s t a r

25 she/her

[kushexi]

Biker Geto!! 🏍️

[nayrring]

"I watch demon slayer for the plot"

The plot :

[baobei-bu]

I kinda like his fashion sense

[romiiarts]

Long distance

[levitonin]

It's him he's the princess

[rainzelenia]

This is what I imagine when reading nerdjo fanfics

Art credits @nekozuu_ from instagram

[jetblackfeeling]

[murdamour]

This is a very short story of Geto's attempt to watch his marine life documentary🥹

[curryluvr69]

[owwllly]

irresistible eyes

[curryluvr69]

[dan-rar]

Nerd Gojo!!!

[gojougf-deactivated20250223]

convergence theory

pairing ⸺ tutor nerdjo! x student! reader

summary ⸺ desperate to pass your maths subject required for you to pass your psych major, you reluctantly accept satoru gojo's help after a botched tutoring request. what starts as a mutually beneficial arrangement—he needs your uncle's influence for an event, and you need help with calculus—quickly turns into something more complicated.

word count ⸺ 26.6k (heh)

warnings ⸺ smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, virgin!gojo, oral (both m and f receiving), college AU, nerd!gojo, gojo is like really fucking annoying, switch gojo!, mentions of food, fem! reader, lmk if i missed any

“This is simply not enough, (name). If you want to pass, you need at least 50 percent. I’ll let you retake the required modules and assessments, but I strongly suggest hiring a tutor.”

Your professor sighs, rubbing his temple as you grimace in displeasure.

College math.

The bane of your existence.

Why you needed to pass a math module just to earn extra credit for your psychology major was beyond ridiculous. You had never been particularly good at math, always gravitating toward English or science-related subjects. Nothing too sciency, though. Psychology made sense—it was theory-based, more about understanding people than crunching numbers. It wasn’t the kind of science that required you to calculate how many moles of carbon were left after a reaction or figure out what would happen if a car crashed into a wall at 60 km/h. 

“I can personally recommend last year’s top student—full marks in every assessment and module. He might be available, assuming he doesn’t already have a full roster of students. If you can wait a little longer, he’ll be here soon to pick up last week’s student projects. He’s my TA this semester.”

Your professor’s voice takes on a rare note of approval as he talks about this so-called star student—someone impressive enough to earn the admiration of a man who had docked half your marks over the method rather than the answer.

You nod stiffly, setting your bag down beside you before sinking into the chair across from his desk. You could wait—had to wait, if you wanted even the slightest chance of scraping a pass in this godforsaken breadth subject. The measly 40% scrawled across your paper seemed to mock you, glaring up at you as if it, too, had given up on your ability to solve for x.

Tuning out the professor’s ongoing praise of this so-called star student, you try to focus on anything else. Honestly, how much more could he go on about this guy? It was getting exhausting. You weren’t here to listen to a TED Talk about some math genius—you were here because your GPA was hanging by a thread, and apparently, this person was your last hope of saving it.

Now, by no means were you dumb. Far from it. Some people just weren’t built for numbers, and unfortunately, you happened to be one of them. But when it came to the subjects you were good at? You thrived—aced every exam, topped your classes, excelled in ways that made professors take notice. Just… not in math. Never in math.

And yet, here you were. Waiting.

At least your waiting was cut short when he walked in.

White hair gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the professor’s office, strands falling effortlessly over cerulean eyes framed by almost impossibly pale lashes. He was tall—really tall—with an easy, unshaken confidence that made it clear he was fully aware of the attention his presence commanded. A navy-blue sweater hung loosely over his broad frame, the soft fabric contrasting against the sharp tailoring of his crisp black slacks. And—were those dress shoes?

Yeah. Okay. You could admit it—this guy was hot. But it wasn’t just his face (which, to be fair, looked like it belonged on a magazine cover). It was the way he carried himself, the unbothered ease in his posture, the quiet yet unmistakable I-know-I’m-better-than-you energy that radiated off of him.

And suddenly, you understood why your professor held him in such high regard. He didn’t just look like the type of person who aced every exam—he looked like the president of some elite quantum mechanics club, the kind of person who thrived on things like advanced calculus and theoretical physics for fun.

Great. Just great.

“(Name), this is Satoru Gojo. Satoru, this is (Name).. She’s struggling with the content this semester and needs extra help if she wants to pass alongside her major. I was just telling her how brilliant you are and hoping you might have the time to tutor her—of course, only if your schedule isn’t already full.”

You try not to visibly flinch at the way your professor phrases it, as if you’re some hopeless case in dire need of salvation from this so-called prodigy. Seriously? He could’ve at least sugarcoated it a little in front of Satoru.

But as your professor speaks, his voice takes on a warmth that’s… weirdly affectionate. And when you glance over, you’re met with the absolute worst thing you could have imagined—your professor, practically beaming at Satoru, eyes practically glittering with admiration.

What the hell is this? Why does he look at him like that? Is this normal?

You barely manage to mask the horrified expression on your face, but it doesn’t matter—because Gojo sees it. And worse, he revels in it. His smirk stretches just a little wider, his cerulean eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches your silent suffering.

You think you’re gonna implode.

And then, with an exaggeratedly pitiful look, he turns back to the professor. “Sir, you know I’d love to help,” he says, voice practically dripping with faux sincerity. “But I’ve recently been asked to assist the research team for the theoretical physics paper. It’s a big opportunity—could really help with my master’s application—so I’m going to have to politely decline.”

Ah. So your hunch about him being some physics nerd was right.

He casts what might’ve been intended as a respectful bow in your direction, though it comes off more like a lazy spasm. You don’t even think he realizes how condescending it looks.

Yeah. He definitely doesn’t give a fuck.

“Oh. Well, (Name), it looks like you’re going to have to figure things out on your own,” your professor sighs, rubbing his temple. “Satoru was the best option—probably the only person who could actually help you pass. But maybe check out some tutors outside of campus? I’m sure there are professionals willing to help.”

Oh hell no.

Your heart plummets. Does he hear himself? Like it’s just that easy to hire a tutor? You’re a broke college student, barely surviving on instant noodles and coffee, and now you’re supposed to drop a fortune on private tutoring? Absolutely not.

Campus tutors were your only shot—they charged significantly less since the experience boosted their academic records, helped them secure internships, and all that nonsense. You were counting on that.

And now?

Your only remaining option was the physics nerd with the condescending smirk and ridiculous dress shoes.

You sigh internally, steeling yourself. If this guy is your last resort, then fine. You’ll grovel if you have to. Because there’s no way in hell you’re letting this godforsaken subject be the reason you don’t graduate.

“Please. Is there… um, any way you can fit me into your schedule?” You finally break the silence, your voice betraying a hint of pleading that makes you cringe internally. You hate that you’re begging. You can already hear your female ancestors rolling in their graves, disappointed that their descendant is down on her knees—metaphorically—asking a man to help her pass a stupid class.

You try not to let the thought sting too much, but it’s hard to ignore the gap in experience and expectations that separates you from him.

Curse this subject. Curse these grades. Curse my professor. Curse Satoru Gojo.

Satoru, meanwhile, looks mildly entertained by your discomfort. You stand, your bag hanging across your shoulder, trying your best to meet his eyes with a mixture of irritation and a clear, no-nonsense look that says, I see right through you.

But can you really blame him? He’s Satoru Gojo—head of the Physics Society, on the verge of completing his master’s, practically guaranteed a spot in the university’s elite PhD program thanks to his perfect grades and the top-tier references from his research. Of course he doesn’t have time for a tutor request from a girl who, from his perspective, probably couldn’t even define a limit, let alone solve one. Yeah, no.

“Sorry, no can do! As I said, I’m extremely busy right now—” Satoru starts, his tone dripping with smugness, but you cut him off before he can finish, not even caring that your professor is witnessing this desperate spectacle unfold.

“Please. I don’t think you understand—I need to pass this unit to fulfill the requirements for my major. Please consider my request…” You bow slightly in his direction, one hand fiddling with the hem of your skirt, a trickle of sweat rolling down the back of your neck.

For a moment, he just stares. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he leans back, crossing his arms. “Fine. I’ll see if I can make time. But you’ll have to wait at least a week for my response—I’m extremely busy.”

Your eye twitches. What a dick. But this is your last shot, so you grit your teeth and let it slide.

“I appreciate it,” you say stiffly. “Well—I'll get going now.” You give a polite nod to both Satoru and your professor, already itching to leave.

As you turn to go, you briefly catch his gaze raking over your form. It’s quick—so quick you might’ve imagined it—but something about the way his eyes linger sends a small, unfamiliar twinge through your body. You shake it off, more focused on willing this pretentious motherfucker to actually make space in his schedule for you.

