@butterflytint - Tumblr Blog

May 30

the love hypothesis- s. gojo (nerdjo)

summary: failing calc 102 lands you with a cute tutor. as impressive as the shy yet witty student mentor of yours is, who’s to say there isn’t a thing or two you can teach him? Preferably behind closed doors at party your sorority sisters so graciously have hosted….

pairing: nerd!gojo x sorority girl fem!reader

wc: 13k (more than half smut lol)

tags: college au, tutor nerdjo, slightly bimbo reader, sexually explicit content, mdni, 18+, missionary, cowgirl, p in v, oral (giving and receiving), virginity loss (gojo)

The day you stepped on campus for the first time, he noticed you.

How could he not? In your short skirts and tight tops, it would be rather difficult for him not to. It would be absolutely foolish of him not to.

Sorority girls are ditzy, he was always told. Their beauty makes up for the air in their heads.

Satoru knows that is true to a certain degree but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the view. Of course, he was going to endlessly gawk at you any second you’d walk out the doors of your sorority house. It’s as unassailable as saying the Earth is round.

Satoru watches as you strut across the yard with your sorority sisters, throwing water balloons at each other with reckless abandon. Shirt drenched and clinging to your frame, you laugh ever so freely when a fratboy scoops you up, tossing you over his shoulder as you scream playfully.

“Yeesh,” Shoko grumbles. “They pay thousands of dollars just to party.”

The carefully crafted pre-med path Shoko treads on hardly gives her enough time to smile at the very least. Even Satoru himself didn’t have the time to relax, let alone party. With his Astrophysics and Aerospace Engineering double major, his tutoring job to pay the bills, and duties around his clubs, he had no time to so much as breath. Only time he spared anything to but his studies was when he’d stare at you around campus—because he knew he could not do it too much in your shared calculus class.

You dread that class. Each time you walk in, you feel your lungs giving out. You loathed math. English was way better! Who in their right mind would rather solve strenuous formulas than read a romantic story? Hell, clearly your degree advisor believes that you should prefer the former over the latter.

Just get through this required course for your core classes, then never again. Never will you touch math again.

The teacher does nothing but ramble in his monotonous voice about functional continuity and optimization. All you knew was the Pythagorean Theorem. Beyond that, was there truly a need to extend algebra into trigonometric fundamental theories?

“Your quizzes from last week have been graded as well,” your professor drawls. “They are up on your portal. I highly suggest that if you performed poorly, you reassess your study method. You don’t want to retake this course.”

Your heart sinks as you pull your phone from your pocket, tapping through to your portal. Drowned altogether, your heart has no way of returning to the surface, not now that you’ve seen your failing quiz grade. You were fucked for the final.

It took much molding of your dignity to stand at the bulletin board in the campus library and sign up for extra tutoring. If any of the other rival sororities learned of this news—that a member of your sisterhood had to fall from grace and take to being tutored for her failing course grade, it would end in a humiliation ritual. Speaking of, you scribble your name down along with your contact information.

Satoru downs a handful of colorful m&m’s, crunching boisterously due to his headphones blocking out the noise in the library. The dark frames of his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and he can’t be bothered to push them back up while entrenched in the notes and models he reviews for Aerodynamics. He’s trying to bang out another lecture of notes before his next tutoring session student arrived. He supposed he needed a refresher for the calc exam anyway.

He doesn’t even hear the door to the private study room open or look at the time again since he knows his tutee is running late. In his peripheral, he sees a pair of shoes, then a pair of legs, then a snug shirt, and then your pretty face.

“Hey, Satori, right?”

Satoru fumbles to take his headphones off, they dangle around his neck as he awkwardly stammers, “S-Satoru.”

“Oh—sorry,” you say, lightly patting the notebook in your hand. “So…”

“Oh—right,” he clears his throat, but the unknown force clogging his esophagus feels it might choke him to death. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” you pull out the chair by him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

Satoru nods, lowering his gaze and trying not to be insurmountably offended, “I know who you are. We’re in the same calculus class.”

Your brain freezes, and a chilling heat overcomes you. Satoru catches the way you cringe. Sure, you may not have paid attention in class—that’s why you’re here—but come on, you seriously could not have been that delusional to never have noticed the white-haired boy that sat only two rows behind you.

“Oh—yeah!” you light up, startling him. “You sit behind me—with that girl with the tired eyes.”

This earns a slightly shocked laugh from the boy, “Yeah, that would be Shoko.”

You nod, looking him up and down, logging the arguable fact that seems ridiculous to even be subject for debate—that he was quite cute for a nerd.

Satoru does his best to not stare too hard, averting your gaze as he suggests, “How about we start with chapter 3? How’d you do on the quiz last week?”

You oblige wordlessly, tearing open your textbook and notes. With thinly veiled shame, you slide your graded quiz to him, teeth gritting and lips pursing. Satoru takes the paper, brows raising at the dreadful grade.

You blink boorishly, rolling your eyes at the reaction on his behalf, “I know it’s bad. Just tell me how to fix it.”

Satoru makes another effort of clearing his throat. He still could not believe his luck—of all the people doing terrible at Calc 102, you had been the one fated to be his mentee. He spent months admiring you from afar, memorizing the way your brows quirked, and the sound of your laughter. He had a hard time not eyeing your figure, all the dips and curves, all the impossibly sexy things that came along with you. He’s wondered about the type of guys of you must be into, and how he could never be one of them.

Satoru’s recalcitrant heart does not heed his mind. It continues to patter and tremble and stay entrenched in the back of his throat, throbbing like it may jump from his very lips.

The little scrunch between your brow kickstarts his degenerating brain, forcing him to focus once more. He tugs your textbook toward him, setting it between the two of you. “We’ll start off from the beginning of this lesson. That sound good?”

You have no other choice but to say yes. It’s clear to you and you assume to him as well that you would rather be lounging around with your friends, but if you wanted to graduate on time, passing this course was imperative. So, all you do is dumbly nod.

“Feel free to stop me to ask questions, I’m going to solve this question for you step-by-step,” he glances at you to ensure you understood and were ready. Then, he dives in. He explains the beginning of the problem, what methodologies and key factors to keep note of, and how to ultimately solve the question. “And there you go.”

You blink, baffled at how effortlessly he navigated through the problem—like it was second nature—a language he was fluent in. You knew this was the very first principle of the chapter, the simplest form of the methods that you are to use. But this in all its entirety was so much more complex than you could even admit to.

“Um…” you trail off, pointing at a section of his work. “I don’t understand how you end up with negative 79x here—I mean, why is that the value being applied to this,” you point at another fragment of the problem, “part of the equation. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Well because—” he uses his pen, a darker hue of blue than his eyes, to circle a portion of the paper, ringing the problem area you mentioned. “—you get the derivative from this part, then apply that right…there. Then, it’ll result in the final solution.”

Your eyes flit over the trace of his penwork, piecing together the numbers and algebraic alphabets as he watches the way your face twists—trying oh so hard to make sense of it all. He can’t even reprimand himself for watching so closely because it’s adorable how your expression softens then sparks aflame again when you seemingly have put it all together.

“Oh,” you breath out. “I’m so dumb—that makes complete sense now.”

Satoru’s bottom lip awkwardly tucks into his top, pressing in a line as a response all on its own. He didn’t appear entirely comfortable, that you could surmise.

“Let’s try another one, yeah?” he proposes, jotting down a question on your notebook before sliding it over to you. His frosty blue gaze is on your work, wincing ever so slightly when he sees you messing the question up. “You’re doing it wrong again, look,” his voice is gentle. His pretty hands, you realize, are quite big—and all you can look at now as he points on your paper. “Try distributing this to the right values before moving to the next step.”

You bite your lip, zeroing in on the problem again and taking his advice. When you eventually reach the final product, you look at him expectantly, waiting for his approval.

“Yeah,” he smiles proudly. “Good job.”

You return to smile sweetly at him, feeling something strange stir in your core from the sheer fact that this boy was so incredibly intelligent—and so kindly teaching you. You’d had your fair share of men—each frat boy you’ve spoken to has been even more diabolical than the last. But watching Satoru—hearing him praise you rather than hearing another man degrade you—it felt nice.

