GUESS! (Satoru Gojo x Reader) SMUT
gif by me | divider by @/kthice on tumblr
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader
Warnings: Smut, a bit of violence at the beginning (gojo slimes two cursed spirits), phone sex, video sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f! receiving), mating press, kind of rough (but not really), breeding kink, cumming inside, creampie, fucking with panties pulled to the side (lol).
Word Count: roughly 4k
A/N: I have had this idea strapped into the car seat in the back of my mind and last night, it slipped the seat belt and took over the wheel. Ever since I heard the song 'guess' by Charli XCX ft Billie Eilish. Side note but Gojo is so fucking in love w you <3
This is my return to smut so its a bit...eh. I'm proud of the rest of it though. Enjoy, hoes! (except minors. y'all aren't allowed here, sorry)
Satoru Gojo has exactly two weaknesses:
You
You, in lace.
He’s powerless against either. Whether you’re pouting up at him, begging him to play Animal Crossing with you, or using his own damn blindfold to tie him to the bed, he never stood a chance.
So when your name flashes across his phone screen – ‘Princess’ is calling – he answers before the second ring.
Never mind that he’s currently exorcising a special grade curse, and that said curse has just launched an attack capable of levelling a city block. Sure, he likes to play with his food, and special grade curses are his favourite little snack. But everything is reduced to irrelevance when it comes to you.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
The curse barely has time to register the smile on his face before Gojo twists it into a pulp.
What can he say? Some calls are more important than others.
“Hey baby,” you coo, and Gojo can hear the smile in your voice. It makes his own smile widen as he wipes a smear of purple ichor from his cheek.
“What are you up to?” you ask, as another special grade curse lunges at him from behind. Gojo dodges effortlessly.
“Nothing important,” he says, stretching out a hand. Cursed energy coalesces in his palm, space bending and twisting around it, condensing into a perfect sphere as though he were holding a red star in his palm.
“How's the mission going?”
Gojo launches Red at the curse with the casual boredom of a man flicking dust from his shirt. The special grade bursts apart at the seams in a spectacular spray of gore.
Across the street, the rogue sorcerer responsible for unleashing the curse – and, therefore, stealing Gojo from your side, completely ruining date night – lets out a pathetic whimper. Realisation dawns on him as he turns and attempts to scramble away.
The air folds around Gojo as he teleports directly in front of the sorcerer. He doesn’t even have to lift a finger; the sorcerer trips over his own feet.
Gojo plants a shoe squarely on his back, pinning the squirming wreck of a man to the pavement as though stepping on a cockroach.
“Eh…” he sighs with a shrug, “It’s boring without you here.”
He can hear you shuffling around on the other end of the line, and an image blooms in his mind without his permission: you, a hundred miles away, curled up on the couch in your shared penthouse, wearing those tiny pyjama shorts (the ones with the frilly hem, fuck), a cute little Cinnamoroll t-shirt stretched deliciously across your breasts, one leg tucked beneath the other.
He wants those legs around his waist right now, he decides.
You hum in agreement, “I wish I were there, too.”
A wicked little grin ticks up on the corner of his lips, “Yeah?”
“Mmhmm.”
“And what would you be doing, exactly?” he asks, as the criminal sorcerer beneath him begins to sob.
You giggle, a mischievous little sound that makes his heart trip like a clumsy schoolboy, “Nothing heroic, that’s for sure.”
“Tell me more.”
“Please!” the sorcerer suddenly cries, “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it I know- “
“Are you still fighting right now?” you ask, the tone in your voice significantly less cheeky than before.
Gojo grits his teeth, irritated by the interruption, and relents with a sigh.
“Fights over already. Could’ve done it with my eyes closed, to be honest.”
He hears you shift against the expensive cushions he bought you because you thought they looked “cozy.”
Interesting.
“You are ridiculous,” you playfully scold.
Gojo smiles, a real thing that only ever appears when you’re around.
“I’ve been called worse,” he says, “but at least I’m yours.”
“You are also incredibly corny.”
