blue

[ritsatoru]

grades are important

grades are importan

grades are importa

grades are import

grades are impor

grades are impo

grades are imp

grades are im

grades are i

grades are

grades ar

grades a

grades

grade

grad

gra

gr

g

go

goj

gojo

gojo s

gojo sa

gojo sat

gojo sato

gojo sator

gojo satoru

gojo satoru my love

[ritsatoru]

this is so random

[roadhogsbigbelly]

i honestly don't really understand why "some people prefer watching gameplay online rather than playing games themselves" is treated as such a taboo when being a spectator is considered a pretty mundane way to engage with most sports, game shows, reality tv or even just like. chess.

[msgojo]

Tether

nerd gojo satoru x fem!reader

✦For a guy who's a nerd and a loser, you never expected Gojo to have a 5 body count... he was so lowkey about it, about everything. You started dating him after confessing to each other while studying, everything was so unexpected— and something unexpected happened too...

★ ˙🧷#: heavy angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, closure, college sweethearts (?), gojo is messy as hell... up to ya'll huhu

art cr to:  @deltapopo on twt and @rezijellyfish

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

It’s the posture, mostly. The way he hunches over his desk like a seven-foot-tall gargoyle trying to protect a fragile Excel spreadsheet from the rest of the world. He wears hoodies that have seen better decades, his white hair is usually an uncombed bird’s nest, and he possesses the unique ability to trip over flat surfaces.

Satoru Gojo is, by all standard university metrics, the campus loser. The guy people either ignore or subtly laugh at when he drops his entire binder in the middle of a crowded lecture hall.

Which is exactly why the number five feels like a physical slap to your face.

"Five?" you repeat, staring at him.

You’re sitting on the floor of his cramped dorm room, the smell of cheap instant noodles still lingering in the air. Satoru is sitting cross-legged opposite you, folding a tiny piece of a silver gum wrapper into a perfect, neat triangle. He looks up, blinking his ridiculously bright blue eyes behind a pair of smudged, thick-rimmed glasses that slide down the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah," he says, his tone entirely casual, devoid of any bragging or ego. He pushes his glasses back up with one finger. "Five. Is that bad? I thought it was pretty average for our age."

"For normal people, Satoru. Not for someone who unironically uses a rolling backpack on rainy days," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

A small, genuine smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He doesn't get defensive; he just shifts closer, his long legs tangling slightly with yours. "Hey, the rolling backpack protects the structural integrity of my textbooks. You know how expensive the advanced physics ones are."

It’s funny. It’s genuinely hilarious because you spent the first three months of knowing him thinking he was entirely untouched by the concept of romance. You two had ended up together by some weird stroke of cosmic luck. It happened during midterms, surrounded by empty energy drink cans and highlighted pages of notes. You’d been staring at a diagram, completely exhausted, and murmured, "I think I like you."

You’d expected him to choke, or stammer, or do something appropriately pathetic. Instead, he had just looked at you, his face softening into something so quiet and gentle it made your chest ache. "Oh," he’d whispered, a small, breathless sound. "Good. Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you I like you for three weeks."

You were average. Just a regular student navigating the chaotic, exhausting rhythm of university life. He was the guy at the absolute bottom of the social ladder. It made sense. You fit together in a quiet, low-stakes kind of way.

But now, this. Five people.

The drama of it settles into your stomach, a sudden, sharp prick of standard relationship insecurity. If Satoru, with his terrible posture, his dorky laugh, and his complete lack of social grace— had five people in his past, what did that mean? Had they seen the same soft, fiercely intelligent guy you had? Were they cooler than you? Smarter?

"Who were they?" you ask, trying to keep your voice light, like it’s just a piece of casual trivia and not something that’s suddenly making the air in the room feel a little heavier.

Satoru stops folding the wrapper. He sets it down on the low coffee table, his expression shifting from amusement to that focused, entirely grounded seriousness he only gets when he’s looking directly at you.

"Just people from high school and first year," he says softly. He reaches out, his large, warm hand hovering for a second before gently resting over yours. His thumb brushes against your knuckles. "They weren't... it wasn't like this. Most of them liked the idea of me because... i don't know, maybe smart? or because they thought the white hair was quirky. But they got tired of the actual me pretty fast. They wanted someone who knew how to play the game, I guess."

He looks down at your joined hands, a faint, self-deprecating shadow crossing his face. "I'm a lot to deal with. I know I'm weird."

The pain in your chest deflates as quickly as it arrived, replaced by a wave of ridiculous fondness. He really is just a sweetheart. A massive, brilliant, socially inept sweetheart who has no idea that his honesty is the most attractive thing about him.

"You are weird," you agree, squeezing his hand back. "You're incredibly pathetic, Satoru."

He lets out a loud, dramatic groan, burying his face against your shoulder. The weight of him is heavy, but it's a grounding sort of heavy. "You're supposed to reassure me, not agree with me," his muffled voice complains against your shirt.

"I'm just stating facts. But," you shift slightly, resting your chin on top of his messy white hair, "I like the actual you. Rolling backpack and all."

He huffs a laugh, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tightly like you're the only stable thing in his chaotic, overthinking mind. "Good. Because number six is definitely my favorite."

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Your relationship was the sheer unpredictability of it all. It really had been a rollercoaster. A non-stop cycle of soaring highs and devastating drops that left you permanently out of breath. You two argued a lot. It wasn't just quiet disagreements; it was the kind of friction that tore through the peace of your tiny spaces. You remember the burning behind your eyes, the nights you spent crying and begging him to just talk to you, to stop retreating behind that cold, distant wall he built whenever things got heavy. He had cried too, and he had begged— not as much as you, his avoidant brain usually freezing him in place... but when he did break, it was loud, messy, and desperate.

But god, when the rollercoaster went up, the view was beautiful.

There were blocks of weeks where you two were just ridiculously, blindingly happy. Love was completely in the air, so thick and sweet it felt like a physical presence in the room. You couldn't even walk past each other without stalling. There were kisses everywhere, lazy ones against your temple while you were both trying to cram for midterms, soft ones pressed to the palm of your hand while walking to the convenience store at midnight, and deep, quiet ones in the middle of the kitchen while the rain poured outside. Everything felt so effortlessly good.

During those quiet, golden moments after a fight had cleared, Satoru would wrap his long arms around you, pulling you so close against his chest that you could hear the steady, rapid thumping of his heart. He would bury his face in your hair, exhaling a long, shaky breath, holding onto you like a lifeline.

He never said it in big, dramatic speeches, but you could feel it in the way his grip tightened whenever you squeezed his hand back. He was so incredibly grateful. He was so happy that you stayed with him, that you kept choosing to hold on, even in his absolute hardest, most chaotic days when he didn't know how to handle himself.

You were the one person who looked at all his rough edges, all his mess, and just chose to love him anyway.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

7 yrs later...

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

The rain hitting the glass of the coffee shop is the only thing filling the silence, a rhythmic, monotonous hum that matches the dull ache Satoru has carried in his chest for seven years.

He’s twenty-nine now. The messy white hair is tamed into something cleaner, the oversized hoodies replaced by structured coats that fit his frame, and the thick, smudged glasses replaced by expensive, thin-rimmed ones. He finally learned how to stop slouching. He looks like a proper adult, the kind of man people actually look at twice on the street. He’s successful, stable, and completely empty.

For three years, he had you. And for three years, whenever the pressure of his own mind got too heavy, he did the only thing he knew how to do... he pushed.

Whenever you tried to get close during an argument, whenever his own deep-seated insecurities flared up, the defensive walls went up like iron shutters. “Let’s just break up.” “You deserve better anyway.” “Can’t you fix that attitude of yours?” It was a toxic, exhausting script he ran on loop, a lowkey avoidant reflex born out of a terrifying fear that you’d realize how pathetic he actually was and leave him first.

Until one day, you didn't fight back. You just looked at him with tired, heartbroken eyes, said “Okay,” and walked out.

He spent the next seven years trying to scrub the memory of you out of his skin. He went out, he met different people, he took long, aimless drives alone to unwind, trying to force his brain to reset, convincing himself to be the guy that NO ONE will forget. He had finally reached a point where he convinced himself he was 'starting to move on.' The ache had gone numb.

Until the bell above the coffee shop door chimes, and the universe decides seven years of penance isn't enough.

You walk in, shaking a wet umbrella, laughing at something on your phone.

Satoru freezes, his coffee cup halting halfway to his mouth.

You’ve changed. If he thought you were beautiful when you were nineteen, huddled over textbooks in his cramped dorm, you are breathtaking now. There’s a radiant, effortless glow to you— the kind that only comes from peace, from growing into your own skin without someone constantly pulling you down into their own chaos. You look ten times more beautiful as an actual adult. Secure. Grounded.

As you turn, your eyes scan the room and lock onto his. The laugh dies on your lips, replaced by a sudden, quiet shock.

Don't do it, Satoru commands himself, his knuckles turning white around his mug. Don't stare. Don't fall for her again... she's over you. Look at her… she survived you.

"Satoru?" Your voice is different... richer, steadier— but it’s still your voice. The sound of it sends a violent, physical jolt straight through his ribs.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy. He forces a polite, neutral smile that feels entirely heavy on his face. "Long time no see."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before walking over to his table. Every step you take closer is a masterclass in agony for him. You don't look angry... you just look surprised, maybe a little nostalgic. "Wow. Look at you," you say softly, gesturing to his neat coat, his sharp posture. "You grew into your height."

"Yeah. Finally learned how to walk without tripping over my own feet," he tries to joke, but the humor is thin.

"Can I...?" You point to the empty chair across from him.

"Sure."

As you sit down, the faint scent of your perfume drifts over, and Satoru has to actively remind himself to breathe. He forces his hands into his lap so you won't see them shaking. He tells himself to be strong, to keep the distance he so desperately insisted on seven years ago. He tells himself you’re officially over him.

But as you start talking, asking how he’s been, telling him a quick, animated story about how you got caught in the sudden downpour... the carefully built walls of the last seven years crumble into dust.

You’re yapping. It’s that same, beautiful habit of yours, running your mouth about three different topics at once, waving your hands slightly to emphasize a point. You smile, a genuine, bright thing, and it hits him like a freight train.

Deep inside, a desperate, pathetic part of him is screaming. He misses everything. He misses the way you used to tease him until his ears turned red. He misses your laugh ringing out in a quiet room. He misses the way you used to annoy him by stealing his fries, the casual warmth of your touch when you’d hook your arm through his, the soft cadence of your voice when the world got too loud. He wants to reach across the table, grab your hand, and beg for a second chance he knows he doesn't deserve.

"So, yeah, total nightmare of a morning," you finish, offering a small, slightly self-conscious laugh, tilting your head. "Sorry, I'm still a handful when I get started."

Satoru swallows the lump in his throat, staring at you behind his lenses. He looks for any sign of the old hurt in your eyes, any lingering resentment, or worse— complete indifference. But there’s a flicker there, a quiet, intense stillness as you look back at him, your gaze lingering on his lips for a split second before meeting his blue eyes again.

He can't tell. He genuinely can't tell if you've moved on, or if the ghost of what you had is haunting you right now, too.

"Don't apologize," Satoru says, his voice dropping, losing its polite edge and becoming dangerously soft, dangerously close to the sweetheart you used to love. "I've missed the noise."

