꒰ summary : satoru gojo has a terrible habit of ruining the things she finds pretty.
꒰ content warnings : mdni. fem!gojo x fem!reader, toxic yuri, college au, rich mean girl gojo, bullying, panty stealing, hate sex, jealousy, humiliation, degradation, marking, bruising, biting, rough sex, strap-on, fingering, fingers in mouth, corruption kink. word count 1.9k art creds @cakkezzz on x
fem!satoru!gojo is a bitch, a heinous bitch, some might even say. her family is ridiculously rich. she’s beautiful with snowy white hair, glossy and shining, cut into long layered strands that always look effortlessly messy—but the kind of messy that’s sexy, not unkempt. her eyes are an alluring cyan blue, like uncharted oceans, varying in icy hues and depths, cold enough to make anyone freeze beneath her stare. her skin is a vast expanse of milky porcelain, supple and smooth, utterly flawless without a single blemish.
fem!satoru!gojo is beautiful, feared, and sought after by everyone… yet she’s too busy staring at the shy, quiet girl who rarely speaks, face buried in her phone, earbuds always plugged in—a perfect target for satoru, a new fixation for her.
so wherever you go, satoru follows. annoyingly bitchy as ever and a complete bully, purposely causing you to trip and spill your papers right outside chem—stacks of white sheets scattering across the hallway—just so she has a reason to bend down and help you gather them, sneaking a glance at your soft, dewy tits in that pretty shirt—way too revealing for her liking. i mean, seriously, the guys around here are pigs. she’s just looking out for you.
which is exactly why, during gym next period, she shoves the top you left in your locker—completely unknowing of her malicious plans—as she steals it and shoves it into her bag with every intention of burning it once she gets home… or maybe rubbing it against her aching cunt first. either way, she’s getting rid of it.
fem!satoru!gojo would’ve never expected the effect you have on her, though. so easy to bend to her will, so soft for her, so easy to rile up—yet somehow liking such dirty things, liking when she uses you, leaves you all pretty with marks from her teeth and lips :( cute, really. don’t let that fool you though, you’ll get bitchy with her from time to time, bratty in ways that have her sighing through a nasty grin. satoru just knows how to smack it right off you, in the only way she’s good at.
fem!satoru!gojo who bullies and ridicules you daily.
every time the professor assigns partners, it’s the same thing—papers rustling, names being called, and then her chair scraping back like she already knew. sometimes you think she pays the professor just to partner you together. that, or she has annoying, absurd luck.
“stupid girl,” she mutters as she sits down beside you, not even bothering to look at your face yet, already flipping the assignment over with rough, careless fingers, annoyance clear in her tone. “you really can’t do anything right. you know that’s why we’re always partnered together.”
your skin hums with nerves, tension tightening under the strain in her voice. she notices, like a predator hunting prey—her eyes narrowing on you with something sharp and eerily similar to bloodlust, with her need to ruin you. she’d never admit it, but seeing you all scared and nervous makes her clit tingle with anticipation for when she has you fucked dumb and squirming beneath her, fingers shoved in your mouth as you drool around them like a dumb slut.
a lazy sigh escapes her pretty, glossed lips that always carry a faint sheen of glimmer. her voice is loud enough to carry across the room despite it being merely a lackluster sigh.
“aw, c’mon,” she drawls, leaning back in her chair, long limbs stretching out like she owns the space, nearly kicking the person sitting in front of her. “you’re really gonna stick me with her again, teach?” she rolls her eyes, pointing at your frame as her lips form a bored pout.
people whisper to their respective groups, snickering cascading down the rows of students, disdain reaching your ears. their voices are shrill as they laugh without restraint, full of imprudence and ignorance. not surprising, though—laughter always follows when satoru speaks, even the stupidest of things; everyone here kisses the ground she walks on.
she tilts her head toward the professor, all faux annoyance and boredom, like this is some personal stain to her name.
“she’s just too stupid, really. it’s a shame she’s unteachable, bottom of the barrel, the lowest of them all,” she says casually, like it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. then she glances back at you, a smile forming—shifting into something sharp, vampire-like in the catch of the light, canines pearly white, the grin stretching long and wide, curling into something almost sinister, a full cheshire grin—“isn’t that why you always stick her with me so she can copy whatever the smartest one does and get an A? pfft. that’s low even for you, y/n.”
“don’t worry, though,” she says absentmindedly toward the professor, already leaning in, her perfume cloying and sweet, smelling like something sugary, almost like whipped vanilla and tart berries. sweet yet bitter, perfectly emasculating her sweet tooth, and the sourness that coats her tongue and lingers in her words, her breath skittering down your warm flesh in its feverish wake—spoken like a warning—before she finishes her sentence: “i’ll handle her, professor.”
fem!satoru!gojo who gets meaner when she’s jealous. someone glances at you too long, and she’s already there—cutting in with that lazy smile that never reaches her low, dead-set eyes.
