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Drawn On Paper, Written In The Stars

✦Pairing✦ Astronomy professor!Gojo Satoru x artist!reader

✦CW✦ University AU, nerd Gojo Satoru, afab!reader, no y/n, alternating POV's, parental and family issues, mentions of anxiety and panic disorder, student/teacher relationship, age gap relationship (Satoru is 28, reader is 20/21), slow burn, mutual pining, tons of fluff (so many cute stargazing moments), some angst (forbidden romance so duh), denial of feelings (from both sides but Satoru is down BAD and trying to ignore that for obv. reasons), eventual smut (we will get there and it will be NASTY, be patient), masturbation, oral (f and m receiving), piv sex, public sex, creampie, dominance and power play, slight BDSM elements

✦Read on ao3 here ✦Read headcanons here

✦Summary✦ Your cosmic knowledge extends as far as 'stars are cool and I know a bunch of constellations.' Your intro to observational astronomy professor is the stellar expert here for sure-obviously. But when it comes to a spark Satoru feels igniting as you both begin seeing what exists beyond the atmosphere from the others point of view, he's out of his element. The stars have something written for you both, be it the ones scattered in your sketchbook, or the ones up in the sky that Satoru thought he knew better than anyone. Either way, he's not sure he wants to listen, he knows he shouldn't. But if this is really the message the universe itself is finally sending him, can he ignore it?

Chapter 1: Altered Trajectory—Wc: 8.7k

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You

You’re running half on pure spite to make your new schedule for this term work, half on weak and way too expensive drip coffee.

Feet screaming for a break from the back and forth across campus, spine groaning from the odd hunched angles you’d put it into, and—because why shouldn’t it get in on the action too—your shoulder is whining from lugging around a bag jam packed with supplies both academic and artistic.

It was just like this last year too. You really thought that it might be a little different being in your second year of university. Maybe you’d have the lifestyle down, a routine somewhat worked out—a balance of sorts. But that thought is becoming a distant, laughable memory you’re cursing your own past self for even dreaming up.

It’s not like you didn’t at least try. The free hour and half between morning and afternoon classes you chose was supposed to be used to grab a lunch, sit somewhere on the green, hang out with your friends, maybe get some studying done amid the chatter, just get a tiny bit of brain rest in before taking your time getting across campus.

But you really should’ve known yourself better than that.

Instead, you’d spent nearly that entire hour and half in the cramped art department. Standing at an easel with a blank canvas sketching the base of your newest project that would probably end up taking the entire term to finish what with how you’ve jam packed your schedule for the next three months.

But it’s not as if your parents would allow for anything less than taking full and complete advantage of the opportunities attending a university like UTokyo presents. If they were paying for excellence, they expected it in return. It’s nothing new, it was the same last year and every year before university.

“Ah! Oww, what the—shit, shit,” You hobble on one foot, shifting the thick hardcover sketchbook into one arm and balancing a half empty coffee cup on top, holding it in place under your chin as you reach back to slip the sneaker off that had somehow gotten the one rock on this entire campus stuck inside just to spite you.

You shake it out and slip your shoe back on, still hopping along to keep up the walk towards the sciences building that seems to be the furthest set in the maze of towering, confident structures that make up the pride of UTokyo sciences annex.

The front doors are held open, letting the cool April breeze flow through the wide hallway, tall with arched ceilings and already milling with students heading for their own lecture halls. You toss back the rest of the lukewarm coffee and abandon the paper cup in a metal can at the base of the steps leading up.

This is the first time you’ve been inside this particular building. It’s actually quite pretty, the architecture is inspired, a little dated but in that classical way that never actually becomes outdated. The walls aren’t crisp white, but a softer cream. The stone accents, dark wooden beams and doorways weathered as though they’ve seen years unimaginable. Felt the touch of countless students passing by brushing bags and hands along, soaked in cheers of victorious grades, laughs between friends, bitter resigned sighs of failure.

You make it through the lengthy hallway to lecture hall 7C, taking a deep, relieved breath as you walk through the dark double doors held open by two guys chatting excitedly about the class set to begin in—you check your watch—seven minutes.

You made it not only on time, but early. Thank your lucky stars.

The lecture hall is packed, a sea of vaguely familiar faces, people you’ve seen in passing on campus a few times without more than a few polite words ever shared. None of your friends or even remote acquaintances are taking this course, so you find yourself alone in the sprawling lecture hall.

When you’d chosen this course, you knew it was a bit ridiculous. You probably should have gone for something in biology, or chemistry, hell even just regular old physics, something that could be applicable once these four years are up and you’re out in the ‘real world’ as everyone likes to call it, but no. You saw ‘Introduction to Observational Astronomy’ as an available course and didn’t even hesitate.

Your parents had huffed, but it was already done. It would fulfill the required science course and your fascination with the cosmically grand. It was a win-win and an obvious choice out of all the options for you.

But really, your interest in the topic extends to ‘I like looking at stars and constellations and planets, they’re pretty.’ Very much unlike most of your peers in the hall talking amongst themselves. You can catch snippets of some conversations as you head down the steps closer to the front where the lighting is better.

Students excited for the class, for the material itself, for the professor running the course.

“—co-wrote one of our stellar astrophysics textbooks—“ You hear from a group in the fourth row, “—Yume said he’s so funny too, and so, so—“ The rest of the conversation trails off, but you can guess by the breathless tone where it may have been going.

You drop your book bag to the side as you slip into a seat near the aisle, immediately pulling out an overstuffed zippered bag teeming with pens, coloured pencils, a few crumbling pastels, charcoal pencils that have coated the lining of the bag and almost everything inside in sooty black powder and streaks.

You pull out a fine tip Sakura Graphic liner pen, open the hardcover notebook to a fresh page and start to let your mind wander. Drowning out the sea of chatter around you with each flick of your wrist, each scratch of the blunted tip across the page sinks you deeper into the vague image dancing in your head.

It never immediately starts as a unified entity, more a puzzle that each line creates a new piece to. Each swipe of ink a clue to the grander picture.

The lights dim a little to signify the start of the class, but you don’t lift your head. The chatter ceases as a deep voice, lilted with a hint of a humorous tone cuts through and settles the students, creating the perfect atmosphere to concentrate further on the messy outline starting to build up into something across the page. Eventually, the voice fades into the background as well.

You’ve always been good at tuning the world out. Like you’ve always got earbuds in, switching them on and off at will. The skill comes in handy when you’re working on projects in the cramped art department, ignoring the ceaseless chatting that some of the others bring. But it’s been something you’ve honed out of necessity. Putting pen to paper flicks that switch on, and suddenly the world falls away.

An hour and a half passes by pretty quickly and suddenly there are people moving around you. Getting up from their seats, packing up and heading for the doors or towards the front of the hall to go stand in line for something involving the professor. Probably asking questions, wanting a head start on assignments or getting extra credit, actually engaging in the class. Whoops.

