"eat the rich" ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆
MDNI, suggestive content, legal age gap - reader is 22 & toru is 33, modern au, gojo's fuckin' stacked
stepping into the new year bold as hell, don't ask me why i'm writing a summer fic in january please - happy first day of 2026!!🫶🏽
dilf! satoru gojo x camp counselor! reader
Synopsis: you've harbored a crush on your little campers' rich, devastatingly handsome, and SINGLE, father for the past year you've been working at your rich kid summer camp. you've long waited for the summer to finally roll around just to get a chance to see him again. little do you know, satoru harbors the same, if not worse, aching desire to see you, the beautiful, compassionate, unassuming young woman looking after his baby. the only problem is, neither of you can keep it hidden anymore.
to sum it up: you are satoru's kids' favorite counselor... and you're satoru's favorite counselor too.
WC: 21,926 (yIKEES)
Warning(s): porn with a plot, kind of a slow burn into eventual smut, dad gojo, car sex, briefest mention of “daddy”, dirty talk everywhere, breeding kink uh, honestly it’s just filth, PRAISEEEEEEE
You bounce on the balls of your feet as you wave off the next car that passes through the car pool circle. In your other hand is the hand of the child that the van just dropped off, his little fingers squeezing yours tightly.
“Alright, bud, go sit with your bunk,” you bend down to guide him past you, into the care of your other coworker who helps walk the seven year old to his group. You whip your head back around with a sharp exhale, lips tugging upward and hands patting anxiously against your thighs.
You peer down the line with anticipation, eyes flickering over the cars you studied for weeks the previous summer, engraving their families into your memory. You nibble on the inside of your cheek when you still see no sign of the particular vehicle you are in desperate search for, and you sigh again, for what seems to have been the hundredth time today.
Butterflies are swarming in your stomach as the sticky summer heat clings to your shining skin, legs exposed in your denim shorts. You hear the distant hum of cicadas underlying the excited chatter of campers as they buzz about with camp friends they had likely been separated from for the whole of the school year. The sun is bright this morning as it beams into your face, and in that moment you remember why you’re always instructed to bring sunglasses or some kind of visor when managing the carpool line.
