*ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆ You've reached my smutty little corner of the internet!
27 | she/her | most likely crying over fictional men | lover of writing, photography, gaming & dogs | 18+/mature content. Minors do not engage
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･───
My literary universe
Satoru Gojo (smut): Pervy neighbor Satoru ⛧ Satoru proves you wrong ⛧ Being tutored by Nerdjo⛧ Fingered to tears by your bf Satoru ⛧ Riding Satoru Gojo ⛧ Satoru puts you in your place
Satoru Gojo (fluff): Satoru Gojo as your wedding date ⛧ Satoru calls you baby and you hate it ⛧ Accidental love confession from Satoru
Choso Kamo (smut): Yandere neighbor Choso ⛧ Your best friend Choso is a virgin | part 2 ⛧ Accidental sext from your best friend Choso | part 2
Toji Fushiguro (smut): Babysitting for Toji Fushiguro ⛧ Staying late at work with Toji ⛧
Toji Fushiguro (fluff): 5 months of Toji Fushiguro
Sukuna Ryomen (smut): Late night text from your fwb Sukuna
Sukuna Ryomen (fluff): The King of Curses & aftercare
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⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Your down bad ex bf Choso still watches videos of you! | Choso Kamo x fem reader 18+ minors do not engage!
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
It's a rainy, dreary night and your ex boyfriend Choso is a blunt deep and missing you more than he even thought possible. As much as he'd love to call you, to tell you how much he'd give to see your pretty face or hear the way you say his name, you've completely shut him out.
No answer when he calls, no responses to his texts. You don't even open the countless notifications when he swipes up on your Instagram stories, replying with heart eyes to every single one.
Choso's resorted to watching old videos of the two of you, desperate to hear your laugh and pretend your presence is still within his reach. In the weeks since you've ghosted him, he's watched every video of you on his phone in an attempt to fill the void your radiant presence left behind.
Well, almost every video.
Choso's breath catches when he swipes to an unfamiliar clip; it's from his point of view, phone shaky and angled downward until it finally focuses on you.
His hands tremble and the phone nearly falls from his grasp when he takes in the image on the screen in front of him. He has your hands pinned together behind your back, his massive hand binding your wrists and highlighting the sheer size difference between the two of you.
Your back's arched deliciously, a perfect, familiar curve his hands have mapped countless times. Then you turn around, looking past the camera into Choso's eyes as he films with a look that never fails to unravel him, eyes glassy and heavily lidded as they regard him with an intoxicating combination of lust and love.
"Fuck," he pants, heart hammering and pulse spiking as the video plays on and your face contorts when he fills you up from behind. Your head falls down to your pillow, the one you love to cling to when you sleep, and muffled moans fill his room as they echo from his phone.
The camera angle lowers, catching the slow, sinful stretch of your walls as Choso's thick cock splits you open. It's pornographic, the camera's angle, the way his hips roll until his pelvis is flush against your ass and you're crying his name like it's the only word you know.
His cock throbs violently with every second spent watching you, hearing you, remembering the way it felt to be inside of you. He can't help himself—Choso palms his hard length over his boxers, his yearning body shuddering under his own touch.
"My good girl," Choso coos for the camera between unconfined moans. His hand releases your wrists to grab hold of your ass, pulling you into him with every snap of his hips that has the sound of skin slapping skin ringing out from his speakers.
Choso's got his eyes glued to the screen and his hand resting on his bulge as he palms his clothed cock. Each drag of his hand and twist of his wrist is brutal, taunting. It should be you. God, he wishes it was you.
His chest is heavy and aching with love and lust and longing the longer he watches, each second further twisting the knife in his heart, but he can't look away as his body reacts to the salacious memory of fucking you.
Even through the screen he doesn't miss the telltale signs that you're close to finishing; he sees it in the way you writhe under him, arching your back and fucking into him at a pace that matches his. He also knows he's close at that point, it's made painfully obvious by the way he's practically whimpering each time you slam your ass back onto his throbbing cock.
"My fucking girl, fuck, I love you," he whispers to the camera, and the words make something in your ex boyfriend snap.
In an instant he's dialing your number. He knows it's useless, knows you don't want to hear from him, knows to brace for the sound of your voicemail, the only piece of yourself you've still allowed him access too.