—

With a small huff, Satoru pushed up his glasses, squinting at the screen of his phone. His stomach dropped to his feet as he scanned the lengthy paragraph from his date—an apologetic explanation that she had other commitments and unfortunately couldn’t accompany him to the Laplace Institute Annual Summit.

Great. Just great.

Of all the events to be ditched at, it had to be this one—a prestigious physics summit where one particular high-profile attendee held the key to more than just recognition in his PhD. With their reference, Satoru wouldn’t just gain extra credibility in his field—he’d finally get his foot in the door for several high-level research projects he’d been eyeing for months. Projects that could fast-track his academic career, solidify his standing, and maybe, just maybe, give him the kind of edge he was always looking for.

And now? He was going to have to show up alone.

He groaned, running a hand through his white hair. The summit was in like a month. Finding a replacement this last minute was going to be nearly impossible. It wasn’t just about bringing anyone—he needed someone who wouldn’t embarrass him in front of academics, and preferably, someone who looked good on his arm.

But with the semester in full swing and his usual prospects already booked or uninterested, he was running out of options. Fast.

Satoru exhaled sharply, flopping back against his chair. Maybe he could go alone. It wasn’t required to have a plus-one, but damn if it wouldn’t look pathetic. A guy like him, showing up solo? He could already hear the whispers—how the oh-so-brilliant Gojo Satoru had been stood up, how maybe he wasn’t as charming as he let on.

His jaw tightened. No. That wasn’t happening.

“Suguru, you won’t believe this. I’ve been stood up for the Laplace Institute Annual Summit.”

Satoru slumped dramatically over the desk, resting his forehead against the cool wood as if the universe had personally wronged him.

Across from him, Suguru barely spared him a glance, his eyes scanning the dense text of his medical textbook. He was deep in the topic of embryology, and not even Satoru’s very real crisis seemed to warrant his attention.

“Hm?” Suguru hummed absentmindedly, flipping a page. “That fancy physics event you wouldn’t shut up about? The one with that one professor?”

“Yes! That professor—the guy.” Satoru huffed, sitting up and aggressively stabbing his fork into his slice of strawberry shortcake. “You don’t get it, Suguru. He’s the only one who could’ve really boosted my application. Even with my grades and experience, it’s not enough to secure a spot on that big research project next semester. His reference would’ve sealed the deal.”

Suguru, still barely paying attention, hummed in response, now highlighting a passage in his book.

“And, as if that wasn’t already bad enough,” Satoru continued, shoving a bite of cake into his mouth, “I have to bring a plus-one. Why the hell does an academic event require a damn date? It’s not a gala—it’s a bunch of nerds talking about quantum mechanics and drinking overpriced champagne.” He scowled. “I swear, academia is just as elitist and outdated as—”

“You want those damn references so badly, but you don’t even know his name?” Suguru interrupted, finally setting his pen down and smirking. “Hell, even I know the guy’s name, and I’m in medicine.”

Satoru scoffed, mouth full of cake. “I do know his name. I just—forgot it for a second.”

“Right.” Suguru’s smirk widened. “It’s (Your Last Name).”

Satoru blinked mid-chew. The name struck something in his brain, familiar in a way that made his thoughts momentarily lag. His fork hovered in the air as his chewing slowed.

“…Wait.” He swallowed, licking some frosting off his thumb. “(Your Last Name)... That sounds…” His voice trailed off, something clicking into place in the back of his mind.

Suguru leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Yeah, actually. His niece is on campus. She’s studying psychology or something.”

Satoru’s fingers drummed absently against the table, his mind suddenly miles away from the conversation. The connection formed, settling into place as if it had been obvious all along.

“…Huh.” His voice was softer this time, almost thoughtful.

Suguru glanced up, noticing the shift in Satoru’s expression. “What?”

Satoru didn’t answer right away. He just leaned back slightly, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he stared off into the distance, brows furrowing ever so slightly—like a puzzle piece had just snapped into place.

“…Nothing,” he murmured, but the slight glint in his eyes suggested otherwise. Looks like his date problem was about to be solved in an instant.

—

By the time you finally heard back from Satoru Gojo, you’d already managed to secure a tutor. You’d given up on getting Satoru to find a place for you in his roster. He wasn’t your first choice—he charged a bit more than what the university’s tutor program usually offered—but he had done decently in the course you were struggling with. Honestly, he was your only option if you wanted to make any real progress before the semester was up.

You left your professor’s math class that day, once again feeling utterly defeated by the simplest concepts. The difference between open and closed brackets still felt like a mystery to you. With your mind focused entirely on making your first weekly payment to the tutor, you walked to the building with a sense of reluctant determination. You needed help, and you had to get started on this extra work right away if you even stood a chance of passing.

"Hey, you! (Name), right?" A deep voice called from behind, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned, momentarily surprised to see Satoru Gojo standing in front of you. This time, he was dressed in a white cable-knit sweater that mirrored the color of his ivory hair, paired with dark slacks that fit him perfectly. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing those ridiculous dress shoes. 

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to process why he was here, especially after his nonchalant dismissal the last time you’d seen him. “Uh, yeah, that's me. What’s up?”

“Look, I finally found a place in my schedule to fit you in, so if you’d like, we can start by tonight. Just swing by the lib—”

“Thanks, but I’ve already found someone else,” you cut in, voice cool as you turn on your heel to walk away.

Behind you, there’s a sputtering noise, followed by a rushed, “Wait! It’s only been three days since you asked me—”

You don’t even bother looking back. “Actually, it’s been over a week. You were late to respond.” There’s an edge to your tone as you throw him an unimpressed glance over your shoulder. For the first time, you see it—his confident, untouchable demeanor slipping, just for a moment.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Look—I’ll tutor you for free. How’s that sound?”

You stop in your tracks, turning fully to face him now. “For free?” You repeat, disbelief written all over your face. “Why would you tutor me for free?”

Satoru scratches his jaw, eyes flickering away for the briefest second before returning to yours. “I mean, it’s just math. It’s not a big deal.”

You narrow your eyes. “It is a big deal. You were ready to drop me a week ago, and now you’re suddenly offering to help me for free? What changed?”

There’s a tiny quirk of his lips, almost like he’s trying not to smirk. “Maybe I just felt bad,” he says smoothly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You scoff. “Yeah, right.”

Satoru exhales through his nose, then leans in slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Alright, fine. I need a favor.”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “A favor?”

He rolls his eyes, like he’s annoyed he even has to explain. “The Laplace Physics Summit is next week.”

You blink. “Wait. That physics thing?”

Satoru presses his lips together like he’s holding back a pained noise. “Yes, ‘that physics thing.’ The biggest event of the year, featuring some of the most important names in the field. And, as it turns out, your uncle is hosting it.”

You pause, brows furrowing. “…I’m sorry, what?”

“Your uncle,” he repeats, like it’s obvious. “You know, Professor (Last Name)? The guy running the whole thing?”

Your blood runs cold. “How the hell do you know that?”

Satoru tilts his head, looking completely unbothered. “Oh, Suguru mentioned it the other day. Apparently, your uncle’s a pretty big deal in the field.”

You stare at him, unsettled. “And that didn’t seem like weird information for you to have? Who even is Suguru?”

“Oh, he’s my—”

“Actually, never mind—”

“Anyway, I need a date.”

You blink. “You need a what.”

“A date,” he repeats, as if you’re the slow one. “It’s a plus-one event, and my original date bailed. So, I figured… since I’m offering to tutor you for free, you could do me a solid and come with me.”

You gape at him. “Are you seriously trying to bribe me into being your date with calculus lessons?”

Satoru places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Bribe is such an ugly word. I prefer mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“You are actually unbelievable,” you say, half in awe, half in exasperation.

He grins. “I get that a lot.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling slowly. “And why, exactly, do you need a date?”

“Because,” he says, sighing dramatically, “the professor I need to impress, your uncle—the one who could get me a spot in a major research project—will be there, and I can’t show up alone like some tragic loser. Also you’re his niece. Ya never know— he’ll associate me with you, his precious niece, and then—”

You squint at him. “That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, it’s my reason,” he says, flashing an infuriatingly charming smile.

You groan. On one hand, this was ridiculous. On the other hand… Well, free tutoring.

“...Fine,” you mutter begrudgingly. “But if you bail on tutoring even once, I’m out.”

Satoru beams, looking way too pleased with himself. “Deal.”

Satoru claps his hands together, looking far too smug for your liking. “Great. The event is at the start of next month, so make sure you clear your schedule.”

Your eye twitches. “The start of next month? You do know that’s like— a short while before my assessment for this stupid class, right?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’ as he rocks back on his heels, ignoring your bewildered question about whether he’s aware of the nearly-there clash between the two events.“Plenty of time to find something nice to wear. I assume you own a dress?” You cross your arms. 