“And sexy,” Gojo adds, and warmth blooms within him at the sound of your laughter bubbling up.
“I’ll let you go.”
“Please don’t.”
“Satoru.”
“Fine.”
As soon as the line cuts and he hangs up, Gojo’s smile disappears. Slowly, he lowers his gaze to the rogue sorcerer trapped beneath him. The man pales.
“Now…” he begins, “What to do with you?”
***
Gojo would like to say that it took about three minutes for the rogue sorcerer to squeak out the names of his accomplices, but in reality, it may have been shorter.
Either way, he got the results he needed.
He always does.
Now, all he has to do is wait for Megumi, Yuji and Nobara. As their sensei, he should probably check to see how they’re faring. He’s not particularly worried, though – the three of them have faced worse threats than a handful of second-grade curses.
However…
Gojo flops back against the double bed in his hotel room, phone in hand.
Fuck it.
He’s never been concerned about what he should do, anyway.
“Sweetheart,” he says with a smile as soon as you answer.
“Toru,” you reply, “have you finished working now?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
“Hmm, I don’t believe you.”
“I would never lie to you.”
A quiet pause settles between you, where something soft and warm and familiar nestles into the space despite the miles separating you.
“I know,” you breathe.
Gojo smiles, real and rare, rising straight from the depths of his heart like a bubble breaking the surface of the sea. He can’t help it. It’s all he ever does now.
Someone once told him that you make him more irresponsible. Gojo has never disagreed more. After all, you’ve made him a better man than the one you found, lost and lonely, wanted only for his strength, his looks, his surname. It was you who scooped him up and chased the chill from his bones, you who filled the gap in his heart he’d long since convinced himself would remain empty.
Not that he’s sentimental.
Obviously.
(Fuck you. He’s not sentimental, alright?)
Your voice lures him out of his thoughts.
“So, called to continue our conversation?”
“Reading my mind from miles away?” he jokes, resting one arm under his head, “Just another one of your magic tricks.”
You chuckle, “Or you’re just more predictable than you think.”
“Speaking of,” he begins, brushing the tip of his tongue against his canine, “Why did you call earlier?”
He hears you shuffle around again, and his smile turns devilish, sharp at the edges with devious delight.
“I…wanted to see if you were busy,” you hedge, suddenly sounding shy.
God, you’re adorable.
“Oh?” he asks, “And why is that?”
“Because…” you pause for theatrical effect, “I’m awfully lonely here in this big, scary penthouse. So I thought I’d wear something you might like..."
Gojo’s breath stutters, cock stirring. It’s embarrassing how hard you get him, even with the smallest of touches, the softest of whispers, the mere promise of you has him salivating, yearning for a taste.
He sits upright.
“And what’s that, baby?”
“…Guess.”
He can hear the smirk in your voice.
Temptress.
Ok. He’ll play along.
Your wardrobe flashes through his mind in quick succession, glimpses of the finest lace, the smoothest silk. Stockings and thigh-highs and suspenders. Heels he could spend the rest of his life pressed beneath, stiletto to the chest, what a way to go.
“Something lacy?” he guesses.
“Great work, detective,” you joke, “It is definitely something lacy.”
“The French set I bought you last week?”
“No,” you say, “I want to save that for when you get back.”
God damn. If only he could speed up time.
“Okay,” he says, “So it’s not a set.”
“Not quite.”
He cocks an eyebrow, “Oh?”
You pause again, clearly delighting in drawing out his suspense, “I’m only wearing underwear.”
Only wearing underwear.
Gojo’s brain trips over each word, as though a multi-car pileup has suddenly collided somewhere in his synapses.
“Oh, darling,” he drawls, his hand already creeping down south, “Just underwear? You’re not cold?”
“Well, I’m hoping my big, strong husband will warm me up.”
“You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs, palming at his hardening cock, “How big and strong I am? Turns you on, doesn’t it?”
Your breath audibly hitches, “Yeah, baby. Love watchin’ you fight. Makes me so wet.”