So when your sleepy voice sounds on the other end of the line, Choso actually drops his phone.
"It's late, Choso," you yawn, speaking first. "Is everything okay?"
Choso's pretty sure his mind's short circuiting. He tries to form words but they die on his tongue, and only shallow, erratic breaths make it past his lips.
"Earth to Cho? You there"
"Y-yeah, fuck, 'm here. You answered." He breathes, shock and relief evident in his confounded tone.
"I answered," you hum. "What are you doing?"
The answer is simple, but he rambles until he's even more breathless.
"I-fuck," Choso starts, already stuttering. "I miss you so much and I was watching videos j-just to hear your voice but then I found an old video we made when I was fucking you and god I'm so, so turned on and I need you here and—"
You interrupt, and he's grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath. "Are you watching it right now?"
"...yes."
"Still such a perv," you mutter softly under your breath. He can hear the smile in your voice, the one you always wear when you want to be annoyed with him but your fondness for Choso takes over. It makes him dizzy, the unspoken confirmation that you still think of him that way.
"I wanna see it."
"W-what?" He's sure he heard you wrong.
"The video we made," you say, voice quiet like it cost you something to repeat. "I want to see it."
"Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay I'll send it to you right now." Choso's all fumbling hands and quick breaths, not even trying to play it cool. Your voice gives him pause before he can hit send.
"Actually, Cho," he twitches involuntarily upon hearing his nickname on your lips.
"Will you... come over and show me instead?" You practically purr. You already know the answer.
"Fuck yes."
Choso's in his car in record time, shirt on backwards and breaking more road rules than you'd approve of, to do just that.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
A/n: it's late and I want him bad. Anyway yay for finally overcoming writer's block!!
︵ ೀ mdni. you catch naoya masturbating in his chambers ( part one / part two / part three / part four )
it happened only a few weeks into your new position as a maid in the zenin clan that you saw the heir touch himself.
you had come to naoya’s chambers as always—to prepare the day’s attire, to lay out the silk and tie the obi. you knocked once, softly, then slid the door open just enough to step inside with the basket of fresh clothes balanced on your hip.
he was not dressed for the day.
he reclines against the low stack of folded futons near the window, kosode fallen open across his shoulders, hakama shoved down just past his hips. the morning light cuts through the paper screens in thin gold bars, painting stripes across his bare chest and his stomach, the sharp V that disappears beneath the fabric still bunched at his thighs.
his cock is in his hand—thick, flushed an angry pink at the head, veins standing out against pale skin. he strokes himself with slow, measured pulls, base to tip, pausing at the crown to smear the bead of precum that wells there with his thumb. the motion is unhurried, almost lazy, like he has all the time in the world to enjoy himself.
his other arm is braced behind his head; his chest rises and falls in deep breaths that hitch every few strokes.
you can’t look away. you should look a away. but you can’t.
a thin sheen of sweat gathers in the hollow of his collarbone, slides down the center line of his torso, catches the light. his head tips back against the futon, throat exposed, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows a low sound—half sigh, half growl. blond strands stick to his damp temple; his lips part on another exhale.
he doesn’t rush. that’s what makes it worse. he takes his time, dragging his fist down to the root, squeezing just enough that his hips lift off the futon before the head disappears into his grip and reappears slick and glistening again. he twists his wrist on the next pass—slow, deliberate—thumb circling the sensitive ridge until his thighs tense and a faint tremor runs through them.
you press your thighs together beneath your uniform skirt, heat pooling between your legs. no. you couldn’t look at your employer like this—the heir, the man who ruled the household with nothing but arrogance—like this.
his breathing grows rougher and slick sounds fill the room now: the wet glide of skin on skin, the soft slap when his hand meets his pelvis. a bead of sweat rolls from his jaw down the side of his neck. he bites his lower lip, hard enough to leave a mark, muffling whatever sound wants to escape.
his free hand drifts down, cups his balls briefly, rolls them in his palm before returning to brace against the futon. his hips cant upward again, chasing the friction, fucking shallowly into his own fist. the muscles in his forearm stand out; his biceps flex with every pump. his cock throbs visibly—thickening further, the head darkening to a deep, flushed red.
