishes she’d remember to drink water for once before one of these things. Regardless, Gojo lets her eyes pick a random direction, and walks.
It’s probably some stupid curse. A stupid curse that for whatever reason was leaving tattered remains of chickens, small pets, and even a few villagers in places Gojo had been not so long ago. This would be done within the hour if even that. Then she’d be back for morning classes and training before taking on a new case in the afternoon. There was no reason for her heart rate to accelerate like this. Nothing was out of the ordinary.
She keeps walking, pace increasing, side-stepping obstructions easily, and narrowing her search. Gritting her teeth, she nearly starts running for reasons she can’t quite understand, mind beginning to throb. She’s practically sprinting, until suddenly she nearly collapses. Or rather she wants to collapse, but at that moment every single one of the muscles in her body tenses. Her nostrils flare as she stops outside what appears to be a cave of sorts. She feels her eyes dance madly, all six spiraling out of control.
She keeps inhaling, deeper and deeper, and yet none of it seems to reach her lungs, body practically shaking with exertion and disbelief and wrong, this was all so very wrong.
Her senses are fried and she wants to remove the blindfold for at least some clarification when warmth spreads from her hip. At least maybe it comes from that general area; she finds it hard to pinpoint exactly.
There’s a low grunting sound that follows, and the smell of musky jasmine floods her nose. It’s as floral as she remembers but it’s tinged with something else, the smokiness of cursed energy coiling around it. The warmth from her right side spreads as more weight is put into the touch, pushing against her. Gojo should move, Gojo should really move. She should definitely turn on her ability. In fact, why was it not already on?
Something wraps fully around her midsection, and then she’s being moved. Gojo isn’t really sure how to react, what to think, so she just lets it happen. She lets herself be set down onto a plush pile of whatever, and pinned with an even stronger weight.
She lies motionless and thinks nothing while her mind screams about everything. Ok, some part of her eventually says, it would probably be best if she removed her blindfold. It wouldn’t matter though, another part argues, she already knew what she was looking at.
But still, Gojo wanted…to be wrong. Yes, she definitely wanted to be wrong. Naturally, as one would expect, she would want to be wrong. That was what any sane person, any sane sorcerer, any sane friend, any sane lover would want. No one would want to be right in this situation. So obviously, she wanted to be wrong. So unmistakably wrong.
Yet, she was terrified for the first time in her life that her eyes might be feeding her misleading information.
Her ears pick up on some cacophony of unexplainable noises, some rustling, some scratching, something dragging on rock, and of course the warm puff of air by her ear.
So, feeling her fragility and vulnerability, an actual tangible emotion that she hadn’t managed to sidestep or distract herself from, Gojo pulls away her bandages.
The first thing Gojo feels is immense relief, so intense she almost cries. Her breath catches and her mouth quivers. Next, as she sits with the weight of what she’s done, of what stands in front of her—burning shame and guilt snakes its way through the blanket of solace.
Gojo had caused this. Somehow, someway, those final words...she’d caused this. She’d cursed her. And now, she stares up at several feet of imposing cursed energy, long strands of silky hair splatter onto her face, red feet-long horns arch into the air—rooted to a mask of similar hue. From within a cage of curved teeth that protrude from both the upper and lower jaw in a criss-crossing design, a forked tongue flicks outward, before retreating.
It’s a curse, even without the waves of cursed energy flowing off of it, or the inhuman appearance, Gojo knows it’s a curse. Because Geto Suguru is dead.
Nothing had exactly changed in Gojo’s day to day after that fact became true. Other than the addition of a new student, the foundations of her life stayed consistent. Yet, the truth of it was unshakeable, inescapable. It didn’t matter that everyone around her was the same, and that physically not much was different. Because before she’d had the reassurance of being able to reach out, to sense that familiar pattern of energy. Whenever she’d heard of some catastrophe, a special grade appearing, a natural disaster, she could silently open her eyes to check. But now, Gojo could no longer cast her gaze upon the land and its people—because she knew what she’d find. She knew there’d be nothing.
Or at least there should have been.
Instead, something that wears the skin of her best friend, crowds closer to her, and the grip around her waist tightens. Gojo looks down, finally taking in the singular hand wrapped around her waist. Instead of the human-looking fingers that had once belonged to the since blasted off-arm, a claw colored a thrumming murky purple holds onto her—each fingertip ending in a sharp-looking claw. The skin feels scorching through her teacher’s uniform, pulsing and seeming to change shape ever so slightly with each one of Gojo’s breaths.