Fuck, what he would give to be there right now, watch you spread out against the king-sized bed, legs parting like moonflowers taking their first breath of midnight air.
“Fuck, princess,” he sighs instead. His cock is already hard within his grip.
“Wait, don’t cheat,” you order, breathlessly, “You have to guess what I’m wearing.”
He can imagine your pout, bottom lip jutting out all innocent and sweet.
“Sorry, baby, I can’t help myself.”
“Toru,” you whine, and he exhales, conceding. He’s never been able to say ‘no’ when it comes to you.
“Just underwear, huh?” he says, trying to think, but he feels as though his mind is swimming through honey. He forces himself to focus, for you. Always for you. “Okay, hmm…the red ones? From Venice?”
“No."
“The pink pair?”
“No.”
“God, darling, you’re killing me here.”
You giggle, delighted, “You can do it, Toru.”
Something in his caveman hindbrain, his lone surviving brain cell in charge of critical thinking, shifts out of ‘horny’ and into gear.
“The black pair,” he says with complete confidence, “The ones with the little bow.”
He hears you shift against the bedsheets, hears the tiny whimper that tapers out into a gentle exhale. He can almost feel the warmth of it against the shell of his ear.
And then, the line cuts out with a click. Seconds later, his phone rings again, this time, a video call from you.
He answers immediately.
What he finds steals the air from his lungs with one big swoop.
You.
You, in all your magnificent beauty, cheeks candy-apple red, eyes lidded, lashes fanning out against your cheeks, bottom lip swollen from where you’ve been biting it.
You’re sprawled out onto your shared bed, completely naked except for the little black pair of panties peeking out from between your legs. You spread, granting him his reward for winning your wicked little game.
His heart pounds.
His throat bobs.
His cock absolutely fucking throbs.
“Well done, baby,” you whisper. He watches the trail of your fingers as they travel between your bare breasts – nipples pebbled, you give them a little squeeze for his benefit – down the flat of your stomach, until they disappear beneath the band of your underwear. You gasp as your fingers move, a hypnotic dance just for him.
Then, you pull your panties aside, revealing your pussy. She glistens like moonlight catching on dew.
This must have been what sailors felt before they followed sirens to their watery graves, Gojo thinks.
“Satoru,” you whisper his name, touching yourself.
“Damn,” he gasps, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock, “Wish I could taste you.”
Your lips bend, “Check your duffle bag. Back pocket.”
Surprise flickers through him, brief and bright, before he stretches out with one hand and rolls awkwardly across the bed. He fishes around for his duffel bag, then digs into the back pocket, his fingers catching on the familiar softness of the ‘surprise’ hidden inside.
He pulls them out, dangles them in front of his eyes. Your panties. They’re the ones he tore off you the night before he left, identical to the ones you’re wearing now.
“Naughty girl,” he chortles darkly, “What a lovely surprise.”
You giggle, chest heaving, “You deserve a treat. Always working so hard.”
Gojo covers them over his nose with one hand and breathes them in. His cock kicks up at your scent; he’s like a goddamn wolf catching the scent of its prey, growling low in his throat.
He angles the camera so you can see the way his fist moves over his cock in slow, steady movements, muttering your name as he squeezes the tip. You moan loudly at the sight, your movements quicken with debauched squelches that have his mouth salivating for a taste.
An idea possesses him. Maintaining eye contact, Gojo stuffs your panties into his mouth and groans at the taste, at the lingering tangerine sweetness. He yearns to be between your legs, making you dissolve into a sugary mess on the tip of his tongue.
Then, he pulls your panties just far enough for you to see the flash of his teeth, “Tastes good, baby.”
Endearing shades of pink rush up your neck and into your cheeks. How sweet. Pretending to be a seductress when you fall apart so easily at the suggestion of his mouth.
Gojo takes your shredded panties and wraps them around his cock, silk against hot flesh. He tilts his head back against the headboard, imagining your velvety cunt, tight walls squeezing around him. The thought spurs him in; his movements become rugged and jerky as he nears his peak.