“Yes, I own a dress. But I don’t see why it matters. It’s a physics event, not a gala. And you didn’t answer my previous question.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he says, wagging a finger at you. “Physics people love a little pretentious grandeur. This thing’s gonna be fancy. And don’t worry too much about your assessment , you’ll be fine, you have me as your tutor.” 

You scoff. “God, you people are ridiculous.” He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You people? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You physics nerds,” you say, rolling your eyes. He huffs. “I’ll have you know, we’re highly sophisticated individuals. Not nerds.”

“You literally run the physics society.”

Satoru’s grin turns downright smug. “Oh? So you were researching me, huh?” He leans in slightly, minty breath hitting your face, as he tilts his head as if he’s just made the most amusing discovery of the day.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t researching you, I was just—”

“Keeping tabs? Taking notes? Secretly obsessed?” he cuts in smoothly, his smirk widening as if he’s caught you red-handed. You scoff, crossing your arms. “What? No! Everyone knows that, it’s not some big secret—”

“Well, you didn’t know who I was the day the professor introduced me to you,” he cuts in smoothly, his smirk widening as if he’s just caught you in a trap. Your mouth opens, then closes as you glare at him. “That’s because I had better things to do than memorize the entire student faculty—”

“But now you know,” he teases, winking. “Sounds like someone took a special interest.” You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. 

“You’re like really fucking annoying.”

 Satoru clicks his tongue. “You wound me, truly.” 

You sigh, shaking your head. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll go. But I swear, if I have to listen to a two-hour lecture about quantum mechanics, I’m out.” 

“Two hours?” he says, grinning. “Oh no, sweetheart. It’s an all-day thing.”

 You groan. “Kill me now.” 

He laughs, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Hey, you agreed to it. No backing out now.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You glare at him, but he just smiles wider.“Anyway,” he continues, “now that that’s settled, we can start tutoring tonight.”

You blink. “Wait, tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “What, you thought I was just gonna let you slack off until the event? You said you needed to pass, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then I’ll see you at the library at six.”

You frown. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you agreed to be my date.”

You groan, already regretting everything.

– 

Heading down to the library at 5:58 pm, you quicken your pace, the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above guiding your way. The evening air is crisp, and the faint rustle of leaves outside accompanies your hurried steps. You push through the sliding glass doors, muttering to yourself the study room number he had texted you earlier. Room 204, room 204, don’t mess this up.

When you finally arrive, you pause briefly before pushing open the door. The soft sound of your shoes on the tile echoes through the quiet library. Inside, you find Satoru already seated, sprawled out lazily in one of the chairs at the table, his legs casually stretched out. A few books are haphazardly scattered across the desk in front of him, but his bored expression suggests he hasn’t even touched them. His eyes lock onto you as soon as you enter, a lazy grin stretching across his face.

“Took ya long enough…” he says, his voice teasing but not without that usual cocky undertone. You scowl in response, rolling your eyes as you walk over to the chair across from him. Without a word, you drop your bag to the floor with a thud, letting it slide to rest next to the leg of the table. As you start pulling out your compiled notes and textbooks, you can feel his gaze lingering on you, but you ignore it, focusing on setting up your materials.

Satoru leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head as if he’s not planning to do any work at all. You can already tell this session isn’t going to be as easy as you’d hoped.

You settle in across from Satoru, pulling your textbook toward you, but you can already feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Satoru stretches, yawning as he slides a few of the books into a more organized pile. He leans forward slightly, placing his hand flat on the table.

“Alright, let’s get started. So, what are we working with today?” He asks, his voice unusually soft and focused. Huh, maybe you were wrong about this session being hard due to his–as you’d observed in a short period of time–overbearing presence. You hesitate for a moment, not sure whether to admit how lost you are, but then decide it’s better to just dive in.

“I’ve been struggling with— well, all of it, really. But open and closed domains? We covered that today, and I can’t make sense of it.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Really? That’s where you’re getting stuck? Okay, fine. Let me break it down for you.” 

You shift in your chair, ready to just get it over with. You’re sure he’ll make this harder than it needs to be, but when he flips open his own textbook, something about his demeanor changes. He’s not the lazy, teasing guy you’ve seen in the past. This is Satoru Gojo, the star pupil, the one your professor raves about. He flips through the pages with practiced ease, scanning the definitions and examples like it’s second nature to him.

“Okay, let’s talk about open and closed domains. Imagine you have a function—let’s say it’s f(x). Now, a domain is simply the set of all x-values that you can plug into the function to get a real output. For a function to be defined at a certain point, the domain needs to include that value, right?”

You nod slowly, trying to keep up. Satoru doesn’t pause for you to confirm, as if he’s used to explaining things in a way that makes sense immediately.

“Now, closed domains are a bit different from open ones. A closed domain includes the boundary points. For example, think about a set of x-values that go from 1 to 5. If we’re talking about a closed domain, 1 and 5 are included in the set. But with an open domain, those boundary values—1 and 5—are excluded.”

He looks up at you now, studying your face. “It’s like—imagine you’re playing a game, and the rules say you can only play between two points, but you can’t touch the boundary line. Open domain means you stay inside the line. Closed domain means you can touch it.”

You glance down at your notes, scribbling down what he’s said, and—begrudgingly—you begin to see it. His explanation isn’t half-bad. In fact, it’s kind of good. You look up at him, surprised.

“That actually makes sense,” you admit, surprised at how easily the concept is starting to click.

He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “I know. I told you I was good at this. Now, let’s work through a couple of examples.”

Satoru starts working through problems with you, and to your shock, he’s methodical and clear. Every time you begin to falter, he’s there to steer you back on track with just the right amount of guidance, not too much and not too little. At first, you’re convinced he’s just showing off, but the more he explains, the more you realize he’s actually a good teacher.

You watch as his hands move over the paper, effortlessly solving equations and sketching graphs, his eyes narrowing in concentration. There’s something almost hypnotic about the way he works, and it’s hard not to feel impressed.

“That’s it,” he says, finishing the last example and leaning back in his chair with a sigh of satisfaction. “You got it?”

You blink, staring at the last problem he just solved. There’s no way you would’ve figured it out without his help. You run through the steps in your mind, piecing them together.

“Yeah,” you admit, still slightly in awe. “I think I do.”

Satoru leans across the table slightly, his eyes narrowing mischievously. “Told you I was the best tutor around. I’m glad I could help.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the bit of respect you feel. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He flashes a grin. “Too late.”

You sit back in your chair, trying to hide the fact that you’re actually kind of relieved. The hour of tutoring, despite your reluctance at first, has actually been pretty productive. Maybe, just maybe, Satoru Gojo wasn’t such a bad choice after all.

—

So, you continued seeing Satoru three times a week, and while you never quite got used to his cocky smirks or the way he made everything seem so easy, you did have to admit something: you were getting better. Slowly but surely, those little annoying math concepts that used to make your brain hurt began to make sense. But the closer you got to the assessment date, the more you realized how much you still had to cover.

It was the last session of the week, and you were sitting across from Satoru in your usual study room. You had your notes spread out, your mind slightly on edge, because you knew your major assessment was coming up soon, and you couldn’t afford to screw this up.

“Hey, Satoru,” you said, trying to get his attention as he absently flipped through some of his own notes. “My assessment is soon, and I feel like there’s so much left to cover. Can we go over the most important topics today?”

He looked up at you, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, right. Well, then I guess we’d better make the most of our time.” His voice carried that usual teasing note, but you could see the gleam of focus in his eyes now. “Okay, let’s run through the list of things you need to cover, then. We’ve got about a few more weeks, so we need a game plan.”

You sighed, bracing yourself for his long list of topics. Satoru made a show of flipping through his notes, tapping the page with his pen as he began ticking off a mental list.

“Alright, first up: derivatives. I know you’ve got the basic rules down, but we’re gonna need to dive into higher-order derivatives, implicit differentiation, and how to apply them to real-world problems.” You nodded, mentally ticking off the topics as he listed them.

“Then we’ll move on to integration—yeah, I know, everyone’s favorite.” He paused dramatically, glancing over at you with a sly grin. “You can’t avoid it forever. We need to focus on definite and indefinite integrals, and by the end of the week, I want you to be able to solve some real-world area problems without breaking a sweat.”

He glanced at you again, eyebrow raised. “That’s the goal, right?”

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to tease him back. “You make it sound easy.”

“Don’t act so defeated,” he said, his tone mocking but with that edge of encouragement. “Next on the list: the chain rule, product rule, and quotient rule. You need those down to get through most calculus problems. He held up a finger. “We’re gonna need that for optimization problems and rates of change, you know?”