He may finally be the guy he always wanted to be years ago—stable, put-together, successful, 'mentally stable' but as he stares at the empty chair across from him, the truth settles heavily in his gut. The only thing that actually mattered, the only thing missing from the picture-perfect life he built, was you.

The crumbs on the plate blur slightly behind his glasses as his mind violently drags him back to that night seven years ago...

It was freezing. A bitter, cold night at the park near campus, the streetlamps casting long, harsh shadows on the concrete. Things had gotten bad again. He’d felt himself suffocating under his own insecurities, and like a coward, he resorted to the same old script. He’d thrown those ugly words at you, practically begging you to leave before he could ruin things completely.

And then you had just nodded. You agreed to break up with him.

He still remembers the exact sound of your footsteps retreating down the pavement. Standing under that dim park light, his chest tight and suffocating, he had desperately hoped you’ll look back. Just once. Just a single glance to give him an excuse to break.

But you didn't. You kept walking, disappearing into the dark.

God, he had wanted to chase you. Every muscle in his seven-foot frame had screamed at him to run after you, to throw his arms around you, to pull you close so you could comfort each other through the mess he made. But he didn't. He was scared. He was hurt, overwhelmed by his own avoidant brain, completely paralyzed by the fear of his own toxicity.

He let you walk away. And he had regretted pushing you away every single second of that night, and every single day for the seven years that followed.

Satoru abruptly stands up, the chair scraping sharply against the coffee shop floor. He doesn't care if people are looking. He pays the bill with a trembling hand and steps out onto the damp sidewalk, his blue eyes frantically scanning the crowded street.

You’re already gone, swallowed by the afternoon rush, but the lingering scent of your sweet perfume and the memory of your radiant, grown-up smile still hang in the cool air.

He closes his eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. The old, pathetic Satoru would have gone back to his apartment to rot in his own regret. But he isn't that kid anymore. He had learned his lesson the hardest way possible.

He knows you might be over him. He knows he has a mountain of hurt to make up for, and that you owe him absolutely nothing. But seeing you today, seeing how beautiful, how grounded, how completely irreplaceable you are... changed everything. He couldn't just let the universe throw you back into his path only to watch you walk away a second time.

He hopes this time, there might be a chance. He’ll wait. He will do whatever it takes to earn a place in your life again, to prove that he can be the secure, loving sweetheart you always deserved. He will chase after you until you accept him again, no matter how many years it will take.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

notes: ts got me crine... ty for reading ya'll !! i appreciate it :3

[pillsatoru]

frustration is an understatement, but it's how satoru gojo felt when you had shyly pulled away from a kiss for the umpteenth time.

of course, satoru loved you to the moon and back! you were his beautiful girl, but damn it were you shy. it was almost like a routine between the two of you. you'd get comfortable, then would be too nervous to press your lips against his without him initiating it. and if he was being honest, it hurt.

you acted like his touch burned most of the time. satoru would offer his hand for you to hold when passing large crowds and the most you would do was hold his pinky with yours.

so, being the amazing boyfriend he was, he was going to help you.

"just keep yours eyes on me, sweets." he coo'ed, carefully slipping in his cock inch by inch. "c'mon, we agreed on working on eye contact today." he reminded.

"I know.." you whimpered, slowly opening you eyes back again, staring into his deep blue ones. satoru's eyes flickered down at your entrance, clearly struggling in welcoming in his length. "you're doing so good." he leaned down to kiss your forehead. "just keep your eyes on me."

after a few minutes, he bottomed out. his hands were holding onto your waist, bringing you closer to him. "feels big.." you gasped when he slipped all the way out before pounding back in.

"that's cuz it is big, baby." he relished in the way tears formed at the corners of your eyes, nails scraping at his biceps. "you can take it though."

"sato!" you screamed, fluttering your eyes close. and satoru? he was absolutely eating this up. for the first time, you weren't afraid to be loud with your moans. “hey you’re being louder than usual. good!” he chirped. the bastard had the audacity to smile so sweetly down at you all while he was fucking you like he hated you.

satoru moved your legs to rest on his shoulders, allowing him to hit deeper. that’s when he saw it, the bulge on your tummy. "look at that.. give me your hand." he reached it, putting it down on your stomach. "you feel me? taking me so well, fuck, you're a good girl."

you saw through your tears how proud he was. bright smile looking down at you as if you just hung the stars.

satoru has never felt more proud of himself, deciding that pda was the next big step. the pinky holding turned into holding hands wether it be at the mall or a friend hang out. but of course, he couldn't help himself when he pulled away to drag your hand onto his growing bulge.

“i don’t think this is pda..” your voice was barely a whisper as your hand made its way to wrap itself around the base of his cock which was twitching like crazy, having its own pulse. 

“public display of affection.. jerking me off is in that category” he bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, being careful as to not let any sound out. the last thing he wanted was to get caught by his friends sitting across from the two of you in a restaurant. “yes fuck..” gojo grumbled under his breath feeling your hand pick up the pace.

your eyes were set on the menu in front of you, trying to force yourself to focus on anything other than the pretty sight underneath the table.

“close.. so close..” gojo gripped the edge of his seat, cock twitching violently before shooting out his orgasm.  he discreetly handed a towel under the table for you, leaning in to kiss your temple. “you’ve gotten so brave, my love.” 

a soft smile appeared on your lips. "thank you babe." you returned the kiss, placing it on his flushed cheek.

the intimate moment was ruined by a gagging suguru. “hey who the fuck nutted on my shoe?!”

[foryuiwill]

Satoru Gojo, who lives for your eyes ⋆˚࿔

Gojo’s the type to make you believe you’re the one with the striking, crystalline blue eyes the way he yearns for your gaze.

When you’re the last to wake up, the first thing you’ll see is him staring at you with his head propped up by his arm against the pillow, almost as if seeing your eyes gives him permission to move. He can’t even hide the full smile somewhat covered by his hand.

“It’s not good to stare,” you tease groggily.

“I can’t help it,” he responds swiftly, resting his head back down on the pillow, eyes still on yours. “The morning doesn’t feel right until I see you.”

If you’re simply reading a book on your sofa, or watching another episode from another selection of your binging conquests, he leaves a trail of kisses up your arm, just waiting for you unlock your gaze and channel it in his direction.

“Need something, Toru?” You ask, a chuckle seeping through your curiosity. Your eyes remain on the flashing screen.

“I just—need to—leave—my baby—a few—kisses,” he spoke in between each peck against your skin.

“And I love that. But what do you really need?” You ask once more, eyes still fixed on the television.

He pauses. You almost turn to him at the sudden lack of pecks across your skin, but you refuse to give in just yet.

“I need you to look at me,” he finally admits softly, almost pitifully.

And just like that, you turn your attention to your crybaby boyfriend, who has his chin resting up against your arm with his bottom lip pulled out.

“For someone who says I’m the spoiled one, you sure do get whatever you want all the time,” you jeer.

But he doesn’t respond to you. He just stares into your eyes.

“Satoru?”

You could feel the hairs on your arm raise when you see the sparkle in his eyes. His orbs wide, just looking up into yours, as if he’s studying every detail there is to offer in your pupils. He looks as if time has just stopped itself for this very moment, granting him his long-awaited wish.

“Satoru?” You called again.

He blinks repeatedly and shakes his head, knocking himself out of his trance.

“You okay?” You ask, reaching to cup his face.

“Perfect, baby,” he responds, resting his cheek in your hand.

And when you’re both getting ready for bed that night, brushing your teeth at the shared mirror in your bathroom, you ask him:

“You do realize you have like—the most one of a kind eyes of all time right? Like by far the most beautiful eyes on the planet?”

He simply spits out the remaining bit of water and toothpaste into the sink bowl and shrugs. He looks at you in the mirror, smiles, and says:

“Maybe, but they’re not yours.”

[tays-writing]

Satoru Gojo x Reader

“I wish I had someone strong to rely on” you said to ragebait your boyfriend. Unfortunately for you, Satoru took that very personally and now you’re too busy choking on him to take it back ♡

cr: @_3aem on X

CW: NSFW. rough face fucking. Throat bulge. Choking. Deepthroating. Cum on face. Spitting in the mouth. Size kink

-

You were both lounging on the couch, simply enjoying each other’s company after a long day. Satoru looked way too relaxed, so obviously you had to do something about it.

A mischievous smile tugged at your lips before you let out a dramatic sigh.

“Ugh… Sometimes I wish I had someone strong to rely on”

Satoru slowly turned his head toward you, phone completely forgotten. His blue eyes narrowed, that signature cocky grin twitching like it couldn’t decide whether to laugh or snarl.

“…Excuse me?”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.

“I just thought about it, I don’t know” you shrugged innocently.

He tossed his phone aside and in one fluid motion yanked you into his lap, making you straddle him. 

“You’re literally dating me” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah, but like…” You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I’m talking about someone really strong”

Satoru looked at you with a mix of amusement and mild condescension. “I am really strong.”

“Mmm…” You traced a slow pattern on his arm, pretending to think deeply. “But, like… stronger”

His eyes narrowed “Stronger than who?”

You gave a casual shrug. “I don’t know”

“Yuki?”

“No.”

“Yuta?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

You sighed dramatically. “I don’t know, Toru. Someone… elite”

He looked genuinely offended. “You do realize I’m already at the top, right?”

“Mhm”

Satoru sat up straighter, hands still firmly on your hips. “You’re literally living with the peak of humanity. I’m the measuring—”

“I’m just saying…” you purred, leaning in closer “sometimes a girl wants to feel protected by someone really powerful, Satoru~”

“Oh” he said, a dangerous glint entering his eyes. “You are absolutely ragebaiting me.”

“Am I?” you asked sweetly.

“Okay,” he murmured, his legs parting wider to accommodate you, grinding his crotch firmly against yours to make sure you felt exactly what you were dealing with. His voice dropped an octave, dripping with ego and possessiveness. “Keep talking then. Tell me again how you wish you had someone strong. I dare you. Let’s see how long you can keep that attitude before I fuck it right out of you”

You smiled innocently. “…Sometimes I really wish I had som—”

Satoru growled and pulled you flush against him.

“Oh, you are so getting it tonight.”

You laughed against his neck, victorious, as his hands slid under your shirt.

—

Well, in fact, he was really fucking it right out of you. 

After fucking you senseless on the couch, Satoru finally pulled out, leaving you trembling and dripping with your own fluids. Your legs were still shaking, your breathing ragged as you tried to recover.

But he wasn’t done. 

He stood up in front of you, towering over your seated figure. His cock was still rock hard, glistening with your juices, thick and heavy as it bobbed right in front of your face. A smug, slightly mean smirk played on his lips while he looked down at your dazed expression. 

“Look at you…” he murmured, voice low and rough. “All trembling and messy because of me. And you still had the nerve to say you wanted someone stronger?”

He gripped the base of his thick cock and started slowly dragging it across your face. The heavy weight of it slapped softly against your cheek, then your other cheek, leaving a wet trail of precum and your own arousal on your skin. He rubbed the swollen head along your lips, teasingly smearing it back and forth.

“Open your mouth” he ordered.