You feel a little bad for zoning out the entire class, but you did the same thing with your last required science course and made it through just fine. You’re good at adapting and learning new material quickly, it’s not like you aren’t good at science or math but you just don’t have the same interest in the topics that you do for other classes. It’s hard to get invested in the required courses, even this one, but the online UToL platform makes it easy to keep up with assignments and so long as you get the reading done at some point, tests and midterms aren’t an issue.

Packed up again, you join the crowd and head for the door, slinging your bag up over your shoulder and pulling your phone out. A message from Nobara heads the screen.

[1:47 PM] Nobara: Zukata’s on Friday with everyone. You in?

[1:47 PM] Nobara: Celebration for making it thru first week, how’s it so far for u?

You pause and lean back on the wall outside the lecture hall to respond. Dinner at Zukata’s would be fun, rowdy for sure but still a good time. Worth abandoning plans of a semi-quiet, relaxed Friday in after a week of running around like a cartoon mouse though?

[2:05 PM] Me: Everything hurts and I’ve still got 2 more classes for today.

You hum and haw the options, but being the first week, assignments have yet to start piling up and you won’t have the luxury of a somewhat empty UToL page for much longer. So screw it.

[2:06 PM] Me: I’m in, but you’re probably gonna need to carry me there.

[2:07 PM] Nobara: Fuuuck that. Yuuji’s buff, make him do it.

[2:07 PM] Me: And risk getting whiplash? I’ll pass.

You tuck your phone away and head for the towering front doors of the building, pushing the sleeves of your hoodie up around your forearms as the afternoon sun beams warmth down from high in the sky. You take a moment to bask in it, in the light sweet scent of late sakura blossoms flitting through the paths, swirling through the air carried on that light breeze, but it’s brief. The day is far from over with two classes still to go.

Two that you do actually have to pay attention in, no tuning out and sketching during philosophy or history.

˙⋆✮⋆˙ 🪐 ˙⋆✮⋆˙

“Okay, so should we all go around the circle and say what our favorite thing has been so far? Or maybe like, what the least worst thing was? Like in grade school!” Yuuji looks around expectantly at the group, palms flat on the table leaning in.

Nobara groans, putting an exhausted finger to her brow, “You’re such a dummy, how about we just talk like normal people?”

“Because if there’s no structure, he’s going to interrupt everyone.” Megumi cuts in, throwing a side-eye to Yuuji who throws his hands up. “Well, not like he wouldn’t anyways.”

“Structure is a suggestion, and rules were made to be broken.” Yuuji defends with a raised finger, Megumi sniffs with an eye roll.

“Should we bust out the talking stick again? Those rules are absolute and to be respected or punishment will follow.” You propose, drumming a finger on your chin. “Though I don’t have it on me… ah! A substitute.” You hold up a single chopstick to the group who all squint back.

“Let’s not bring back the talking stick, that went away for a reason.” Megumi takes the chopstick from you and places it back down on the table.

“What? I thought it worked pretty well.”

“Do you not remember the brawl? Yuuta almost got punched—“

“Yeah! And I got tackled on my turn,” Yuuji cuts Megumi off with a hand to his chest, clutching his UTokyo volleyball shirt as if reliving the memory over again.

“That’s because you were using your turn to talk shit!” Nobara throws an accusing finger at Yuuji “Everyone cheered Maki on because you definitely deserved that one.”

“I was speaking the truth,” He jabs a finger back at her, “Maki is scary sometimes!”

“Okay fine! No talking stick,” You lift your hands, placating and trying to ease the tension rising between the two hot-heads. “I can’t even remember where it is anyways.”

Nobara turns to you, sneaky grin on her face. “Yeah, ‘cause I hid that cursed thing.”

You scoff, looking to Megumi for support. “Can you believe the shit I deal with?”

But Megumi has no sympathy to give. “At least your roommate doesn’t bounce off the walls and bang on your door at 1 AM to go get late night yakisoba.” He scoffs, “And she did us all a favour there, that thing really was cursed.”

“It just brought out the problems that were already inside everyone, it was therapeutic!” You defend with a humph.

“There was physical violence, it was cursed.” He retorts flatly.

“Maki and Yuuji are violent, it wasn’t the sticks fault.”

“I am not violent, I’m passionate, thank you very much.” Yuuji cuts in, defending his—objectively—violent actions from last year.

You narrow your eyes at him, wagging a finger. “Don’t make me read you, you know I’ll do it, and it will hurt.”

He gasps, horrified. “Don’t you use your freaky psychology shit on me you witch!”

“Hey! That’s not my fault, you know it’s a defence mechanism. Had to learn how to live with my parents and their psychiatrist bullshit somehow, fight fire with fire, right?” You shrug.

“Pretty sure that’s how you burn your house down actually.” Megumi interjects passively as he flips through the menu, “We thinking the usual?”

Yuuji peers over his shoulder, face almost smushed against Megumi’s eyeing the menu along with him like you all haven’t been coming to this place for over a year now and get almost the exact same things every time. “Yeah, but… I think I want tonkatsu too though, I need to kick up the protein with the season starting.”

Nobara snorts, “Tonkatsu is like half carbs.”

Yuuji squints, scrunching his nose at her. “What, you keeping track of my macros now? A few breadcrumbs aren’t gonna kill me.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever you say, jockstrap.”

Yuuji goes to retort but Megumi cuts him off before he can start as the server arrives at the table. Megumi takes charge of the ordering, reading off the usual laundry list of dishes to fill the tabletop and share amongst your tight knit group of four, adding the tonkatsu for Yuuji to the end of the list.

“Okay, so actually, how was everyone’s first week? We all make it through with minimal mental anguish?” You look around at the group, waiting for someone to pipe up as you pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

“Nothing crazy really, but I get to see Geto-san three times a week for the rest of the semester during policy and pre-law.” Nobara sighs dreamily, fantasizing about her unattainable law professor.

Megumi grimaces, disgusted as usual by her simp ways. “You’re gross. That’s gross. He’s like—what, forty? Gross.”

“Shut up, he’s not even thirty!” She counters, scowling at him. “It just makes him even more impressive that he’s at this level at his age. It’s inspirational.”

“Okay, enough about the hottie professor, we heard it all last year.” You cut in before Megumi can do more than roll his eyes and turn focus to Yuuji. “When’s your first game supposed to be? I need some more practice with figures in motion for class and you guys are always fun to watch.”

“Two weeks! It’s with Hoshin so it’ll be a good one, we wiped the floor with them last time.” He laughs victoriously and you chuckle with him.

“I think I remember that one, the cringe from second hand embarrassment made it hard to forget.”

“Don’t feel bad for them, they talked a lot of shit on the court.”

“Wanna do some smack talk practice before the game, or are you just gonna silently spike the ball into oblivion as usual?” You chuckle again, knowing the answer already as he grins back.

“My mouth doesn’t even need to write the cheques that my ass cashes.”