“Uh huh, yeah, I remember those.” You didn’t sound convincing, and he noticed, of course.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go over them until you can do them in your sleep,” he said, his voice full of self-assurance. “I’m not gonna let you fail.”

You stared at him, raising an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

He grinned. “Absolutely. But let’s not forget about limits. We need to nail down continuity, indeterminate forms, and L'Hopital's Rule.”

“Great, already dreading the limits part,” you muttered under your breath. The word alone was enough to make your eyes glaze over.

He gave you an exaggerated pout. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. Limits are sexy.”

You shot him a look. “That’s... definitely not how I’d describe them. Are you touched in the head?”

“You’ll change your mind when you get to the part where you can apply limits to real-world problems. Trust me, they’re essential for understanding everything else.” He tapped the table, narrowing his eyes at your notes. 

“Fantastic. So, just about everything?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, I’m just being thorough,” he said with a shrug, clearly enjoying this moment. “Okay, next up, we have related rates. Those are a little more complex, but if you know how to use the chain rule with those, you’ll be golden. I’ll walk you through the steps, don’t worry.”

You rolled your eyes. “Anything else?”

“Well, we’ll cover the series and sequences next. Don’t stress too much about that one. It’s only a small part of the exam, but still—be sure you understand the basics. The rest is easy.”

“I’m not stressed at all,” you said flatly, though your shoulders tensed. “I’m perfectly calm.”

“Liar,” Satoru teased. He shot you a glance, his eyes scanning your face before he smirked again. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.”

You couldn’t help but huff. “Sure, if you say so.”

For the next hour or so, Satoru worked through problems with you, his explanation style easy and clear despite his teasing tone. Each time you stumbled, he patiently walked you through the process without making you feel like an idiot. You still couldn’t shake the feeling that you were wasting his time, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it more and more as the day went on, his playful attitude never faltering.

After you’d worked through some derivatives and integrals, Satoru leaned back in his chair, stretching and cracking his knuckles. “Alright, so that’s all for today. You feeling better about it? We can continue working on the mentioned topics in the coming weeks, so all the mathematical foundation you need is nice and sturdy before your assessment.”

“I guess,” you said, rubbing your temples. “I still don’t get why I had to pick math as my breadth subject to pass this damn major.”

“Because you needed to be a well-rounded person,” Satoru replied, his tone so serious that it almost sounded like he was delivering life advice. But the unbridled amusement in his eyes gave him away.

“Right. Because optimization and rates of change are so crucial to my future career as a psychologist,” you said, raising an eyebrow, the sarcasm practically oozing from your voice.

Satoru smirked but didn’t miss a beat. “Well, maybe it’s all about problem-solving, right? Psychologists need to understand behavior patterns, deal with people’s emotional highs and lows... kind of like understanding how a function behaves.” He leaned back in his chair, pretending to be deep in thought. “It’s all about analyzing change.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying not to laugh. "So, I’m supposed to relate solving equations to figuring out why people deal with schizophrenia or alzheimers?”

He shrugged with a grin. “You never know. Maybe one day you’ll be solving for the rate of emotional change in a distressed patient.”

You shook your head in disbelief but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Okay, maybe I’ll give you that one. But don't get too cocky, Satoru. I’m still a long way from ‘ready.’”

He leaned in just slightly, his gaze sharp and confident. “I’m never cocky. Just confident,” he said with that signature, arrogant grin.

There was a brief moment where his eyes held yours, and you could sense that there was more to his words than just confidence. It almost felt like he truly believed in you, even if you weren’t sure you believed in yourself just yet.

You grabbed your things, the weight of the assessment still heavy on your mind, but somehow, you felt a little lighter. Maybe it was the way he’d made you feel a bit more capable in this strange, frustrating subject. You turned toward Satoru as he packed up his things, meeting his gaze for just a second longer than usual. 

Hm. Okay yeah, dress shoes or not, he’s definitely cute.

—

A few more weeks had passed and you continued grinding out the topics for your exam with Satoru during your tri-weekly tutoring sessions. The looming assessment still weighed on your mind, but now, there was something else to focus on. You had agreed—begrudgingly—to attend the Laplace Institute Annual Summit with Satoru. But honestly, ever since Satoru started tutoring you, things were beginning to click in a way they never had before. The jumble of words in your professor’s class that used to confuse you? They were finally starting to make sense. You were beginning to understand calculus—actually, get it. And truthfully, just attending the event with Satoru didn’t seem like enough of a payment for what he’d done. You’d never admit that to him, though; the cocky bastard would probably start joking about charging you more.

But it did make sense, in a way. After all, your uncle was a big name in the physics department, and you’d grown up with him. The guy was somewhat fond of you, so maybe you could throw Satoru a bone and put in a good word for him. Begrudgingly, of course. Because despite his irritatingly confident demeanor, he really had helped improve your math skills in ways you never expected.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your phone pinged, the notification lighting up the screen. With an exasperated sigh, you saw it was Satoru. Of course. Ever since this guy had gotten your number (which he claimed it was to send you important reminders about classes), he would send you some stupid calculus related meme or some mistake he’d found in the small amount of extra homework he gave you, making fun of them. Did this guy not realize he was your tutor? He texted you like you two were old friends or something.

You rolled your eyes, but then shrugged it off. Whatever, it could be worse. At least he wasn’t some overly serious, nonchalant asshole. You were pretty sure that would be far less bearable than his current mix of cocky arrogance, with just the right amount of humor that made him... well, kind of entertaining, you had to admit. You set aside your coffee, grabbing your phone.

Elsa’s evil physics twin:

hihi! so, what’s the colour of your dress for tomorrow’s event? (* ^ ω ^)

Emoticons? Seriously? Isn’t he the future of physics or something?

You:

And the colour of my dress matters why…?

Elsa’s evil physics twin:

erm, of course it matters! <(￣︶￣)> i can't have you showing up looking like a weirdo?? seriously, is it floral, patterned, striped?? idk just tell me what it looks like so i can match with you (￣ω￣)

You:

It’s just navy blue. No patterns or anything. Is that okay? And it’s formal enough. Also, you don’t need to worry about me looking weird, believe it or not I actually do know how to get ready >:(

Elsa’s evil physics twin:

gasp! is that an emoji? wowow youre finally showing me sum reaction ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶ but ok yes navy blue is vv good. have a suit thats navy blue, so we can match! yay! (≧◡≦)

A small smile cracks at your lips at the way he types. Okay, wait, why the fuck are you smiling? You hurriedly type back.

You:

You and these weird ass emojis. But ig we can match…

Elsa’s evil physics twin:

(￣ω￣) u dont get it…but see u then ^_^ and please don’t forget to do all the homework from yesterday's class. you left a few questions out last time :p

Sighing, you grabbed your now lukewarm coffee, your thoughts drifting to tomorrow’s event. With university dragging you under, you hadn’t had a chance to prepare at all. The ridiculous math breadth subject, combined with the extra tutoring sessions with Satoru, had consumed all your time. You were so focused on coursework that you’d be lucky if you could even remember where you’d stashed your makeup the last time you used it. But honestly, it wasn’t that you were bad at getting ready—far from it. University just had a way of turning you into a lazy bum.

Tomorrow arrived with a sharp, unwelcome edge, slicing through the fragile peace of your sleep. You woke with a gnawing sense of anxiety coiled in your chest, its weight pressing down as you tried to shake off the remnants of a restless night. At least the event wasn’t until the evening, giving you hours to untangle the irrational worries that had taken root in your mind like stubborn weeds.

What if you showed up looking exactly like the kind of physics nerd who belonged at this gathering, only to have some brilliant researcher corner you and demand your thoughts on thermodynamics? You could barely spell it, let alone hold a conversation about it. Or worse—what if you didn’t look the part at all? What if everyone glanced your way, their eyes narrowing as they wondered why Satoru Gojo, of all people, had brought a psychology student as his plus one? The thought of being judged, of not measuring up, made your stomach churn.

And then there was your uncle. God, your uncle. A titan in the field of physics, a man whose name carried weight in every room he entered. You could already picture it—him making a grand spectacle of your presence, his booming voice drawing every eye in the room as he introduced you like you were still the awkward kid who’d once tripped over their own feet at a family reunion. He wasn’t cruel, not really, but he had a way of reducing you to a caricature, a punchline in his stories. Like purely in a oh-I-love-my-niece-she’s-a-good-kid type of way. The last thing you needed was him dredging up some mortifying childhood anecdote in front of Satoru’s colleagues, people whose respect he was clearly trying to earn.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. The day stretched ahead of you, a minefield of potential embarrassments, and all you could do was brace yourself and hope you’d make it through without completely humiliating yourself—or worse, Satoru.