“fuck,” he breathes, so quiet it’s almost lost under the sound of his own hand. his eyes are closed, lashes dark against his cheeks, brows drawn tight. he’s close—you can tell.
“shit—yes—”
his head falls forward, hair falling into his eyes. he strokes faster now—short, firm pulls focused on the head—until a choked sound tears from his throat. thick ropes spill over his knuckles, streaking across his stomach in messy white arcs that drip slowly toward the sharp cut of his hipbones. one pulse lands high on his chest; another coats his fingers. he milks himself through it with slow, dragging strokes, drawing out every last shudder until his hand falls limp against his thigh.
for a long moment he just breathes—harsh, uneven—chest rising and falling like he’s run a mile. his eyes stay closed. sweat gleams along his collarbones. his cock twitches once, twice, softening against his stomach amid the mess he’s made.
then, so soft you almost miss it—barely more than a sigh—he whispers your name.
your name.
your heart slams against your ribs.
he still hasn’t opened his eyes. hasn’t noticed the cracked door, the shadow you cast, the way your breathing has turned quick. he simply lies there, one hand resting absently on his lower stomach, fingers trailing through the cooling spend without thought.
you should leave. now. before he looks up. but your body won’t move. the basket with fresh clothes slips from your numb fingers and hits the floor. his eyes snap open—immediately finding yours through the narrow gap.
a slow, dangerous smile curls his mouth. “come in,” he says, voice still rough from his release. “and close the door behind you.”
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⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Neighbor Satoru, who accidentally discovered that the wall between your bedroom and his guest room is very thin | 18+ mdni
Neighbor Satoru, who wandered into his guest room on a sleepless night and heard you getting your insides rearranged through the wall. You were with some guy, calling out his name in pure bliss, and his mind started to spiral as he thought of all of the things he wanted to do to you to have you calling out his name like that.
Neighbor Satoru, who's become obsessed with listening in on you since. Sometimes, he can hear you through the wall... gaming, talking on the phone with your friends, singing to yourself while you clean. Tonight though, he can hear your muffled moans and whimpers, his favorite sound of all.
Neighbor Satoru, who leans closer to the wall to hear your whines more clearly, those addictive, needy sounds spilling out of your mouth. Before long his ear's pressed against the wall like a goddamn creep, hand stroking his impossibly hard bulge over his sweats.
Neighbor Satoru, who imagines having his way with you in every room of his apartment, your irresistible figure bent over his dining room table, sprawled out underneath him on his couch, straddling him on his bed. He can practically taste your lips on his, hear you sigh into his ear as you struggle take his enormous length.
Neighbor Satoru, who can tell that you're close to finishing--he's memorized the signs by now. The way your breath starts to stutter, how you curse more, the way your voice pitches up.
He frees his cock from his sweats and strokes himself desperately, reaching his release in time with yours with your name on his lips.
Neighbor Satoru, who smiles his dazzling smile and says "hey, neighbor!" later that day when you run into him by the elevators, playing the part of a perfect gentleman and totally normal next door neighbor.
︵ ೀ mdni. toji is so old he could be your dad but he just fucks too good
toji’s old enough to be your dad and you both know it.
you see the silver in his stubble when he leans over the console, the way his knuckles are busted and healed a hundred times over. yeah... he’s got this shady job and a driver’s license that expired the year you graduated high school. but whatever.
you still crawl into his lap the second the door slams shut, loving the way the truck groans every time he drives into you hard enough like he’s trying to break it and you at the same time.
boys your age send dick pics and ask if you’re dtf. toji just palms your ass, lifts you onto his cock like you weigh nothing, and sinks you down slow until you’re gasping at how deep he sits. he doesn’t ask if you’re sure. he knows you are.
you picked him on purpose.
he always grumbles about your knees on the leather yet his hands are always already under your skirt, calloused palms spreading your thighs wide while he mutters “fucking brat” against your mouth.
thick arms cage you against the passenger seat while the windows fog up in the empty parking lot. he’s got you folded damn near in half, knees to your chest, cock buried so deep your belly bulges a little every time he bottoms out.
then his phone lights up. he doesn’t stop, reaches over with one hand, thumb swiping answer while the other keeps your hips pinned.