“Hey, how was that astrology class? You’ve got a hottie professor too, huh?” You choke a little on your water as Nobara nudges your arm, winking and Megumi groans again.

“Eh, honestly?” You scratch your head a little and wince, “I zoned out both classes, but it’s astronomy, I’m not-not studying birth charts.” You turn to her and lift a brow, “How do you know what the professor looks like? You creeping on my class, ‘Bara?”

“I think he and Geto-san are friends or something, he stopped in the lecture hall at the end of class earlier today and I overheard him say something about some astro-whatever class.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice to keep Megumi from hearing as he and Yuuji talk. “Not my type—I like ‘em tall, dark and with a law degree—but objectively? Not bad.”

You groan at that. “I’m with Megumi on that one, and ogling the professor would defeat the purpose of taking the course; y’know, getting an extra period to actually work on practice pieces. Nose stays down in the sketchbook and out of trouble.”

She scoffs but before she can reply the server sets a few steaming plates on the table and everyone starts to dig in. You all load up your plates with ginger and chicken gyoza, Megumi grabs a few of the vegetable tempura while Yuuji takes shrimp only, receiving some chiding from the former about balanced eating habits. The yakitori is split up evenly between the four of you, with Yuuji receiving the extra skewer (why is it always an uneven number?) thanks to his argument of ‘being the athlete here’ and needing the additional calories.

You steal a few pieces of the tonkatsu off of Yuuji’s plate, snatching the slices up with your chopsticks as he’s distracted talking to Megumi about their cooking schedule for the next few weeks being off due to practices and games.

You and Nobara opt for takeout more than home cooking, her being a foodie and you just not usually having the energy to cook most days. Besides, living in the heart of Tokyo means endless options, why not take advantage of that?

When plates are clear and everyone is thoroughly stuffed you close out the night with a scoop of palate cleansing green tea ice cream and part ways with the guys as you and Nobara arrive at your stop and hop off the train.

Your phone chimes in your pocket and you pull it out as you and Nobara walk back to your shared apartment.

[9:43 PM] Mom: Your father and I hope that your first week went well. Don’t forget to enjoy yourself but just remember, priorities. We love you honey.

You blow a short stream of air through your nose. She just had to throw that in. It can never just be a nice text saying that they’re thinking of you.

You know priorities. You live, breathe, eat, drink and sleep priorities. But because you put your foot down and decided to add the arts and now apparently astronomy to your workload, they think your ‘important studies’ will fall to the wayside.

But you showed them otherwise last year, and you’ll do so again this year.

[9:45 PM] Me: It’s been good, thanks mom. Love you too, say goodnight to dad for me

You tuck your phone away and turn your attention back to Nobara, looping your arm through hers as you make your way through familiar streets, glancing up at the sky for a moment to see the muted glow from the ever-awake prefecture cast across, obscuring anything beyond the atmosphere.

Not a single—wait… is that…?

Nope. It’s always a plane.

˙⋆✮⋆˙ 🪐 ˙⋆✮⋆˙

Satoru

The start of a new term marks the start of a new sea of faces and names to try to remember. Satoru is usually pretty good at getting the more important ones down after the first couple of weeks—the ones that don’t let him forget that they exist.

The ones that pile up and patiently wait their turn to stand and assault him with questions about the syllabus and how to get extra credit despite it only being a week in—the nerds, not that he can really talk.

Satoru is running this nerd-fest.

Or the ones who gush, proving their adoration by reciting excerpts back to him from his articles published in just about any scientific journal you could pick up. The ones who are clearly scrambling for something to say once they’ve made it to his desk are especially entertaining. Obviously not taking the class for anything related to observational astronomy.

He tries. He really does, but it’s honestly a bit exhausting. He does it anyways though. He leans against his desk and engages with each one, nodding along with the light, easy smile his parents had drilled into him before he was even reading full sentences—a preparation for a mapped out future that would never come to fruition. Answering their questions with practiced responses—there’s not much a student can come to him with that he hasn’t already heard before.

This is the second year that Satoru has held the ‘Introduction To’ course and the third year that he’s been teaching now. He wasn’t thrilled on the idea of an intro class—preferring to keep himself to more challenging material—but the board wanted to offer something less intimidating than astrophysics or exobiology.

And it’s not like either are exactly challenging for him anymore anyways.

So why not?

Besides, the time slot for the class is perfect, just after lunch. Giving him the time to adjust back into ‘professor mode’ before his later classes and after grabbing a bite with Suguru who just so happens to have an overlap of half an hour with him.

Satoru strolls into lecture hall 7C, dropping his messenger bag on the desk, the quality leather weathered and worn from years of use. He pulls his laptop out, powering it up and waiting for it to restart after he’d accidentally hit the shut down instead of sleep after last class.

It’s starting to heat up in the building again, earlier than it did last year but Satoru has always run a bit warm. He takes the opportunity while his computer is starting up to shed his dark grey blazer and toss it over the chair at the desk, rolling the sleeves of his cornflower blue button down up over his forearms. Hearing hushed murmuring from the seats behind him.

“A bit warm for April, who’s getting Amaterasu all riled up, huh?” He drawls, pulling his glasses off his head to sit them on the bridge of his nose as he leans back on the desk, receiving a multitude of laughs, a few just a bit too loud at his—albeit, maybe a little lame—joke.

“Okay, afternoon everyone. Just one thing before we get to the fun stuff, yeah?” Satoru projects his voice, clear and steady as he slides his computer over and sits it on his lap, pairing up to the projector over Bluetooth and sharing his screen as he pulls up the slides for today’s class.

“I do have office hours Tuesday’s and Thursday’s from four to six, if you’d like to talk—about course material—or have any questions that can wait, please do take advantage of that. I do kind of have a life outside of this place and more classes after this one so I can’t always stick around and get to everyone.”

Satoru sets his laptop aside on his desk, first slide pulled up with an image of an infrared telescope, the domed building set atop a clear flat mountain. “Alright, fun stuff! Last week we had left off with radio telescopes, can anyone tell me why they are the most commonly used in the field?”

Immediately hands shoot up, from eager and practically vibrating in the front rows to casual and half-hearted towards the back. He doesn’t play favourites, so he picks at random.

“Uhh… green jacket, fifth row—yeah, you.”

The kid sits up in his seat, straightening as he clears his throat to raise his voice a little. “The, um, discs take up less space and can be positioned closer together than infrared?” He says it like a question, like he’s not sure of himself.

“Yes, you’re right but there is another reason, who else?” Hands shoot back up. Satoru skims over the class again, his eyes narrowed behind the prescription lenses of titanium frame Matsuda’s. With the lights dimmed a little it’s harder to make out faces but he notices something he had during the last two classes as well.

In the third row you sit, head down and concentrating hard on a book on your desk. But you’re not reading anything, in your hand is a pen making slow strokes and scratches on the page, each one precise and almost cut-throat in how you execute them without hesitation.

Huh.