The hours slipped away like sand through your fingers, and before you knew it, the event was looming just a couple of hours ahead. You could no longer avoid the inevitable—it was time to get ready. With a sigh, you pushed aside the math homework Satoru had assigned you and turned your attention to the closet. There it was, tucked away in the back like a forgotten relic: the navy dress. You hadn’t worn it in ages, and for a moment, you hesitated, wondering if it would even fit. But as you slipped it on, you were pleasantly surprised. It hugged your figure in all the right places, a stark contrast to the baggy sweaters, comfy skirts with built-in shorts (truly a gift to humanity), and oversized sweats that had become your second skin over the past few months. For the first time in a while, you actually felt… put together.

You decided to actually make an effort, doing your hair neatly and applying a bit of makeup. You wondered. Would you stand out like a sore thumb? Satoru had mentioned the event was full of pretentious people, and your mind conjured images of sleek, impeccably dressed individuals who probably had their makeup done by professionals and their outfits tailored to perfection. Compared to them, you felt… ordinary. But then again, maybe that was okay. Maybe blending in wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Or maybe it was.

You groaned, running a hand through your freshly styled hair. If there was an award for overthinking, you’d already have a trophy case full of gold medals. Nationals? Please. You’d be sweeping the international circuit by now.

The ringing of your phone shattered the fragile calm you’d managed to scrape together, and you scowled at the screen before reluctantly pressing ‘Accept.’ Satoru’s voice immediately filled the room, whining like a child who’d been told they couldn’t have dessert.

“I’m outside,” he announced, as if that explained everything.

Your eyebrows shot up. “How the hell do you even know where I live?” you shot back, your tone dripping with suspicion.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You look like a broke college student, so I assumed it was the female dorms. Took a wild guess. Now hurry up, I’ve already been stood up before, and I don’t wanna be late either.”

“Ouch?” you snapped, clutching the phone tighter. “First of all, rude. Second of all, you’re lucky I’m even coming to this thing. Third of all, stood up? Who in their right mind would stand you up? Actually, scratch that—I can think of a few reasons.”

Satoru laughed, the sound low and annoyingly smooth. “Aw, come on, don’t be like that. You’re my plus one, remember? That means you’re legally obligated to think I’m charming.”

“Legally obligated?” you repeated, deadpan. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing. Also, I’m pretty sure I signed zero paperwork agreeing to that.”

“Well, you should’ve read the fine print,” he shot back, his tone teasing. “Besides, I’ve been giving you free tutoring lessons for weeks. The least you could do is show up and pretend to like me for one night. “Now, are you coming down, or do I have to come up and drag you out myself? Because I will. And trust me, you don’t want your dorm neighbors seeing that.”

You groaned, glancing at yourself in the mirror one last time. “Ugh, fine. I’m coming. But if you make one more comment about me looking like a broke college student, I’m ditching you at this thing and taking the free food with me.”

“Noted,” he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“A dork who’s about to be late because someone’s taking forever,” he sing-songed. “Tick-tock, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess,” you grumbled, slamming your door shut behind you. “And for the record, if anyone asks, I’m here under duress.”

“Duress, huh?” he said, his voice dropping into that infuriatingly flirty tone that always made your stomach do weird things. “I’ll have to remember that. Sounds kinky.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you hissed, finally stepping out of your dorm building, the cool evening air brushing against your skin as you adjusted the strap of your bag. And there he was—Satoru, leaning casually against his car like he’d just walked off the set of some high-budget action movie. The streetlights cast a soft glow on him, and for a moment, you just stared.

He was wearing a navy blue suit, and it looked good on him. Like, really good. You were used to seeing him in those expensive cashmere sweaters and slacks he always wore, the ones that gave off major nerd vibes despite the price tags. But this? This was different. The suit fit him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to his waist in a way that made your brain short-circuit for a second. These slacks he wore, where the sweater wasn’t covering the material, were hugging his muscled thighs, the view of his long legs was an almost sinful sight. The crisp white shirt underneath was buttoned just enough to be proper, but the way he’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows revealed the faint definition of his forearms, and—okay, you needed to stop staring.

Satoru’s eyes flicked up as you approached, and you could feel his gaze sweeping over you, taking in the navy dress you’d dug out of your closet. You missed the way his eyes lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary on the exposed tops of your breasts, the neckline very slightly low, not too low to be scandalous, but enough that it merely complimented the elegance of the dress. You unsurprisingly also missed the slight tilt of his head as if he were committing the sight to memory, cheeks a bit pink. But true to form, he didn’t say a word about it, his sharp blue eyes slipping back up to your face immediately. Instead, he pushed off the car and opened the passenger door for you, his usual smirk playing on his lips.

“Took you long enough,” he said. “I was starting to think you’d bailed.”

“I didn’t even take that long, you just arrived without telling me” you shot back, sliding into the seat. 

He snickered, closing the door behind you before walking around to the driver’s side. You couldn’t help but sneak another glance at him as he moved—confident, effortless, like he owned every space he was in. The navy suit brought out the sharpness of his features, and you had to admit, it was a good look on him.

When he slid into the seat beside you, the faint scent of his cologne—something warm and spicy—filled the car, and you had to force yourself to look out the window to avoid staring.

“Looking good, by the way,” he said, his eyes raking over you in a way that made you want to both punch him and preen at the same time. “Navy’s your color. Very ‘I’m here to network but also maybe ruin your life.’”

“Thanks?” you said, narrowing your eyes.

“Jeez, take the compliment,” Satoru says with his trademark shit-eating grin. You roll your eyes, but there's that tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Fine, compliment accepted,” you mumble, trying to act indifferent about it. “And, uh, you... you look good too.” You say it quickly, almost too quickly, and then want to immediately take it back because his grin widens even more.

“Aw, so you're finding your tutor cute now?” he teases, leaning in a little like he’s making his point. “I’ll have you know that’s a breach of the professional code of conduct.”

You laugh, but it's more out of annoyance than anything else. “You are so full of yourself,” you retort, not even bothering to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“What can I say?” He shrugs, eyes gleaming like he’s basking in the glory of his own existence. “It’s a blessing and a curse. I mean, who wouldn’t want a tutor as amazing as me? You’re lucky to even be in my presence.”

“Oh yeah, I’m just counting my lucky stars,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “I’ll send thank-you cards every day. I mean, I just don’t know how I’m living without your genius in my life.”

Satoru smirks, leaning in like he’s about to drop some profound truth on you. “Exactly. See? You’re starting to get it.” Then he pauses and gives you a pointed look. “And you know what? If you’re going to be so grateful, I might just start charging you for all this expertise.”

“Ugh, no way. If anything, you should be paying me for having to listen to that ridiculous ego of yours,” you quip, arms crossed, but it’s clear you’re not too bothered. You can’t help but be amused.

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it,” he replies, leaning back and grinning like he’s already won the debate. “You’ll thank me when you’re acing that assessment. And when you finally do, you’ll owe me a favor. Preferably one that doesn’t involve just putting up with me.”

“Ha! Yeah, not gonna happen. I’ll survive without owing you anything,” you say, giving him a side-eye, but it’s hard to hide your smile.

“Well, if you insist,” he teases. “But let’s be real. I’m here to save your ass, so you’ll eventually be grateful. Maybe not right now, but later.”

You scoff, throwing a pointed look at him when you remember. how insufferably cocky he’d been at the start.    “ I still haven’t forgotten how you oh-so-smugly declined me in front of the professor when I first asked for help.”

“Oh, you’re still hung up on that?” Satoru grins, clearly unbothered. “Look, I had my reasons.”

Satoru’s grin widens as he steals another glance at you, his eyes clearly not staying focused on the road. “Oh, come on now, you’re enjoying hanging out with me, aren’t you?” The grin practically drips off his words, and you can feel his gaze lingering on you.

You stiffen, the heat creeping up your neck. “Dude, seriously? We’re gonna fucking crash if you don’t keep your eyes on the road,” you snap, your grip tightening on the seatbelt as you instinctively glance at the winding road ahead.

Satoru just laughs, barely glancing back at the road as he’s too busy watching you, or rather, unbeknownst to you, the way the seat belt presses in between your tits just right, he’s half hard from the sight⸺

 “Nah, I’ve got it under control. We will not fucking crash, as you so politely put it. I’m a professional,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement. His gaze flicks over you again, subtly, so you don’t notice like you did before, his smirk never wavering. “Besides, I like to think I’m pretty good at multitasking.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should focus on not dying first, and then we can talk about your damn skills,” you grumble. Satoru just chuckles, seemingly unfazed by your annoyance. “Oh, come on, we’re practically invincible. Besides, you’re not the one with your foot on the gas, are you?” His tone is teasing, a little too smooth, as if he’s enjoying every moment of your discomfort. 