You parted your lips obediently, tongue out waiting for him, but Satoru leaned forward slightly and spat directly into your mouth, a thick string of saliva landing on your tongue.

You couldn’t stop the broken whimper coming from your throat.

“Swallow” he commanded.

You did, eyes locked on his.

“Good girl,” he praised, but his tone was still edged with that possessive arrogance. “Now let’s put that bratty mouth to better use.”

With both of his large hands he grabbed the sides of your head, his long fingers practically enveloping your skull. His grip was firm, controlling, leaving you with nowhere to go.

He pushed the thick head of his cock past your lips, sliding it over your tongue until he hit the back of your throat. Then, without warning, he thrust forward hard, burying himself deep in one powerful motion.

You gagged instantly, your throat tightening around his heavy cock. Saliva immediately started dripping from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin.

Your eyes widened when you felt it — the obscene bulge in your throat. Every brutal inch of his cock stretched your neck from the inside, the thick outline of his shaft clearly visible under your skin as he forced himself all the way in.

“Fuck— look at that,” Satoru groaned, eyes darkening with raw lust. He kept one hand on your head while the other slid down to wrap around your throat, his palm pressing lightly over the prominent bulge. “You can see me right here, baby. So fucking deep.”

He started fucking your throat with deep, rough strokes, watching mesmerized as the bulge in your neck moved up and down in time with his thrusts. Your throat convulsed violently around him, the obscene outline of his cock appearing and disappearing with every snap of his hips.

Your jaw ached from how wide you had to stretch around his thickness, but you were so ridiculously wet that the discomfort only made you throb more. You were certain you could cum just from this.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and soon spilled down your cheeks as he thrust harder, burying himself to the hilt again and again. You could feel his heavy cock pulsing against your tongue, the veiny underside dragging along it while the bulge in your throat kept shifting under his fingers.

You gagged wetly around him, loud and messy. The wet, obscene sounds of him fucking your throat filled the room.

“Breathe through your nose, baby” he cooed mockingly, still thrusting deep, his thumb stroking the bulge in your neck. “You asked for it, now take it”

He picked up the pace, pulling you forward to meet his hips as he drove into your throat. Your eyes watered uncontrollably, tears streaming down your face while you looked up at him with hazy, fucked-out eyes.

Satoru’s breathing grew heavier, his abs tensing as he got closer.

“Fuck… I’m gonna cum all over this pretty face” he growled.

He pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. He stroked himself fast and hard right in front of you.

“Look at me” he demanded.

You did, mouth open and tongue out. With a deep, guttural groan, Satoru came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot across your face in powerful spurts. He kept pumping his cock, milking every last drop onto you until your face was a complete mess.

When he finally finished, he let out a long, satisfied breath and looked down at his work with a dark, proud smirk.

“Fuck… you look so much better like this,” he murmured, thumb gently spreading some of his cum across your bottom lip. “All mine”

He crouched down in front of you, still towering slightly, and wiped your eyes carefully with his fingers so you could see properly. Then he leaned in and kissed your forehead, surprisingly soft despite everything.

“Still wish you had someone stronger?” he asked, voice husky but affectionate now.

You could barely speak, but you managed a weak, breathless smile. “…Maybe tomorrow.”

Satoru chuckled and pulled you into his arms, lifting you easily from the couch. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up”

-

yeah im not okay

masterlist

[doviled]

you love how possessive satoru is.

you’re well aware that your relationship with satoru isn’t exactly normal. people seem to think you have no clue, but you’ve never been ignorant. for all the casual jokes and whining clinginess, you can tell your boyfriend is deeply, possessively in love with you.

it shows in everything he does. satoru likes to hide it behind a veneer of playfulness. you don’t mind. in all reality, you find it pretty cute—the doting, the teasing, the silly jokes that all veil that intense want that lurks in him. he wants you so bad it’s impossible to ignore. no, more than that: he needs you so much it bleeds into everything he does.

he’s teasing when he winds an arm around your waist, joking when he drops his chin on your head and pulls you away from whoever you were talking to. there’s a casual, unspoken jealousy to the action, but he’s so good at pretending it’s just gojo being clingy. it’s just what everyone expects of him. you’re the only one that knows better. you can see the angry glint in his eye, hear the way satoru’s heart picks up in his chest every time you reciprocate. you’re the only one he lets past infinity, the reason he’s been working to make it cover you as well. he just can’t bear to see other people touching you—you don’t blame him, do you?

best of all, you’re the only one that sees him desperate, that gets to watch him unwind. he worships you. you don’t have sex as much as you make love, his hands roving your body and plucking sweet moans from between your lips. satoru will murmur as he takes you, voice unbearably vulnerable and unspeakably intimate. “no one else can make you feel like this, baby,” he says on a moan. on the next, quiet and sure, “even better, i’m the only one that gets to see you like this. they don’t even know what they’re missing out on. i won’t let them ever find out.” he holds you tightly, kisses you ardently, and if you let him, he’ll fuck you until his legs give out. until he has no more love left to give.

so maybe you’re a little too encouraging. so what? who cares if you let your gaze linger on another man just to watch satoru’s eyes sharpen? what does it matter if you’ll play ignorant to another man’s advances, just to revel in the way satoru steps in and stakes his territory?

sex like that is even better. satoru gets mad, possessive—not at you, never at you. but your entire body becomes a canvas for him to stake his claim on, and it makes him rough. he’ll grip you until you bruise, kiss you until your lip splits, fuck you deep and hard so that you wake up the next morning sore, just so he can dote on you all over again.

“he’s so needy,” utahime complains to you one day, after he’d dragged you home from an event. he’d claimed he just wanted you all to himself for a moment, to get away from such boring company. it’s more honest than everyone suspects. he really does hate to see you talking to other people. “he wants to leave, and you leave. he hates when you talk to other guys. i swear, whenever you’re not paying attention to him, it’s like the sun’s frozen over. and then he has to act up until you’re looking at him again. how can you handle a guy that clingy?”

“i think it’s cute,” you reply. “i like how much he likes me. makes me feel like i’m the only girl in the world, you know?”

utahime snorts. “he sure seems to think so. remember last week? it’s like he didn’t even realise that girl was flirting with him.”

he hadn’t. or maybe he had, and satoru simply revels in your jealousy as much as you do his. you’d attached yourself to him like a limpet, fingers curling around his bicep as your head leant against his shoulder. you were polite to a fault until you chased her off, so clingy that satoru couldn’t tear his eyes away. in the end, he’d barely said three words to the girl before you monopolised all of his attention. he’d grinned wide and proud, and been twice as clingy as you were thereafter.

(when you got home, well. you’d been on top, riding him to a slow climax while he stared up at you worshipfully. his thumbs rub circles into your thighs, and with every rock of your hips, he lets loose an unabashed groan. he’s so free in his pleasure, so open about how good you make him feel. satoru never lets you doubt how perfect you are for him.

he comes first, for once. heaves and whines into your mouth even as he tells you to keep going, tells you that i’m sorry i want you so bad, baby. that doesn’t mean you need to stop—take me for all i’ve got, kay? he whispers those promises until you follow him over the edge, curled on top of him and breathing deep against his collarbone.

“you’ll never leave me, will you?” he asks, except he doesn’t say it like a question. he says it like a vow.

“never,” you promise. “you’d be dead before i let you get rid of me.”)

[pillsatoru]

A girl such as yourself — popular, confident, & a total party animal — should be with any boy other than your private tutor. Yet, you found yourself head over heels for satoru gojo, whom you had hired last second to help your astrophysics grade come back up after prioritizing parties and shopping sprees over it. 

You couldn’t help but admire him from time to time. tracing his side profile in your head before doodling it down in the margins of your notebook — the one he had personally bought for you after an accidental coffee spill that ruined your previous one. Not like you had any important notes listed on there to begin with. But that was when something sparked between the two of you, at least, on your end. 

& you definitely couldn’t help but let your feelings for him grow despite each other's social status. 

His white hair mirrored the snow that poured down on the December evening. You waited patiently in the library, silently stalking his figure as it made its way inside the building. Today would mark your last studying session, making your heart feel a tad bit heavy. 

A smile crept up to your face once the doors opened after a minute or so. Quickly patting down your skirt that was above your see through tights, the smile faded when you saw who he had entered with. 

Utahime, a classmate you knew was in your astrophysics class as well. She was majoring in something you knew you couldn’t even be able to understand. point being, she was highly intelligent just like satoru was. 

And they looked incredible together. 

Why has the pairing never clicked to you?

Earlier this week, you recalled jealousy rising in you when utahime interrupted your little rambling with satoru so she could ask for a pen. & it definitely wasn't the first time you've felt possessive over your tutor.satoru smiled at her, laughing at whatever she had said. What made matters worse was when his hand reached up to her raven black hair to pick out fallen snowflakes. 

You felt like throwing up.

Of course he liked her. Everything made sense now. Every small wave given to each other in the hallway, every time they’ve partnered up together in class for a project before you came along.

Why would he waste his time with a wannabe sorority girl who needed extra support for a class deemed easy for both him and utahime? why would he ever consider going out with you of all people. If you were to be in high school, you’d definitely poke fun at him. Hell, you still did before actually getting to know him. He only tolerated you because you paid him for his service at the end of the day. Right?

Your eyesight began to get blurry, forcing you to blink rapidly. satoru said goodbye to utahime, approaching where you sat. He adjusted his glasses that had gotten foggy, pulling out a chair.

“wearing a skirt in this weather?” he commented. “at least you actually put on tights this time. Getting smarter I see.” you stayed quiet, just nodding, flipping your textbook to the assigned page. Satoru's playful smirk flickered at the lack of response. “everything alright?” 

“Yeah. Can we just start?” 

you never just started studying. satoru would have to deal with your usual gossiping first, then watch as you showed pictures of all the new clothes you had gotten over the weekend. “Is everything okay..?” 

you wanted to yell that no, not everything was okay. That your feelings were eating you alive and that you just wanted to oh so desperately smash your lips onto his until he forgot every algebraic formula. 

“I just had a long day.” you simply said.

satoru stared intently, knowing that it was more than just a ‘long day.’ he reached over to close the book, moving you by your chin to look at him. if it were to be any other day, the butterflies in your stomach would be freaking out. but they were still. 

he had a thing for touching you in ways that were beyond ‘friendly.’ Now you wondered if what you thought were reserved actions for just you were also used on her. 

“doll,” his personal favorite nickname to use on you. “its definitely more than that. talk to me. you’re always there for me when im upset, let me be here for you too.” 

it was true that you’d tentatively listen to satoru whenever he had a bad test or when his astronomy club was acting up. It's the least you could do in return. 

“There's nothing wrong.” 

satoru sighed, feeling himself grow frustrated at your inability to confess to what was eating you up. 

your eyes accidentally scanned the room, landing on a familiar red bow. utahime was sat at the computers, posture perfectly straight, clicking away at the keyboard. The look on your face was enough to make satoru turn around. before you could stop him, he figured out immediately what was going on. 

his eyes widened in realization. “hey..” he quietly said, reaching for your hands only for you to pull away. you felt embarrassed, knowing what was about to come. rejection. 

never in your life were you afraid of being rejected by a guy. you could have anyone you wanted, really. all the frat boys shamelessly flirted with you at parties. but you didn’t want them. 

satoru was internally panicking. overtime, his crush on you has doubled in size. no, tripled. he was crazy over you. you were the only thing his few friends would hear about every day whether it be the cute outfit you wore or how you mistook astronomy with astrology. 