The first few rows are always full of the eager, over-achievers hanging off every word he says like he actually has the answers to all the universes questions. But there you are, not sparing a single glance to the front where he stands. Not even when you lift your head a little to study the page, head tilted and tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth as you look it over with narrowed eyes.

You drop your head again and strike a line on the page, decisive and final. Satoru moves on after the moment of pause and chooses another student to give him the answer he’s looking for.

“Hmm… uh, blue UTokyo sweater, second row. That’s right, it’s all you buddy.”

The student stands and all but yells the answer out. Way too excited at the opportunity to flex knowledge for his professor. “Radio telescopes have a wider receiving range for wavelengths, making them ideal for observing a larger field of view. They’re also easily repositioned and transported, so they’re a more convenient option.”

Satoru nods, holding in a snort. What a nerd. Again, not like he can really talk though. He’s the nerd-king here and this is his court.

“He’s not just enthusiastic, he’s absolutely right too! When it comes to dish radio telescopes, they have a wider range than most other types of electromagnetic telescopes and are usually the more adjustable option—unless we’re talking about the five-hundred meter dish on FAST, nobody is moving that thing unless explosives are involved.” Satoru earns a wave of laughs, most from students who get the joke, but definitely a few who join in just to do so.

Not you though. For some reason Satoru glances to you, waiting to see if you’ll lift your head again and maybe acknowledge him, your peers around you, anything really. But you just frown a little, your mouth twitches like it’s an annoyance. An interruption.

His brow ticks. A tiny movement spurred by irritation that he’s not sure why he even feels in the first place. He pushes his glasses to sit a bit higher with a knuckle to the frame, another miniscule tell that gives no indication of genuine irritation away. To anyone but him that is.

If a student doesn’t care about the class, then why should he care about them? It’s enough work to keep up the upbeat and enthusiastic way of teaching lately, he doesn’t need to add to that by wondering why students are or aren’t engaging in the class. He knows his lectures are solid, he’s perfected his craft at this point in life and… he doesn’t really want to think about the alternative.

So long as they aren’t failing, he’s not sparing a second thought.

The rest of the period goes by as expected. Nothing spectacular or out of the ordinary or even just remotely challenging happens. He could honestly probably just throw on his sunglasses instead and go through the material in his sleep at this point in his career.

But he spares a quick glance your way as he dismisses the class and just like the last two times, you only lift your head when the other students around you start to move around and gather their things. You look around for a second before packing up your belongings and joining the crowd heading up the stairs and out the door.

Whatever.

He turns his attention back to the line forming at his desk, no shorter this time than the last two classes. They never listen.

Satoru dutifully addresses each of their concerns, answers their questions, listens—kind of—to their drabble about how they’ve read all of his research articles and think he’s just so great. That his takes are so refreshing and how excited they are to study under him.

He doesn’t acknowledge those comments. He’s not trying to get reported, and doesn’t want the hassle of reporting a student—again.

He really hates the paperwork and the drama and the type of attention it brings, so he ignores the comments that would usually lead to the report-worthy behaviour instead of laughing it off like he did the first year he started teaching. He learned that lesson the hard way.

“Okay, apologies to the rest of you all but that’s gonna be it for today!” Satoru straightens, hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks as he dismisses the rest of the line. “Office is open later so if it is important, feel free to stop in, otherwise I will see you all on Thursday.”

˙⋆✮⋆˙ 🪐 ˙⋆✮⋆˙

Satoru flicks his eyes quickly—subtly—to the clock ticking away on the wall of his office. The hands move steadily in spite of how it feels like time is passing so slowly that he fears he won’t reach thirty before he somehow dies of old age.

The girl seated across from him hasn’t stopped talking for going on twenty minutes now. He hasn’t gotten a word in and he’s doubtful that she’s gotten a full breath of air since she sat down. It’s a little impressive actually, Satoru is rarely ever rendered to silence. But this girl can talk, and that means a lot coming from him because oh man, Satoru sure can talk.

But the clock is finally ticking closer and closer to 6:00 PM, closer to freedom from these four walls. Not that he’s too sure about what he’s so excited to get out of here for. Maybe he’ll see what Suguru is up to, or maybe Kento, maybe both.

“Okay,” Satoru cuts in as the clock hits six, not waiting for the girl to pause the ramble about why she had gotten into astronomy and her first Galileo refractor telescope. “Sorry, but that is all the time I’ve got for today.” He says sympathetically, not bothering to feign disappointment or hide the relief in his eyes.

“Oh, alright, well have a good evening, Gojo-san. Thank you for your help,” She stands, gathering her bag, not hiding the disappointment on her face or in her voice. He nods, humming a response with a small wave. The door closes behind her and Satoru practically leaps from his seat, snatching his blazer off the hook and swinging his bag over a shoulder.

He pats his pocket to make sure he’s got his keys and phone before twisting the lock on the inside handle and shutting the door behind him. He’s got his blazer folded over an arm and phone pulled out to send a message as he steps out into the cool spring air.

[6:06 PM] Me: You still on campus?

It takes a few minutes for Suguru to answer and Satoru is halfway to the law and political sciences annex when he gets a response back.

[6:12 PM] Suguru: Yeah, just finished up with the last class, you?

[6:12 PM] Me: Yep. I’ll be there in 5

He doesn’t wait for the response from Suguru. He tucks his phone away, pulling his glasses off to sit them up on his head as he walks in a swift, familiar motion that holds a few pieces of his pale hair up and off his forehead under the nose pads.

It’s something he’s done since getting the hefty prescription at seven years old, perfect children set to inherit an empire shouldn’t need glasses. They should have perfect eyes. Contacts were never an option since Satoru hates touching his eyes, so he’s grown used to doing most things without them. It’s habit at this point, part of his formulaic life, another fact to be studied, dissected and stored away.

Jupiter’s orbital period is just shy of twelve years—11.86 years to be exact—and without fail, Satoru’s glasses will be on his head instead of on his face—where his optometrist has both told him to and scolded him for not wearing them.

“Why even bother with designer frames every time your prescription gets heavier? You realize you’re spending over ¥250,000 every visit, right?” She’d told him once, but he’d just shrugged.

He likes quality, appreciates craftsmanship, and doesn’t mind spending money to get it. Especially for something so annoyingly… present in his life.

He leaves both hands in his pockets of his pants as he continues the walk to his friends’ office across campus, passing a few students he can vaguely recognize that wave and greet him with “Hey professor!” or “Good evening, Gojo-san,” He tips his head in a quick nod to each of them, keeping up the mission of getting to Suguru without stopping.

The heels of his shoes echo off the walls and up through the high ceilings with sharp quick clicks on each step as he winds through the hallway, stopping only once he reaches the door labelled with a familiar metallic plaque that reflects a blurry and distorted image of his own face back to him.

Satoru raps his knuckles on the door three times and doesn’t wait for an answer before flinging it open and letting himself in.