“You’re pretty smart, Satoru,” you say, leaning your cheek in your palm as you look at him with an expression he can’t decipher at all.

His face flushes in heat akin to magma ready to erupt. He knew he was smart; it was an irrefutable fact. He did his work above and beyond how it was asked to be done and he had always been far ahead of the curve his entire life. But hearing the words fall from your pretty lips paired with his name, no other compliment has ever meant anything to him. It only feels like the fact carried truth when it came from your mouth and your mouth only.

“Thanks,” his lips twitch into a hesitant smile.

“No, I mean it,” you softly tell him, eyes reverting to the textbook. “I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to pay attention in class.”

“It takes practice—math isn’t about understanding it in one go,” Satoru chimes in—hoping to ease your doubt. “So don’t worry if you feel like you have to practice a hundred problems before you understand a concept. Sometimes I have to do that too. Ends up taking me days before I finally understand.”

“Really?” you raise your head, ears perking.

“Oh yeah,” he lies, nodding his head to sound as convincing as one can be. “I have to restart and redo the same problem over and over again most the time. It takes me a while too.”

You smile, reassured by his words, “So you don’t always get it right away either?”

He hums, shaking his head. Your smile wavers, remembering you have more work yet to be done.

“You ready for another problem?” he raises his brows encouragingly.

You nod, a soft curl in your lips.

The next session unfortunately for Satoru isn’t in the library. In order to cram for that quiz coming up, the two of you have to find some other quiet place. And studying was certainly no task to be done in a sorority house. So, to his dismay, Satoru has no other choice but to offer up his dorm. Luckily, Suguru would be out.

However, redecorating would be the feat of a century. Surely, something he could not do with only twenty minutes before you arrive. Maybe you won’t think too poorly of the Star Wars and Star Trek memorabilia plastered on every spare inch of the room.

Satoru slams a palm on his forehead. Why did he text you to come over without thinking about how dorky his room would look?

There’s suddenly a knock on his door, well, it’s looks like it’s too late to do anything about his room now.

Satoru musters up every morsel of strength his body can congregate and turns the knob, pulling the door open. And there you stand, all perky and cute in your short, frilly skirt and baby blue top—his favorite shade of blue—that put your chest on clear display. He’s left staring at you, gawking boyishly at your pouted lips and scrunched brows, clearly not registering the fact you are waiting for him to invite you in or say something at the very least.

“Hey,” your glossy lips purse in mild confusion. “We going to study out here in the hall or…?”

Satoru suddenly remembers that he is a real-life person and not sitting behind a screen looking at a picture of you. He jolts, “Ah—sorry! Come in.”

He moves aside and you step into the room with full dominion, not easing inside as you gawk at the décor. Meanwhile, Satoru is shutting and locking the door, making haste because of that creepy freshman down the hall that had been gaping at you, turning his head to catch more of a glimpse before Satoru could close that damn door.

Then—he wants to curl into a ball and die when he sees you stepping through the room, staring at the canvased walls. All the Luke and Anakin Skywalker, Princess Leia, Darth Vader, Obi-Wan (etc.) funkopops line shelves along with Spock, Captain Kirk, Bones special edition collectible figures that have not even been torn from their boxes. The giant Lego Death Star he and Suguru spent an entire week building is on top of his dresser and a tapestry hangs on the wall by his bed that truly puts the rest of this space-infested room to shame. One with Darth Maul’s face plastered on it, eating a chocolate chip cookie dunked in milk that reads Come to the Dark Side. We have Cookies.

Holy Fuck.

Saying you are overstimulated is an understatement. You have never been a room like this ever. Any boy’s room you have stepped into was far different. Characterless. Hardly any charm or personality. But here, Satoru had spared all his passion. Where there wasn’t anything related to his fictional universe fixation, there he would have books and other placards of Astronomy, Cosmos-related infographics. Formulas and formulas—chemical equations and chemical equations. Any scientific concept there was to know, there was some sort of print on it in this room.

“So, you like space a lot, huh?” you finally say, face blank and eyes wide as you continue spanning the room.

Satoru scratches the back of his neck self-consciously, “Yeah. Sorry. It’s a little much I know.”

“No, I think it’s cute,” you casually tell him, continuing to inspect the room far too closely. “It is pretty dorky though.”

Satoru stills, staring at you like you were an angel fluttering about his room. Nanami and Haiba would not believe him if he told them the hottest girl on campus was standing in his room right now—Wait a fucking minute.

“Cute?” he skittishly follows your gaze. “I haven’t heard anyone ever think that a Star Trek and Star Wars obsession was cute.”

That’s when you blink twice at him, mouth turning down, “Wait, what’s the difference? I thought this all was the same show.”

Satoru feels as though he’s been slapped across the face. Same? Show? God, maybe you were clueless.

“Have you never watched Star Wars or Trek?” he sounds awfully cocky when he speaks—a tone you had heard from him for the very first time. “Did you actually think they were the same thing?”

You chuckle, shrugging carelessly, “Well, I mean, stars, planets, wars, spaceships. Isn’t it practically the same thing?”

This stirs a strange fire in Satoru, he begins to run his hands through his hair, “It’s only the two largest and most successful space adventure franchises—not the same thing. Star Trek is driven by the scientific desire of exploration and adventure. While Star Wars is one of the greatest political space fantasies. I—I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

Seeing Satoru get so worked up over something so silly was making a smile spread across your face that you could not contain.

“I know that,” you point at Darth Maul’s tapestry on the wall, “is one of the bad guys in Star Wars. And that—” you point at Princess Leia’s funkopop “—is the girl that got kidnapped by that ugly blob guy. And I know that because I wore her costume for Halloween last year.”

Satoru’s eyes widen to the point that they may leap from his very sockets. “You went as Princess Leia for Halloween? When she’s Jabba the Hutt’s prisoner?”

“Mhm,” you nod, plopping down on his bed. “The guys loved it. It was a ten-out-of-ten purchase. Thank you, Star Wars.”

Now all Satoru can do is picture you in that costume—how could he have missed that? You in a golden brass bralette and barely-there red skirt—He hardly can dwell much on that because now he’s focused on the fact you are in his bed.

“What’s the matter, Satoru?” you ask amiably, sliding a finger up your bare thigh. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I—no,” he stammers. “I’m fine. Let’s just—get started.”

You smirk, watching him stride over to sit at his desk. Fuck, he really is gorgeous. He’s even cuter when he’s so riled up.

“Don’t any of your girlfriends find it adorable how much you love this stuff?” you ask, laying on his bed and propping your head up with your elbow.

“No,” he says. “I never really bring anyone in here.”

Your sly smirk grows, “So I’m your first. I took your room virginity.”

Satoru’s ears go crimson red. He can’t even face you. He simply tries to relieve that scratching at his throat. “Don’t say it like that.”

You chuckle, batting your lashes at him, “Whatever you say, sir.”

His gaze shoots back to you as you slip off his bed, skirt hiking up as you do so. His breath catches in his throat at the sight, you in your sparse clothing, sliding off his bed and sauntering towards him at his desk. All just to study the ins and outs of calculus.

The sessions take place twice a week. You meet Satoru in the library, going over the lessons and lecture. That quiz comes to pass and after two weeks of being his pupil, you approach the white-haired boy in your Calculus class.

“Uh oh, here comes Polly Pocket,” Shoko mumbles to Satoru before you reach them.

“Hey, Satoru,” you smile at the boy.

“Hey,” Satoru’s heart thunders in his ears, mind afloat just by the fact he’s near you again.

Shoko’s eyes widen—appearing like she was struck across the face—which clearly would not be as shocking as you approaching Satoru or even knowing his name—

“Hey, Shojo,” you say to her, turning back to Satoru you politely ask, “You mind if I sit with you?”

“Oh—absolutely, here,” he moves his bag over to make more room for you, earning a grateful grin from you when you sink into the seat beside him.

You excitedly turn to him, “Guess what?”

