──── 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐗𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 :: 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 ₎ა ˙˖
♡ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐉𝐎 𝐗 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ੭
your academic rival is, unfortunately, your roommate. satoru hated you more than his useless psychology 8am and yet— he can't stop jerking off with your panties. he kept telling himself that it didn't mean anything, but soon, his obsession leads him to the truth: the girl he hates is also his favourite camgirl.
♡ ₊˚‧ cws. college au :: academic rivals :: camgirl :: yandere :: smut :: dubcon :: obsession :: possessiveness :: panty stealing :: m.masturbating :: blackmail :: mirror sex :: fingering :: pussy spanking :: degradation :: dumbification :: slut-shaming :: riding :: p in v :: multiple orgasms :: choking :: creampie
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. preview of this one shot below. find the full fic on my patreon.
If there was one thing Satoru hated more than his useless psychology 8am, it was you.
Pretty where he was orderly. Cherry perfume where he was two, plain sprits of simple cologne. The one unknown variable to this theory of life he had been committed to.
The pulse in his veins. The hitch in his breath. The very essence of irritation that gnawed at the corner of his brain when he should be focused on his carefully curated study notes in preparation for his nightmare of an exam.
A fixation. A frustration. Something so fickle that fluttered in his mind like an insistent moth. And the worst part?
You'd hadn't the slightest idea of what you did to him.
Oblivious to his stares that lingered even long after your newest debate had simmered. Oblivious to when the heart he was convinced he didn't have beat just a tad faster when you were around. Oblivious to your missing pens that he plucked from your drawer whenever you weren't in your room.
Oblivious to the streak of sapphire that watched you from the creak of your door when you were fast asleep.
Oblivious to what that skirt of yours was doing to him now. How he was jealous of the pleats that caressed the tease of your soft thighs.
"You're going out in that?"
His scoff cut through the dim dorm, lit by cheap lighting and the glow of his laptop plopped on his thighs. The blue screen reflects in his glasses. Obscuring the stare he fixed to your rather. . . indulgent outfit.
You fixed your hair in the mirror you insisted on popping beside the door. Before you reached down to adjust your knee-high boots. Angling your chest just right for him to catch a nasty peek of your cleavage from the reflection.
Satoru chewed on his inner cheek. He wondered if you knew.
If you knew that your academic rival and the bane of your existence who was unfortunately also your roommate— sought more than just bickers and berates.
Wondered if you knew that what he really wanted was your sweet body.
Wondered if you knew how much he hated himself for it.
"And what does my outfit have to do with you, Gojo?" You cut him a glare through the reflection and huffed, before you stood straight. "You have something to say? Don't be shy."
"Just wondering if slutting up for Ryomen Sukuna's party is gonna keep your grades afloat," he replied smoothly as he slumped back into the couch. Watching you over the rim of his glasses with a lazy edge. A smirk quirked to the corner of his lips still sweet with the strawberry pocky he'd chewed on earlier.
"Would hate to lose my rival just cause she'd rather open her legs than a textbook."
Crude. No one would have expected it from someone like Satoru. The closed-off nerd in his cage of academics. Hunched over his notes and dead-eyed at equations.
You'd learnt in the few months of sharing a dorm with him that he was more than just the calm and aloof, sometimes even awkward man he made himself to be.
You shot your glare over your shoulder instead. Ah, there it was. That daggered look that frustratingly fluttered his heart.
"Unlike you," you started, voice silk. Smooth. An undertone of sensual, maybe? As you approached him. Stood right before him.
He cleared his throat. Braced his hands on his laptop. Tried to hold your glare as you leaned over him. Belittled him.
The only person who could ever make him feel small. Even if he'd rather die than admit that.
"I don't need to bury my nose in a book for weeks just to remember my material. I'm efficient. More efficient than a cagey nerd like you will ever be, Gojo."
You flicked his head. Right between his brows and he hated himself for the shiver it sent down his spine. He grunted, pressing his palm to forehead and shrugging his laptop off to the couch. Standing to his feet to establish his height over you.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" His lips pressed in a thin line.
But you, oh. You. Vexating, irritating, irresistible you. Just smiled at him. Cooed.
Patted his cheek in that condescending charm you matched with his and turned on heel. Strutting to the door and plucking your purse.
"Just means I'm better than you." You mused, stringing the strap over your shoulder and grabbing the door handle.
He calculated your steps. Your distance. Your speed. How long it'd take for him to just barge on over and trap you against that door. Prove to you who was better.
"Good luck fisting it to your textbooks, Gojo." You sang. The lilt haunting the air as you left with a door rattled shut and your heels hyptonising him even from down the hallway.
Blunt nails dug into his palms. Chapstick dried up on his lips that pressed together so hard he could feel the indent of his teeth. He took a breath. One breath. Two. Three just for good measure. So that he settled that burn in his gut that trickled into a throb between his legs.
You were as beautiful as you were intelligent. Vexating as you were studious. The difference between you and him was that you prioritised a life outside of studies and still managed to rival him in every class you sat beside him.
It's why. Why that pesky lump of muscle in his chest thumped whenever you actually bit back at him.
For a solid minute, he stood there. Reimagining the outline of your body. The outfit that others were gonna see. That skirt. Fuck. That skirt.