“Oh man,” Satoru sighs, long and dragged out as he flops into the cushioned chair opposite Suguru at his desk. In the comfortable privacy of Suguru’s office he lets his glasses fall to his face again as he slumps down and plants his feet wide. “Remind me again, why did I become a teacher? I could be in like, Hawaii or something completing a new thesis while I… surf, or whatever.”

Suguru drops his pen and folds his hands in his lap, leaning back to fix Satoru with a questioning look. “You surf?”

“I could. If I took that job at NASA and moved to Hawaii that is.”

“Yeah right. You’d be crying with a sunburn on the first flight back after one jellyfish sting.”

“I would not!” Satoru rebuts, offended at his friends implication, “I’d take that burn and a sting with dignity and cry once I got home.”

“Oh shut up,” Suguru grips his chin, tapping a finger in thought, “I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of; you love listening to the sound of your own voice and teaching gives you six uninterrupted hours of that. Oh, and you follow me everywhere I go.” Suguru smirks, his dark upturned eyes narrowing further in smug satisfaction.

“Says the lawyer,” Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms to broaden his shoulders a bit, his biceps straining the soft cotton weave of his shirt. “You’re lucky, I didn’t take that job because I knew you’d be crying and calling me every day if I ever left you.” He coos with equal smug satisfaction, but it’s a lie. As much as he might think he’d love to literally run away and escape everything that looms like ever-present shadows to a tropical paradise, he knows life would be much the same there for him.

The same boring mundanity, just hotter. Without friends, and with jellyfish.

“Uh-huh, like when I went to Kyoto for the seminar last year and you texted me seventeen consecutive times when I didn’t answer the four voicemails you left?”

“I was worried you were spiralling out from missing the sound of my voice.” Suguru just lifts a single brow, the smirk firmly in place. “Tch, whatever. Wanna grab a drink and some street food? I need something fatty and fried right now. Oh, and carbs, lots of those too.” Comfort food, one of those few things he can still truly enjoy in life that came with the freedom of taking his own independence forcefully. No guilt, no reminders of his figure or watchful eyes ever present and judging.

“Can’t, marks for these are getting posted tomorrow so I want to finish grading tonight.” Suguru gestures at the two stacks of papers on his desk, one of graded assignments and the other to still be done, much larger. “See if Shoko can escape for the night, she’d probably be up for a drink if she can get her hands out of a cadaver.” Satoru grimaces at that.

“Ew. Well thanks for that mental picture, suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.” Suguru shrugs, grabbing another typed, two page assignment off the stack to position in front of him. “Fine, be boring and responsible or whatever.”

“Some of us have to be, do you not have your own work to get done?”

“Yeah, but I always get that shit done quick, unlike some people.” Satoru grins, the smug one that he knows will poke Suguru’s guarded, usually hard to press buttons, especially when he pairs it with a taunt like that.

And sure enough, he’s right. “My assignments require actual thought to both complete and grade, unlike yours.”

“Oh don’t be mad that I chose to study cold hard facts while you have to argue about reasoning and morality with twenty-something’s all day.” Suguru just waves him off as Satoru stands and reaches up, stretching his arms and back out before grabbing his bag and blazer. “Later, have fun with… all that.” He waves over his shoulder and shuts Suguru’s door behind him.

As he steps back out onto the stone pathway weaving through the campus, Satoru pauses for a moment, his glasses up in his hair once more. The slightly sweet floral scent of sakura blossoms fills his nose as he takes a deep, contemplative breath. Tipping his head back, he studies the hazy warm glow the setting sun casts across the sky.

But Satoru has never been all that good at sitting in quiet stillness, so the pause only lasts a few seconds before he’s on the move again. Still contemplating, but keeping his body in the same quick motion his brain never ceases to run in.

To be boring and responsible and get a head start on next week's outlines? He starts to head back towards the sciences annex and his office and pulls his phone back out. He squints and makes out 6:38 PM. Kento would be gone by now, he’s doubtful that Shoko would be able to get away from the med school and isn’t sure if she could wash the dead body off her hands enough for him to be okay with her picking at and sneaking his food right now.

He doesn’t really want to spend the evening in his office, but the alternative is heading home and doing essentially the same things there. If he waits, the ride back will be a bit less busy too.

He’s about to say screw it and pick up the pace again, but his phone goes off, still in his hand.

[6:41 PM] +81-32-6232-8191: Heyy :)

[6:41 PM] +81-32-6232-8191: What are you up to tonight?

Satoru stops, pulling his glasses back down on his face and staring hard at his phone. “Shit,” He whispers, two fingers rubbing his temple as if to stimulate his brain into recalling the face and the name attached to the unsaved phone number.

He opens the messages, hoping for some history in the thread to jog his memory—or even better, a name. But he’s not that lucky. The thread is empty aside from the two messages.

[6:44 PM] Me: Hey! New phone, lost my contacts. Who is this?

Nice one, smooth. He gives himself a mental pat on the back for that and keeps walking, phone in hand. The next message comes in quickly.

[6:44 PM] +81-32-6232-8191: No worries! It’s Hiyori :)

Double shit. That should’ve spurred something forward, but he’s still frowning at his phone. Hiyori... Hiyori… She’s messaging him like they’ve hung out before, like he should remember.

Great, now I kinda feel like slut. He’s not, he doesn’t hang out very often but when he does, it’s just without strings. It’s casual, and he makes that part clear. He’s not into the game of leading people around to get what he wants. Sometimes, he just wants to have a little fun without expectations. He has enough of those everywhere else in his life.

The hard press of his fingers into his temple finally pays off. Hiyori from… from—oh! He’s kind of kicking himself that he forgot.

[6:51 PM] Me: Oh hey! It’s been a while, how’s it going?

They graduated together. She and Satoru had talked at a school event at the end of last year and have hung out a couple of times since, but it’s been a few months.

[6:52 PM] +81-32-6232-8191: Good, I just moved actually! You should come check my new place out :)

Ohh.

He knows exactly what that means. He stops walking, thinking on it as he stills. Does he actually want to, or is he just… bored? But what other reasoning should he even be looking for? What else should he really be expecting to… feel? And besides, is the alternative really all that appealing anyways?

Screw it.

[6:57 PM] Me: Sure, you hungry?

˙⋆✮⋆˙ 🪐 ˙⋆✮⋆˙

You

One glance at your watch tells you that you’re definitely going to be late. It’s a dangerous game, starting the layers of under-painting on a new project with headphones on and no alarm set. And oh boy, you’re losing.

You just had to stop and say hi to Choso too, because that’s always a good idea when you’re already running late. Damn him and damn this obnoxiously massive campus. Damn this class too. Damn it all.

But this isn’t the first time it’s happened, and you know it probably won’t be the last so you do what you always do and all but sprint for the sciences annex. Dodging and weaving through the groups of people strolling leisurely through the connecting walkways with hurried apologies over your shoulder as you breeze past a few people a little too closely.