The cursed flesh not only encompasses her new limb, she realizes. With familiar robes hanging off one shoulder, she easily traces the way it slithers its way up to cradle the right side of her face, mixing in with the mask itself. Through the waterfall of dark hair that drips down, Gojo notes that her eyes, though, haven’t changed. She quickly looks away.
Beneath the robes, she stares at scaled feet that are planted on either side of the pile of furs she lies upon. Further back, another set etches grooves into the stone floor. A feathered tail swishes when the curse lets out another puff of warm air.
Gojo tries to think rationally, she really does try. Her battle instinct is next to none, she’s learned to move in tandem with her technique, there’s almost nothing that can really stop her. But now, feels herself losing some sort of internal struggle beneath her watchful gaze.
She scrambles to her feet in the limited distance between them, and throws her arms around her neck. It’s a bit of a reach but she doesn’t care, wrapping her arms as tightly around her as she can. Gojo Satoru is not an emotional person, but for the first time in months, she lets herself cry on her best friend’s shoulder.
“Suguru,” she whispers, distraught, “my baby.” She threads her finger into her cold hair, breathing in as intensely as she can. Her face is hot with tears, but she burrows in closer. She had no idea if Geto even recognized her, or what she might be thinking. But still, Gojo hugged her as tightly as she could.
She makes some sort of noise, clearly taken aback. Somewhere between a huff of protest and surprise. She doesn’t move much, keeping her grip firm. Eventually, though, Gojo feels a wet warmth against her cheek, dragging down against the high collar of her top.
Pulling back, Gojo sees the moment Geto’s pupils expand as the salt of her skin registers, holding on tighter and forcing their bodies closer.
This was horrible. Gojo was truly beyond any saving. She’d let this happen; she’d cursed her best friend. And now, she was refusing to do anything but embrace her friend’s misery. Gojo had failed to protect her closest companion from pain when it had mattered most, and she was doing it still. Even in death, she had failed her.
Yet, despite all her strength, despite knowing how awful this was—Gojo let herself be pulled closer. She let Geto paw at her clothes to access more of her skin and curl a foot around her leg. Because the truth of it was that Gojo was not that strong of a person.
“Suguru,” she moans, pulling down the zipper of her sweater and shrugging it off.
Satoru. She thinks she hears her hiss in an equal parts whispery and raspy voice—like she was unused to talking. It echoes all around as if Geto was not the only one speaking to her.
Gojo unwinds her arms, not dropping to the floor with the hand still wrapped around her waist, slowly cupping Geto’s face. “Suguru?” she asks, voice wobbly.
Geto pushes her cheek against her hand, while her chest rumbles. She inhales deeply against her palm and continues licking.
Oh, Gojo suddenly realized, it was her cursed energy. It was the reason Geto had been going after all those places, the reason she now nuzzles against her and looks so esurient and needy. To test it, she lets out a bit of her cursed energy, opening her eyes as she drapes her skin with a faint invisible coat.
The effect is immediate, Geto’s plasters to her neck with greater fervor, claws digging into her clothes, a rumble reverberating through her chest.
In cursing her, Gojo had given Geto some sort of dependency on her cursed energy, tying them in some way that she now clearly hungered for it so deeply. When she feels teeth begin to graze her neck, she pants. This was unacceptable. Geto was confused and hungry, and this was all Gojo’s fault, but still, she couldn’t help herself. With a pang of guilt, she tilts her neck to the side and pulls off the jacket.
Geto’s cursed energy surges with the extra skin—the shape of her soul shaking erratically. Sniffing and licking across her muscles, her claws sink into her undershirt and she groans. Gojo aids her too easily, pulling off the shirt and her sports bra, leaving herself top half bare.
“Ah,” she moans when Geto immediately ducks down to lick around her breasts, raising her higher up until Gojo has no choice but to hold onto her thick horns for stability. Her feet dangle without much to cling to before she closes her eyes and wraps her thighs around her built torso.
The non-cursed hand rubs up and down her back, tracing down her spine, spending time digging into each knob. It’s only a bit of touching and licking, but Gojo begins to squirm. She liked the assurance she got from Infinity. It was a security blanket she didn’t particularly mind relying on; it was easier to not miss something she’d forgotten about. The distance was constant and she couldn’t complain.