He registers your elation, grinning at the very site, “What?”

You pull your portal out and show him the dazzling 97 percent quiz grade you received. Hardly able to contain your joy, you’re tapping your feet on the ground, watching his eyes twinkle as he eyes the score.

“Nice!” Satoru perks up in his seat, holding his hand up for you to high-five.

You laugh elatedly, high fiving him. Satoru doesn’t know how to react—because you just touched him. Sure, it was a millisecond celebratory slap on the palm of his hand, but he still feels his knees wobble at the very slight contact. But then, you do the most outlandish thing.

You peck a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Satoru,” you smile, sliding back into your seat like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, Shoko’s jaw is on the floor, struggling to pick it back up. And Satoru…well he is a hot mess. His entirely body is tingling, every nerve in his wretched body is splitting open or short circuiting and his heart is hammering, a choir chanting across every expanse of his body. And when he feels his pants begin to tighten, he sinks lower into the seat, feeling absolutely embarrassed by how much he’s thinking about this little gesture. Just by his bodily reaction alone, he’s beating himself up. Now he knows this is the most virgin thing to happen to him. That’s not counting how he reacted to you saying you took his virginity while in his room the other night.

“Of course, anytime,” he clears his throat.

You turn to look at him, wiping your smirk and replacing it with an innocent smile that has layers of deviousness etched within. “My sorority’s throwing a party tonight at our house. If the two of you aren’t doing anything, you should come tonight—Oh! And you can bring your friend, Subaru.”

Shoko and Satoru sit in a stunned silence. Both at the fact you just invited them to a party—they’d never been invited to any party ever—and at the fact you just called Suguru by the complete wrong name.

“Yes,” Shoko blurts. “We’d love to.”

Satoru casts a baffled look at his usually cool and collected friend—clearly acting totally and completely uncool.

“Uh—yeah, count us in,” Satoru hesitantly says, looking at you.

To this, your smile widens all the way to your ears.

This was your usual weekend scene. Red plastic cups littered about and in the hand of each sweat-slicked, debauched college kid. Bass thundering in every last corner of the house. And hardly any space to so much as breathe.

You missed the last few parties, but alas, you find your way back to it one way or another. Not that you particularly felt as though you were missing much. Studying with Satoru was not half bad.

Speaking of, you roam the party, making several laps around the house to partake in the festivities—and see if your shy blue-eyed tutor decided to unwind too. So far, no sign of him. You frown to yourself. Why did you care if he came anyway? There are dozens of hot guys here that need tending to.

“Hey, what’s got you distracted, gorgeous?” a voice rumbles by your ear.

You look over your shoulder, a little caught off guard by the man. You are left face to face with Ryomen Sukuna, infamous man-whore frat boy. You’ve had a couple tangles with his friends, but nothing beyond a couple kisses between the two of you.

“Hey, Ryo,” you chuckle lightheartedly, bringing your drink to your lips. “Just people-watching.”

He leers at you, full of intent, “What do I have to do to get that attention of yours?”

You could smell the alcohol off his breath. And you are well aware of his little score to settle with his fraternity brothers: Sleep with every girl in your sorority. It just so happens that he decided it was your time, as morbid as that may sound. Why is chivalry and class dead amongst men?

“My attention must be earned. It takes a very special type of person to be able to achieve that,” you say as-a-matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” he grins greedily. “You and I have been friends a long time, is that not enough?”

You are about to answer, not particularly certain what it is you will say. However, a white-haired head bustling about the living room catches your eye. Satoru is quick to adjust his glasses that had been cast askew while navigating through the cluster of partygoers. His two friends are with him, mumbling something to one another.

Your eyes already lit, spread that same very light to the rest of your face. You straighten your posture, prepared to call them over when Sukuna says, “Who invited the band freaks?”

You roll your eyes, sparing him no response when you leave your pathetic excuse of a conversation with Sukuna to wave to the trio.

“Hey!” you call with a grin.

The sound of your lovely voice captures Satoru’s attention immediately. He looks lost, completely out of place. He feels it too. But it’s nice to see at least one familiar face. It doesn’t hurt that it happens to be so beautiful.

You rush over to the three of them, “Hey, Shoko. Hey, Suguru. Glad you guys made it.”

Shoko raises her brows, wondering if you hit your head or something for you said her name correctly. Could be the first time. Satoru lets out a shaky breath, eyes spanning the packed home.

“Happy to be here,” Suguru smiles kindly. He sees his best friend then turns his gaze to you, eyeing you like you are a fierce flame, with a warmth that already scorches his skin. “Shoko, let’s go get a drink from the kitchen.”

Satoru looks at Suguru, telepathically thanking him for leaving the two of you be. And so you face him—he does notice the way you glance at Sukuna however. It makes him want to cower away all the more.

“So,” you chime cheerily, “What do you think?”

“There’s… a lot of people. Pretty loud,” he swallows, peering around as he replies. He then looks down to you again, a slight twitch in his nervous smile. He tries to be respectful with where his eyes linger, trailing down your body adorned with such little yet shimmery clothing. No wonder there were so many eyes on you.

You chuckle lightly, “How about we go someplace quieter then?”

He doesn’t know what that gleam in your eye means, or that parted-lipped smile. But he obliges nonetheless, “Uh—sure.”

Your smile never falters as you take his hand, guiding him through the labyrinth of horny college kids and towards the stairs. There’s a little less foot traffic on the second story, only the kids that managed to find a room to fool around in or those waiting in line for the restroom.

But the two of you waltz past the bumbling students, reaching the end of the hall before you pull a key from where you tucked it in your bra. Then, you open a door. Satoru is half alarmed, half dazed as he glances between your door and the rest of the hall. But when you tug him in, who is he to question it?

Pictures of you and your friends hang on the wall. Of you in a cheerleader uniform in high school. Banners of your sorority dangle from the ceiling, your makeup littered across your vanity, bedazzled frames and cups, couple sparkly shirts spilling from your closet. And a sweatshirt of the most infamous fraternity on campus dangles off the back of your desk chair. And your name in glittery letters rests atop a shelf with vibrant flowers.

He is in your room. He is in your fucking room.

A click of the door lock mechanism kicking in place draws his attention and he spins around to face it. You have a mischievous expression that he confuses with playful innocence as you step away from the doorway.

His brows raise as you circle around him and take a seat on your bed. You pat the empty space on your side invitingly, “Well, don’t be shy. Come, sit.”

Satoru gulps nervously, listening to your command and taking a seat beside you. He can smell your fresh shampoo, the scent of your sweet buttery lotion, and notes floral perfume. Your scent is consuming him. He can hardly stand it. You’ve bewitched all his senses. Sight, smell, hearing—all he’s missing now is taste and feeling. It’s what he’s left craving.

“Well, I suppose I should start off by saying thank you again, Satoru,” you begin, leaning your weight on one arm and playing with your hair with your free hand. “You’ve done so much to help me. I don’t know what I’m going to do to repay you.”

Satoru feels like a lost puppy—unsure of what to even react with, “Oh, no need to thank me. I’m happy to help.”

“No, seriously, you dug me out of a deep hole,” you urge, practically invading his personal space with how close you lean in. You set your manicured hand on his thigh. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“A-anytime,” he shakily smiles, feeling his blood rush to and from ever crevice of his body.

You eye him, sighing out hopelessly. “You’re so smart, Satoru. Way too smart for me.”

“Thank you, but that’s not true,” he does his best to politely assure you. You can see how his skin is perspiring in cold sweat just by the compliment. “You’re a good student. It helps when you have a pupil that catches on quick.”

You chuckle, “You know, you are too smart for me. But sometimes I think you’re not smart at all.”

This causes Satoru to freeze. Not smart? He could easily make a game out of the periodic table and spell each element backwards in alphabetical order or sort according to proton power. That is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard—not smart.

“Why do you think that?” he asks, feeling bold.

You begin to trace your fingers up and down his thigh, causing him to shiver almost uncontrollably. Only then does your smile drop.

“There are certain things you can teach me, Toru, and certain things I can teach you,” you say, leaning closer to him, so much so that the heat of your body is melting him.

