°•Satoru Gojo || Desperate model•°

Satoru has been overseas for a month. He had flown to France, Paris for a collaboration with a fashion designer. Unfortunately, he was unable to bring you so he kept you updated daily. He sent you silly messages, dramatic audios of him whining, and most importantly, his amazing photographic skills when it came the beautiful city of Paris.

However, Satoru had begun to feel frustrated. Sexually. His messages became more... vulgar. You could almost hear the desperation in his texts. To be honest, It's quite flattering to fluster a man like Satoru into a needy mess.

Satoru stirred in the warm bedsheets of the mattress, the heavy blanket dangling off of his body. Satoru's hand instinctively reaches out beside the mattress, groaning softly as his skin met a cold empty space. Fuck, he missed you. Missed pulling you into his arms and feeling your body against his. He missed hearing your sweet moans as he plunged his cock into your- The thoughts were disrupted as he abruptly sat himself upright, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Fuck.. Satoru mutters with a frown, swinging his feet over the bed. He roughly scrubs his hands over his face, attempting to snap himself out of his daze. After a cold shower, Satoru slipped on a pair of black sweatpants that did little to hide his tense muscular thighs. He left himself shirtless as he padded to the whole body mirror, positioning his phone to capture a picture of his body.

With deft fingers, he sends the photo to your contact and types out a message. Morning, baby. Wish you were here.