But now, it meant she could barely bring herself to stop from crumbling, spine bowing under Geto’s insistent mapping, resting her cheek against the cool material of the smooth horns. This was beyond deplorable, becoming so quickly debauched from something that should be breaking her heart, something that should disgust her. But it was Geto, Geto was here, and Geto was hungry for her.
She jolts back to awareness when a hot nail pushes against the waistband of her pants. And then Geto’s pulling her back down and rutting against her.
“Give me a sec,” she begs. If Geto ruined her pants now, the walk of shame she was promised after this would increase tenfold. She seems to register her words, but with a growl pulls her closer. Gojo tries to release a bit of her power to help Geto set her down for just a moment, but it’s obviously the wrong move when Geto’s actions grow more frantic with the increase of her energy into the heating air between them.
Satoru. Mine.
“I know sweetheart,” she says, cupping her cheek again, “Don’t worry baby, I’m not going anywhere. I just want to help you.”
The curse considers her, and after a few seconds, Geto finally lowers her back to the floor. She doesn’t let her go though. Or she tries to at least, grip slacking for a moment before she huffs and tightens it. But it was enough for Gojo to shimmy out of her pants and boxers, trying to ignore the obvious wet patch as she pulled the tight material away from her lower body.
She feels self-conscious as she turns to fold her clothes at least slightly so that they don’t lie on the less-than-hygienic floor of wherever Geto’s made a home for herself. Although, it wasn’t like she cared about immodesty—taking pride in her sculpted musculature—she and Geto had never really seen one another naked except for one awkward joint mission to a hot spring she pretended she hadn’t seared into her memory.
And while this was something Gojo had dreamt about for ages, she wasn’t entirely sure if Geto shared in her interest pre-death. Sure there’d been a few tense moments, but Geto hadn’t ever made any sort of move. And Gojo, as clumsy as she tried pretending she wasn’t, was never quite courageous enough to make that leap.
Then Geto left, and Gojo got her answer. Which should have been the end of it. But, of course, she’d gone and opened her big mouth. Just when Geto was about to slip away even further, she’d been unable to stop herself from clawing for some last final something with her. This had been the result of that foolishness.
But for her cursed form to manifest this way, clearly desiring her deeply, even if it was tied to her cursed energy—perhaps Geto had returned her affections to a larger degree than she had initially expected. As if sensing her thoughts, Geto makes a noise of impatience before she pulls Gojo back to her, leaning down on her naked flesh. Gojo has only a moment to brace a forearm against the cold cave wall before Geto’s warm breath heats up her left ear, tongue, and teeth returning to plant themselves across the back of her neck.
Gojo almost protests, she debates bringing up Infinity for half a moment, feeling hypersensitive about the unguarded area. She didn’t like being touched, but she especially hated being touched behind her ears, having nearly vaporized the barber who had shaved the bottom part of her hair. Such a vulnerable place that was not only extraordinarily sensitive, but one she also couldn’t monitor being touched with her abilities shut off.
With Geto though, she just moans brokenly, immediately discarding her ability, as she’d struggled to even get it to respond to her at all—more than aware of the fact that she wasn’t in danger. She lets her run her teeth across the unguarded flesh, not protesting any of her nips, only feeling herself grow wetter and shake harder.
She’s also still trying to acclimate to how large she is. Gojo was used to being the tallest in any room she walked into, towering over men and women alike without much struggle. And once she started bulking up a bit, she started becoming the biggest as well. But now with Geto towering over her and lying across her back, she began to understand how much bigger she was. It wasn’t just that she was taller but also impossibly wider, covering Gojo up so easily that if any creature chanced upon the cave opening, she was sure they’d only be able to spot Geto.
“Be patient,” she tries, hoping to maybe maneuver them to an easier position. But Geto refuses, and she feels something insistently nudge along her ass as she struggles. The foot from earlier pulls one of her legs to the side. “What,” she questions, cutting herself off with a moan when it drags across her folds. It wriggles against her, feeling slippery and unbelievably warm.
It also feels thick and unforgiving as it slides forward, nudging against her opening. She tries looking down, but drops her forehead and screws her eyes shut when something latches onto her sensitive skin, suctioning onto her clit before immediately unlatching with Geto’s next thrust.
“Let me stretch,” she begs, “Suguru, it’s going to break me.”
Geto hums in what sounds like disagreement, continuing her actions with little regard.
“Suguru,” again her ability fails her, refusing her half-hearted command to push Geto away. In response, Geto raises her up, and without even the ground to push up against, she gives up, sagging in her hold.
