#i don't often write for this man but when i do it's the simpiest sinfullest things why

[sandsorghum]

Happy Valentine's!

got teary over thoughts of (lifestyle) Dom Gojo who wants to teach you the importance of punctuality and a fixed routine by waking you up early to sit you on his cock as many mornings as he can (provided you're not too tuckered out from the previous night 😏) It's half hard but doesn't stay that way for long, obviously... honestly I have no excuses for why this exists but I hope this casual ramble makes your Feb 14th extra enjoyable!

Satoru's never gotten a handle on things like lesson plans. More accurately, he doesn't see the point of them. Which is how you end up susceptible to his impromptu, unorthodox methods.

This morning's remedial session is all about Delayed Gratification

Big words and an even bigger concept to wrap your mind around.

But not your mouth...

You don't understand how he's mastered this, just grinding his bulge still covered in those worn briefs against your lips, you can feel the curve and taut warmth of his balls radiating through the material. You love to savour the sensation of his wrinkled sacs smoothing out against your cheek while you sample the salt of his skin, where it's stretched most sensitive and spherical, tinged a pretty terracotta against your tongue's pink, but for now you're grateful for the barrier of the fabric. Because you can see the tip of him straining thick against his cotton confines, the gusset turning into gauzy translucence with his weeping seam, spider silk glistening with dawn's dew. Such a distinct yet familiar scent entrancing you, that morning freshness heralding heat and fingers of sunlight splaying across your thighs is intoxicating enough, but then there's the headier notes of his musk oozing off the dusky rose blush of his cock head, the smell fogging up your mind and you have to breathe, exhale and expunge this dizzying arousal before it takes over you and your day yet again...but your body betrays you and somehow you find your nose nuzzling deeper against Satoru's by now fully stiff shaft, pressed against the underside of his balls you feel throbbing to life, responding to your inadvertent tenderness.

How did he learn such discipline? You'd never guess the rigour with which he inculcated it into himself on all those long nights, before you belonged in his bed, before he dared call it yours too, fisting his cock to desperate dreams of you, first in his sheets then the shower, better to avoid the moon's unsympathetic glare, illuminating his shame through the pallor of his perspiration glowing sticky on his forearms, matching the sheen upon his bulbous tip, flushed as a toadstool, dark roots of vermilion veins tapering toward his frenulum, spent yet still pulsing.

The same moon which illuminated your absence; once he'd swept back his damp, tousled fringe he saw so clearly the crisp lines of his duvet.

How many times had he tucked and untucked the corners, chasing the spectre of your smile, futile attempts to exorcise it with his sickening ritual of diminishing returns. Each time, the facts laid bare as your body in his fantasies, your absence beneath him outlined in smears of white, a haunting in ectoplasm dribbling down his knuckles.

He'd tried to alleviate some of that guilt, or at least suffering, stopping himself short of cumming, right to the edge of reality and sanity - no mess as if it was all invisible, like he'd buried his cum deep inside you, imaginary and sealed away in his head, the only version of you he was convinced he could have, could keep.

But then, you'd shown him how terrible you were at hiding your own secrets. In broad daylight.

And now, you're a little luckier this dawn, as the sun starts to splinter itself over your sill. Satoru allows you to mold your mouth against the single damp spot darkening his underwear. Your eyes threaten to flutter shut, your mouth is full of synthetic fabric but you can still taste the faintest tint of his bittersalt tang, dredging up the memory and connecting to the residual film that had coated your tongue much more generously, mere hours ago. A nexus between morning and night, languor and labour, between pleasure and patience.

The moment is suspended, that last little shining string swaying between your bottom lip and his leaking iridescent slit. You breathe slow and go still, waiting to see which way his thread will snap.

But you aren't at all idle.

You keep your eyes open, locked onto Satoru's slightly unfocused one, dipping between your slack lips and soft, doe gaze. He is watching you waver between innocence and intent, and you have your own assessment to make, careful to mask the keenness of your observation beneath a sleepy half-smile, affection crinkling the corners of your eyes as you wait for his irises to swirl from that familiar cerulean which froths sweetness and guile, to the even more intimate indigo glinting desire, an anglerfish flicker in the depths; you wait for him, to submit to the whirlpool of your lusts.

Alas, he anchors a large palm to your chin, and instead of dragging him down he pulls you up for a gentle kiss, though you feel little eddies of his appetite nibbling along your chin.

"Let's fuck," Satoru whispers, lips teasing the whimper from your lungs, lumbering awake.

"Let's fuck," he repeats, and this time it's a warning for himself, a firm statement to bulwark against the rush of desire crashing like a wave upon him when you wriggle your hips and clutch at the barrels of his chest. You cling to Satoru like a limpet, hooking a leg over him, a barnacle desperate for its raft.

But he just chuckles, your whine lost in the rustle of blankets as he wrests them off you, they billow out like sails and the chill finally, properly shocks you awake.

"After breakfast," Satoru says, and you're about to protest this additional injustice when he cups your chin, tilting your face up so you can see the starvation in his eyes, how he's struggling against it.

"Get up now and we'll have time for that thing with my tongue you seem to like so much...or am I mistaken about your enthusiasm?"

You scramble to the bathroom and end up squeezing face wash on your toothbrush.

Even as you glimpse Satoru sniggering at you in the mirror while you (literally) foam at the mouth, furiously gargling, you decide his is a compromise you don't mind waking up earlier for.

But maybe you'd make him try a little harder to convince you tomorrow morning. Satoru's conditioning process is way too fun for it to succeed this soon.

#jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x gender neutral reader #gojo x y/n #satoru smut #i don't often write for this man but when i do it's the simpiest sinfullest things why #gojo satoru x y/n