“L-like what?” he tries not to tremble.

You feign a dumb smile, shrugging as you look him up and down. Then you shake your head, “Nothing.”

Satoru furrows his brows, seeing the sudden shift in your playful demeanor. While all impish and teasing only a second prior, you now retract your hand from him while your head hangs low dejectedly.

He’s a nice boy. Not like Sukuna or any of the other fuckboys here.

“W-what’s the matter?” Satoru adjusts himself, lowering his head to enter your eyeline.

Even his voice is soft and gentle. It fills you with guilt and…makes your heart beat all the more.

“No, it’s nothing,” you shake your head again. You lift your gaze, looking at the scrunch between his brows and the puzzled look behind his frames in those piercing blue eyes. It makes your insides melt. “That guy,” you begin, knowing you were probably on the verge of rambling, “that Sukuna guy.”

Gojo blinks, a little disheartened, “Oh. You like him?”

“No!” you say quickly, sucking in a deep breath. “I just—I don’t know. I know what he’s after when he talks to me.”

“What’s that?” he asks, eyes wide like a child’s.

“Sex, Satoru,” you scoff lightheartedly at his innocence.

His eyes grow impossible wider. And he mouths an inaudible Oh.

“I mean—it’s not necessarily a bad thing, but with these party boys—there’s no…” you search for the correct word, slightly flailing your hands as if you were hoping it would appear out of thin air. “—Pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” Satoru frowns. “What do you mean?” he tilts his head, lip pouting as if he is trying to understand a concept of aerodynamical engineering. He gets comfortable on the bed, facing you a little more as he looks to be solving one of your long-winded calculus problems. “Like he can’t…make you finish?”

You feel embarrassment all of a sudden—your face grows hot and you see that he doesn’t seem like a shy nerdy kid at all right now, but a curious mind that wishes to figure out and understand a complex formula.

“Yeah,” you slowly bow your head. “It’s not enjoyable in general. They’re just after chasing their own high. Hardly remember they have to make me feel good too.”

“But—that’s supposed to be the best part,” Satoru squints, puzzling something together in his mind.

You stop mid-thought. “I know—guys are just—selfish. I don’t know.”

Satoru watches you very intently. The way he always has. “Not every guy. You just haven’t let the right guy give you want you want.”

You chuckle, “What? Like you?”

“Why not?” Satoru raises his brows, “I could make you feel amazing. Whatever you’d want me to do, I’d do it.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, looking him over. He is much bigger than you had thought before the first time you talked to him. Tall with a broad frame, long slender limbs alarmingly attractive. “Right. You’re cute.”

He narrows his eyes, a little offended that you believed his offer to please you was analogous to a silly joke. He scoffs.

“Hey,” you grab his hand, still laughing. “I’m sorry—you’re just such a sweet guy and—”

He is not listening to this. Besides, you had a habit of saying stupid things and rambling on and on about nonsense. He never minded. But this one instance was like nails on a chalkboard. He didn’t have to listen to this. Why should he?

So he leans in, cutting you off with a harsh kiss.

You gasp—eyes wide and pupils dancing alarmingly. He’s kissing you. Holy fuck he’s kissing you. It’s firm and confused and reckless and depraved and pining. Lovesick in every pathetic little aspect. He pulls back—shocked at his own profligate actions. He does not want to apologize, why the hell should he? He likes you, so he kissed you. The probability of being in this exact moment ever again were slim to none according to his analytical estimation. That aside, he’s preparing for you to tell him you never wanted to see him again.

Except you don’t. You stare, blinking like you’ve been met with a life altering revelation. Holier than anything you have ever considered. You are staring back at that doe-eyed look in his sparkling blue irises. Like a beautiful winter storm, warring with the earth and sea.

What the fuck? You think to yourself. He must be crazy.

Whatever it is you may be thinking seems so irrelevant compared to what your desires are thrashing and screaming at you to do. You give in without so much as another thought, and roughly take his face in your hands and press your searing lips against his.

He lets out a surprised yelp as you do so, a startled whimper against your lips, “Hmph.”

You swallow it down, body tingling just from the pathetic sexy sound spilling into your mouth. He tastes sweet. Like he spent his entire day on rock candy. And you—you taste heavenly. He can’t even believe his luck right now. He’s not kissed many girls, but this is by far the best kiss of his life.

Your hands remain on his face and you deepen the kiss, turning your head to the side to slip your needy tongue into his mouth. He’s not sure how to react anymore—his body’s gone stiff as a board, too fearful of fucking it up.

When you pull back, he’s out of breath just like you. You search his eyes, looking at his parted mouth and state, “Satoru.”

“Y-yeah?” he asks, staring quite keenly.

“You are a very bad kisser,” you tell him.

He stills, cheeks flushing as he childishly retorts, “I don’t kiss many people. I don’t know how to do it.”

You giggle softly, cradling his face as you bite your lip, “Let me teach you.”

He nods brokenly, hardly believing his luck right now. Maybe there really was something you could tutor him in.

You begin to lean in, moving your body to shift towards him. He’s left baffled and lost, watching like a lost pet as you push him down by his shoulder and climb on top of him. Straddling him, you push your hair back, gazing down. His heart is hammering against his chest, trembling at the sight of you on top on him. You bend down, nose grazing the tip of his.

“It’s nice when you take your time with it, and really focus on the intimacy factor,” you softly mumble, lips brushing his. “Tilt your head to the right—”

He tilts toward his right.

“My right,” you clarify. He heeds your command. “Good. Now, take my face in your hands, be gentle at first, then firm. Like you own me.”

Satoru feels like he’s a shivering hot mess. He gulps and nods like he totally can pretend he owns you, when in actuality, it was very much the other way around. He does as you say, but he takes it a step further. Satoru’s eyes are flicking between yours and your lips. Your heart clenches at the very gesture. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, cupping your face and pulling you down to meet his mouth gently.

The kiss is slow, not sloppy in the least. It’s soft, it’s full of tenderness, like he is vowing to take care of you for eternity. His lips are soft, sweet and calculative. It’s like he’s putting too much thought into the kiss blending it in with an air of confidence—like it comes easy to him.

“Satoru,” you murmur against his lips. “I like that you don’t know how to kiss”

He furrows his brows, watching you closely as your lips continue to gently brush against his, “Really?”

“Mhm,” you say softly, kissing him once more, slow and deep. You pull back again, hearing him groan as you suck and bite on his bottom lip. “Use your tongue now.”

One arm lowers down your mid back, draping around your waist to pull you closer. He parts his mouth, licking at your bottom lip experimentally. Ever so slightly, your jaw slackens, giving subtle yet enough access for his muscle to sneak in. He softly moans at the sensation, the novelty of it makes his heart flutter all the more beneath your fingertips. Just by the sound, you giggle, and he feels his pants grow even tighter.

Satoru’s cheeks flush in embarrassment—that you could look down and tease him and ridicule him about something he has hardly any understanding of. But all he mutters is a curious, “Like that?” between open-mouthed kisses.

He was terrible at kissing, only a few minutes of you on top of him, and he’s gotten only slightly better. Not bad at all. You try not to smirk. “Yes, Toru, just like that.”

He kisses you deeper, hands tangling in your hair as he breathes you in—and it’s the most passionate kiss anyone has ever landed you with. It makes a pit in your stomach pulse with something well beyond the strength of butterflies—something that travels further between your legs.

“Toru—” you mumble between kisses, “—you can touch me however you like, you know.” You shove him lightly at his chest to part your lips as your own breasts heaves. “I won’t bite,” you chide with a playful tilt of your head. Your grin spreads wider as you lean down with the most lascivious look in your eye. “Unless you want me to.”

He doesn’t understand what comes over him as he grabs your waist and flips you over on your bed, an animalistic glint in his eye. A gasp rips from your throat when your back bounces slightly against the mattress and he looms over you again. Where has this guy been all this time?

You’re about to open your mouth to say something—you had no idea what that would even be because he leans down and hungrily kisses you again. This time, it wholeheartedly feels as if he has full dominion over you.