To her relief, it’s something much thinner that finally begins to prod around her entrance in earnest. Geto grunts, most likely in frustration as she nibbles on one of Gojo’s shoulders, gnawing against the muscle.
“Let me,” she says, trying once more to persuade Geto into giving her some leeway, but the curse refuses. So Gojo tries the next best thing she can come up with: purposefully swiveling her hips despite Geto’s strong grip, till the spongy surface slides slightly into her.
Gojo gasps, feeling the suckers from earlier begin to latch on as Geto drives herself forward. She jolts from the unfamiliar sensation but otherwise, despite the pressure, the glide is painless. It could be from the small size or from the oozing substance that begins to coat her walls, but Gojo isn’t entirely sure which.
With increasing trepidation, she realizes that the more Geto edges herself in, the more she grows. At first, she thought it was just the base that was larger, but even the head feels much more pronounced.
Ultimately though, Gojo found that she couldn’t muster up any refusal. Merely whining louder the more Geto brushed up against the curves inside of her, easily filling out whatever space was available and then some. The more she forced her insides to comply, the louder she moaned, grabbing onto the hand holding her.
Gojo had been tasked to exorcise an errant curse that had plagued multiple villages with its destruction. Instead, she was letting herself get fucked not only without any opposition but with eager desperation for more. There was no telling exactly how Geto viewed the interaction, if she wanted more than just her cursed energy, but Gojo didn’t mind—more than willing to see whatever Geto had in store for her.
She was the head of the Gojo clan, the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, yet she was allowing herself to be defiled by a curse and enjoying it. She couldn’t imagine what people would say if they knew. How disgusted they would be of the Six Eyes bearer moaning wantonly under a sworn enemy—not only a curse but the manifested curse of one of the most infamous villains in all of modern Jujutsu society.
But even with the knowledge of how inexcusable and shameful her actions were, she couldn’t bring herself to make the curse stop, groaning as Geto sank in deeper, somehow finding another inch to push into.
With each thrust, the small suctions would rip away before latching back on as Geto would grind while seated inside her. She didn’t even know what this was, what she’d let Geto fill her with, how dangerous it might be. Still, she’d responded with nothing but desperation, begging her for more.
She tries scrambling against the wall for some level of clarity, something to latch onto but Geto just pulls her back, content to support her with nothing but a hand, both fucking up into her and moving her downwards to match each thrust.
Gojo reaches a hand back, at least able to loop an arm around Geto’s neck. She doesn’t protest when her tongue finds its way back to her face, licking up any of her tears and sweat.
So sweet.
She isn’t sure what exactly she’s referring to but Gojo just nods and kisses whatever part of her she can reach, curse flesh and skin alike. She tries kissing her mouth, but with the teeth it’s a bit difficult. As if sensing her intentions though, Geto pushes her tongue into her mouth, licking up her breathless whimpers. It’s messy and uncoordinated, and the angle is awkward, but Gojo doesn’t care, hungry for anything she’d give her
She feels Geto grow even larger inside of her, but without anywhere to hold onto, she’s helpless in her grasp, simply curling her toes and crying out. The suckers inside of her latch on tighter than before, pulsing and not allowing Geto to move much. And with a grunt, she lowers her onto the piles of furs she’d probably been using as her bed. She tries pushing in deeper with the extra support, the grip on her leg pulling it aside again while her other arm pushes down on her upper back.
Eventually, when she can’t move anymore, Geto falls onto her back and with a loud groan spills inside. The hand on her waist finally lets go to cradle her front, and for a moment Gojo wonders if she can feel the amount of whatever’s coursing into her.
Gojo feels hot, and the suckers pulse against her. She’s shaking and probably crying. She tries reaching down to offer herself some stimulation, but Geto stirs from whatever reverie she’s in to drop her weight further onto Gojo with a grunt and pulls her arms to the side with each hand.
“Suguru,” she pleads brokenly, “please, I just want…”
Geto hums, and releases one of her arms to rub the heel of her palm lightly against her clit. It’s barely a touch, but that’s all it takes before Gojo comes, squeezing whatever is inside of her. For once, she isn’t aware of much, letting her consciousness drift away and most of her senses disappear. She can smell and feel Geto beside her and it’s enough.
When she eventually wearily blinks her eyes open, she feels Geto finally pull away. With a pang, she tries reaching back for her, but Geto pushes her over onto her back. Finally, she gets an eye full of what’s been inside her, disbelieving at the sheer size of what she’d managed to impale her on.
