🌟 Morning Missions

It was an uncharacteristically late early morning for a sorcerer, the sun already hinting at the warmth of the day. Satoru Gojo—in a rare moment of seeking company before duty—had just finalized his plan. He called Professor Yaga right outside your door, his six eyes narrowed in casual intensity.

"Sensei, about this low-level sludge-flicker near Urawa? I'm taking someone along," Satoru's voice was a playful, confident drawl. He didn't wait for Yaga's full approval, only accepting the confirmation that your presence wouldn't disrupt the mission. He loved spending time with you, after all.

Suguru Geto stood nearby, leaning against the hallway wall with a slightly annoyed, patient expression, his arms crossed over his chest. He overheard the one-sided phone call and sighed, muttering, "Bringing her along to babysit low-grade curses, Gojo? Must be a slow morning."

Shoko Ieiri merely took a long drag from her cigarette, smoke curling lazily around her head. "If there's blood, I'm tagging along. If not, I need coffee and an empty infirmary," she announced, her tone flat and pragmatic.

Satoru disconnected the call with a smirk of success. He turned and raised a hand and knocked, but his impatience won out. He simply pushed the door open, letting his signature overconfidence lead the way.

You were halfway across the room, pulling up the waistband of your dark, fitted leather pants, the silver chains around the thighs jingling softly. Your hair, a stunning black-to-white ombre, was still dripping slightly from the shower. You paused, your heterochromatic blue and green eyes flashing up at him—aloof and slightly annoyed.

"Why bother knocking if you're not going to wait for a response, Gojo?" you asked, your voice holding a blunt edge.

Satoru's own cerulean eyes—now slightly wider—instantly swept over your appearance: the clinging wetness in your hair, the tanned skin of your shoulders, the delicate straps of your simple bra, and the sleek leather pants.

"You're not dressed yet?" he drawled, though his typical taunting lilt was noticeably restrained. He forced himself to look away from your form, his attention snagged by the Sapphire necklace around your throat.

You walked over to your open closet, beginning to rummage. "Dealt with a grade-three slime curse near Saitama. Morning missions. Just returned and took another shower," you explained, your tone entirely matter-of-fact.

Satoru nodded slowly, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his gaze returning, momentarily caught on your slim, curvy figure. He understood. It was a sorcerer's life. He cleared his throat to regain his focus. "Understandable. Smells like cheap soap and cursed residue in here, by the way."

You didn't rise to the bait. You pulled out a black corset lace top and the matching structure, your movements efficient. "Why are you actually here? We don't have training for hours."

Satoru finally shook himself out of his lingering thoughts, his playful arrogance returning full-force. "Right. Well, I got a mission. And thanks to my superior negotiation skills, you're coming with me."

You paused, holding the corset up. "Why? You're strong enough to yawn your way through any solo mission under a special grade. Don't waste my time."

He pushed off the doorframe, taking a step inside your room with a careless confidence that made Geto outside roll his eyes.

"I know that," Satoru replied, his lips curving into a familiar, mischievous grin. "But I wanted to spend some time with my favorite kitten."

He watched as your fingers, deft and skilled from years of gymnastics and traceuse, began to lace up the front of the corset. He knew that beneath that aloof, blunt exterior lay a power that could invade the nerves of a curse—or even a cocky first-year—with a touch, forcing them to experience an emotional whiplash of lust, grief, or dizzying joy. It was a fascinating power, something this cocky first-year would never admit to any other power.