“Gonna cum soon,” he grits out, watching through heavily-lidded eyes as your fingers slide between your pussy, then back up to your clit.
You whimper, “Me, too…but…”
“But what, sweetheart?”
“I…” a whimper of frustration, “I can’t reach…”
Gojo pauses, crooked grin hooking around his mouth, “Aw,” he coos, with saccharine sympathy, “My poor baby. So used to my fingers, my cock, that her tiny little fingers aren’t quite enough.”
You level a half-hearted glare at him, it only adds to the thrill.
“Looks like you need some help,” he surmises.
You nod, a cute little sob bubbling up from between your lips that makes Satoru’s heart squeeze and his dick ache.
In that precise moment, a decision is made. Probably a bad one, but Gojo doesn’t give a shit, not when it comes to you.
Especially when it comes to you.
***
Your legs are spread. Your pussy is drenched. Your fingers are aching.
And yet, you cannot reach your peak.
Gojo has spoiled you in every sense of the word, imprinted himself upon your body and soul so deeply, you can’t even touch yourself without his help.
You bite down on your bottom lip in frustration.
On your phone screen, Satoru’s lips split into an infuriatingly sexy smirk.
“Looks like you need some help,” he says, and if your mind were clearer, you would notice his tone, the daring edge to it, a decision made before the choice was even raised.
You nod, a desperate sob escaping you. Your baser instincts scream for his touch, his mouth, his cock. But your heart longs for something more than sex alone. You want to crawl into his embrace, curl up in the nest of his lap, face tucked against his neck, and stay there. Bask in his warmth and hear his heart beat against your ear. Shower him with every ounce of affection you possess until there is no doubt left that he is loved, completely, utterly, endlessly.
The pang of loneliness suddenly vanishes as your video call abruptly ends.
Your brows furrow in confusion.
That is, until a silhouette fills the space in your bedroom doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. You’d recognise it anywhere, even if it’s supposed to be miles away right now.
His name leaves you in a gasp of surprise, “Satoru!”
Satoru stalks toward you in three long strides, and moonlight spills across his face.
You’ve seen that look before.
It never fails to unravel you.
Hungry. The same hunger as a predator claiming his prey. The same hunger as the big bad wolf in old fairy tales. The same hunger as a man ready to devour his sweet, little wife.
Satoru clambers onto the bed, hands pawing at your thighs, spreading them apart and hooking them around his waist. His arms bracket your head, palms against the pillow…and then, quite suddenly, the hunger in his eyes softens as he peers down at you.
The change of pace would have given you whiplash if he hadn’t bent down. Your lips meet.
There's a softness to the kiss, to the way his mouth moves against yours, as though he were trying to spell out ‘I love you’ with only his lips and tongue. It contrasts almost violently with his hunger, tamed into a corner only for a moment, because before you claimed his body, you claimed his soul, and he claimed yours.
He gave meaning to the word ‘soulmate’ long before either of you had ever spoken it aloud.
You know this kiss is the calm before the storm, the almost-apology for the monster that has reared its head from within his ribcage, curled its claws around his ribs, just waiting to climb out and claim you.
You’ve only ever wanted to sate that beast.
But first…
“I love you,” you whisper as he breaks away.
“Fuck I love you, too,” Satoru breathes, nose brushing against your jaw.
Sitting back on his haunches, Satoru lets his hands explore. They slide along the contours of your body; one hand kneading at your breast while the other continues its descent, thumb smoothing over the small knob in your hip bone.
You tremble and moan beneath him; your body is a striking pad, and his touch is the match that will set you ablaze. His hands claim your thighs, holding them apart as he examines your lacy underwear, your inner thighs drenched, the gusset soiled.
“Perfect,” he mutters, his fingers swiping along the fabric. You tremble at the gentlest touch, “They look perfect on you.”
Satoru’s fingers, the same ones that have brought you endless pleasure, brush around the edges of the gusset, as though memorising the structure of the fabric through touch alone.
“Toru,” you plead, “Please...your fingers..."