“You’re too much, Satoru. M’tired of talking to you already.” You say annoyedly, rubbing at your temple. You’d be lucky if you didn’t have a headache right before even stepping foot into the event.

“Oh, so now I’m too much for you? Not even a little tempted to flirt back?” He lets out a low chuckle, and you can hear the amusement in his voice as he glances at you, almost as if waiting for you to crack.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “I’m not interested, Satoru. Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I see. Playing hard to get now, huh?” He grins even wider, looking smug as ever. “Well, I guess you’re not all that bad. But you’re right, this mostly is for your uncle. You can’t even pretend it’s not.”

You roll your eyes, trying to avoid looking at him. “I’m sure he’s just thrilled you’re making all this effort.”

“Hell yeah,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “Your uncle’s a big deal. I mean, you are too, obviously.” He adds that last part with a wink. You sigh, already gearing up to tell him to shut up for once in his damn life, but before you can get a word out, the car slows to a stop. He’s parking. You glance out the window, and immediately, your stomach drops.

Oh. Oh, shit.

You really shouldn’t have underestimated it when Satoru said this event was fancy because—fuck—this place looked like something out of a goddamn royal gala, not a physics convention. A fleeting thought crossed your mind—your university would go this far for the physics department?

Satoru must have caught onto your expression because he lets out a snicker, running a hand through his white hair as he checks his reflection in the rearview mirror. “You look too nervous, (Name). Relax. You look good.”

You absentmindedly nod, too preoccupied with scanning the entrance to process his words fully. “I’m just worried they’re gonna ask me, like—dunno, stupid questions about physics. D’you think they’ll do that, S’toru?” You unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console to check your reflection in the rearview mirror, your arm brushing against his.

He doesn’t move away.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, voice lower now, like you’re sharing a secret. “You just gotta follow me around ‘n look pretty.”

You scoff, but you don’t pull away either. The scent of his cologne fills the space between you, something warm and expensive, and—damn, okay, you weren’t going to acknowledge that it smelled good.

Your eyes flicker down, catching something dangling from his bag.

“Digimon? Seriously?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah? What, you thought I was a Pokémon guy?”

You hum, pretending to think about it, eyes still on the keychain. “No, I just thought you were too busy being an arrogant shit to like, y’know… enjoy childhood.”

Satoru lets out a dramatic gasp, hand over his heart like you just mortally wounded him. “Excuse you, I was an incredibly cool child.”

“Mm. Sure.”

Instead of letting it go like a normal person, Satoru suddenly leans back in his seat and exhales like he’s about to drop some divine wisdom. “Look, I get it. Pokémon’s got the branding, the cute little creatures, the world domination or whatever. But Digimon? It had actual stakes. It had complex storylines, deep character arcs, existential crises. You ever seen a Pikachu struggle with the concept of mortality?”

You blink. “I—what?”

“Exactly! You haven’t! But Digimon? Those little guys were out there dealing with real emotional trauma. They had proper relationships with their partners, their evolutions weren’t just a quick level grind, they had to earn it, mentally and emotionally.” He’s animated now, hands moving as he talks, like this is the most important debate of his life. “Meanwhile, Ash’s Pikachu has been level 100 for decades, and he still somehow gets his ass kicked by a level five Snivy—”

A snicker escapes you, and Satoru pauses, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re such a nerd in every aspect of your life, it’s insane,” you say, shaking your head. “Physics? Nerd. Math? Nerd. And now you’re out here writing your imaginary PhD thesis on Digimon?” He simply shakes his head, as if trying to act like you simply don’t get it.

Walking into the venue, you were met with the low hum of conversation, the quiet clinking of glasses, and the kind of polished atmosphere that made you instinctively straighten your posture. The architecture was grand—vaulted ceilings, intricate chandeliers casting soft light over well-dressed academics and researchers, some of whom you recognized from your university’s faculty page. You had expected formal, but this was something else entirely.

“I think I’m underdressed,” you muttered, your eyes flickering across the crowd.

Satoru, walking half a step ahead of you, scoffed. “You’re fine. More than fine, actually.”

You gave him a dry look, but before you could quip back, he suddenly glanced down at you, and for some reason, it threw you off.

Because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

Why hadn’t you realised that earlier?

It wasn’t as if you had never seen him without them before, but in this lighting, with the sharp cut of his suit and the way his hair fell just slightly over his forehead, it was… different. Distracting, almost. You blinked, forcing yourself to focus.

“You’re not wearing your glasses,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, amused. “No, I’m not.”

You cleared your throat, looking away. “Didn’t realize you had normal-people eyes.” That was a lie. You’d never seen a shade of blue like the ones in his eyes before.

He huffed out a laugh. “Hurtful. But I figured I’d give my contacts a chance to shine.”

You shook your head, but before you could dwell on it any further, you spotted a familiar figure near one of the seating areas. Your uncle.

Straightening slightly, you gestured toward him. “There he is.”

Satoru followed your gaze, expression shifting into something more measured.

As you approached, your uncle glanced up from his drink, expression shifting into mild surprise as he took you in. “You? At a physics event?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a trace of amusement. “Did you finally come to your senses and switch majors?”

You let out a short laugh. “Yeah, no. I’m just here as a plus one.” You tilted your head toward Satoru. “Uncle, this is Satoru Gojo.”

Satoru extended his hand, the easy arrogance he usually carried dialed back into something more measured. “It’s a pleasure, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your uncle took his hand, shaking it firmly, his sharp gaze scanning Satoru with the quiet scrutiny that came with years in academia. “Likewise. You’re the one working with Professor Ishida, aren’t you?”

Satoru nodded smoothly. “That’s right. I’ve been involved in his applied mathematics research, particularly in computational modeling for dynamic systems. We’ve been focusing on optimizing algorithms for predicting complex, non-linear interactions—mostly for fluid dynamics and quantum mechanics applications.”

You blinked. Oh. That was… different. The Satoru Gojo you knew—the one who constantly sent you texts filled with stupid memes and gave you a hard time over your math skills—was suddenly gone. The man standing next to you now was composed, articulate, and ridiculously competent.

And, god help you, it was kind of hot.

Your uncle’s interest was piqued, and he gave Satoru an approving nod. “Good. Ishida’s work is highly regarded. Have you contributed anything substantial to the current model?”

Satoru didn’t hesitate. “I’ve been refining the predictive simulations for turbulence modeling. The existing approach had inefficiencies that caused errors when applied to high-energy systems, so I introduced a correction factor—essentially adjusting the statistical weightings of boundary interactions—which cut down the error margins by nearly twenty percent.”

Your uncle hummed, clearly impressed. “A twenty percent improvement is no small feat. And what are your thoughts on integrating AI-driven neural networks into these models?”

You had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, but Satoru’s expression flickered with genuine interest. “I think it’s promising but still premature. The current machine learning approaches lack interpretability, which is critical in predictive modeling for physical phenomena. Black-box solutions might give us results, but they don’t always tell us why—especially in chaotic systems. That’s the gap we need to bridge.”

Your uncle gave him a slow nod, eyes glinting with approval. “Smart. I take it you’re looking for further opportunities in research?”

Satoru inclined his head slightly, his smile now polite rather than cocky. “That’s the goal. I’d like to work under someone with deeper expertise, someone who can challenge my approach and push me to refine my methods. I’ve been particularly interested in the high-energy systems project your department has been supporting. The way it’s integrating advanced computational modeling with experimental physics is exactly the kind of work I’d want to be involved in.”

Your uncle’s expression shifted just slightly—intrigued, but measured. “That project is highly selective. We’re looking for people who can think beyond traditional modeling constraints, who understand not just the math, but the physics behind the equations.”

Satoru didn’t miss a beat. “That’s what makes it worth pursuing. The current methodologies rely too much on classical approximations, which are great until you start dealing with extreme conditions—then the models break down. I’ve been working on a way to bridge that gap, making the calculations more adaptable without losing accuracy.”

(a/n: this part took me two days just so it’d sound coherent)

Your uncle considered this for a moment before giving a small nod. “Well, we’ll see what can be arranged.”

You exhaled quietly. That was as close to an open door as anyone got from him.

As your uncle excused himself to greet another colleague, you exhaled, barely resisting the urge to shake off the strange, lingering heat in your body. You hadn’t expected to find Satoru’s sudden professionalism attractive—yet there you were, feeling an unwelcome pull toward the way he had so effortlessly commanded the conversation.

You turned to him, attempting to focus on something else—anything else—but the sharp intellect that had just been on full display. “Look at you—talking research proposals and theoretical applications like you weren’t the same guy who spent half our sessions drawing stupid little hearts in the margins of my notes.”