It’s one thing to tune out the whole class, but if you show up late too? That’s just an entirely new level of disrespect you’re not sure you want to know how this professor would take.

But at least you’ve kept up on the assignments posted to UToL and gotten most of the reading done. Thanks to the lecture summaries one student has been diligently uploading you’ve gotten to skim the outlines and get a base idea of what’s been going on around you, so it’s not like you’re failing the class on top of everything else.

You could just actually pay attention in class, but after the free period spent getting the creative flow going, it’d be a waste to shut it all down in favour of listening to something wavelengths, something frequencies, yada yada. You’re here for the occasional pretty picture of a supernova or a nebula, not an hour and a half of lecturing on microwaves or whatever.

Speaking of which, you make it to lecture hall 7C quite literally just in time. 12:31 PM, luckily your professor is a minute behind getting started too. You slide into the usual seat in the third row just as the lights dim a little, huffing and trying to steady your breathing in the hushed lecture hall. Shit, that was way too close.

The professor greets the class and you start to pull out supplies, flipping your sketchbook open to the full spread you’d started the night before but had been too tired to finish. The scribbled beginnings of a scene from a far distant memory, a trip to Kyoto from your childhood. The picturesque scenery is the only thing you can really still remember. You’re not sure why it popped up in your mind last night, demanding to be put down on paper, but you heeded the call.

You look it over, biting your tongue in the crease of your mouth with pen in hand, trying to decide where exactly to pick up again.

Your head dips down along with your pen and you spiral out a vague messy glow of a star, continuing on with a few more. The glassy surface of the pond in the mid-ground calls to you and you curl the blunted tip with varying pressure, creating rippled dimension across the surface, the pen pressing heavy for the shadows and leaving the soft white paper exposed to highlight.

The flow settles in again quickly. Those earbuds flick on and it’s like you’re in your own studio—the dream, truly—quiet, secluded, nothing but you, the paper under your pen and the scribbled midnight countryside.

Satoru

You’re kidding me. Again? Satoru isn’t sure why he’s surprised. It was solidified as a pattern after the second class. Actually, he’s not surprised, he’s… irritated… again.

Why does he even care? Nope, don’t care. It’s just… annoying. That he would spend time and effort on a class that he didn’t even really want to run in the first place just to have someone take the class, and ignore every bit of it from the very start—that you would ignore not just the course material but him during every class for two weeks now.

Satoru slowly strolls the length of the hall, pacing along the front row at a distance. One hand tucked in the pocket of his pants and the other waving lazily and gesturing idly as he speaks. He looks around the room, from the projector screen to the rows of students, to you.

Sitting right front and center like you want to shove it in his face that you don’t care. Always scratching and scribbling away in that damn notebook like it’s the most important thing in the world. Like there’s something that you just have to get down on paper right this very second. Something more important than his class, than him.

Why does that actually really… bother him? There are others who get distracted during class—he’s not infallible to some of the more mundane bits of observational astronomy, it’s hard to make some things sound interesting—Satoru sees the ones who hold hushed conversations with friends. Those who can’t help peeking at their phones under the tables, perhaps thinking he can’t see the glow of the screen or just not caring if he does.

He’s been there, it wasn’t so long ago that he was sitting in similar positions, bored of certain topics and professors that did nothing to make the classes more appealing, more engaging. Maybe that’s part of the reason he became a teacher too, he knew that he could do better.

But Satoru had never just ignored a class or professor so wholly. It feels like a blow, like it’s personal but that’s impossible because Satoru doesn’t even know your name and you haven’t even looked at him once.

He was in a pretty decent mood before this class, but now his steps are harsh in a way that only he can really see. His tone a little sharper in a way that only he recognizes. The slight jerk in his hand as he pushes his glasses up with his knuckle. So subtle are the differences, he’s too practiced in holding easy confidence to let more than just a minor shift in demeanour show through.

The evening with Hiyori had done about as much for him as he expected it would, but he had a good time and killed a few hours. He even got to grab some of that fried street food he'd been yearning for—a couple korokke, some yakitori and topping it all off with anko dango to fulfil the childish part of himself that never grew out of a sweet-tooth.

But now? Your head lifts, looking down your nose at the notebook spread out on the table in front of you. Satoru continues pacing, his steps assured just like the words he’s projecting throughout the lecture hall. They echo his sentiments on tracking stellar evolution through nearby star’s makeup’s of molecular dust clouds, traceable with infrared and radio telescopes.

His words never waver, his steps don’t falter, but his eyes pause and he watches a look of… judgement, maybe, cross your face. Frowning and mouth scrunched to the side in what looks like annoyance again.

Then, so suddenly it almost startles him, your whole face lights up, a realization dawning across and lifting your features like a time lapse of the rising sun. Your pen hits the page and the scribbling starts up again, quick and decisive swooping motions across the page, barely lifting the tip off the page as it flies across.

What the—alright, that’s it. Mind made up, Satoru’s feet take him towards the stairs between the rows leading up to the exit doors, casually, like it’s something he would usually be doing anyways.

But he never does this. He’s not the type to walk along the rows like he’s the host of a morning talk show or something, but he’s playing it off like this is a normal occurrence.

He takes the steps up slowly, lingering on each one before taking the next, his speech never breaking as he nears the back rows and turns to head back down. One hand still tucked away in his pocket, shoulders back and using his free hand for gestures that accompany each sentence.

“—but since it is impossible to observe the lifespan of and evolution of a star in it’s entirety, we take the information attained by nearby main sequence stars to estimate how far along in it’s evolution a protostar may be and which evolutionary direction they’ll be… taking.”

Satoru stops. He doesn’t mean to, but as he slows and steps closer to your row his eyes find your notebook and he finally sees what’s been so important you haven’t torn your eyes off the page the entire class or from your notebook in general at all this term, and everything just kind of… stops.

It's a… drawing? He isn’t sure if it would be better or worse if it were just nonsensical doodling across the page, but it isn’t. The dark, sprawling night skyline seems to glow and come to life with vibrant stars shining and shooting across both pages of your open notebook. It's all so dynamic regardless of the fact that the image has been carved out of blank white paper with a single black pen.

He studies the page for that heavy moment of pause, taking the full scenery in. It’s abstract and slightly messy but no less precise and accurate. Satoru even finds Ursa Minor dotting the inky expanse of dark sky, a small feeling like triumph sparking in a deep recessed part of his brain as he does.

It’s… art. He doesn’t really know much about the technical aspects of art, but he knows inspiration and passion are required to create it, and he sees that right there on the page under your hand.

You’ve been scribbling and scratching things like this out every class and all he can think is …huh.

He’s broken from the moment as your hand sweeps across the page with another stroke of the pen, arcing and tracing around the pops of white. Satoru clears his throat and moves on, adjusting his glasses again as the pads have slipped down the bridge of his nose with the halted moment in time, continuing both down the stairs and with his lecture as he would any day.