“yeah,” he grunts into the speaker. “target’s still breathing. give me twenty.”
he rolls his hips hard on the last word, his cockhead grinding right where it makes you stupid. you whimper loud enough the guy on the line probably hears. toji’s eyes flick to you. “open,” he mouths, silent.
you do. he slides two thick fingers past your lips, pressing down on your tongue so you can’t make another sound. the guy keeps talking money, timelines, whatever. toji nods along, fucking you deeper, slow drags that have your eyes rolling back.
“mm-hmm,” he hums, curling his fingers in your mouth when you start to drool. “i’ll handle it tonight.”
you come clenching around him, whole body shaking, muffled around his fingers. he grunts once, low, then spills inside you with a lazy thrust, filling you up while still on the call like it’s nothing.
but you’re not done. you lift your hips slow, greedy, and sink back down, dragging his half-hard cock along your soaked walls just to feel the stretch again. you roll your hips in circles, grinding the thick head against that spot inside that makes your breath hitch, thighs trembling from how sensitive you still are.
his fingers slip from your mouth, wet with spit, and land heavy on your waist like he’s gonna stop you. instead his grip tightens. you do it again (lift, drop, grind) and catch the tiniest twitch of his hips up into you, a rough exhale through his nose.
he likes it. likes you using him while he’s still leaking inside you, likes the messy drag of his own cum making it slicker, likes watching you fuck yourself stupid on a cock that’s already hard again, impossibly fast, stretching you open while the guy on the line keeps droning about drop points and payment.
toji mutes the call for half a second, growls “keep fucking yourself on me, doll” against your throat, then unmutes like nothing happened and answers with a bored “uh-huh” while you ride him harder with his cum dripping down your thighs.
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ೃ࿔*:･ After your teasing hits a nerve, Satoru decides to put you in your place | cw: smut, praising, lil bit of edging (18+)
You were only joking when you said Satoru Gojo seemed like the type to be terrible in bed.
You didn't expect your taunting to hit a nerve, given his chronically inflamed ego you thought he'd just shrug it off like he always did. But he took it personally. So personally, in fact, that he was hellbent on proving you wrong.
That's how you ended up on his kitchen counter, moaning and crying his name, your hands threaded through his hair. He's got your legs trembling, back arching off of the marble as he "proves you wrong" for the third time in 20 minutes.
You watch in awe as he mercillesly pumps his fingers in and out of your soaked cunt, bringing you closer to yet another orgasm.
"Toru, I can't," you whine, clawing at his veiny forearms in utter desperation. With his free hand he pins your wrists together to keep you from interfering. "Too much, fuck so good, too good."
He's smiling like a goddamn sadist, curving his long, slender fingers and picking up his speed as though he's fueled by your whimpering. "Be a good girl, yeah? You can take it, gotta prep you for my cock."
He brings his tongue down to lick your clit and your pleas become downright incoherent, much to his satisfaction. Eventually his mouth leaves your clit and his plush lips meet yours, kissing you tenderly and passionately as though he didn't just ruin you for the past half hour. You moan his name into his mouth as you finish on his fingers, the evidence of your release dripping down his hand and onto his wrist.
"That's it," he coos, smirking against your lips.
"Not done proving my point yet though." He kisses you again, with more force this time, and you thread your fingers through his white locks and part your lips for him.
In a show of his strength slides you off of the counter in one swift and controlled motion and into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively and he carries you to his couch, sinking down and pinning you to his lap with his otherworldly strength.
His lips stay on yours, only breaking contact long enough for him to pull down his sweats and free his heavy cock. Your eyes widen as you take in the sight--absurdly thick and already leaking precum, and he grins in a way that tells you you're so fucked.
Your breath hitches when he lifts you by your waist and lowers you back onto his cock, both of you gasping as you stretch around him. "Mmm, you're so fucking tight," he licks his lips and watches you stretch around him as you bottom out, sinking down and taking his full length.
You thought you were spent after the way he handled you earlier, but your hips rock instinctively as the pleasure overrides your exhaustion. You grab onto his muscular shoulders to stabilize yourself, holding on with trembling hands, and keep a slow but steady rhythm while you grind on his cock.
"Yeah baby, just like that." His big hands grab hold of your waist, firm and possessive, before he starts thrusting into you, his tip brushing against your cervix with every impossibly deep stroke.
Your rhythm falters as he fucks you harder and deeper, and your forehead falls onto his.