Satoru huffed out a quiet laugh, his hands sliding casually into his pockets, but there was something different now—his usual lazy confidence had been sharpened into something smoother, more deliberate. “What can I say? I have layers.” He glanced down at you, eyes flickering with something unreadable before his smirk deepened. “Besides, I really needed your uncle’s help.”

You crossed your arms, ignoring the way your pulse had started ticking a little too fast. “Right. That’s all this is.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Mostly.”

Something about the way he said it made your breath catch. It wasn’t a full admission, but it wasn’t a denial either. And when his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes this time—when there was something almost considering the way he looked at you—you suddenly realized just how close the two of you were standing.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “you looked real interested back there. Could’ve sworn you liked hearing me talk like that.”

You scoffed, desperate to shake off the sudden intensity of the moment. “I liked that you finally sounded like someone with a brain.”

Satoru let out a low chuckle, and then—before you could react—he leaned in, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the faintest brush of his breath against your skin. “You’re not very good at lying.”

“Funny,” you murmured, arching a brow. “Who's the one breaching professional conduct now?”

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, his voice dipping lower. “I don’t remember professionalism being part of our dynamic.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting to keep your face neutral despite the heat creeping up your neck. “I do. And I’d like to keep it that way, so if you’re done entertaining whatever nonsense you were about to say, I’d appreciate some space.”

He stayed there for just a second longer, gaze heavy, assessing. Then, as if sensing just how rattled you really were, he grinned—lazy, smug, but undeniably pleased.

“Sure thing, cutie,” he murmured, stepping back like it was nothing.

And with that, he turned, heading toward the next part of the event like he hadn’t just left you standing there, heartbeat a little too fast, breath a little too uneven, wondering what the hell had just happened.

The event continued around you, but your attention was nowhere near the people mingling or the endless discussions of research you barely understood. You found yourself trailing behind Satoru like some kind of shadow, moving silently through the crowd. He was effortlessly charming everyone he came into contact with, his charisma filling the room as though he’d been born for these kinds of events. You half-wondered if he was putting on a show just for you.

Every time you caught yourself looking at him, you’d quickly look away, pretending like the flutter in your chest didn’t exist. It was hard not to notice how natural he looked here, with his casual confidence, mingling with colleagues and effortlessly slipping in and out of conversations like he belonged everywhere. People gravitated toward him, pulled in by his warmth and wit, and you were left hovering just out of the spotlight, clutching your drink like a lifeline.

You couldn’t tell if it was because you were so out of your element, or if it was because of him, but every time he glanced back at you, that tiny smirk creeping back onto his lips, you felt the heat rise to your face. He knew exactly what he was doing, effortlessly pulling you into his orbit without saying a word.

At some point, you found yourself standing at the edge of a conversation between Satoru and a group of physicists discussing some new model they’d been working on. You couldn’t follow half of what they were saying, but Satoru? He was holding his own, nodding along, asking questions, contributing like he was as much a part of the conversation as anyone else in the room.

And then, out of nowhere, he glanced at you over his shoulder, catching your eye. “You’re awfully quiet over there,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just been discussing complex theories with people who had dedicated their entire lives to this.

You raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just... observing.”

“Observing, huh?” Satoru's voice dropped to a playful lilt as he glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “You can just say you’re bored, you know. Honestly, I’m getting a bit tired of all these serious faces myself. Was really here for your uncle, anyway.” He waved a dismissive hand, a nonchalant shrug accompanying his words.

With a shift in his posture, he gracefully slipped back into the conversation with the group, offering them a polite bow. As he straightened, he placed a large hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the exit. The subtle touch sent a fleeting but undeniable shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you forgot about the formal event and the people around you. All you could focus on was the heat from his hand against your skin and the quiet thrill of his proximity.

You settled into the passenger seat of his car with a deep sigh, grateful for the moment of relief after spending what felt like hours in heels. Your feet were screaming, and you could feel a headache starting to creep in. Fastening your seatbelt, you glanced over at Satoru, who was still blinking as though trying to shake off the last remnants of his daze.

“You okay?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, puzzled by his sudden lethargy.

He blinked a few more times, still not fully focused, before reaching for the bag in the backseat. The sound of the Digimon keychain jingling broke the silence before he muttered, almost to himself, “Yeah, sorry. I’m just not used to wearing contacts most of the time.”

You watched him, now a bit more curious, as he fumbled for his contact lens case, carefully slipping the lenses out of his eyes and into the solution. The soft click of the case snapping shut broke through the air before he dug through his bag once more, this time pulling out his glasses. With a deep groan of relief, he slid them back onto his face, and you couldn’t help but notice how that small noise from him made something tighten in your chest.

You quickly turned your head away, trying to ignore the odd flutter in your stomach as his voice—so gravelly and worn—had an unexpected effect on you. Desperately wanting to get your mind off the way his voice seemed to reverberate in your body, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“So, like... is wearing glasses a, uh—genetic thing, or did you develop bad screen habits or somethin’?” You winced internally, realizing how dumb that sounded the moment it left your lips, but it was better than just sitting there awkwardly.

Satoru turned to you, that signature grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Screen habits, huh?" he teased, clearly amused by your question. "Yeah, let's go with that." He grinned at you, effortlessly starting the engine with a smooth motion, his voice dropping slightly as he spoke again. "Nah, my shitty vision is just from my mom’s side," he added, tapping his glasses.

His voice brought you back from your thoughts as he continued, the car rumbling beneath you. "I mean, I’d love to say I’m just a genius with impeccable vision, but… reality’s a little less glamorous than that."

You shot him a look, eyes narrowing teasingly. "Yeah, sure. Genius," you muttered, half-smiling at how easy he made it for you to fall into the banter. There was something about the way he carried himself, the way his words danced on the edge of charm and arrogance, that always kept you on your toes.

But it wasn’t just that. You found yourself wondering—just for a second—why you were so drawn to him. What was it about Satoru that made your thoughts race like this, every single time? You shook the thought off quickly, unwilling to dwell on it. Instead, you leaned back into your seat, giving yourself a small mental shake. You’d already accepted the fact that whatever this thing was between you two wasn’t exactly normal, but that didn’t mean you had to overthink it, right?

You’d known the guy for what—a month now? It wasn’t long, not really, but somehow it felt like so much more. You couldn’t help but dwell on the moments you’d shared—those tutoring sessions where he’d gently guide your hand away from the paper after you got the same question wrong for the fifth time. His usual cocky and irritable demeanor would vanish in an instant when he saw you were genuinely trying your best, his voice softening as he explained the concept all over again, using analogies he thought you’d understand. It was like he could read you, like he knew exactly how to reach you when you were on the verge of giving up.

And then there were the times he’d walk into the study room he always booked for you two in the library, carrying a small piece of strawberry shortcake from the university canteen and a cup of coffee. He’d claim it was the best delicacy on campus, his smile so wide and earnest that you couldn’t help but laugh. You’d roll your eyes, but deep down, you loved how he always seemed to think of you, how he’d notice the little things—like how you preferred coffee with just a hint of sugar or how you’d light up at the sight of anything strawberry.

But maybe what stuck with you the most was the way his face would light up when you finally understood something you’d been struggling with. You’d let out a loud gasp, and he’d grin so wide it was like he was the one who’d gotten it right. He’d cheer for you, his excitement so genuine and infectious that it felt like you both were happy about a shared achievement. And in those moments, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too—this connection, this spark that seemed to grow every time you were together.

It wasn’t just the tutoring or the cake or the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room when he looked at you. It was the way he’d greet you in the hallways with that loud, booming voice and that large smile, drawing the attention of everyone around you (much to your displeasure). It was the way he’d text you random memes at 2 a.m. just to make you laugh, or the way he’d tilt his head when he was thinking, his brow furrowed in concentration when figuring out the best way to explain a tricky concept to you. It was the way he made you feel seen, understood, and maybe even a little special.

But then there was the doubt. You’d only known him for a month, after all. Was it too soon to feel this way? Were you reading too much into his kindness, his gestures, his smiles? Maybe he was just like this with everyone. Maybe you were just another person in his orbit, another student he tutored, another friend he joked with in the hallways.

Yet, every time you tried to convince yourself of that, your mind would drift back to those moments—the way his hand lingered on yours a second too long, the way his eyes lit up when you walked into the room, the way he seemed to go out of his way to make you smile. And then you’d wonder if maybe, just maybe, he felt it too.

"By the way, (name), I wanted to thank you… for coming tonight." The car glides to a stop, and you suddenly realize you’ve been so absorbed in your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed you’d already arrived at your student accommodation. Satoru turns to look at you, his white hair slightly tousled from running a hand through it, glasses resting comfortably on his nose. His cerulean eyes, still sharp and clear under the lenses, hold a sincere look you weren’t expecting.