“Do you like her?” your voice trembled, making satoru’s heart crack. He immediately shook his head. “no, no god no. utahime?” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “hell no.” 

you didn’t want to believe it just yet. “but the way you walked in with her-“

“We've been friends since childhood. I swear she’s like a sister to me. besides, she’s with shoko right now, they’re going out.”

oh.

you felt embarrassed. 

After a moment of silence, he spoke again “.. did the thought of me going out with her bother you?” he asked, hopeful. His blue eyes stared into yours, somehow making you feel more vulnerable. The library was the last place you’d want to confess to him in, but it really was the place that started it all anyways. 

“Yeah, it did. A lot, actually.” 

satoru fought back an excited smile. “why?” 

“because.. I like you.” 

there it was. the confirmation of the reciprocated love. satoru looked around the place, checking that no one was staring into your direction before placing his lips on yours. 

He was a sloppy kisser, of course. The lack of experience really showed but neither of you cared. Your eyes widened, shutting as you let yourself melt into him. His chair had scooted next to you, allowing him to wrap his arms around your.

“I like you too. so much.” 

⋮

“Fuck, is this what youve been dying to do to me?” satoru slammed your body down onto his aching cock, loving the yelp that came out of your bruised lips. His teeth sank down your neck, savoring you as best as he could. Your hips were giving out with every thrust you gave, requiring his assistance to continue riding him. “Satoru..!” You couldn't even finish your sentence without cringing at the wet noises that were unfortunately coming from your needy cunt. 

His hands kneaded at your ass, forcing you to keep up with the pace he had set. His glasses were missing from his face, now being set on the side table of his bedroom. “Can’t believe you were jealous over me.. Now y’know how I feel every time I see one of those stupid frat guys approach you.” 

“You’re too deep!” You gasped, shutting your eyes close, feeling hot ropes of seed shooting into your womb. “I know,” Satoru hugged you close, fucking his cum back into you. “I know baby, but you can take it.” 

Your clit brushed against his white pubes, tickling you in a way. “Y-you were jealous too..” You managed to ask. Your brows furrowed in pleasure, your stomach knotting in warning. 

Satoru moved the two of you, going from having you ride him to putting you in a mating press. “Yeah, I was.” He had you seeing stars when his cock reached areas you deemed unreachable. Who would've guessed this geek knew how to give a great fuck? Must’ve been all the hentai he’s consumed over the years. He just recently began to imagine the pretty girls in slutty outfits as you, making it easier for him to jerk off late at night. 

The bed wouldn't stop creaking. And you wouldn't stop moaning. 

Satoru groaned, thrusting in meanly, entranced with the way your tits bounced. “Wanted to walk over and fuck- did you get tighter huh? I wanted to punch all of them.” He hunched over to kiss your lips, swallowing every sound. 

You had grown tighter, because all he needed to do was deliver another drag of his cock to have you coming all over it. Satoru sighed, pecking you lightly now. “You’re mine.” 

[valensyre]

"i came here to live." heian era au samurai!gojo satoru x princess!reader

you are purity like no other.

and this man, reckless with limitless blood lust, a creature bound to pollution, is the sudden chokehold surrounding your breath.

like air,

his name spreads through the heian era. where pure brutality echoes into even the quiet of his steps.

in his presence,

the crunch of leaves under your feet feels like protest.

a warning to run elsewhere—to return home where guards shielded you,

where no one could find you.

it provided no privacy, no freedom, but it guaranteed survival. it got you through the night as wives spun their political agendas, and as this samurai pushed his sword into your world.

into this reality.

for, you've followed your clan's murderer to explore everything you have not been allowed to see.

"did you want to die?"

satoru's voice snapped into your breaths—each short, quiet, uneven inhale broken under the weight of his words. there is no guilt in his tone. only a terrifying certainty.

it was only then, your eyes settled onto his.

where depth of your intent is engraved in your stare. a confession forced into his vision, anything but a plea.

"i came here to live."

there are no extra words. just the vocal admission slammed into your lungs.

just enough to be audible. not enough to be firm.

a beat of silence passes.

heavy and thick, before the corners of his mouth twitch into a slight, humorless tilt. he doesn't lower the katana, but the killing intent in the air thins out just enough for you to draw a real breath.

"to live?" he repeats, the words a foreign joke on his tongue.

his gaze slides down to the bare of your feet, your mud-stained kosode, and the pristine, untouched grip of your sword. a blade you brought in hopes of a restart, yet weak even in your grip.

"you brought a blade you don't know how to wash," he snickers, "dressed in cloth meant for a bed, and you think this is where living begins?"

that mocking expression, faint of effort, could only ever make your heart pulsate. a swell far from delicate. a painful ache that did more than linger, it embroidered anger into your being.

he spoke with such ease.

as if expectation is the only language he knows.

when you've traded a cage of gems and excellence for the rawness of freedom. your chance. if you slipped up from the heat boiled up in your eyes,

you'd say it was your only one.

"is it that easy?"

bites from your swollen lips. kissed with frost and stained with the copper you'd drawn from biting them raw. satoru would say your mouth had been painted crimson, had you not pressed your lips together.

like threads, your hands curled into knots, wound from resentment. not from this moment, but fueled and condensed from everything that he reminded you of.

"was it supposed to start somewhere?" left your mouth in a rasp.

you narrow your eyes against the cold. "like i could walk anywhere else, with you lingering here?"

the branch groans beneath your foot. a desperate, swelling thought—a defiance against his mockery.

you can live here. you will live here.

“i can.” your voice doesn’t hesitate. the answer to his challenge in his eyes. “if you’re here.”

[solilorenson]

can you blame him?

[6x-x9]

ಇ.word count: 3.8k

ಇ.art by: @!narutoss.ramen on X

ಇ.pairing: Nerd!Satoru x Nerd!Reader

ಇ.content & warnings: ꒰non canon au ⋮⋮ crack! ⋮⋮ reader & satoru are heavily inexperienced ⋮⋮ dry humping ⋮⋮ bathroom stall handjob ⋮⋮ prem-ejaculation ⋮⋮ fingering ⋮⋮ multi-orgasms ⋮⋮ kissing꒱

Satoru Gojo is fucking gorgeous, which is so deeply unfair that you’re still kind of processing it as he pays for your movie ticket with trembling fingers. His white hair is slightly tousled, soft against his ears, and his glasses are tilted just a bit on the bridge of his nose. He keeps pushing them up like he’s stalling, trying not to meet your eyes too long because every time he does, he gets flustered. His face goes pink and he laughs too loud. You bite your lip every time he does that.

You’re no better. Your hands are clammy inside the sleeves of your hoodie, because you thought this was going to be a safe little date. Nerdy. Harmless. You met at a fucking Doraemon expo for god’s sake, where he gave you a Doraemon-shaped candy and then looked like he wanted to die from shyness.

And now you’re sitting in a too-dark movie theatre with his knee brushing yours.

You think you’re gonna die too. Because there’s heat pooling between your legs, and you're pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties, and this was supposed to be your first normal date. Not a panty-ruining, thigh-clenching disaster where you keep imagining his stupid hot fingers pulling your hoodie up and touching you like you're not both trembling virgins about to combust from one misplaced touch.

Satoru’s voice cracks in the dark.

“You, uh— are you okay?”

You look at him, wide-eyed. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”

He fidgets. “You’re breathing kinda fast.”

You are. Shit.

“I’m just…” you squirm, thighs pressed tight together. “The seats are uncomfortable.”

He makes a strangled little laugh, eyes darting to the screen and then back to your mouth. You don’t know who moves first, but a second later, your hands are brushing in the popcorn bag and boom— your bodies are pressed together like magnets.

The movie is completely forgotten. You’re both leaning toward each other, breathing the same hot air, and it’s dizzying how close he is. His scent is soft and clean, like soap and sugar and some light cologne that makes your thighs ache. Your lips almost brush before he pulls back, cheeks pink.

“I-I gotta pee,” he blurts. Then winces. “Fuck. Not like— fuck, I didn’t mean it like—”

You stare at him, lips parted.

“…Me too,” you whisper. “Bathroom. I mean.”

So of course, of course, ten minutes later, you’re both in the tiny single-stall bathroom behind the snack bar, the door locked, and you’re pressed against the wall with Satoru’s hands hovering an inch from your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.

You’re panting.

So is he.

And there’s the faintest bulge pressing against his pants.

“You’re hard,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to be! I swear I wasn’t thinking anything— well I was thinking but not like— well yes like that but I didn’t expect you to—”

“I’m wet.”

That shuts him up.

He blinks. “Wha— You, wait really?”

You nod furiously. “Soaked. I thought I was dying. You’re, l-like— you’re so hot and tall and your hands are big and I thought—”

He sways toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity.

“You think I’m hot?” he breathes, shocked.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re like—the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“…But I’m a virgin.”

You blink. “You’re a virgin?”

He freezes. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. “You’re too confident. And tall. And your voice, like— you talk like you’ve seen shit.”

“I haven’t! I’ve literally never seen anything. I still sleep with a body pillow.”

“Oh my god.”

You both start laughing, but it’s too breathy, too nervous. You’re looking at his lips again.

“I thought you weren’t a virgin,” he admits, voice low now, almost in awe. “You look like— like—”

He waves helplessly at your body. “You’re so pretty. So hot. You look like you’d ruin me.”

“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” you whisper.

“Me either,” he says.

There’s a beat of silent realization.

Then— tentatively— his hands touch your waist. He’s shaking.

“Can I…”

You nod. “Yeah. Please.”

The kiss is terrible. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, your mouths slipping messily before you both pull away with startled laughter. But his face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and your thighs are pressed tight together because the way he’s looking at you is not innocent anymore.

“We’re so bad at this,” you whisper.

“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m so wet I think my panties are ruined,” you say, like a confession.

He groans. “That’s so hot, please don’t say things like that unless you want me to cum in my pants.”

You both snort, but neither of you moves away.

“Can I… touch you?” he whispers, barely audible.

Your eyes widen, breath catching.

“…Yes. But I don’t— I don’t really know how.”

“Me either,” he whispers. “Let’s be awkward together.”

You reach for his belt, and he lifts your hoodie just enough to see the swell of your tits in your bra. And then you both freeze, panting, staring— because holy fuck this is actually happening.

Two very horny, very confused virgins. In a bathroom. At the movies.

Grinding desperately like you’re learning each other’s bodies in braille.

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your fingers tremble at his zipper. And you swear— you swear— when your pussy brushes against his bulge through your panties and tights, he nearly whimpers.

You're both gonna combust.

You’re still half-laughing, half-gasping into his neck, your panties damp and sticking to you like sin, and Satoru’s hard dick is pressed against your inner thigh through his jeans like it hurts. He keeps doing these little shaky inhales, fingers digging into your hoodie at the waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll float off the planet.

His glasses are fogged. His cheeks are pink. And when you drag your nose along his jaw just to feel him shiver, he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard. A tiny, broken sigh— like the kind of sound you might make when someone pets your hair just right.

You feel like you’re on fire.