“Wait,” she says, taking in its pulsing, “there’s no more room inside. I need to clean myself out first.” Definitely, she should really just be refusing her, once was enough for her to snap to her senses surely. Anything more would just be greedy. Instead, Gojo is unable to deny her in any form, not willing to push her away.
To her surprise, Geto seems to accept the information, backing away. However, just when Gojo thinks their coupling might have concluded, Geto lowers her head, and suddenly a velvety tongue is lapping up the thick white-like substance spilling out of her. Gojo quakes, still feeling sensitive, but holds on to her horns again and bucks up into her mouth.
Thankfully, she’s careful of her teeth, keeping them safely away while her tongue delves further and further inside of her. She keeps at it, licking up more of her own release until Gojo’s whiney and nearly about to come again.
Geto moves back despite Gojo’s protests, unbothered by her yanking on her horns. She looks at Gojo and seems to study her trembling naked form for a moment before she spreads her legs with her hands and slowly pushes back in. Seemingly somewhat satisfied by the cursed energy she’s already consumed, the pace is much more deliberate and less hurried. Geto pulls her until Gojo lies entirely beneath her. Due to the difference in their sizes, Gojo has only a moment to breathe before Geto’s upper body drops onto her face, burying her almost instantly with her breasts.
Geto had always had a larger chest but now as a curse, it’s grown with the rest of her, and Gojo splutters for air while Geto rocks into her. With a grunt though, Geto repositions by standing, pulling Gojo back up with her, and grabbing her by her waist again. Like this, Gojo can wrap her arms around her neck, plastering kisses wherever her mouth can reach. She looks to find Geto already staring at her, appearing transfixed by the display.
“Suguru,” she whines, holding onto her as close as she can, “missed you.”
The curse hums, slowing its pace even further to bring Gojo up as close as she can.
Satoru... she says morsefully.
“It’s ok,” she waves aside, beginning to cry, “you’re here now.”
This form…, she trails off, eyes darting to the side.
“You look beautiful,” Gojo says, frustrated. She’d done this. “You’re the only one for me, it doesn’t matter what you look like. I just want you.”
Geto looks uncertain and self-conscious, refusing to look back at Gojo.
“Fine,” she redirects one of her hands to grab the lower half of her face and forces her to stare back at her, “Do you want the truth?” Gojo sighs, she’d been hoping to avoid a head-on confrontation with her debauchery, but with Geto’s slower pace—there was nowhere for her to run.
“The truth is,” she searches for her eyes, tracing a hand down her defined abdomen, “I like you like this—I like it a lot. Maybe too much. I think there’s probably something wrong with me because I only want you even more.” The words were daming and impious towards all she stood for, but it didn’t matter. “I will always want you by my side, but now I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”
Not leaving, the curse promises.
“Good,” Gojo says, horribly, the way she should never, but the words spill out and she’s terrified of anything else being true, “Never leave me again.”
Never.
Gojo preens, about to respond in some smug tone when Geto regrips her legs, pulling her down a bit harder than before. As their bodies slap together, there’s an unmistakable squelching noise and Gojo briefly wonders if Geto had actually managed to fully clean her out earlier or had instead left some of her earlier come.
She ducks herself back against the curse while her body burns with pleasure.
“Gojo.” He sounds disappointed and winded, staring at her with disbelief. He can probably sense the familiar cursed energy all around her, the unmistakable remnants still inside of her.
Gojo cringes, scratching the back of her head and trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “Hey, what’s up?”
“What,” he says with some deep seated terror, “did you do?”
“Um,” she struggles for an excuse, for something to explain her depravity. Before she can come up with anything, she senses the space behind her split, a heavy indigo-hued hand resting at her hip. Warmth spreads across her back and she imagines that Geto now fixes their former principal with an unreadable expression.
His face screws up, seeming to race through emotions as he struggles with finding anything to say. His hands ball into fists before he sighs. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah,” Gojo says, “I’ve got it handled.”
It’s apparently enough for Yaga, as he gives her and the curse a curt nod before turning and walking away muttering something about his pay grade.
Gojo just reaches a hand up to scratch at Geto’s chin. The curse responds with a gentle sound of interest, redirecting her attention now that they’re alone. A tongue begins to trace along her face and pulls her hips back prompting Gojo to try to put some distance between them with a squeal of being in public. Once she’s gotten her to calm down she crosses her arms.
“Well,” she says, “want to scare the shit out of Shoko?”