But there’s a tiny, nagging thought tickling the back of his brain and whispering in his ear as he goes through the rest of class. It follows him around like a mosquito buzzing incessantly, never letting him forget its presence and making him glance to you every so often, seeing something a little different now.

Was not… expecting that

✦a/n✦ A slow start to this (from the reader's POV at least, hasn't even LOOKED at him lmao) but we're picking up in the next chapter! Still though, slow burn tag is there for a reason. This dynamic isn't ethical so it'll take a few chapters to finally cave and get to the real good (and nasty) stuff. We're gonna sit and let Satoru pine away for a little while (as he should). Hope you enjoyed! Next part will be out soon (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

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iamsoclone · 7 days ago

Text

So Sweet, But It's Not Real Cherry

Pairing ⋆ Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

cw ⋆ NSFW, MDNI, explicit sexual content, established relationship, dry humping (for like a second), dirty talk, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, Gojo Satoru is a little shit with a raging sweet tooth and that's basically it.

Summary ⋆ Satoru has been trying to cut down on his sugar intake lately and that's going about as well as anyone could guess. So when he catches you in the kitchen with a sucker in your mouth, it's no surprise that you're in for it. The only substitute sweet enough for hard cherry candy? Well, that'd be you of course.

wc: 2.5k

Lounging in the kitchen, you’re scrolling on your phone, leaning on the counter when the front door opens. You look up, already knowing exactly who’s standing in the doorway before your eyes find Satoru’s tall, slim frame clad in his usual dark uniform.

“Hey, you’re back early,” You greet, putting your phone down, still leaning on the counter. “How’d it go?”

He doesn’t return the greeting and even underneath the sleek black blindfold, you can tell that slender white brows are furrowing at you as he cocks his head and walks into the kitchen. “Where did you get that?”

“Get what?” You ask, copying Satoru’s knit brow as you roll the sweet hard candy over your tongue. He crosses his arms and you know he’s watching the stick of the sucker flick side to side in your mouth.

“Don’t play dumb. The goods, where’d you find ‘em?”

You pull the bright red sucker out with a pop and eye it, “Oh, this? You wouldn’t like it. It’s gross. Beet flavour.”

“Beet flavour?” Satoru echoes, disbelieving and you nod, waving the—definitely not beet flavoured—candy nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I’ve got weird taste, you know that.”

“Uh-huh… I don’t believe you,” He reaches for the stick but you snatch it away, popping it back in your mouth with a fresh burst of cherry that hits your tongue. “You’re being mean, waving that around in my face. Flaunting your sugary exploits while you know I’m trying to cut back.”

“I’m not mean, it is gross. I swear, you’re missing out on absolutely no good stuff.” You reassure, lying right through your teeth and through that sweet, sugary hard candy that clicks against them.

Satoru shrugs, “Okay, let me try it then.”

“What part of ‘gross beet flavour’ did you not hear? Your hyperactive sugar-coated taste buds will shrivel and die with one lick.”

The curl to his the corner of his mouth is coy as he speaks. “What are you worried about my taste buds for? Just hand it over.” He motions with a hand outstretched to you.

The candy breaks free from your lips with another pop and you hold it over back over your shoulder, out of his reach. “It still has sugar and you’re trying to cut back, I will not enable you, Satoru.”

“Oh come on, one tiny little lick,” He takes a long stride toward you, standing close enough now that you crane your neck to look at his face, “won’t hurt.”

You hold fast, putting the candy behind your back and shaking your head. “Just give up, it’s not going to happen. I will not be swayed.” You lift your chin a little, meeting the mischievous, nothing good is happening in that pretty white-haired head grin that’s spreading across Satoru’s face with resolve.

“Won’t be swayed, hmm? Even if I do—” Swiftly, one long arm wraps around your waist and pulls you forward right into his hard body, rigid and tense with the leftover annoyance and frustration from the last minute council meeting he was dragged into. “—This?”

Your body pressed hard and flush to his, heat sparks and floods through every point of contact between you two. His head dropped low to bring his face closer to yours, you feel his hot, breathy laugh over your mouth as you deny him again. “Not gonna happen.”

“What about—“ His arm tightens. His lips brush yours. “—This?”

Hot. So, so hot. No matter how many times you do this, he never fails to bring sparking, burning heat to every part of you. Your body will always respond, and he knows. “Just give up alr—“ Satoru swallows the rest of the word. His lips press to yours in a kiss that claims everything.

He steals everything with that kiss. Your breath, your words, your already crumbling stubborn will to resist and deny. He takes the moan that slips out as you open your mouth to him too. Your free hand grips his jacket as your tongues meet, a wet back and forth still tinged with cherry.

Oh shiiiit.

“You are such a liar,” He grits harshly as he breaks the kiss. “I fucking knew it,”

“You weren’t supposed to do—ah,“ You cut yourself off with a gasp as he grips your waist with both hands, long fingers digging into your soft flesh in righteous frustration.

“Cherry?” He hoists you onto the counter, sucking a sharp breath in as your bare thighs meet the cool stone with a sharp, cold bite. “My favorite too, god you’re bad.”

“They were just giving them out at the store, how was I supposed to—mnnh—know?” You moan as he grips your knees, pulling your thighs wide and slotting himself in the heated space between.

“Gonna share?” His soft hair tickles your cheek as he murmurs against your neck, grazing your pulse point with sharp teeth, dragging his hot tongue over the racing vein.

You shake your head, “Mm-mm,” The sucker still poised in your fingers on the counter, forgotten as Satoru takes your every thought over with his mouth on your throat, his hands that traverse slowly, gripping and squeezing up your thighs, spreading them further as his hips rock stiffness into you. Damp, flimsy cotton shorts and uniforms pants keeping you two separated.

Fingers tangled in silky white locks, the sleek edge of the blindfold under your palm as you tilt your head a little. Breathing hard and distracted by the attention paid all over your body, you don’t even notice when he snatches the candy right from your hand.

“No! Sato—“ The hard candy clicks against your teeth as he stuffs the sucker in your mouth and cuts you off.

“You keep the cherry baby,” His fingers twirl the stick of the sucker, pressing it down on your tongue. “I’m gonna have a different sweet, something that really takes the edge off.” In a swift move, he yanks his blindfold off, tossing it on the counter behind you and setting those bright cerulean eyes that seem to burn on yours.

You bite down on the stick as he sheds the dark jacket, sucking hard as your eyes rove over his body in a black compression shirt you’ve seen him in a thousand times and still never fails to make your core flood with heat and clench with anticipation.

Long fingers curl into the waistband of your shorts and pull, peeling them off your slick cunt, sticky with the arousal his every touch brings. Satoru drops to his knees as he slides them down your legs, discarding them and gliding back up with his hands. You let your knees be pulled apart, cool air hits and you let out a little whine at the sensation before hot breath fans over and overheats your pussy, wet and twitching already with need.