“You’re really… hard,” you whisper, a little dreamy, dragging your hand down the front of his jeans like you’re curious more than anything else. Because you are. You can feel the length of him, thick and hot under the denim, twitching at just the barest touch of your fingers. “Like… all the way.”

“I know,” he whines, quietly. “It’s been like that since the popcorn scene.”

You giggle. “We didn’t have a popcorn scene.”

“You were licking butter off your fingers.”

“…Oh. Yeah okay, fair.”

You’re still staring at the bulge in his jeans. It’s insane. It’s… kind of intimidating, honestly. But you’re so curious, and he looks like he might actually die from the idea of you wanting to see him like this.

“Can I see it?” you whisper.

His breath catches. His whole body freezes.

“You— my… dick?”

You nod shyly, face burning. “Just once. I just— I wanna know what it looks like.”

He stares at you like you’re a mythical creature. “You really want to see it?”

“…Yeah.”

His fingers are shaking as he fumbles with his zipper.

You don’t look away— not even when he shoves his boxers down and his cock bounces free, flushed and heavy and dripping. You make a noise, something halfway between shock and awe, because holy shit he’s big. Not just big— long, curved a little toward his stomach, thick enough that your mouth goes dry. The tip is glossy and wet, a pretty pink color— a clear bead clinging to the slit like he’s leaking from just grinding on you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru makes a noise that’s not human. “D-don’t look at it like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “It’s pretty.”

His brain shuts down.

“Pretty?” he croaks.

You nod dumbly, staring. “It’s like… glossy. And pink. And it’s twitching.”

He groans. “Don’t say twitching—”

“But it is! It’s like it’s waving at me or something. It looks so needy.”

He grabs the wall behind your head like he might collapse.

“You’re so cute,” you whisper. “You’re really hard just from kissing me.”

“You’re soaking,” he counters, voice hoarse. “You’ve been wet for an hour.”

You whimper a little. “I didn’t even know I could get this wet.”

Satoru groans again and cups himself like it’ll stop him from cumming just from talking to you.

You reach out— slowly— and wrap your fingers around the base.

He jolts, hips stuttering forward into your hand like it’s instinct. His eyes flutter shut and his whole body shudders, like he’s never felt anything like this.

“…You’re so warm,” you whisper. “And thick.”

“I’m gonna cum,” he blurts.

You pause. “Wait, already?”

“I told you,” he gasps, pressing his face into your neck. “It’s your voice— fuck, the way you’re touching me—”

You slide your hand up and watch his cock twitch, leaking over your fingers.

He sobs a little. “Angel, please—”

That makes you freeze.

“…Angel?”

He peeks up at you, embarrassed. “It slipped out.”

You bite your lip, then smile, stroking him again. “I like it.”

“You’re so soft,” he moans. “And your hand’s so small, it doesn’t even fit—”

You squeeze a little tighter. He gasps.

“Tell me when,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I don’t wanna waste it. You’ve been hard for so long.”

“‘When’?” he pants.

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching. “I want to see what your cum looks like too.”

He shatters.

Just like that— hot, thick ropes spill out across your fingers, your hoodie, his shirt. You watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his whole body curls toward yours, hips stuttering, voice cracked and pleading into your shoulder. His cock throbs in your hand like it’s losing its mind. He sounds so helpless, so high and soft when he whimpers your name.

You stare at the mess.

“…Whoa.”

He’s panting against your cheek, totally limp. “That was so embarrassing.”

“It was awesome,” you breathe. “I made you cum.”

“I exploded in ten seconds.”

You stroke his hair. “I think you’re perfect.”

He melts a little into your chest.

“…You wanna see me next?” you whisper.

His head jerks up like a prairie dog.

Satoru’s still shaking.

You can feel it— his breath hot and unsteady on your neck, his heartbeat punching against your ribs where your bodies press together. Satoru Gojo just came all over your hand like some desperate teenager, having a wet dream, and you’re still standing in a movie theater bathroom, soaked to the skin and so turned on it’s getting hard to breathe.

His cum is sticky on your fingers. Warm, it smells faintly like salt and sugar, and he’s still leaning against you like he’s not sure how to stand on his own.

And then—

Your voice, soft and daring, nearly a whisper:

“…You wanna see me next?”

Satoru blinks. Eyes blown wide. Mouth parted, in disbelief.

“…Are you serious?”

You nod.

He looks stunned. “Like… your pussy?”

Your whole face burns.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, suddenly nervous. “If you want. I mean— I know it’s— kind of a lot, and maybe messy, but I just… I’ve never… shown anyone." You're looking down at the floor before you finish the rest of that sentence... then your eyes are darting back up to his face, blue eyes stargazed in disbelief. “And I want you to see.”

He’s speechless, Satoru is utterly speechless.

You fidget, heart thudding, tugging your hoodie down like it can hide the way your thighs are trembling, how wet you still are under your panties.

“I just thought… since I saw yours…”

His hand flies up, quick. Cupping your face, both of you look into each other's eyes.

“I want to,” he blurts. “I want to so bad I think I’m gonna die.”

You smile, shy and giddy. “Okay. Then… can you take my panties off?”

He gasps.

Like, actually gasps. Clutches his chest. Staggers backward like you hit him with a spell.

“Say that again,” he whispers.

You reach under your hoodie, slowly rolling your leggings down to your thighs, revealing just a sliver of your pale pink cotton panties, soaked straight through. There’s a wet patch over your pussy— obvious, shiny, and dark.

“Take them off,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please?”

He looks like he might cry.

“Oh my god,” he chokes. “You’re so wet you soaked through. That’s from me? From just— grinding on me?”

You nod, cheeks flushed. “You made me so wet I couldn’t focus on the movie.”

His hands are on your thighs now, huge and hot, trembling a little as he sinks to his knees in front of you like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. His glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them up, eyes fixed on your panties like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers, “but I wanna learn so bad.”

You’re breathing so fast your legs are shaking.

His fingers slide under the sides of your panties. He hesitates.

“Ready?” he asks, voice so soft.

You nod, in eager anticipation, like when you know you're about to rip a band-aid off. But... in this case, it's your soaked sticky ruined panties.

And he pulls them down.

Slow, slow, slow

The cotton clings to your cunt, like they're almost glued to you, but he gets them off with a firmer tug.

Your cunt glosses in the light.

Dripping. Swollen. Slick as fuck and twitching under his gaze. You clench a little just from the air, the tension, the way he’s looking at you like he just saw an angel squirt holy water.

He moans. Moans.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. I didn’t know it could do that.”

You giggle nervously. “It doesn’t usually. I think it’s a you thing.”

He gulps, audibly.

His eyes don’t leave your pussy, even as he leans forward, nose almost brushing your thigh.

“Can I… touch you?”

You feel your knees threaten to buckle.

“Yes.” You say with too much enthusiasm than you meant.

His fingers twitch. “I don’t know how.”

You grab his wrist and guide it...

His middle finger barely grazes your folds and you gasp, clenching, hips jumping forward.

“Oh fuck,” he moans. “That was barely anything. You’re shaking.”

“You touched my clit,” you pant. “It’s sensitive.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Oh my god. I love that you know what it’s called.”

You’re breathless, laughing a little. “I’ve read fanfiction. Have you not?”

“I have, but in those they just say ‘your little pearl’ and shit.”

You groan. “That’s not even close.”

He’s looking again, hand hovering like he’s terrified to mess it up.

“Okay, so… this is your clit,” he murmurs, grazing it again, watching how your whole body twitches. “It’s so tiny. But you sound like I electrocuted you when I touched it.”

You whimper, cause he's teasing... He's curious as well and doesn't fucking know how much him petting your clit actually affects you.

“You like that?” he whispers, a bit entranced. Crystalline blue eyes focusing on the sticky strands of your slick connected to his fingertips as they stretch when he rubs and pulls them off your glued pussylips.

“Y-yeah.”

He touches again, a little firmer... slower, really working your clit, the soft squelches audible, he really wants to taste it, the creamy thing webbing his fingers, the thought pounding in his head.. Would you be grossed out if he just shoved his fingers in his mouth right now and got a taste of that sappy cream?

You whimper louder, snapping his attention back from his lewd thoughts.

His voice is shaking. “Can you c-cum like this? Just from me touching you?”

You nod furiously. “If you keep going, Fuck. Please keep going.”

His thumb brushes you now, a bit more confidently.

“You’re dripping,” he mumbles. “It’s getting on my wrist, angel”

Your thighs snap shut, embarrassed.

But you’re so close and he’s still rubbing in slow, shaky circles and whispering your name and watching you like he’s studying for a test he’s gonna fail with honors. Your clit feels like it’s throbbing. You can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop whining.

And then—

“Cum for me,” he whispers, awed. “Please, please pretty girl, I wanna see.”

That makes your cunt clench, his voice the thing that makes you break instantly.

You clam up around nothing, crying out as your pussy gushes over his hand, wet and twitchy, making a fucking mess on his hoodie sleeve. Your knees give out. He catches you instantly, still on his knees, arms full of shaking, panting girl.

You’re sobbing in relief, thighs sticky, pussy still fluttering, and his hands are holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re so amazing,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I made you cum.”

You whimper. “You’re so good. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

He kisses your thigh.

Then your stomach, and makes his way up and then your lips, just to feel you.

Soft and careful, with utmost devotion and care.

And you melt against him, fucked out and flushed, pressed to his chest.

“…We should do this again,” he mumbles.

“Next time,” you pant, smiling, “I wanna see if you can make me squirt.”

He chokes, on what little air he's breathing.

But you’re still trembling.

Your panties are hanging off one ankle, his cum is drying on your sleeve, and your pussy is throbbing— still fluttering every now and then like your body can’t believe you actually came. You’re slumped against Satoru’s chest, half-limp, while he rubs soft little circles on your lower back like he’s trying to soothe an overstimulated kitten.

Time is passing and neither of you has said anything in the last full minute.

Except him whispering “holy fuck” under his breath every ten seconds like a mantra.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he finally says, voice all hushed reverence. “You came.”

You nod, agreeing lazily. Dazed, and still reeling in the high. “Like… a lot.”

“You squirted.”

“I did not.”

“There was liquid. Splash zone level.”

You slap his chest, giggling, but your thighs twitch. You’re so sensitive you could cry, your clit aches in that perfect, pulsing way that means it wants no more and yet… you’re still soaking wet.

And you feel it. That ache deeper inside you now. Heavy and throbbing. Unused.

Unsatisfied.

You shift against him, face buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and whisper:

“…Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to put your fingers in me.”

You feel him freeze. Every muscle goes stiff. His hands still on your back. You feel his dick— hard again— press against your thigh like it heard you first.

“Wha— what.”

You look up at him, breath shaky. “You made me cum from the outside. But I’ve never been touched inside.”

His ears go red.

“I— I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“You won’t.” You take his wrist, place his hand gently against your mound. “I trust you.”

He swallows hard. You begin to guide his fingers between your thighs again, letting him feel how wet you still are. You gasp a little just from the contact— still sensitive, still twitchy.

His voice comes out hoarse. “You’re soaked.”

“Just go slow,” you whisper. “I wanna know what it feels like.”