"Satoru--" you start to speak but the pleasure morphs your words into moans before they have a chance to take shape.
"Speechless now, are we?" His dazzling smile turns primal and he lifts your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You sure had a lot to say earlier."
He's relentless with his pace, his force. With each upward stroke he pulls you down onto his solid length and it's not long before your legs are twitching and your nails are leaving marks on his pecs.
"Fuck I'm gonna-" You're close--so close, when he suddenly stops moving, hands still on your waist and tethering you to him.
"What--" your voice breaks as you process the loss of friction and the devastation of your ruined orgasm. "Please Toru, please I need you. Don't stop."
He clicks his tongue condescendingly, clearly getting off on your suffering. "Look at you pretty girl, so needy." That feral smile returns, sending a shiver down your spine. "Take back what you said earlier and I'll let you cum."
You're damn near sobbing now, hopelessly trying to grind your hips despite the fact that his hands hold you in place.
"I was wrong, so fucking wrong. Please! I take it back."
He smiles--softer this time, and brings a hand to your face to gently wipe away the tears that began to well in your eyes before tucking your hair behind your ear--his gentle treatment at odds with the current torment he's inflicting.
He hums, satisfied with your admission, before thrusting back into you. "Alright," his smirk returns and his eyes darken with a look that tells you that you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. "Since you asked so nicely."
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Accidental love confession from your boyfriend Satoru | Satoru Gojo x reader fluff
"Satoru!" You call out from the kitchen, dusting your powdered hands onto your apron—it reads "Kiss the Chef," courtesy of your boyfriend Satoru, who adores everything you cook. There have been times where you've wondered if he's only dating you for the culinary perks.
"They're ready!"
Satoru appears in an instant, your sweet voice and the even sweeter scent of the confections you spent the past few hours making effectively summoning him to your kitchen. His gaze flits between you and the delectable tray of beignets.
"Can't decide what looks more delicious, baby," he flirts with his effortless charm, his strong arms slipping around your waist. He rests his head on your shoulder, and soft white tufts of hair tickle your cheek as he eyes the pastries from behind you.
Satoru opens his mouth expectantly, tongue out with a childish "ahhhh," and although you roll your eyes, you can't suppress your smile. "Satoru, you're 29 years old. I'm sure you can manage to feed yourself."
"But everything tastes so much better when you feed it to me."
You roll your eyes again but you happily oblige anyway, powdered sugar billowing into the air and onto your fingers as you bring the pastry up to his awaiting lips. Despite its size, Satoru manages to eat almost the entire thing in one bite; a feat that once would've shocked you, but months into your relationship you've long since learned that your boyfriend's appetite for sweets knows no limits.
The second his lips close around the beignet he groans in pleasure, mumbling incoherently about how good it tastes with a mouth full of sugar. Enticed by his reaction, you bring the remaining piece to your own lips to try... and he's right, they are so good.
"Baby, they're amazing," Satoru compliments once his massive bite's been chewed and swallowed, making room in his mouth for words. "Seriously amazing. The best you've ever made."
Like a junkie he grabs your sugary hand, sucking the remaining powdered sugar off of your fingers.
"Satoru, what are you—" you squirm in an attempt to escape his playful grasp. But at 6'3" and all muscle, your boyfriend's grip is as effective as a cage as he holds your giggling body hostage.
"You freak," you laugh. "Just eat another one like a normal person!"
"What would possibly make you think I'm a normal person?" He questions, still kitten licking your fingers.
He (finally) releases you from his iron grasp and you move across the kitchen to grab a ceramic plate before placing another puffy, powdered pastry onto it.
"Can I take two? Maybe three?"
"II made them for you, babe. You can take them all if that's what you want, although I still don't know where you put it all," you comment, eyes dropping to his perfect figure that's somehow unaffected by his indulgent diet.
Satoru thanks you, mouth practically watering, before taking another bite.
"God, baby I love them so much. I love you so—"
The words hang in the air between you two for the first time. I love you. The confession immobilizes you both; Satoru's hand hovers midair, powdered sugar falling like fresh snow from the suspended beignet, and your eyes are wide but warm, inviting him to finish his thought.
He abandons his plate momentarily, taking a step closer to you; his powdery, sugary hands brush against your apron as he pulls you in by the small of your waist.