Tongue meshing with yours, he groans into your mouth. The passion in the kiss blends with hallucinogenic sloppiness, putting you in a trance of some sort. Perhaps he was tearing through the spacetime continuum and forging a contrasting reality. One in which a hot popular sorority girl like you gets absolutely riddled to filth by a geeky four-eyed nerd like Satoru Gojo.

His glasses begin to fog from your conjoined breaths, fast and heavy—he can hardly even see anymore. Your back arches into him and the bulge grows in his pants when his hot kisses trail down your jaw, to your neck. Nope, not another galaxy. Not an alternate reality.

You throw your head back, sighing out much more than you could comprehend at the very moment. Your hands go to the back of his head, practically cradling him as he sucks on your delicate flesh. The edge of his mouth curls against your throat when your gasps get sharper, whinier.

He chuckles darkly, eyes sparkling behind his lenses, “Your neck is your weak spot.”

Your eyes crack open to look his way but he’s lifting his face to meet your lips again. You sigh into his mouth, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Fuck, his shoulders are big enough to drape over your entire frame.

“Satoru—” you breathe, feeling his tongue drag along the column of your throat. “Are you going to make well on your promise or not?”

He grunts out, a little huff of annoyance, “Shh.”

You watch as his lips begin to descend your body. How he experimentally presses pecks to your collarbone, your chest, then the mound of your tits. God, he can’t believe he’s never carved time out of his busy schedule for this.

He shakily watches as you, with hazy eyes, begin to slip the straps of your top off your shoulders. You have a look so lustful, it drives his highly-functional brain into a fritz when he gazes upon the dazed look of desire and urgency as you push the top of your shirt down to expose your tits completely. He might just lose his shit.

You nod encouragingly, cupping your breast with one hand and using your other to guide him closer, “Taste them, Toru.”

His breaths are uneven, shallow and teetering the tip of the deep end. Satoru dips his head, mouth wrapping around your pert nipple as you arch into him even more. You watch as he sucks—taking your nipple into his mouth and switching between each, licking the pebbling buds.

There is too much to register that you can’t pick what to focus on. You don’t know whether to fixate on how soft his snowy white hair feels as you card your fidgety fingers through it, his pretty pinks lips kissing and licking your tits, or how his glasses keep adorably sliding down the bridge of his nose. Your hands fumble to slide them up a second time but he’s trekking down your body once more, much further down.

You take his hands and place them on the hem of your skirt, “Take it off me, Satoru.”

Just the breathy plea in the way you say his name has sweat beading at his skin. How could he defy any command of yours?

He does as you ask, sliding your short skirt off your hips, then your legs all together. Then, he’s left staring at a barely clothed you, all that’s left is your top dangling around your waist and your lacy pink thong dampening between your legs. Thank god for his photographic memory. He could never forget this image—those metaphorical six eyes of his would not allow him to.

Your breath breaks as you take in the way he’s gaping, like he’s calculating the atomic mass of a brand-new element, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he does so.

“S-Satoru,” you shudder, hand reaching out for his. “Touch—touch me—” In that very moment, your hand grasps his wrist, tugging it forward and guiding it toward your waist. You murmur, “Focus on what’s between my thighs.”

His chest caves from the command intertwined with the fact you were urging his hand lower and lower, tracking between your legs. And so, with your guidance, his fingers finally glide over your drenched panties.

He shivers—no, moans—with you at the feeling. Then, with deliberate movements, he shifts your panties to the side. However shy he must be feeling right now, he certainly doesn’t look it. In fact, he gazes upon you with such fervent curiosity. A strange marriage of desire and concentration.

“You’re so gorgeous—God,” he shudders, chest rising and sinking with heavy breaths. Then he leans closer, face lowering to inspect closely. “I don’t get why any guy would ever not pay closer attention to—fuck.”

You feel like you could melt right this very second. You have hardly been touched by him, but you feel like your insides are broiling—needing a bucket of ice no less to calm down.

Satoru’s long pretty fingers swipe over your glistening folds, making a gasp tear from your mouth.

“When you understand the anatomical makeup of a woman,” he begins to say, his thumb swipes over your clit, causing you to practically jerk in place with a cry, “—you can make her feel all sorts of things.”

Your eyes pry wide open from that—a little alarmed, as you for some stupid reason, did not expect for Satoru to be able to find the clit at all.

“A-and how do you understand the anatomy of a woman, Satoru?” you try to remain calm as he places a doting kiss on your upper thigh.

He moves away, letting his fingers spread your folds apart, “Just basic experimentation.”

You furrow your brows, leaking by his every touch. And when he takes his middle and ring finger to your clit, moving in gentle circles, your shoulders tense and you fall back.

“For example, you like that,” he does not sound like he’s gloating, rather taking mental notes aloud. “You’re weak here—I’ve read this is a pleasure point for women.”

He was so casually obscene, not shying away like you had expected him to do so. In fact, he is leading a full case study on your body with full volition.

You sit up, trying to not crumble from him toying with your clit. Bracing yourself, you cup his face, kissing him desperately. A long whiny moan spills into his mouth from yours. And when you pull away, “Toru,” you rasp, “spit on it.”

He furrows his brows, “You don’t think that’s too dirty?”

You quietly whispered, “I like dirty.”

Entranced, he watches you lean back. Heeding your command, he gathers all the saliva pooling beneath his tongue, and spits on your pussy. The second you whine sharply when he plays with your cunt again, rubbing his spit along your folds and over your clit, he understands you even more.

He continues rubbing your pussy, the slippery, wet mess of your arousal mixes with his spit and beads down your cunt. The pad of his fingers deftly rolls your clit, all the while he watches you, catching an eyeful of the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“Fuck,” you cry, hands scrambling to bunch your sheets. “Don’t stop.”

He had read about this before. One of many points of pleasure in a woman. One was the clit, of course, but another was—

He lets a long finger sink into your entrance, past your opening and sliding against your gummy walls. Sucking in a gasp, your eyes clench shut, similar to how your legs clamp over his forearm too.

“Hey, you got to work with me a little,” he grunts, using his free hand to pry your legs apart.

That desire to master all avenues of science conspires with the prospect of steering you towards what other men could not give you. What only he wishes to give you.

Moaning a mess and slew of profanities, your back is arching and—this seems to be a good response, one that has Satoru dying for more.

“Feels good?” he asks, only slightly hesitant.

You nod vigorously, words failing you as he quickens his pace, fingers plunging into your wet cunt, eliciting the filthiest sounds of squelching. And then, he felt it. He felt that spongy mound deep inside your pussy. If that violent convulsion of your body and that convincing grip of your walls harbors any truth, then he found it. Your sweet spot.

If anyone at this party were to learn of this, learn of how Satoru Gojo the geeky boy who looked like he played Digimon in his spare time (and did), was playing it fast and loose with your g-spot instead, they’d ridicule you shamelessly. You did not care though. And how could you with the way he rolls his tongue out, drool trickling in a long clear line to spill over your pussy as he continues fingering you.

Then Satoru stills for a moment, unsure of how to tame the way his cock grows underneath his jeans when you buck your hips up in desperation.

“What are you waiting for?” you quiz exasperatedly.

He swallows harshly, inhibitions strung on a wire and hung up to dry. “I want to taste you. Show you how selfless a man’s tongue can be.”

Your expression softens, as does your heart when you nod smally, seeing the way he dips his head to your abdomen, kissing you wantonly. Wet lips plant against your stomach and he’s hooking his arms around your thighs, securing you in place in case you made plans to run off. Not that it was likely.

Satoru lowers his head, his cloudy strands of white fall over his eyes that are veiled behind his framed lenses. God, he is so pretty. Why did it take you so long to notice him? Whatever the circumstances may have been, you simply are grateful you are blessed with the sight of him between your legs, prepared to put that wistfully smart tongue of his to good use.

He presses a kiss atop your mound, focused so intently on what lies before him. His mouth lowers even further, planting a sloppy, tongue heavy kiss to your swollen clit.

“Ngh, fuck—do that again—” you plead pathetically.