“don’t,” she says simply, like it’s obvious you’re her pet. she should really get you a collar—maybe bedazzle it. she’s thinking a fifteen-carat flawless white diamond set into a pastel leather leash, only the best for her baby. she lets out a small snicker to herself, then pauses—nah… that’s too much.
she can’t stand when another person even throws a glance your way. last time a guy hit on you, she got him expelled. surprisingly easy when you have her money, status, and a last name professors practically bow to.
fem!satoru!gojo leaves bruises where her fingers dig into your flesh, teeth sinking in and puncturing skin in her wake. make her jealous, and it becomes your punishment.
fem!satoru!gojo sees you as something she can have whenever she wants—something she can use, take, ruin. corrupt under her gaze, her fingers knead into your soft doughy skin, as she pulls you into some secluded room, your skin sick with need, goosebumps crawling up your arms. she’s not even bothering to be gentle as she strips you bare.
her touch is confident; she knows she’s in control as her fingers skitter across the skin between your inner thighs, coming to a halt at your clothed core, fingers slipping through and working through your cunt, aware of all your sweet spots, your pussy swallowing her slender digits down to the knuckle as she curls and pumps into your heated core.
if anything, your body leans into her. chasing her touch.
this weird, hostile, hate-fueled thing between you and satoru is something you willingly take part in. you hate her—her attitude, the way she’s rude, snobby, so stuck-up it makes your blood boil—but she’s also the only one who can fuck three orgasms out of you back-to-back and leave your thighs clenching just from the sight of her sharp, smug grin, too cocky, and all teeth.
and don’t even get started when she pulls out the strap.
she’s mean about it—ruthless, sadistic.
your face is shoved deep into the pillow, barely able to breathe between shallow gasps as her hips snap forward again and again, the brutal force knocking the air from your lungs. the plastic cock drives deep inside you, your panties shoved to the side, your body already sensitive from the way her long fingers teased your clit beforehand. this position she’s got you in—she knows exactly what she’s doing—lets her hit that spot perfectly, every thrust dragging a scraped, broken sound out of you.
the room fills with it. the soft, wet, obscene squelching sound, the constant echo of your greedy cunt taking everything she gives.
“pathetic,” she mutters, voice low and mocking. “going dumb over my cock like this.”
she really believes it, too. she talks like it’s hers, like it’s real, like if she wanted, she could come inside you and leave you completely ruined, full of her seed, leaking with it. god, what a nerd, you think.
“fucking slut for this cock, aren’t you?”
you grip the sheets, nails digging into the fabric, your voice muffled into the pillow. “ngh—fuck, s’toru, it’s too much… i hate you.”
she’s got a crooked smile, teeth dragging over her bottom lip, all need. “nah, baby, your pussy’s telling me different. she’s a real bigggg talker, you know.”
satoru slowly eases the baby blue strap from your tight heat, and your cunt clings—desperate, greedy, almost rotten in the way it sucks her back in. when she finally pulls out, the ridges are coated, slick with your creamy release.
“mm.” she hums, satisfied, a little amused. “see that? you’re painting my shit.”
something shifts in her at the sight—something sharper, more carnivorous—and suddenly she’s rutting into you harder, faster, pushing you up the bed with the force of it. then she slows, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch as your pussy clamps down around her.
she flips you over without warning, forcing you onto your back so you have to look at her.
her white hair is messy, pushed back, strands sticking from sweat. her eyeliner is smudged, lashes pale and catching the light, her expression wrecked in a way she’d never admit you’re the cause of.
her voice comes out rough as she leans in, thumb pressing against your lips before pushing inside your mouth, forcing past your teeth. the second you feel her, you bite down hard, leaving behind tooth-marked petals.
something dark flashes through her sky-kissed eyes—she’s quick with her movements. her hand snaps across your face, sharp and sudden, a sting that burns hot against your skin without quite tipping into real pain.
you just grin at her like a crazy woman. your eyes are glassy, wet with tears pooling along your lashes, your cheeks flushed and overheated from everything she’s dragged out of you. your body’s still trembling, ruined from the way she’s pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, damp strands of hair clinging to your skin, mascara faintly smeared beneath your eyes.
“cocky, aren’t we,” she murmurs.
her fingers shove deeper into your mouth this time, pressing against your tongue, pushing far enough to make you choke, your eyes watering as tears finally spill over. at the same time, her other hand slides down your body, dragging along your slit before slipping your lace panties off completely.
she brings them up, pressing the soft lace to her face, inhaling slow.
“mm… yeah. think i’m gonna keep these,” she says, almost casually. “you don’t mind, do you?” she bats her eyelashes at you, long white lashes fluttering softly, deceptively sweet. yeah, you don’t mind. even if you did, it’s not like you could say anything when she’s looking at you like that—so sickly saccharine it’s almost suffocating.
she doesn’t wait for an answer—just tucks them into her bra like they’re hers now, just like you are, already looking back down at you with that same awful, knowing smirk. yet you catch the way it frays at the edges, faltering beneath your held gaze.
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