"I mean it, I really do. I love you," he repeats it so you know it's real, intense blue eyes softening, relaxing when you flash him the most sincere smile in response.
"And not just because you're the best goddamn baker probably in the entire world."
"I love you too, Satoru," you say back, forehead resting on his. The kiss that follows is sweet, sugary and sappy and passionate in a way that feels different from any other kisses you've shared before. And with the pastries momentarily forgotten, your boyfriend Satoru is more than happy to taste your lips instead.
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other people never get it right, in his opinion. there’s always a vowel that’s too drawn out, or a consonant that’s pronounced too sharply. he only ever smiles and nods when people say his name like that — it’s fine, sure. but it’s not right.
it’s become something very particular for him.
it’s not sah-toe-roo.
he’s also heard sahh-to-roo.
and some people will extend those vowels past their welcome.
but you? it glides off your tongue like honey.
sa-to-ru.
he likes the way it gets all sharp on your lips when you’re mad at him. satoru would never admit it to you, but sometimes he’ll piss you off on purpose whenever he’s in the mood to hear how you sharpen the consonants like knives when you're telling him off.
“what?” the sorcerer sits back in your office chair, the faintest traces of a completely intentional grin on his face.
he’d come in early for once in his life for this exact purpose; satoru knew you always came in devastatingly punctual, so he’d make sure to greet you the best way he knew how to make your morning: by sitting in your office and kicking his feet up on your paperwork.
you loved things clean. it’s cute. he wants you fucking messy, though!
and you’re seething so adorably, with your face all scrunched up and your shiny eyes narrowed. “does this look like your office, gojo?”
nope. not what he wants to hear.
satoru sits up abruptly, making a show out of glancing around the room, before letting out an exhale of a laugh. “you know, all the offices look suspiciously similar. might wanna bring it up with the higher-ups.”
“get out.”
“did you get enough sleep last night?” he tilts his head, feigning concern. “you’re being awfully rude about this.”
the way you narrow your eyes makes satoru wish he could see them glitter with crystallized tears, with his weight on top of you as he slides his tongue between your thighs—
you suck in a breath past pretty lips. “i’m not in the mood. yaga has me on the clock. please just give me this, gojo.”
please, you say, and it makes him smile smugly. satoru loves hearing it (although he’d love hearing it beneath the dark of a particularly low-lit bedroom), but he needs more. needs your voice to wrap around his name like you own it.
“plead nicer. unfortunately for you, i’m in the mood.”
“fuck, no.”
he leans further back into your chair. “didn’t hear you. sorry?”
“satoru.”
there it is. sa-to-ru; just the way he likes.
on other days, even when you’re rendered all sheepish and embarrassed at one of his jokes, satoru just can’t get enough of the way you say his name.
this time, your tone dulls around the edges, always muttered under your breath in front of important people when he’s threatened to embarrass you with something he’s said — it’s soft and small and stern all at the same time, dancing through the air like warm fucking breeze in the winter. he just wishes you wouldn’t be so quiet about it; if the sorcerer had a choice, he’d have your voice on repeat.
he already does, in a way.
it’s why satoru’s taken to teasing you specifically whenever you have faculty meetings in front of the higher-ups, or whenever you’re particularly engrossed in a lesson with your students, just to see you when you’re caught off your game and a tiny bit upset.
satoru loves you when you’re pouting, loves when your lips press flat into a thin line or when the inside of your cheek catches between your teeth, like you’ve got a retort on the tip of your sweet tongue but won’t let it slip for your own sake. so fucking considerate all the time.
you’re unbelievably gorgeous when you’re so composed.
and you let that sweet little breath of his name slip from your mouth when he’d push you a little too far during your class with your first years on reverse cursed technique. your eyes fixate on the ground, lips downturned, as satoru’d just gotten all of your students to laugh at a little jab towards your explaining methods.
“satoru.” you chastised in a small mumble, “let’s talk after my class, please.”
sa-to-ru.
god, that little whisper will be in his dreams tonight.
he’ll hear it over and over again and wish you’d mumbled it right against his earlobe, because no one else ever deserved to hear your voice like that.