His gaze fell to the floor. Zeroed in. On something between the cracks of wood. Faint, but there. But yours.
He lowered himself to a crouch. Slowly reaching out and carefully plucking the thin thread from the floor. Examining it above his spectacles and the dim light.
It tickled his lips. His nose. As he took a deep breath. Slow. Savouring. Shuddering.
Clenching the strand in his palm, he eyed the door to his right. Your bedroom. And within seconds, he was already through it. Entering your privacy without a hint of hesitance.
Why would he? He'd been here before. Rummaged through your wardrobe. Sprayed some of the cherry perfume on his sweater. Buried his face into your pillow and whined. Nearly humped your fucking blanket while he was at it.
This room was simply second nature. An encyclopedia of his crippling, damning obsession. From your desk laid neatly with highlights aligned beside your strawberry notebooks. To your wardrobe that hung your favourite silk gown. The rows of shoes that lined the foot of your bed. He knew everything. Every inch. Every belonging. Even that cute collection of toys you kept in your bedside.
Satoru liked to delude himself with the idea that you thought of him when you played with yourself.
He pushed your bathroom door open. Shuddered as his hand brushed over your towel that you hung over it. He couldn't help but nudge the corner of his face against the softness. Nuzzling into the slightly damp, peachy fabric. Ghosting his lips over it as he sucked in a deep, shaky breath.
But he wasn't here for that.
The hamper glowed in the corner. Drawing him in. Inviting him. With the strand of your hair still clenched tight in his palm, his other hand rummaged through your laundry.
Shirts, shorts, skirts, that little dress that drove him wild on Friday. The scent of your musk and that irresistible, irritating perfume fanned his face and consumed his senses. Hazing his already spinning mind as he searched for gold.
Snatching the lace around his fingers and yanking it from the pile, Satoru dangled the thin fabric before his eyes. Pretty, pink, panties.
His breath staggered out of him as he resisted the urge to bury his nose deep in the gusset and suffocate on your sweet scent. The thick throbbing between his legs told him he wouldn't leave the cold bathroom tiles if he gave in now.
Instead, he pushed himself up. Stumbled out of your room, slammed the door shut and rattled the dorm as he fumbled back to his bedroom.
Flopped back onto his bed. Fluffy white hair sprawled over his pillow and his glasses wobbled on his face. As he shoved the panties to his nose. Inhaling your scent in deep, desperate breaths. Panting. Huffing.
His other hand shot to his pants. Popped the button open and yanked down his boxers to spring out his already hard cock. It slapped back on his tummy and stained him in a filthy smear of precum.
"Fuck you," his groan muffled as he mouthed on the fabric. Tongue teasing the gusset. Trying to taste the remnants of you as he squeezed the base of his throbbing cock. Jutting his thumb against the underside vein and pumping himself dry.
What was that you said about him 'fisting it to a textbook'? If only you could see him now. Face blotched. Glasses fogged. Fucking his hand and suffocating on the sweet musk of your pussy.
Satoru was a greedy man. He shoved the fabric to his face and bit into the lace so that he could fumble his phone out of his pocket. Swipe to his hidden folder. Type in the password to the little subscription he tucked away in the depths of his device.
His favourite camgirl should get him there. He paid for her highest tier, after all.
Spotting the newest video, he groaned in shameful delight into your panties as he jabbed his thumb on the screen and propped it just right. For him to see everything. A pretty pussy on display just for him as she swallowed up a pink, silicone cock.
Your panties strung around his cock now. Smearing in his precum as he fisted with his recklessly pumping hand. Moans spurring into the thick air. Hot, heavy, whined and whimpered as he rolled his hips up.
His fogged glasses fixed to the video. Of another cunt squeezing so pretty around the base of the toy as his favourite camgirl put on a show.
She whispered something to the camera. Soft, and smooth. It thrummed something deep within him and quickened his already desperate pace.
Then, oh. She was trying to wreck him. She sat up. Positioninged herself over a pillow. Shifted the angle so that she could bounce on her favourite dildo and whine about how it was so much better when she rode his cock.
"Shit," he croaked, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his breath stuttered. Pathetic. Not the pinnacle of the science department when he was fucking his fist and imagining you riding his dick. In those knee-high boots. That short skirt. With these panties pulled to the side and soaked in all the cum he wanted so desperately to pump into you endlessly.
Fluttering eyes focused back on the screen. Eager to make himself cum at least once before the pretty girl on his screen did.
Faster— and faster— and desperate, and feral. Until—
He caught something in the corner of the video.
Something fluffy. Peachy. Strung on the door of the camgirl's room.
For the first time since you left and he plucked that strand of your hair from the floor— Satoru's world stilled. Tilted.
Ignoring the insistent pulse in his palm, his thumb smacked on the screen. Paused the video as he sat up in a blur. Stared at the scene.
That peachy thing that hung on the door in the video. That.
He blinked. Looked down at your ruined panties bunched around his leaking dick. Thought about how he got them. How he came into your room. Went to your bathroom door. Nuzzled that.
♡ ₊˚‧ want more? find the full fic on my patreon <3
© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/angeliicide & @/pixopix . art cred: @/9enesiass
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