A small smile blooms across his face, as adoring as it is playful, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
He pulls the damp fabric aside, exposing your pussy to the cool night air. A shiver skitters through you at the chill, but Satoru is quick to remedy that with those deliciously long and exceedingly talented fingers. He gathers your slick with his fingertip, tracing in a slow, circular motion with a tantalising touch.
And then, he presses firmer, one finger easily pushing into your heated core. You moan, legs quivering, hips jerking upwards when his thumb taps on your clit.
“My poor princess,” he coos, “Such a sensitive thing.”
“Toru.”
“Hm, so impatient, sweetheart,” he teases – rather cruelly, you might add – “It seems I’ve spoiled you too much.”
He pauses, the mischief in his expression smoothing into something gentle, “Ah, but I can’t help it. You’re just too beautiful…”
Your mouth hangs open as Satoru’s thumb begins to spiral around your clit, and then he’s easing another finger inside. He leans over you, takes your nipple into his mouth and suckles as though it’ll give him a treat. You squeeze around his fingers as he curls his digits with a slick squelch, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit.
Satoru dots kisses up your sternum, along your collarbone, stringing together a constellation of love bites for you to wear as proudly as prized jewels. Then, his lips meet yours again, drinking your moans. You’re so close, nectar dribbling into his palm and all over the sheets, chest heaving as you scale the familiar, wobbling, tipsy-turvey ladder to heaven.
And then, he pushes a third finger inside of you, and prods against your sweet spot.
“…And you’re mine.”
You shatter into oblivion.
“Satoru!” you cry, throwing your head back in ecstasy. Golden warmth radiates from your core, spreads like sunlight down your legs and up your arms, wraps around your chest and caresses your heart for a blissful moment.
Satoru watches in awe, mouth slightly agape, captivated by the vision of you. When you finally return to earth, he is right beside you, nose brushing against your jaw.
“My beautiful little wife,” he murmurs into your ear, punctuating the sweet little praise with a kiss. He pulls his fingers away from your gooey cunt, gathers some of your slick like a bear collecting honey, and maintains eye contact as he licks his fingers clean.
“Mmm,” he hums, as though tasting ambrosia, “So sweet on my tongue.”
You watch, slack-jawed, as he crawls back down for seconds. This time, he wants to taste straight from the source.
Satoru peers up at you from between your legs, and for a moment, your heart forgets how to beat. A wide, wolfish grin curls across his face, soft lips parting to reveal a flash of white teeth. His blue eyes gleam like azure lightning beneath a storm-dark sky. This is what ravenous truly looks like: Beautiful. Dangerous. Predatory.
“Can’t get enough of you, baby.”
And then, he descends, pressing the flat of his tongue against your soaked panties, tugging them between his teeth, playing with them, pulling them aside, biting them like a lion tearing skin from muscle. He’s rough when he dives in, tongue probing inside your heat, as though he were trying to drink from a well deep within you. You moan and gasp and whimper his name, your voice hoarse as your lower belly crackles to life again, fingers flying into his hair, gripping hard enough to draw a groan from the back of his throat.
All it takes is for him to suckle harshly on your clit, and you’re gone, squirting onto his face, legs wrapping around his head, squeezing him in a death hold as you surf the waves of your climax. Vaguely, you recall threads of Satoru’s laughter as he called your legs – and your pussy – ‘The Nutcracker.’
He's not laughing now, though.
Instead, he’s pressing kisses to your pussy, your panties, nibbling along your inner thighs, dragging his tongue across your skin, relishing you as though you were a melting, summer treat.
“You truly are delicious,” he purrs as he emerges, licking his glistening lips.
You reach out for him, stroking your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.
“Inside me, Toru,” you whimper, desperate to give him pleasure, “I need you inside me. Want you to feel so good.”
Satoru sits up, pupils blown wide with a heady mix of adoration and lust, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He’s undressed in the space between blinks, with the sort of speed and enthusiasm that would be deeply concerning if it weren’t so impressively on brand for him. Satoru settles between your legs, hooks them over his shoulders, bending you into a mean mating press.