“You want it sweets?” Satoru asks, face mere inches away from where you desperately need him to be. You card your fingers through his hair and nod, biting the stick hard. “But do you deserve it?” He nips your inner thigh, so close. “Lying right to my face, denying me, maybe I should do the same, hmm?”

One finger glides up your slit, gathering slick with barely any pressure. You let out a sharp gasp and Satoru grins, wicked and taunting. “So mean to me,” He groans, pale lashes fluttering as he tastes your arousal on his finger. “How are you so sweet too? Fuck, better than cherry.”

You whine out at that, “Satoru,”

“Don’t you ‘Satoru’ me,” He mocks your whine, the tip of his finger slipping up again. You squirm and lift your hips, chasing for more pressure but he backs off. “Tell me, how bad do you want me to lick you just like that lollipop?”

“Please… mnnh I need it, please.” Resistance long gone, you beg him, moaning as he tortuously presses against your entrance, barely dipping inside.

“Oh you need it, hmm? Do you know how hard it’s been, cutting back?” He twists that finger inside your drooling hole, pulsing and trying to pull him further in. “But I’ve been so good, even got rid of my stash at school to keep the temptation away.”

You cry out as he thrusts in deeper, curling against the spot that has you gushing, that he knows will make your back arch and gasp for air. “Then I come home after that dumb meeting, listening to those old dust bags bitch and moan and complain, to find you,” He says harshly, the hiss of his breath hitting your cunt just as harsh, “Bent over the counter in those tiny shorts, sucking on a fucking lollipop. You trying to kill me here?”

You whimper out apologies, you didn’t mean to shove the sugary temptation in his face, but he came home earlier than you thought. That’s hardly your fault. “N-no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know, you’ve been doing s-so good—“

“Yeah, I know I’ve been good, but you’ve been bad.” Your thigh is hoisted over his shoulder, his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. You cry out again at the sting of him biting down right on the cusp, so close to where his finger drags out again. Pain and pleasure mixing, making your cunt flutter around his thick digit.

“Fuck,” He breathes, turning his attention back to your soaking pussy. “So wet, fucking dripping. God you’re such a mess, and it’s all for me, right?”

Your tongue rolls the sucker, pressing it to your cheek and you grip Satoru’s hair as he thrusts that long finger deep, but you want more than what he’s giving right now. “Mnh, yes! Please, Satoru—“

“Smell so good,” He takes a deep inhale as he drags out, pulling more slick with him, his face so fucking close. “Taste so fucking good, it’s taking a lot of willpower not to just bury my face in this pussy right now.”

“Just—ah fuck, do it then!” He laughs at that, sending another burst of hot air over your twitching cunt. He meets your eyes, perfect pink lips quirked in that smug little smirk.

“That’s what you want, right?” You nod and he watches the stick of your sucker flicking between your lips as your roll it back and forth. “You sure as shit don’t deserve it, but I do, and since I can’t have that cherry flavoured thing you’re sucking on, I’m gonna let myself have this.”

You gasp, sharp and loud, spine arched almost painfully as Satoru finally presses his tongue to your slit and drags up. Long and flat all the way from your dripping hole to your clit, so sensitive from the build up that your hips jerk as he flicks the tip over.

“Mmm, my fucking god,” He groans, index and ring finger spreading your lips wide, dipping inside with the middle as he laps everything gushing from you. “Taste so good, so sweet it’s not fair.”

As you suck the candy hard, moaning and rolling the cherry flavour around in your mouth, his lips close over your clit and he sucks, grazing with teeth in nips that he flicks his tongue over.

He’s relentless. With his hand, shoving another long thick finger inside to stretch your walls further, curling and dragging over the spot that makes stars glitter over your vision. With his mouth, using tongue and teeth to make you cry his name out as he devours you right there on the kitchen counter.

You grip his hair hard as heat builds in your core, harder than you mean to and he groans at the pain, the vibration of it right on your clit. “S-sorry! Ah-ohh god… s-so good! You’re—ah! S-so good Sa-Satoru!” You praise, pitched and broken and he hums into you in acknowledgment.

“Ohh, fu-fuck,” You gasp, legs trembling and your walls tighten, clamping down around his fingers as he fucks them into you, lapping at the slick pouring with each movement. “Gonna co-come—fuck!” You don’t really need to say it, he knows. Satoru always knows, like he’s got a manual for your body or something.

Pussy fluttering, legs trying to squeeze shut around his head, Satoru works you through the orgasm as it erupts. Waves of hot pleasure shuddering through your body with each curl of his fingers, each flick of his tongue over your clit, crying out so loud you’re almost screaming, the sucker hanging from your mouth with your head thrown back.

He lets out a long, satisfied groan and pulls his fingers from your pulsing cunt, leaving you empty for just a moment.

But you don’t get any time to come down from the shaky high before he glides his tongue down through your folds and spears inside, sending a brand new jolt of electricity shooting through your entire body that you cry out at.

“Ah fu-fuck—t-too much!” You grip his hair again, pulling a little as your legs shake and hips jerk with the over-stimulation of his face pressed hard against you, but he doesn’t relent. He wraps both hands around your thighs to pull them up and keep them open.

You’re not sure how he’s even breathing right now with his tongue buried so deep in your fluttering core, his nose pressed hard and nudging at your clit as he laps the slick from your orgasm. But he doesn’t stop, nothing but actually saying the word would make him stop right now.

You’re almost sobbing from the stimulation, each bump of his nose sending a jolt through you. His tongue curls and flexes, hitting that spot as he laps and slurps every drop that gushes out.

Sending delighted hums and hungry growls into you, Satoru works you quickly back up to the edge of another perilous orgasm that has your whole body shaking hard as it looms and crashes through.

Your eyes squeeze shut, a stream of tears slipping out and mouth hanging open in a silent scream—the cursed sucker that started this barely still in your mouth—you come again, forcefully. Your orgasm rips through with an ache that tinges pleasure with pain, abs and core clenched so hard they ache as you jerk and twitch uncontrollably, but Satoru and his large hands hold you in place.

He’s absolutely inescapable, this man.

“Come on,” Satoru murmurs, lips brushing your pussy as he pulls back to speak, “This is what you wanted, right? You’re not gonna make me stop now, not when I’m just getting started, right sweets?”

You whimper, looking back down at his face, flushed a little and messy, lips, chin and nose all glistening with slick. Those pretty baby blues shining bright and innocent as he looks up at you from between your legs, like he’s not shattering you and blanking everything but the memory of him from your mind. Fucking you stupid with just his fingers and mouth.

You shake your head weakly and he grins. “Good, be a good girl and keep sucking on that cherry thing while I have my treat, yeah?” He dives back in and you bite down hard on the stick of the—definitely cursed—sucker.

Maybe you’ll think twice before grabbing candy from the store again.

a/n I had a dum-dum (sucker) and listened to Doja Cat while writing something else and it awoke this in my brain, it refused to leave until I wrote it so here ya go | divider by @sweetshuga ♡

#gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo #satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk gojo #gojo satoru smut

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