He obliges, doing it again and so enamored by the taste. According to his research, and what he heard from other men and women, it was meant to taste somewhat decent. But he had no idea how those descriptions would have severely underscored the reality of it. You taste as perfect as you look. He’d always wondered how it would be like to be in this position, and how downright stupid any other man was to never give you what you wanted. To never have wanted this for himself, to taste every inch of your body.

Lolling his tongue out, he licks a long stripe from the middle of your slit all the way to the top of your mound, your body jolting beneath him.

“You taste…so fucking good,” his eyes grow misty, a strange tingle ripples over his entire body and he continues to eat you out. Not like a man with piqued interest anymore, but as a man starved.

He buries his face in your pussy, nose-diving straight into the dewy mess to create an even bigger one. A scream brandishes in your throat from the grotesquely beautiful intrusion of his tongue dipping back into you.

It was nasty. The licks along your sopping entrance, the spit dribbling down to your ass, the way he sucked your clit and slips his thumb to circle it. It was a culmination of vulgarity.

“Holy fuck,” your fingers card through his hair, switching between digging your nails into his silvery white locks for purchase, or indulgently guiding his jaw as to ride his mouth.

Your head drags against your pillow, nose turning up in the air as your slick coats his nose. His cunning tongue moves with greed, inconsistent calculation. Intent clear on making you feel good but also to devour you whole.

“Satoru—” you tremble, looking down at him as he flicks his muscle against your dripping folds, rubbing your sensitive bud. “I want to—I need to—”

“Do it,” he advises, voice almost whiny. “I want to feel it on my tongue. Need you to—in my mouth.”

You are far more pent up than you suspected, less than you’d been attended to prior to the boy knelt before you now. Your back lifts off the mattress altogether, seeking respite as your vision goes a fiery white as his hair and your entire body thumps with a bass that is similar to the one that shakes the walls of this very party. Then you do something you have never done in your life.

You cum so strongly, that you’re left quite literally squirting all over his tongue and face.

“Oh! Oh—S-shit!” you mewl mindlessly, stupidly. “Satoru.”

Oh, if his chest were filled with pride before, it was now swelling from it. Made his point, didn’t he?

He continues lapping at your cunt, letting your juices gush over his face and mouth. His feels it on his tongue, but it sprays his glasses, covering them in your essence and clouding his vision just as he has done yours.

You begin to settle from your high, senses blurred and still muddled. All you know now is him. And nothing else. What else is there room for in your mind anyway? There is nothing else that any form of tutelage that could reside in those confines.

Satoru gulps down whatever essence of yours rests on his tongue, whimpering softly at the taste. Your eyes don’t open slowly—they tear open with horror. He made you squirt. No other man had been able to come close to that.

“You…okay?” he tilts his head to the side, wiping his mouth with the palm of his hand.

You gawk at him, and he just sits there. All pretty and half as spent as you like he’s torn down each wall of your psyche. Destroyed every brick you’d placed and expected you to be fine afterward.

He’d proved you wrong. What else do you have to lose now?

Your hands gravitate to the back of his neck, yanking him toward you and capturing his lips with yours. He whines at the sudden action, groaning as your tongue slips in and swallows each and every sound he makes.

“Do any other guys make you feel like that?” he asks, not teasing in the least. He genuinely wishes to know.

“No,” you shake your head as you make out with him. Then you shove him over, he breathes sharply when his back meets the mattress. You climb on top of him, straddling him with your thighs, “Let me return the favor now.”

He’d be a fool to object. He knows that, but when your lips trail down his jaw and neck, his heart tells him to stop you. When your fingers at the hem of his shirt begin to creep up against his hot skin, he grabs your forearm.

“W-wait!” he practically pipes, breath heavy.

“What’s the matter?” you tilt your head. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”

“No,” he shakes his head so violently, his mind goes spinning. “I want to. Trust me I want nothing more than that.”

“Then…what is it?” you furrow your brows. “Satoru, is it size? I assure you I don’t mind. I just want to make you feel good.”

“No,” he almost scoffs. “It definitely is not that.”

“Is it because you’re a virgin then?”

“Yes—but it’s not even that,” he quickly counters, unsure of what gave away he was a—okay maybe you figuring that out wasn’t so far-fetched.

“Then what?” you quiz, still so bizarrely unsure of what he is trying to tell you. Here he is, a hot naked girl on top of him, probably not getting an opportunity as golden as this soon enough, and answering questions like he has his thumb up his ass. “You’re scared you’ll… be quick…? Trust me, I do not mind at all.”

You lift his shirt, and he breathes, alarmed, “No.”

But it’s too late, the damage has been done. When you lift his shirt halfway up his torso, you are met with a sleeper build if there ever was any. His baggy t-shirts and hoodies always gave the impression of a lanky frame but he was built up with lean muscles, corded with a faint creamy pale pack of soft abs and a slim waist.

While his body is beautiful, that is not what takes your breath away. It’s what’s at the base of his abs. A line of silvery white hair smatters sparsely along his pelvis, trailing down to lead somewhere beneath his pants. But something impedes that trail. A tattoo at the base of his torso, where his v-line is, in a typewriter-style font, it reads, The dark side.

Your brows raise, intrigued and perplexed all at once. Your silence hangs in the air, it’s all that resides in it.

He feels its suffocation and with a reeling mind, he tries to frantically explain, “I know it’s dorky—Suguru, Haiba and I got a little crossed and we ended up in a tattoo parlor—I got this—and Suguru got a Prince Albert piercing—he didn’t feel it till the next day thankfully—and Haiba didn’t get anything because he started crying at the shop when the needle touched him—”

You clamp your hand over his mouth, “Satoru, shhh.”

“I’m sorry,” he muffles from behind your hand and repeats, “I know it’s dorky.”

“It is—it very much is,” you acknowledge. But you can’t deny the heat pooling once again in your core. “But I think it’s really sexy.”

“You do?” he appears quite genuinely baffled when you lower your hand and continue to gawk at the tattoo with wonder.

“Fuck, yes,” you exhale, tugging his white t-shirt. “Take this off.”

He does as told, tearing his shirt from his body, leaving your eyes to feast upon his pretty frame. You kiss him again, mouth slotting against his as you mumble, “You are such a dork, Toru. You’re lucky I like that about you.”

He grumbles softly against your mouth, letting you suck on his bottom lip like you wish to tear it off as well. And when you grind your soaking cunt on his clothed dick, he practically jumps in your hold, “Y/n—fuck.”

And so you do it again, loving the feeling of him hard and throbbing beneath you.

“Please do that again,” he asks, lips feathering yours.

Your mouth curves up, tugging at the edge into a sly smirk before you slide off him, hands clasping his waistline and pulling at his jeans. You were riled up, waiting to be alone with him like this—why prolong what you’ve been wanting any longer?

He watches with tense twitches in his pretty face. Helping pathetically to drag his pants and his boxers off his legs in one go. And it might as well have slapped you in the face when it springs out. Long and leaking and flushed an angry red at the tip, his cock is oozing with precum and oh so painfully hard, it’s embarrassing.

You shudder in awe, hand reaching to wrap around the huge shaft, “You’re so pretty, Satoru. So big.”

He might have just creamed himself there. Suppressing it any longer would be a miracle. He doesn’t know how much longer he will last when you begin to experimentally tug at it, hand hardly able to wrap around the entire thing that you ponder just how in the fuck he managed to survive this long hiding a monstrous thing like that and not getting laid. It had to have been a choice at this point. It makes you all the more prideful.

“How’d you manage to keep such a big secret from me, Toru?” you ask innocently, pumping his cock, slapping the tip against your exposed nipple. “Hm?”

His voice cracks with a moan, “Oh fuck—I can’t—I—I’m gonna.”

“Please, Satoru,” you scoff. “I had expected you to be pathetic but not this badly.”

He shakes his head, as if refusing your insults. Satoru holds his breath, tries not to combust and fuse like a lightbox, but now that your head bends lower, he fears he may not stand much of a chance at all.