And then he’s finally, finally sliding home.
Satoru Gojo is huge.
Achingly so.
No matter how many times you’ve made love, you can’t get over the length of him, the girth. It never fails to punch the air from your lungs whenever he sinks into you. But the stretch, the sting of pain, only ever serves to heighten your pleasure.
And when he groans and rolls his hips, you know you’re about to glimpse heaven.
You cling onto his shoulders, freshly manicured nails digging into his muscles, as Satoru sets a fast, rough pace. He rocks his hips, pushing you further up the bed, your breasts jiggling with each movement.
“Fuck,” he curses, “Fuck you feel so good.”
“So do you,” you pant.
Bracing himself on one arm, his fingers reach down to pluck at the waistband of your panties. It snaps against your skin, and you gasp, pussy clenching.
“Like this?” he grunts, “Like it when I fuck you like this?”
“Yes, Toru!” you cry, “You. Only you make me feel this good!”
Satoru groans and increases his pace, slamming his cock inside of you as you crest higher, so rapidly it makes your head spin and your breath stagger.
“Yeah, yeah, you love being split apart by this cock,” he goads, switching from heavy snaps to a dirty, deep grind, “Love bein’ full of me.”
You hiss, “Yes. Want you to fucking breed me, Toru.”
A wild, animalistic growl loosens from Satoru's throat, hips ramming wildly against you, cock grazing against the side of your panties as he builds up a fast, unrelenting pace. His balls, heavy with cum and glazed with your slick, slam against your ass in a steady slap, slap, slap.
“Fuck, I’m gon’ fill you to the brim,” he promises through gritted teeth “You’re gon’ be drippin’ with me for days.”
“Please, Toru,” you beg, “Want it so bad. Wanna feel your cum as I touch myself to you.”
“Jesus, fuck,” Satoru curses, more to himself than anything. He angles his thrusts until his cock head bullies the entrance of your cervix, and you scream at the pressure, “Takin’ me so well, gonna give you all my cum, make sure you keep it, right…” He pushes down on the space below your navel, “here.”
Suddenly, the tight coil inside you snaps and writhes like a live wire, sending pleasure jolting through you, pulsing through your arms and legs. Your pussy quivers around him, hugging his cock as the muscles spasm and quake with the force of your climax, squirting onto his thighs.
The sight is Satoru’s undoing. He follows you shortly after, growling pieces of your name as he buries his twitching cock inside of you. Thick, hot ropes of cum burst out of him, pouring into your snug cunt in an endless stream that has you crooning, cunt milking him as you stumble into your fourth orgasm of the night. Shuddering above you, Satoru continues to pump his hips in carnal, animalistic movements, fucking his seed deeper and deeper inside of you.
“Take it, sweetheart. Take it all for me.”
Finally, with a long, satisfied sigh, Satoru collapses on top of you, breathing into your neck. His lips ghost lazily over your skin, pressing lazy kisses as he catches his breath.
You lay together in the aftermath, bathing in post-coital glory, boneless and sated, impossibly warm.
“Fuck, Toru’” you exhale, shakily, resting your hand over his where it sits splayed against your lower belly, “M’ so full of you.”
Satoru untangles himself from your embrace, back straightening. He pulls out of you with a lewd pop, captivated by the way his cum gushes from your gaping hole. His own masterpiece.
Carefully, he slides your soiled panties into place before his cum can drip onto the sheets, tapping them for good measure. You tremble at the sensation, overstimulated nerves screaming in response.
“Don’t waste a drop,” he warns, and there's a devious light to his eyes that makes you wonder if you’ll ever be able to walk properly again.
A/N: I'm not actually sure if Gojo lives at Jujutsu High or not? Maybe other faculty members do, but Gojo can just teleport to work, right? whatever. also, i know gojo would definitely be more of a tease in bed. but perhaps that'll be a different fic.
Requests are open! skedaddle on over to my faq to see who or what fandoms i write for :>