He moves down again and actually takes his jacket off and spreads it over the tiles beneath you. He's kneeling like it’s instinct now, reverent and worshipful. Like he belongs on the floor for you. He kisses your inner thigh once, sweet and shaky, then stares between your legs like he’s seeing magic.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

You nod, open for him by parting your thighs, trembling ever so slightly.

His fingers sliding along your sappy folds, middle finger inching closer to your hole's opening, more slick gathers and pools at it tries to worm its way in.

You gasp at the feeling.. a bit in fear and uncertainty, but he's so gentle, holding you tighter against him.

His finger begins to push in, your tiny hole fighting him, the intrusion. It's nothing like you've ever felt.

Satoru’s breathing stops entirely.

“You’re tight,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re— fuck, you’re so warm, I can feel your pulse.”

You whimper. “Go slow. Just the tip.”

He pushes a little, and you clench involuntarily, sucking him in just a bit.

He moans. Actually moans. Like you’re the one touching him.

“Angel, you’re gripping me.”

You bury your face in your sleeve, whining. “It’s not fair. Your fingers are big.”

He curls his finger just slightly— experimenting— and your entire body jolts.

“Oh— oh fuck!” you cry out.

His eyes go wide. “Was that— was that good?”

“D-do it again,” you pant.

He does. Gentler, carefully pressing just right, and your walls flutter around him so tightly it’s like your body doesn’t know how to handle it.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles. “You’re sucking me in.”

You grab his wrist. “Try two.”

He stares. “Are you sure?”

“Please, Satoru.”

You’re breathless, begging.

He shivers like it physically affects him.

He slides another finger in— and your pussy stretches around him, tighter than he expected. Your mouth drops open. Your thighs twitch.

“Oh my god,” you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me— I can’t move,” he moans.

You rock your hips, helping him, whining through your teeth.

It’s deep. It’s thick. He curls again— and you sob, eyes fluttering back.

“There— oh my god there, right there—”

His fingers are hooked now, rubbing that spongey spot deep inside that makes your eyes cross. His thumb finds your clit on instinct, and suddenly you’re wailing, your whole body shaking, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers he can barely move.

You cum again, messier and needy. Your velvet walls constricting his fingers in waves.

And he watches, awed, wrecked. His other hand supporting you as your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

He doesn’t even pull out.

He just whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”

And you start crying.

Happy tears. Dumb overwhelmed tears. Because no one’s ever touched you like this, seen you like this, loved your body with nothing but his hands and awe.

He kisses your forehead.

You sniffle. “I want you inside me someday.”

He nods. “Me too.”

“…But I might have to train for it.”

He laughs, breathless. “Me too. My heart can’t take this.”

You null away on his chest for a minute. Exhausted by everything your body's endured tonight, your panties still on the floor, his arms still secured tight around you and he press soft kisses to to top of your head.

Eventually when he slowly eases his fingers out of you, you're relaxed, no longer holding them hostage, it slides out with a flurry of slick gushing out, all what's been welling up and stuffed inside your cunt for the entire time.

He rubs it up and down your pussylips then into your clit one last time before he's bringing his fingers to his lips, and moaning as your flavour hits his tongue. Finally, getting a taste of you and he couldn't be more pleased at the tangy-sweetness of it.

Satoru licks his fingers clean, savouring it and after he's the one reaching for your panties, tugging them back up along with your leggings as he tells you softly to, "Raise your hips for me please, angel. Good girl, just like that." You do, and he secures them back in place, cunt still pulsing. Fresh slick soaking your panties again.

Satoru stands first, all long limbs and easy grace and he reaches down for you next. His hands are warm as he pulls you up from the bathroom floor. His jacket lies there still, a dark wet patch blooming where your cunt had soaked through.

Heat floods your cheeks, you're quick to mumble an apology, eyes glassy with leftover pleasure and sudden shyness.

He just chuckles softly. Bends to snatch the jacket up like it’s nothing. He balls it in one hand and tucks it under his arm.

“Shh, angel. It’s fine.”

He cups your face, thumbs brushing your flushed skin. Then he kisses you slow and deep, tasting like sin and sweetness. “One wash and it’ll be brand new. Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t tell you he plans to keep it exactly like this. A filthy little souvenir, from tonight.

His fingers lace with yours as he leads you out of the stall. The movie is long forgotten. He keeps you tucked close against his side the whole way through the emptying theater. The night air hits cool when you step outside.

In the car he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Possessive and gentle.

Later that night you lie in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your phone glows in the dark. Heart hammering, you type the silly questions anyway.

you 🩷 so… are we... dating? omg omg am i your girlfriend now?!

His reply comes instantly.

toru 🩵 i knew we were soulmates when you asked to see my dick aaaand called it "pretty" ilysm angel omg

You giggle into your pillow, face burning. Your chest feels too full. Tonight was crazy. Wild and messy and perfect.

But now one, no two orgasms later and Satoru Gojo is yours. Officially. The nerd from the Doraemon expo.

You fall asleep smiling stupidly into your pillow, already wondering when you’ll feel his hands on you again.

[levitonin]

sensei is tired

[kaiserresque]

Molecular romance

One awkward smile, two 'study mates', and a love story that’s chemically inevitable.

Synopsis: You only stopped at his science fair booth out of pity—but the tall, nervous guy with crooked glasses and a galaxy model has other plans.

Satoru Gojo is brilliant, awkward, and talking a mile a minute about black holes like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. You weren’t looking for a tutor. Or a crush. But he’s got stars in his eyes—and maybe, now, so do you.

Pairing: Nerd!Gojo Satoru x reader

Genre: MDNI, College AU, Fluff, Slow-burn-ish, friends to lovers, attempt at humour

Warnings: Mentions of virginity/first kiss, hookup culture, crude humour, minor argument, kissing, making out, testing the boundaries of friendship big time.

Masterlist

The sharp scent of alcohol markers and someone’s aggressively microwaved breakfast clings to the air of the classroom. You burst through the door, the morning sun doing nothing to hide the grin stretching across your face.

With a pep in your step that borders on suspicious, you weave past the yawning students and caffeine zombies until you spot your target.

Gojo is already at his desk—impossibly upright and offensively awake—tidy notes laid out with precision.

His hair is still damp, curling faintly at the ends, a single droplet clinging to his jawline before slipping under the collar of his hoodie. His glasses are fogged faintly from the chill of outside meeting the warmth of the room. He’s wiping them with his sleeve when he finally notices you.

Gojo's mouth instantly pulls into that sideways, fond smile, reserved specifically for you.

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who almost failed the last lab quiz,” he remarks, one brow raised over the rim of his lenses.

“Well,” you say, sliding into the seat he’s saved for you. “I’m expecting you to score a date today.”

Gojo sighs. “Do you really think that'll work?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, already digging for your notebook. “Someone’s finally going to break their celibacy streak.”

“Could you not call it that?”

“Could you not stall?” you fire back, holding out your hand. “Phone, please. Don’t fight me on this.”

He hesitates, fingers brushing the edge of his pocket as though the phone might bite him. But before he can hand it over, the professor sweeps into the room, and everyone groans in unison.

You flop dramatically forward on your desk. “Rude.”

Gojo just smirks faintly, tucking the phone back into his hoodie pocket. When he sits back, though, you notice that he angles himself a little closer to you. His elbow brushes yours, just barely. And you don’t move away.

The lecture begins.

You hear almost none of it. Every mention of valence electrons turns to static while you absently doodle stars and crooked hearts in the margins of your notes.

But your eyes keep darting sideways. To the way he taps his pen against his thigh. To the way he mouths the professor’s words just a beat behind, syncing with a rhythm only he seems to hear.

You think you’re being subtle, catching little glimpses of him without being caught.

Until Gojo's eyes flick up and find yours.

His gaze snags yours and holds it just long enough for the back of your neck to warm before he looks back down at his notes, the faintest tinge of pink dusting the tops of his ears.

And just a few moments later, his hand moves. Slowly, lazily, like they have nowhere better to be, his fingers drift from their place on his own notebook and hover near yours, before resting lightly over your hand on the desk.

The warmth of it sinks into your skin, his thumb brushing idly against your knuckles. Neither of you move. His fingers curl just slightly, pressing yours gently into the wood in the quietest squeeze.

“Would you sit still?” he murmurs, voice soft enough that the scratch of pens almost drowns it out. “You’re distracting.”

Your head tilts into the contact for half a second too long before he pulls away, his hand retreating like nothing happened.

When the bell rings, you shoot up like a spark, practically snatching Gojo's phone right out of his hand.

“You have a match,” you announce, triumphant as the screen lights up.

Gojo blinks, surprised. “A match?”

“She’s pretty." You spin the phone toward him with a grin. "Like, drinks oat milk and does pilates pretty.”

He leans closer to see, brows drawing together slightly. “Seriously?”

“Has a liking for Astronomy, long walks, Iced Americanos,” you recite as you scroll.

“Huh,” he mutters.

“That’s it? Just Huh?” you tease, giving him a look.

“She seems.... fine,” he says flatly.

“Well, you can thank me later,” you say, already thumbing through the app to compose a message.

He doesn’t stop you. Just sits there quietly while the classroom empties around you.

The hum of chatter outside the classroom drifts in as the door bangs shut behind the last student. The room is quiet now but for the faint the slow tick of the wall clock.

By the time you’re halfway through typing some charming opener on his behalf, you notice he hasn’t moved.

Hasn’t even looked at the screen.

You glance at him, frowning slightly—and catch the way his fingers keep fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, twisting the fabric like he’s trying to wring the nerves out of it.

That’s when you realize something’s wrong. You lower the phone to the desk, watching him carefully.

“She’s super cute,” you say, voice light, testing the waters. “Right?”

He nods once, almost mechanically. “Yeah. Cute.”

It’s flat and empty. Like he’s reading it off the back of a cereal box.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s the least convincing cute I’ve ever heard.”

Gojo exhales through his nose. His knee bounces once, then stops.

“Satoru,” you say, a little softer. “It’s just a date. You’ll be fine.”

But he doesn’t even glance at you. His thumb picks anxiously at the corner of his notebook.

“That’s not the point,” he mutters.

You frown, sitting back. “Then what is?”

He finally tips his head back, as if the ceiling might have the answer, jaw tight.

“Come on,” you say again, pressing further. “Spit it out.”

“Forget it." He says, leaning back in his chair. "I just... you wouldn't understand.”

That one lands sharper than he probably intended.

You huff, the faint sting in your chest catching you off guard. “Oh. So now I’m too dumb to understand?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shoot back, sitting up straighter. “Right after I practically handed you a date on a silver platter, you tell me to mind my own business?”

He shifts in his seat, leaning forward like he’s about to say something, but then stops. His hands clench in his lap.

“Yeah, well…” he finally mumbles, eyes hard on the desk. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You ever think maybe I don’t want you running my life all the time?”

For a second you just stare, because the words feel so damn foreign out of his mouth.

You laugh, the sound bitter and clipped. “That’s actually impressive. You managed to make me feel like an idiot and regret helping you all at once.”

Gojo freezes, like he only just registered the words that came out of his mouth. His head snaps toward you, face flushing pale. “Wait — no. That’s not what I—”

But you’re already standing, grabbing your bag.

“Don’t bother,” you cut him off, slinging it over your shoulder. “I won’t get in your way anymore.”