“that’s awfully secretive, sensei. what’s so important that our beloved students can’t listen in on it, hm?” he knows what you’re getting at, of course.
but truthfully, he just wants to see your face contort with that fiery little expression, the same one he wanted to mouth at every inch of until nothing was left but pure bliss.
and satoru’s not shy about the way his heartbeat picks up when you nudge yourself a tiny bit closer, just to make sure he’s the only one who can hear what you say next. just so that your voice is only for him.
as it fucking should be.
the sorcerer’s hand just about brushes your hip, and save him if it isn’t taking everything in him to make sure he doesn’t grab you and pull you into his side like he has the right to do so.
“i don’t want my beloved students to hear me threaten to kill their sensei right here,” oh. satoru’s mind goes deliciously numb.
he grins, the edge of his mouth upturning slowly. “i’d love to see you try.”
you frown a tiny bit more.
“what exactly do you get out of pissing me off all the time?”
well.
⭑.ᐟ
satoru knows well enough that he adores your voice when it’s wrapped around his name.
but he’s decided that he loves it best when it’s completely breaking, paired with the gorgeously suffocating feeling of the skin of your thighs pressed into his fingertips and wrapped around his lips.
he loves when his name is exhaled, high-pitched and whiny like sugar, while his tongue paints a stripe across the wetness coating your lips, swirling circles around your pretty clit.
maybe he liked it the most because it’s how he’s always wanted to hear you say his name — it’s just that you’d always been too fucking stubborn, so insistent on hating him that you’d never stop to think how good you’d taste coating his mouth with your slick.
“sa-ah-toru,” you keen as satoru’s tongue dips past the edge of your soaked hole, curling inwards deliciously, moving slow like he’s savoring every fucking drop.
god, he’s hungry — but he’ll die if he goes too quick and can’t taste you ever again.
and if he grips the back of your thighs just a little bit harder when you sing his name like that? he simply can’t help it. he waited too long for this.
sa-to-ru.
you taste just as sweet as you sound.
you’d burst into his office this morning, bemoaning the fact that satoru hadn’t showed up to the previous briefing with principal yaga, of which ended with yaga blaming it on you. you’re bursting with rage, all up in his face, and it’s all a blur from there until your panties are hooked over your ankle, he’s getting on his knees in front of your office chair, wrapping your thighs over his shoulders, and lapping at your pretty cunt.
he hasn't gasped for air; he’s been too enveloped in your scent to care about breathing. he’ll devour you until no one else can. until all that pretty voice of yours knows how to sound out is sa-to-ru.
satoru narrows his tongue, bullying the muscle deep and slow, down to where you couldn’t have thought possible to reach. his eyes are hazy, half-lidded as you tug at his winter locks, shoving him further into your weeping pussy.
“mmph— fuck,” you pant out, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his tongue in and out of you at a torturous pace. “fuck— gojo, ‘re going too slow—”
“hmm?” he hums into your clit, sending shockwaves straight up from your core. the sorcerer’s gaze meets yours from under the glimpse of your tits beneath your unbuttoned polo.
he loves you composed, he really does — but you look perfect when you’re all messy, just for him.
his lips glisten with your wetness as he grins. “i'll go faster if you say my name properly, beautiful.”
“h—huh?” your words trail off into a candied whine as he pads his finger just against your entrance, smearing the wetness that covers your folds and popping it into his mouth.
you’re so sweet. fuck, why are you so sweet?
“say my name.” he repeats, his voice cheerful yet rough, the tiniest bit of grit around the edge. “remind me how much you love me, gorgeous.”
your eyes still manage to narrow, even as they glitter with needy frustration. “fuck you— mmh!”
satoru simply frowns against the inside of your thigh as he abruptly bullies the first inch of his finger past your entrance, hissing at how tightly your walls were clamping down on him. his mind goes blurry, swirling with thoughts of how delectable you’d look with your thighs around his hips, bullied open and clamping like a vice down on his cock—
he pulls his finger out with a shudder, cooing at the little pout that forms on your lips. “poor baby. if you can’t handle it, you know, we can stop here. if you want.”
“w— what?” you breathe out, eyes wide and glossy like the thought was insulting. “no, please — please, need you, satoru…”
sa-to-ru.
and you’ve drawn out that last syllable like you want him dead.
“again, sorry?”