With your eyes closed, you drag your tongue along the side of his length, an insatiable moan swelters from you, voice sending vibrations to his dick and immediately sequestering his mind to mush.

You case your lips around his tip, sucking and licking at the head like a piece of candy. It isn’t like you’re being exceptionally harsh. In fact, you are being teasing, tantalizingly slow. To most, that is just as bad as being vigorous—fast paced.

He falls into that category it seems. You smile, most virgins do.

His hand grasps the back of your head, “God—you’re—so beautiful. I’m gonna—”

“’Gonna’ is not a word, Satoru,” you coo, kissing the tip of his cock—the brackish flavor of his precum rests atop your tongue. “Your perfect articulation is becoming a mess.”

His articulation is not the only ruined victim. His dick is coated with juices mixed with your saliva, to which you spit some more onto him. The sight is truly unbecoming for a man like him, one with his nose pressed between the pages of factual books and texts.

His hands rake through your hair, grip tightening, and you moan so shamelessly, that it makes his length twitch. Twitch so erratically and he’s left falling apart even further, and cumming all over your mouth. And hard.

“Fuck!” he bucks his hips in the air, further into your hand.

That pleasantly surprised laugh that rips from your throat graces his ears. Although, it is hard for him to blink through the tears in his eyes, he does so, all so he could see your face as you please him of all people.

“You do cum quick,” you giggle, licking off his cum from the crown of his flushed tip.

“Sorry,” he shivers, trembling and bashful.

You grin, climbing on top of him again, “It’s fine as long as you make me feel good too.” Leaning down to brush your lips against his, you whisper, “And you’ve made me feel the best I’ve ever felt in a long time.”

Satoru’s not sure whether to float off the bed séance style and alert all his bullies and cruel old classmates that a girl as perfect as you had said that he was the best—okay, he’s miswording it, but who the fuck cares?

He slots his mouth so perfectly against yours that it feels it’s meant to live there forevermore. You grind down on him, bare pussy rubbing salaciously against his bare dirty cock. You both gasp into each other’s mouths, positively thwarted by the sense of touch alone.

“Need you inside me, Toru,” you shiver, pecking the corner of his mouth.

Shit. He feels like his heart could explode in a million pieces, shattering into remains so tiny that the only explanation is the universal law of fragmentation.

So, you lift your hips up, your hand traveling down between each of your bodies and grabbing his—once again—hardened dick. With your free hand, you shove his chest down roughly, eliciting a sharp groan. His head hits your silk pillow, white hair fanning out beneath you.

No longer grinning or laughing, you slide his cock between your folds, bucking your hips to meet him. Finally, you do what he’s hoped you would. You lift your hips more, sliding his tip between your folds after slapping it against your clit.

“I’m going to be gentle, Toru, I know it’s your first time,” you say softly, coaxing him to reply with earnestness of his own.

“N-no, you can use me however you want—I—I want that,” he says.

You grin, “Is that so?”

He nods, and you chuckle, patting his cheek softly with your free hand, “Okay, pick one place to look: my face when I put it in, or your dick sliding in me.”

His eyes grow, electricity sparking in them with the potency of a thunderbolt striking down to split the land itself in two. He doesn’t know where to look—at that lingering half-lidded smirk on your face, or the way his tip was slipping against your clit.

Finally—fucking finally, he feels it. You pushing his cockhead past your slick hole, slowly sinking down on his length as your mouth falls open pornographically at the girthy stretch that comes along with it. And he truly has no idea where he should look. Or perhaps he should not look at all, with how his eyes were on the verge of clenching tautly shut.

No, he tells himself. Don’t close your eyes, Satoru. Do not miss a single moment.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he flicks them between the way his dick is slipping into you and how your jaw has gone slack and how your head tips back. It’s the sexiest thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

“Oh God,” you exhale shakily, peering down as you bottom out. “Fuck.”

He chokes on his own spit when he’s completely inside you. He can hardly believe his eyes. Or that sentiment that he is inside you. Pretty little you, with your hair a mess, lipstick and eyeliner smudged, and cheeks flushed all because of him.

At a pace so tortuous, you lift your hips, dragging yourself off as he whines wantonly. Oh, so pathetic.

“Oh—oh shit,” he shivers, hands trembling at your sides, digging into your waist as a means of seeking procurement. He whines, open-mouthed whimpers with the most diabolical cracks in his voice known to man. “Fuck—shit—a-ah!”

Your eyes drop to his abs, his milk toned skin a stark contrast to the dark tattoo pattered on his pelvis. Just staring at it makes you wetter, needing more than just friction. It’s all your body seems capable of at this very moment, just slowly grinding down on his cock, your clit dragging against that sexy tattoo of his.

Your moans grow needier, breathier, whinier. All the while, you are flicking your gaze between his pretty face contorting in pained pleasure and that fucking tattoo. The black lettering in a neat font that accentuates just how his waist narrowed out from his already lean build.

Hands curling around his shoulders, you ground your position even more. He’s a panting mess, like a dog in heat, unsure of how to act or carry himself. He’s mesmerized, completely and utterly taken by the sight before him: you riding the fuck out of him with reckless abandon.

Your jaw is slack with breathy gasps slipping from your pretty lips, a little scrunch in between your brows as your eyes remain locked on his dick. How you were sucking him in with and how at first, stretching your walls out beyond imagination.

Your hands scramble and rake at his chest while you lift your ass, only to slam it back down on him. It elicits a choked cry out of the white-haired boy.

“Ah! W-what happened to going easy?” Satoru’s face scrunches in agonizing desire.

“You were the one begging for more,” you say with a sly smirk. “Don’t tell me that pretty old head of yours is starting to clear up.”

And before he can respond to the challenge in your voice, a sudden combination of a stroke and grind of your body against his makes your little taunt come true.

His mind goes as blank as what he feels he’s about to shoot in you. He has dreamt of this moment. Not because of sheer will, but because his mind conspires against him much more often than anyone may expect. He is a perfect gentleman first and foremost of course.

“Oh-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!” he cries, cracks in his voice one after the other like flimsy old farm eggs. “I’m going to—you’re sucking me in sooo good, I can’t take it.”

“Go on, Toru,” you urge, still riding him. “Do what your body is telling you it wants to do.”

He shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut and you let your hands slide up his torso and to his face. He nearly burns at the tender gesture all on its own.

“Yes, you can, Toru,” you murmur. “Smartest man I know. Can do anything. Does everything I ask him to do.”

Oh. Oh, you had him. Even if you did not say any of that. Satoru was yours without a shadow of a doubt. But when his cum spurts out, the warmth of it rushes into your snug cunt, it feels more like he had you.

You jerk in place, shuddering at the feel of his seed trickling into you. It’s alarming how fucking much there is, how he’s struggling through pants and groans as he releases into you. Like he’d been pent up and wound tight for so long, needing to empty every last morsel from his body.

“God—Holy shit,” Satoru shivers, trembling like a leaf, his hands begin to loosen their grip on your waist, afraid he may have been squeezing too tight.

You tilt your head, a mischievous grin as you brush his lips with your fingertip, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

He nods, a docile pet, “So good.”

He then does something you are not expecting in the least; he flips you over. It draws a sharp breath from your lungs, eyes widening when he climbs on top of you, half-shivering, half staring you down.

“I proved you wrong, didn’t I?” he quietly mutters, a stitch of challenging taunt in his voice.

You feel… almost shy all of a sudden. Like he isn’t a dorky boy anymore but a full-fledged man—all classical literature reading, up and at ‘em bright and early in the morning, sipping black coffee while peering through his refined frames at the Sunday paper kind of man. A man.

In response, all you can muster is a wide-eyed—pathetic nod.

“Kiss me, Toru,” you murmur, almost timid as you say so.

He bends down, softly brushing his nose against yours as you lift your chin to meet his mouth. The small act of desperation pleases him, you almost would have missed it, if it had not been for the way his lips curl against yours.

“Mmm,” you hear him hum into the kiss, already growing wetter just by the sound.

He certainly is not like any of the jocks in the fraternities on campus. Star Wars tattoo and all. A recluse you did not know you were missing out so much on.