“Wait—” he tries again, standing halfway, guilt twisting across his face.

You approach the door and maybe it’s petty, or maybe it’s just necessary, but you don’t call him Satoru.

“Good luck on your date, Gojo.”

The way you say his name—Gojo, not Satoru—feels like a door closing in his face.

You leave without looking back.

The canteen feels colder without you sitting across from him, your laughter still faint in the back of his mind. He sits there long after you’ve left, staring at his phone like maybe if he stares at it hard enough, it'll light up with a text from you.

“Stupid,” he mutters under his breath, voice cracking faintly. “That’s… not what I meant.”

His hand hovers over your name in his contacts more than once. But he doesn’t click on it.

The truth is, he doesn’t care about some oat milk drinking, pilates going stranger.

He never did.

When you smiled at him in that classroom, when your elbow brushed his, when your hand stayed under his and you didn't move it away—he thought, maybe. Maybe you knew.

But you don’t.

And he’s too much of a coward to tell you.

—⋆ ☁︎ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ☾ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ☁︎ ⋆ —

Gojo paces in his room for what feels like hours. The message is typed, then deleted, then typed again.

I'm sorry.

You weren’t a bother.

I didn’t mean it.

Come back. Please.

Each one dies before it can get delivered to you, his thumb hovering, yet wavering just as quickly.

So he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

He shows up at your door. No warning, and certainly no text.

Just him standing under the jaundiced glow of your porch light, hair sticking up at odd angles like he’d run nervous fingers through it. His sneakers scuff nervously at the welcome mat, eyes wide and glassy like a deer in headlights.

You freeze for half a beat, hand clutching the edge of the door frame.

And he just stares—soft, awkward and hopelessly him.

You sigh and step aside without a word, and he slips inside with the ease of someone who's been here a thousand times before.

Gojo doesn’t beat around the bush or offer a forced excuse. He just sinks onto the edge of your couch, shoulders hunched, hands buried in the sleeves of his hoodie. Looking every bit like a stray cat that finally realized it might’ve bitten the only hand that fed it.

You sit at the far end, curled in the corner of the sofa, legs tucked up, face turned away from him.

He draws in a breath. “Please don’t do this to me.”

You still don’t look at him. “Do what?”

“This,” he says, gesturing helplessly between the two of you. “This thing where you won’t even look at me—”

He breaks off. Your fingers tighten where they curl against the armrest.

“I can’t—” he tries again, throat bobbing. “I can’t stand it when you won’t look at me.”

You finally look up at that. Because how could you not when he sounds like that?

His eyes are red-rimmed, lashes clumped slightly at the ends like he rubbed at them too hard, like maybe he was afraid he’d cry on the walk over.

“Fine,” you say, arms crossing defensively. “I’m looking.”

Gojo exhales a breath of relief, before speaking up again. “I messed up,”

You scoff. “No kidding.”

“I really messed up,” he amends, like that’ll earn him points.

You don’t reply.

He shifts slightly, digging into the front pocket of his hoodie, fishing for something, and out comes a brown paper bag folded neatly at the top.

You blink, dumbfounded. “…Is that—”

Gojo nods sheepishly. “Yeah. That pastry you like. The, uh…” He trails off, wrinkling his nose. “The bougie one with the French name that sounds like a sneeze.”

“…Financier?”

“That. I walked thirty minutes for it. The barista said they were out but then I did the face.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What face?”

He scrunches his face dramatically—pursed lips, eyes huge and wet like a cartoon. “Please ma’am. My best friend’s mad at me and this is the only thing that might make her like me again.”

Despite yourself, a little laugh bubbles out. His head snaps up instantly, as though he’s been starved for that sound and can’t bear to miss a second.

And you swear, in that moment, he actually glows. His expression softens into a grin so dumb, so earnest, it almost makes your chest hurt.

“So,” he says, voice hopeful. “We’re okay now?”

You take the bag slowly. Your fingers brush his when you do, and he stills, barely breathing.

You eye him for a long beat, and then say, “You’re lucky I’m food-motivated.”

You make quick work of the bag, the sweet, rich fragrance of the pastry escaping in soft, delicious curls of warmth.

You nibble at the corner, a soft sound of approval slipping out as the dessert nearly melts against your tongue. It’s still warm, soft in the center, with that faint hint of almond that makes your eyes flutter close for a second.

When you open them back though, Gojo’s staring straight at you.

Not subtly.

You blink, pastry halfway to your mouth. “You’re gonna burn a hole through my face at this rate.”

His eyes widen slightly as he clears his throat. “Wasn’t staring.”

“You literally haven’t blinked in forty-five seconds.”

“I’m contemplating,” he says, voice mock-serious.

“Contemplating what? The angle of my jaw while I eat?”

“No,” Gojo huffs, ears going pink. “Yes. I mean—no. Shut up.”

You laugh and take another slow bite just to mess with him. “You better go on that date tomorrow, Satoru. If you bail, I’m never reactivating your account.”

He sighs, dragging his hand over his face. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good. And you better be ready.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” you reply cryptically.

He frowns. “Everything?”

You shrug, brushing the crumbs from your fingers. “You don't know when things could escalate. What if she gives you a goodnight kiss?”

Gojo goes stock-still. The color drains from his cheeks before rushing right back in twice as dark. “A wh-what?”

You pause, eyeing him. “You have kissed someone before… right?”

His shoulders stiffen, gaze darting anywhere but at you—the table, the ceiling, his own lap. “Uh. Define kissed.”

You drop the remnants of your sweet bread with a thunk. “Oh my god.”

He winces, sinking into the couch like he wants to become one with the cushions.

“Satoru.”

"I know."

"You're twenty-freaking-one."

“I’ve been busy!”

You arch a brow, leaning forward. “Doing what, exactly? Taking a vow of chastity?”

“With school and avoiding failure!” He throws his hands up, knocking over a napkin. “And maybe also… fear of being bad at it.”

You stifle a laugh, watching him squirm. “So you’re actually nervous about kissing? That’s kind of cute.”

He huffs, crossing his arms but avoiding your eyes. His knees bounce under the table. “Excuse me for not wanting to humiliate myself the first time.”

“Well, lucky for you…” you drawl, eyes glinting as you bat your lashes with exaggerated sweetness.

Gojo freezes, suspicion written all over his face. “…Lucky for me?”

“You’ve got me,” you hum, inching closer and closer until he’s practically backed into the couch cushions. “And I am an excellent teacher.”

“...No.”

“Yes.”

“No way in hell.”

“Do you wanna embarrass yourself on the first date?” you counter, calm as ever.

“I’ll figure it out!”

“By all means,” you say, rolling your eyes and leaning back. “Fumble your own bag. Who needs a love life anyway?”

“I’m not kissing you.” he declares, but the way he’s fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie and pointedly not meeting your line of sight says otherwise.

“It’s purely academic.” You reach over, brushing a crumb off his hoodie. “And you have nice lips, Satoru.”

He jerks back like you slapped him. “That’s—that’s irrelevant—”

“It’s entirely relevant,” you say, leaning back on your hands. “You’ve got the tools, just no training.”

He purses his lips, going quiet for a stretched moment before speaking up.

“…You’re serious?” he says, voice so small it almost disappears.

You smile. “Why wouldn’t I be? Friends help each other out.”

Gojo hesitates.

Because he knows. Knows that you’re teasing. Knows you’ve always flirted in that particular way only you can manage—close enough to confuse him, yet never close enough to catch.

But this feels different. His gaze drops to your mouth, and then back up.

“…Okay,” he mutters, barely above a whisper.

You blink. “Really?”

“…For uh— research,” he adds weakly, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

You snort. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

But your hands find his cheeks anyway, tilting his face toward you, closing the gap.

You press your lips against his in a soft, chaste kiss—barely more than a brush—and his breath stutters against your cheek. His hands are fisted against his knees, knuckles white, and you can’t help but be amused at how hard he’s working not to reach for more.

“Relax,” you whisper against his lips, smiling when his shoulders loosen just a little.

He’s so rigid it’s adorable, like someone rewound his spine into a spring.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, nudging your nose against his. “Do I intimidate you, Satoru?”

“I’m fine,” he breathes, but you know it's a lie.

You kiss him again, this time with more intent. Gojo responds slower, like he’s still trying to figure out which part of him is supposed to move first.

You take the lead, hand curling into his hoodie, coaxing him closer until his palm lands on your hip. He makes a sound then—a desperate little groan muffled into your mouth—and it sends a shiver down your spine.

You shift closer, swinging a leg over his lap, straddling him without warning. The couch dips and groans beneath you both as your knees bracket his thighs. He gasps faintly when your fingers slide into his hair and pull, his hands clenching instinctively at your hips.

The kiss quickly turns messier—his lips already a little swollen, breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. His hands slide up your thighs, unsure but desperate, fingers flexing like he’s afraid he’s imagining it all. You bite at his lower lip, and his hips jolt up before he can stop himself.

By the time you finally pull back, hauling yourself off of him, both of you are flushed and breathing hard. Gojo looks absolutely wrecked—glasses crooked, lips red and kiss-bitten, eyes dazed.

He swallows hard, then clears his throat, like that might somehow clear the heat from his face.

“…So,” he says finally, voice hoarse but trying for casual, “that was… educational.”

You snort, leaning back just enough to look at him. “You’re not the worst student I’ve ever had.”

That earns you a weak little laugh.

But his fingers are fidgeting in his lap now, tugging at the edge of his hoodie like it might save him, or at least give his hands something to do besides reaching back for the warmth of your body against his.

His eyes dart down to your mouth again, linger just a second too long, then flick back up to yours.

“…We’re still friends, right?”

You tilt your head lazily, wiping the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb. “Obviously.”

Tags: @tonuhye @vynn30 @bakugouswaif @silkgardenias @gielwinchester9 @coffeeluvr96 @applepi405 @victorianxox-blog @minasuniverse @r9muka @n4me @goonforgeto @allysainz @jcissors

@fictionalmenlover5 @duydyycfuu @slightystressed @qngelq2666 @urmotherswhor3 @girlywhooooops @lumiamoureads

@kianatrg @maaic @libr4sonsa @moonlight-inthe-sea @kkataleena @petaltheory @mikadrawsstuff

@reveriennn @sbicybb @torusbbg @mooskie @satotorulove @shoruio @muscovitechick @d34ly @arabellasolstice @forever-paramore28 @enouche

[levitonin]

Haven't you had enough of gojo satoru ?

[3-aem]

Exercise

[msgojo]

Someone about you

CEO!gojo (used to be a nerd and a 'creep') x Trophy Wife!reader

✦ You live in a perfectly pink, pampered bubble as the wife of billionaire Executive, the Satoru Gojo. But while organizing his stuffs, you stumble upon a dusty box from your husband's university days and uncover a heartbreaking secret... your brilliant, untouchable husband used to be the somewhat the opposite of the man you've been seeing today.

★ ˙🧷#: fluff, comfort, heavy angst, gojo was depressed during his college days, reader is a bimbo but she's really sweet and kind, she's popular, gojo used to be the weird, creep in the university

art cr: @linobii_ and @blackvoidstar

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯✦•┈

The closet smelled of jasmine, vanilla, and the heavy, grounding cedarwood of his cologne.