“satoru!” you squeal impatiently, and he obliged, simply because he’d never say no to you when you sound like that.
the white-haired man groans, biting down on the inside of your thigh and relishing in the way it makes you whine, all high-pitched and finally sweet on him.
his fingers thrust roughly into your aching pussy, stretching you out and moulding you to shape around his skin. you’re dripping down his palm, and satoru’s mesmerized by the sheen of slick that coats his hand as he pounds his fingers in and out of you steadily.
“shit— so pretty here for me, huh?” satoru whispers reverently, as if speaking directly to your pussy and not to you. “just as sweet as that mouth of yours. just as tight too.”
your hands are making a home for themselves in his hair, hips chasing his thick fingers, grinding yourself further into them like he wasn’t deep enough already. your perfect fucking voice isn’t helping the sorcerer’s case either — he swears he loses every semblance of control he has, bit by bit, at each breath of his name leaving your lips, garbled and slurred and destroyed.
“s’toru, satoru,” your mouth drops open, eyes screwing shut as he curls his fingers right into that spongy spot, office chair creaking as your body slumps back into it. “it’s so— fuck, ‘ts so—”
he laughs breathlessly. “yes, gorgeous?”
“it’s so— oh!”
satoru cherishes everything you have to say, he swears he does.
but he also cherishes the way your lips look, all glossed with drool pooling at the corners, when he leans forward and circles his tongue over your clit in mean little motions, lapping at the sensitive skin in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. you’re a whining, squirming mess — struggling to stay upright, thoroughly desecrated on the office chair you’d chewed him out just weeks ago for stealing.
satoru hisses as your fingertips tug at his locks, so fucking drunk on the taste of your soaked cunt amidst the lewd sound of his fingers slapping against your sex.
“listen to that,” he rasps out, pausing to let the squelch of your pussy speak for itself before laughing dazedly against your clit. “she’s screaming my name too, isn’t she? so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”
your bleary gaze peeks down at him, eyes questioning amidst the pleasure. “s—satoru, you asshole, stop talking to my— mmh!”
before you can protest, his mouth is diving back in. soft lips latch around your clit, and satoru’s painfully hard at the sound of your voice cracking around the syllables of his name, your throat thick with pleasure at the overstimulation. he doesn’t let up; the white-haired man sucks harder at the sensitive bud, all while scissoring his fingers deep inside of you as if mapping you out.
for when his dick goes inside you, of course.
“it’s t—too much,” you complain in a mewl, eyes blurry with forming tears, “satoru, please, please, ‘m so—”
“fuck, take it, gorgeous,” satoru gasps out against your pussy, lips drenched in your taste. “keep talking to me — shit, you’re tight — let it all out for me, okay?”
satoru’s mind had blanked out a long time ago. between the way your lips form his name in one strung out moan, and the way you taste sweeter than any candy he could’ve ever asked for, he’s starting to wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven.
your voice tangles with the filthy squelches that resound through the cramped space of your office, and he swears nothing could ever be better than this.
except for the way you sound saying his name while you cum.
“i’m— i’m—” you gasp, and satoru takes that as a sign to clamp his lips around your clit and suck, curling his fingers up against your g-spot until — “satoru!”
he’s never heard anything so perfect before. his gaze flicks upwards as you orgasm, watching the way your face scrunches up as your cunt tightens unbearably around every inch of his fingers. satoru’s transfixed by your stupid voice, something out of a porno curated by an angel, and if he’s hoping he’s ruined you with his fingers alone, you’ve ruined him with just the sound of your voice breaking.
your breaths are heavy as you come down from the high; soft and warm, sound waves radiating off of you like sunlight. satoru presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, and you finally peer down at him.
“still mad at me?” the sorcerer grins.
your eyes narrow as soon as you’re back to life. “yes. yaga chewed me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, satoru.”
sa-to-ru. the white-haired man pauses against your inner thigh, raising an eyebrow up at you with something hungry in his eyes. because as soon as you say his name, he decides he’s not fucking done with you yet.
“i’m sorry, gorgeous,” satoru mumbles, giving you a faux-apologetic glance before mischievously pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your eyes widen. “i guess I’ll just keep going until you forgive me.”
“w—wait!”
satoru gojo really likes the way you say his name.
and he’ll keep making you say it until you know it too.