The kiss grows heated, sloppy, and messy. Your heads are turning this way and that, tongues and teeth clash, spit becomes one and all you can recognize is the taste of him. All he recognizes and desires is that taste of you.

“Y/n—” he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy. “Can I…”

He winces, eyes flicking to look between the two of you and that’s when you see it before you feel it. His cock growing erect again, hardening and pressing against your bare cunt.

Not in such a generous mood as you may have been prior, you innocently ask, “Can you—what, Satoru?”

He swallows his spit, trying not to flinch, but he does anyway, “Can I fuck you?”

You nod, beaming at him as you adjust yourself beneath him, spreading your legs so he can settle between them easier. Prepared to let him do whatever he wanted to you.

His hips draw close, and your hand reaches between you, wrapping around his hardened cock, beading and leaking at the tip from your arousal. Guiding his dick back into you, both of your mouths fall open, his moan stutters out, loud and unabashed.

“Fuck, you’re perfect—” his face scrunches adorably.

Your moans swirl into heedless breaths, whirling with his. Arms hooking under his, your back arches as he slips back in, making your back arch off the bed. Your head slides back against the sheets, mouth falling further open as your legs wrap around his waist.

“God, you’re sucking me in-” he shudders, tremors in his hands as he attempts to ground himself by gripping the sheets by your head. “Squeezing me—so tight.”

You shake your head, feeling him ever so subtly draw his hips back and rock them into you once more, “Satoru, you’re being s-so vulgar.”

He shakes his head, “Sorry, can’t help it. You’ve got me losing my mind.”

Oh, how your heart leaps at that. A man as put together and smart as Satoru, unraveling all because of you. Your eyes flick down every so often, watching that drag and pull of his hips, how his heavy balls slap against your ass with wet—sticky squelches from his cum mixed with yours, how that lettered tattoo of his looks as every muscle in his torso constricts.

His veins branch against the ink, and he pulls his body back and slams his cock back into you with much more force than before. At the new and harsher pace he has fostered, you find your own body reeling back further up the sheets, closer to the headboard of the bedframe.

“Can’t believe how stupid you are,” he shivers, another stammering thrust drives back into you, the tip of his veiny cock throbbing deep inside.

“W-what?” you dumbly furrow your brows, feeling the strenuous stretch of your walls just from his length, how it prods as far as brushing the entrance of your cervix, kissing it as heatedly as Satoru had kissed your mouth to prove a point to you. That being said, that’s all you can truly focus on, and not on the fact he insulted your intelligence.

“How dumb could someone possibly be?” he says again, not caring about the repercussions of his sentiment. It sounds to be something that had plagued his mind for quite some time. He continues fucking you, burying his face in your pretty neck as he bites into your shoulder. “Not even realizing how badly I’ve wanted you this entire time. Not noticing any look or any—anything. Fuck—so pretty but s-so stupid.”

Maybe you truly are stupid, or maybe he was just fucking you dumb. Because you lose all power and sense to argue back at him. To tell him you are smart and clever. But all you can fixate on is the way his cock molds your pussy, practically reshaping to fit and remember him and only him. Fuck, he felt so good, it’s actually quite embarrassing.

His strokes aren’t shallow in the least, not quick and hurried and slight as most boys are at times. He is precise, someone who tends to something with such delicacy as one does with a craft. Or art.

Satoru’s teeth sink into your flesh, drawing a high-pitched whine from you and you anchor your own nails into his back. His lean, pretty back. A back that isn’t bulging with years of football, but sinewy and sculpted ever so delicately from years of bookkeeping and academics. A feat in it of itself.

He lifts his head up and catches you off guard with a forceful kiss. All his kisses thus far have been reticent, coy. This one heralds governance, a desire to be the one taking and not politely asking to be doing so.

His hips don’t stop pile driving into you. There’s a hunger, a thirst to learn what may come about from each and every single deliberate thrust. He opts to watch you this time, study each little twitch in your face, tug of your lips, sigh to flee your throat. How you are becoming a mess, one babbling hot mess.

“Toru. Ah! Fuck! Fuck me just like—that!” you practically squeal, beginning to rock your own hips up to meet his thrusts, flushed in embarrassing heat.

His breaths grow wearisome, tired and heavy. Shoulder blades contract when he shifts to kiss you passionately again, muffling his moans into your mouth, and yours into his. The lens of his glasses fog with the condensation of a cold windshield, slowly slipping off the sweaty bridge of his narrow nose. To which you draw your hand up, taking the frames off altogether.

He blinks a little at you when you part your lips to do you, seeing the way you graze his cheek tenderly.

“So pretty,” you mumble, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling his chest flush against yours.

Satoru’s brain short circuits at the compliment. So much so that he feels he is about to lose his wits about him. Hardly had any left with the way you’re clenching around him, pulling and sucking his cock for all its worth. He watches how your mouth falls open and a cute crinkle forms between your brows, a shocked yet longing look that he understands immediately, you’re about to cum again.

Music to his ears, he takes in everything, how your moans mingle with his, how you gaze back at him, eyes watery with an expression so debauched he can’t believe he’s gone this long without it. Maybe he was the stupid one.

And when you let out a choked cry and clench down on him so hard he feels you may cut all the blood flow in his cock, he witnesses you cum. Wrapped around, fluttering around him and absolutely gorgeous, he can’t help but cum too. With your back bowing off the bed, chest carving against him, your fingers tighten their grip on his snowy locks at the back of his neck. So devastatingly handsome, Satoru lets out a strained whine of his own, cock twitching, and painting your walls white.

Settling from your high only seconds before him, you watch that dazed, inebriated look in his eyes. You still feel trapped in that moment of ecstasy, much like him. Not in your wildest dreams would you have expected to feel the best you’ve ever felt with Satoru Gojo, certified campus dork. You wouldn’t shy away from this temptation again.

“That was…” he breathes in disorientation, unsure of what words in the English language even exist that could describe this.

You grin sheepishly, “I know.” Your nails gently rake against his nape, cajoling him into relaxation.

“Are you…okay?” he asks, his blue eyes piercing through you in worry.

“I’m the best I’ve ever been,” you say with a lazy smile, hands dipping down his arm. “Or who knows? I’m too stupid to understand.”

Satoru’s eyes widen and he blurts in childlike fear, “You’re not stupid.”

You chuckle, “I’m kidding, Satoru.”

Gently, you bring your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks and pulling him towards your mouth. Beguiled by this trance akin to a sailor falling for a siren, Satoru lets you guide him where you want him.

Then the Star Wars theme song begins to play.

Satoru jolts up, scrambling for his ringing phone through his discarded clothes piled on the ground. He slides his glasses back on his nose as he apologizes, gripping his phone in the process, “I’m sorry—Suguru is calling.”

“Call him later,” you say. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But I’m his ride,” Satoru, clueless as ever says. You cock a brow at him, and he lets his phone fall to the ground, “But I’m sure he can catch a ride with Shoko.”

Your grin begins to widen as you move over on the bed, making room for him to get back in with you. And when he does, he kisses you softly, an air of admiration in it. Your hand that isn’t on his face, lowers to his pelvis, tracing his tattoo there.

“This was a pleasant surprise,” you tell him, fingers grazing the ink.

“You like it?” his voice is soft.

“Mhm,” you hum, meeting his lips once more. “So much.”

He can hardly believe this. The prettiest girl in the world, sprawled out beneath him after inviting him into her bed. Touching him dotingly, biting his lip like a delicacy, attention—for once—completely and totally on him. Satoru could die in this very spot.

Suddenly, the doorknob to your room jangles—and the door pushes open. You both were under the impression you locked that. He hopes it’s someone who has the courtesy of realizing this room is very much occupied, that they will avert their gaze and shut the door again to avoid further embarrassment.

But that seems a poor thing to hope for when Ryomen Sukuna stands there, face twisted in riled confusion as he stares between you and the bumbling boy your limbs are tangled with.

Satoru could die in this very spot.

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tysm for reading! hope u enjoyed! I had too much fun writing this! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated <3

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