You stood before the glass, smoothing the hem of a designer tweed skirt, turning left and right. "Babe," you called out, shifting your weight from one plush slipper to the other. "Is the matching headband too much, or is it just the right amount of extra?"

A pair of long, black-suited arms wrapped around your midsection from behind. Satoru dropped his chin onto your shoulder, his striking blue eyes crinkling at the corners as a soft smile tugged at his lips. Without his usual dark sunglasses, he looked entirely soft, relaxed, and utterly yours.

"There is no such thing as too much pink, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing a warm kiss to the side of your neck. "You look perfect. They’re going to adore you. Just smile, let them buy your charity auction tickets, and look beautiful."

You giggled, turning in his embrace to loop your arms around his neck. "I can do that. Being married to you is a full-time job, you know. Very exhausting."

"I compensate you well, don't I?" he teased, nipping gently at your lower lip before pulling you into a slow, deep kiss that tasted like the sweet morning coffee he always shared with you.

You loved your life. Satoru was the brilliant, wealth-laden chief executive of a massive corporate empire, a man feared in boardrooms and fawned over by the media. But to you, he was just your doting, slightly codependent husband who left love notes on the bathroom mirror and let you decorate his sleek, minimalist apartment with pastel throw pillows.

You didn't know much about his past, other than the fact that he went to the same massive university you did. You had graduated with a degree in fashion merchandising— which mostly consisted of looking cute in the front row and passing with a solid C-plus— while he had apparently been some sort of tech and business prodigy. You hadn't known him back then. Your university days had been a blur of bright tracksuits, sorority mixers, and gossiping with your girls. You lived in your own bubbly, glittery bubble. You didn't pay attention to the boys who didn't open doors for you.

You certainly hadn't noticed him.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯✦•┈

The lunch was a massive success. You had charmed the older executives' spouses, secured a large donation for the animal shelter you patronized, and by the time you got home, your feet were aching from your heels.

Satoru wasn't home yet, so you decided to do a little tidying of his private study— a room you usually left alone because it was filled with boring financial binders. But today, you wanted to surprise him by organizing a chaotic stack of old boxes he’d brought from his family’s storage unit last week.

You pulled down a dusty, heavy cardboard box labeled 'Uni - Tokyo'

"Let's see what corporate secrets my tech-genius hubby was hiding," you hummed to yourself, sitting cross-legged on the rug and popping the tape.

Expecting old textbooks or business models, you were surprised when the first thing you pulled out was a thick, black sketchbook. Curious, you opened it.

The pages weren't filled with art. They were filled with dense, manic scribbles. Ink scratches so heavy they almost tore through the paper.

Why are they looking at me?

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Don't look at them. Just look down.

I hate it here.

Your breath caught. You flipped the pages further, your heart dropping into your stomach. There were no names, just dark paragraphs detailing a crushing, suffocating loneliness. The handwriting was jagged, completely unlike Satoru’s current elegant script.

Beneath the journal was a stack of old student IDs and photographs. You picked up an old identification card.

The name read Gojo Satoru. But the picture... the picture broke your heart.

It was Satoru, but entirely unrecognizable. His beautiful white hair was long, unkempt, and shaggily chopped, hanging over his face like a curtain to hide behind. He was wearing thick, outdated, prescription glasses that completely obscured his eyes. He looked painfully thin, slouching deep into an oversized, stained gray hoodie. He looked like... a ghost. An outcast. The kind of guy people avoided in the hallways because he looked entirely detached from reality.

Suddenly, memories you had buried deep in your brain came rushing back.

"Eurghh, did you see the guy in the back of the library? He was staring again."

"Don't look at him, he’s strange. He literally doesn't speak to anyone."

"I heard he sits in the dark computer lab for twelve hours straight."

You gasped, a hand flying to your mouth. That was him... The campus pariah. The one everyone whispered about, the one who looked so miserable and isolated that people actively crossed the street to avoid him. You had never participated in the cruel rumors—your brain was usually too occupied with matching your lip gloss to your outfits— but you had never stopped to help him, either. You had just walked right past him, laughing with your friends.

At the very bottom of the box, a small, laminated photo fell out.

You picked it up. It was a candid photo of you.

You were standing by the campus fountain, wearing a bright sundress, laughing hysterically at something a friend had said, holding an iced latte. The photo was taken from a distance, slightly blurry, through what looked like a long-distance lens. On the back, written in that same jagged, shaky handwriting, were the words:

She looks like spring. I wish I was alive enough to talk to her.

A tear slipped from your eye, splashing onto the plastic lamination. Your chest ached with a sudden, violent wave of sorrow. While you were living in a pastel dream, the love of your life had been drowning in a pitch-black ocean, staring at you from the shore, believing he was completely unworthy of affection.

The front door of the penthouse clicked open.

"Sweetheart? I'm home early!" Satoru's cheerful voice echoed through the hallway.

You couldn't answer. Your throat was tight.

Hearing no response, his heavy footsteps approached the study. "Babe? Are you–"

Satoru stopped dead in his tracks. He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. The open box. The journal. The old ID card. And the photo of you in his hands.

The color drained from Satoru’s face. The confident, untouchable executive vanished in a split second, replaced by a terrified boy. His shoulders tensed, dropping into that familiar, defensive slouch from the old photo.

"You... you found that," he whispered, his voice cracking. He looked exposed, stripped raw. He didn't move, terrified that if he came closer, you would look at him with the same disdain the rest of the world had shown him back then. "I'm sorry. I forgot that box was in there. I... i was different back then, you know, i was unwell, messed up. I know it's strange that I had that picture of you. If you want to leave, I–"

You didn't let him finish.

You scrambled to your feet, dropping the photo, and threw yourself across the room. You slammed into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face into his expensive suit jacket.

Satoru froze, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't know what to do with his hands until he felt your body shaking against his. You were crying.

"Hey... hey, princess, don't cry," he panicked, his hands immediately finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. "It's okay. It's in the past. I'm normal now, I swear. I clean up nice for you, don't I?" He tried to joke, but his voice was trembling with a profound, aching vulnerability.

"I'm so sorry," you sobbed into his chest, clutching the fabric of his jacket. "I'm so sorry I didn't see you. I'm sorry you were so alone."

Satoru’s heart skipped a beat. Of all the reactions he had feared— disgust, mockery, fear— he hadn't expected your overwhelming warmth. He hadn't expected your gentle heart to reach backward through time to heal a wound he thought would bleed forever.

"Oh, sweetheart..." Satoru sighed, the tension melting out of his frame. He lifted you easily, carrying you over to the study's plush leather sofa. He sat down, keeping you securely on his lap, cradling you like something fragile. He buried his face in your jasmine-scented hair, breathing you in.

"You don't have to be sorry," he murmured softly, stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. "You were the only bright thing in that entire place. You have no idea."

"You were so sad," you whimpered, wiping your nose on his shoulder, not caring that you were ruining his designer suit. "Those journals... Satoru, nobody should have to feel like that."

"I was really down," he admitted quietly, the honesty heavy in the quiet room. "My family put so much pressure on me to take over the company, and I hated myself. I hated everything. I didn't take care of myself. I thought I was a ghost. But then I'd see you walking across the quad, practically glowing in pink, smiling at everyone, being so sweet to the stray cats on campus... and it reminded me that the world wasn't completely gray."

You looked up at him, your eyes red and watery. "Why didn't you just come talk to me? I was so superficial back then, Satoru, I would have talked to literally anyone who complimented my shoes."

Satoru let out a genuine, wet laugh, his blue eyes shining with a mixture of leftover tears and adoration. "Babe, look at what I looked like. I was a disaster. I didn't want to bring my darkness into your pretty little world. I just wanted to admire you from afar. You were my anchor, even if you didn't know it."

You cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. "Well, I know it now. And you are never, ever going back to that dark place. Do you hear me? You're my husband. You're brilliant, and handsome, and you deserve all the love in the world."

Satoru’s eyes softened, a profound sense of relief washing over him, completely erasing the ghosts of his university days. The scared, lonely boy inside him finally felt safe.

"I know," Satoru whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "I have you now. My beautiful, sweet girl. You're my whole world."

"And don't you forget it," you sniffled, finally offering him a small, watery smile. "Now, carry me to the bedroom. My feet hurt from lunch, and you need to take this suit off so I can hold you properly."

Satoru grinned, the brilliant, blinding smile that you loved so much. He stood up, scooping you into his arms effortlessly. "Your wish is my command, princess."

As he carried you out of the dark study and into the warm, sunlit bedroom filled with the scent of vanilla and pink pillows, Satoru knew that the past didn't matter anymore. The gray days were over.

The rest of his life was entirely yours— bright, sweet, and filled with love.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦•┈๑⋅⋯✦•┈

hi y'all!!! i really missed writing and posting 😢 i got alot of msg in my submissions and it just gave me more motivation to writeee! i love you all smm!! 🥹🥹🫶🏻 I also got so busy in my life lately, sorry for not being active for awhile 😓

[ritsatoru]

HELL YEAHHHH

[asiatic-apple]

Satoru likes when you stay over and forget to bring a change of clothes

He thanks his lucky stars for having such a forgetful girlfriend. It's your scatterbrained moments that always grace Satoru with one of his favorite sights: you wearing one of his oversized black tees. The way it hugs your body makes his cock throb and harden embarrassingly fast.

He's impatient to find out what lies beneath the hem. Sometimes you go bare, shyly tugging it down when it rides up your thighs. His fingers itch to explore under the edge of his shirt and find out if you're already as riled up as he is.

It's hard to believe anything else could beat easy access to your pretty pussy. Especially when the only thing covering you is a shirt that screams 'Property of the strongest sorcerer!' He was so wrong; there's something even better.

You slide back into bed with an amused smile on your face, and that should have been his first clue that he was in for another round of mind-blowing sex (even though you both said you'd stop after round four earlier). Oblivious to what awaits him, Satoru eagerly pulls you onto his lap, excited to feel you pressed against him again. He's a bit disappointed when he feels soft cloth covering your pretty pussy, but then you chuckle at his pout and bunch his shirt up at your waist.

The sight that greets him knocks the air out of his lungs. He's not even sure why it turns him on so much, but it does. His black boxer briefs are stretched snugly over your plush hips, the fabric hugging your curves obscenely. His mouth goes dry when he notices the swell of your puffy folds through the thin fabric. 

With the heightened sensations from Six Eyes, Satoru feels like he could cum on the spot.

"F-fuck," he whispers, voice cracking like he's going through puberty again. "You're wearing my underwear?"

He can't stop staring. Can't stop the rush of thoughts blaring in his head—like how hot it is that your perfect, dripping cunt is pressed against the same fabric that usually cups his cock. When you roll your hips once, grinding against his painfully hard length, he feels a small dampness. You’re soaking through his underwear. His clothes… his scent clinging to your skin… his, his, all his—oh fuck, he's definitely going to cum, and you've barely even touched him yet.

You're playing such a dirty game, and he's putty in your hands.

Satoru Gojo—the biggest hotshot sorcerer there is—turns into a whimpering, pathetic man that night. All because he wants to see just how much of a sloppy mess you can leave in his boxers. And after he's satisfied with how messy you make them, he doesn't want to wash them any time soon. He knows it's nasty, but he's always been a pervert when it comes to you.