You clear your throat, stumbling over your words. "Oh, it's nothing. Really, I– uh, your tutoring… it’s helped me more than I can say. This was the least I could do." Your pulse quickens as you realize just how intensely his gaze lingers, the usual playfulness gone, replaced by something more genuine.

Satoru tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, I get that. But still— I hope you know I’m genuinely grateful. I mean, I know this all started as a way to get involved with your uncle and his research project, but... I just wanted you to know—you're actually fun. Fun to hang out with. Fun to tutor." He pauses, a slight shift in his expression, as if searching for the right words. Then, as if caught off guard by his own vulnerability, he falters. You almost don’t believe your eyes when you see the faint pink tint spreading across his pale cheeks.

"I guess what I’m trying to say is," he begins, a little unsure, "I actually enjoy spending time with you. Not just because of your uncle, or his connections, but because of you." He looks away for a moment, exhaling softly as if he’s been holding this back for a while. "Also… I kinda owe you an apology. I was an ass when I turned down your tutoring request at the start. Totally a dick move. I really–"

“Satoru,” you interrupt gently, your voice steady despite the way your heart is pounding in your chest. “It’s okay. Really. I get it.”

You blink, taken aback. Satoru Gojo, always so composed and confident, was... apologizing? For real? It’s almost endearing, in an unexpected way. You watch him, his usual cool exterior gone, leaving behind someone much less sure of himself than you'd ever imagined.

He blinks at you, his rambling cut short, and for a moment, he just stares, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re being serious or just letting him off the hook. “You… get it?” he repeats, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You nod, your fingers fiddling with the strap of your bag as you try to find the right words. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the whole tutoring thing at first either. But… I’m glad it worked out the way it did. You’ve helped me a lot, and not just with maths. You’ve made it… fun. Even when I wanted to throw my textbook out the window.”

He lets out a small laugh at that, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “Yeah, well, you’re a quick learner. Once you stop overthinking everything, you’re unstoppable. I’m just here to… y’know, guide you. Or whatever.” He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but the way he avoids your gaze tells you he’s still a little flustered.

You giggle a little at his words, missing the way his eyes soften imperceptibly at your laugh.

“Well— I’ll see you during our next tutoring session then? There’s still a bit of time until that exam, y’know,” you say, shifting slightly in your seat, fingers playing absentmindedly with the strap of your bag.

Satoru exhales a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Always so studious.” He says sarcastically, but his voice is warm, and there’s an undeniable fondness laced within it.

“You say that like I have a choice,” you retort, arching a brow. “Unlike you, I can’t just wing it and still come out on top.”

His grin turns lazy, a flicker of amusement passing through his gaze. “Oh, don’t sell yourself short. You’re getting better. Almost makes me think I’m a pretty good tutor.”

“Almost,” you echo, narrowing your eyes playfully before reaching for the door handle.

Before you can step out, his voice stops you. “(Name).”

You glance back at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone—still light, still easy, but with an edge of something unreadable beneath it. “Hmm?”

He watches you for a second too long, his fingers drumming once against the steering wheel before he smirks. “Don’t stay up too late studying. ”

You roll your eyes, pushing the door open. “No promises.”

As you step out and shut the door behind you, you hear the window roll down.

“Oh, and (Name)?” His voice calls out, just as you’re a few steps away.

You turn, only to see that smirk still playing on his lips, eyes glinting behind his glasses.

“Seriously, don’t stay up too late,” he drawls. “I’ve prepared a short exam on everything we’ve covered so far for our next session.”

You freeze for half a second before narrowing your eyes. “You’re joking.”

His grin only widens. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

You scoff, flipping him off before making your way inside, ignoring the way your cheeks burn just a little too hot.

—

You watch nervously as Satoru goes through the answers on the quiz he had prepared. His long finger pushes the frame of his glasses up as he leans over the paper, broad shoulders casting a shadow on the side of the desk where you’re seated. The tension in the air is thick, palpable, and you can’t help but notice the way his proximity makes your pulse pick up.

You’re acutely aware of the space between you both, or rather, the lack of space. His scent, fresh and warm, clings to the air, and it does nothing to ease the heat rising in your chest. With only a short amount of time until your exam, Satoru had suggested extending your tutoring sessions, now stretched to three hours instead of one and a half, to really make sure you’ve got the material nailed down.

This exam is the one that matters—the one that decides if you can even pass the subject. You’ve floundered in the other chapter tests, but a solid performance here might just change everything. You’re not just worried about passing the math exam; it’s the one assessment that actually counts toward your grade, the only thing standing between you and passing the subject.

“Um… Satoru? How’s it going? Am I screwed?” you ask, your voice laced with more than a hint of anxiety as you lean over the desk. His eyes flick up to meet yours, expression unusually grim, and your heart sinks.

“You…”

“...Only got five questions wrong.” The faux-grimace fades into a cheery smile. Your body immediately reacts, a wave of relief sweeping through you as your heart rate steadies. But the tension doesn't quite disappear, especially when you realize it’s not exactly perfect either.

“Five? Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me,” you mutter, exasperated, but also trying not to laugh at how much of an overreaction you had. Getting up, you make your way to where he’s sitting, your thigh brushing his as you lean in to peer at the paper. He makes no move to put any space between the two of you, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours, and the closeness makes it hard to focus on anything but the surge of heat pooling in your stomach.

You shift, shoulder brushing his as you lean in a little closer to the paper, your voice soft as you ask, “So, where’d I go wrong?”

He takes a breath, tapping the pencil against the table as his eyes scan over the incorrect answers. “This one, you mixed up the application of the limit as it approaches infinity,” he starts, his voice low but steady, sending a shiver down your spine. "You were too quick to plug in the values and forgot about the behavior of the function at that point."

You nod, trying to absorb his words, but when you look back at the problem, the concept still seems a little murky.

"Wait," you say, tilting your head, "like this?" You try to rework the problem on your own, but something about the approach still feels off.

Satoru watches you closely for a beat, his gaze sharp and focused. Then, before you can even process what’s happening, he grabs your hand, guiding your pencil back to the paper. His touch is firm but gentle, coaxing the motion, and it leaves you a little breathless.

“Here,” he murmurs, his voice so close it vibrates through your chest. He guides your hand, the warmth of his fingers lingering as he shows you exactly how to approach it. You can feel the intensity of his eyes on you, and you can’t help but steal a glance at him as he finishes the explanation, tilting his head just enough to lock eyes with you.

It feels like time slows for a moment. The silence stretches out as you both stare at each other, his hand still gently holding yours. It’s not lost on you how everything seems to intensify, how the distance between you two feels like it's narrowing with every passing second.

He smirks, that familiar playfulness creeping back into his gaze, but there’s something deeper in the way he watches you. “There. Got it now?”

You swallow, trying to find your voice, but the way his hand is still so close to yours makes it hard to focus. “I—I think so,” you say, your voice a little breathier than you intended.

His smirk turns into a more genuine, teasing grin. "Good. You’re catching on faster than I thought."

The moment lingers, the air between you two charged, but he pulls back, giving you some space again. You try to refocus on the problem, but your mind is still racing from the sudden, unspoken energy that’s filled the space between you both. He explains the final four problems you’d gotten wrong and gives you some additional homework involving similar questions

“O–okay, so that’s it for tonight then?” You sigh, leaning back in your chair and stretching your arms above your head. The exhaustion from the mock exam—a near-perfect replica of the real thing—settles into your bones, but there’s a sense of accomplishment too. You’d pushed through it, thanks to him.

As you stretch, your shirt rides up just enough to reveal a sliver of your midriff, and for the briefest of moments, Satoru’s eyes flicker downward. It’s so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t already looking at him. His gaze snaps back to your face almost immediately, his usual composure slipping just enough for you to notice the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks. He adjusts his glasses, clearing his throat as if to cover up the momentary lapse, but the way his fingers fidget with the edge of his notebook gives him away.

“Yeah, that’s it for tonight,” he says, his voice a little too casual, a little too rushed. He leans back in his chair, trying to play it cool, but the way he avoids direct eye contact tells you he’s not as unshakable as he pretends to be. “You did good. Really good. Like, really good. Not that I’m surprised or anything, because, y’know, I’m an amazing tutor, but still. You’re… yeah.”

You can’t help but blink confusedly, catching the slight stumble in his words. “Thanks, I guess? You laugh, shaking your head as you stand up and grab your bag. Instead of calling him out on his rambling, you decide to let it slide, choosing to focus on the warmth of his praise instead. “Well, thanks for being so patient with me. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nods, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Yeah, tomorrow. Same time, same place. And don’t forget to review the notes we went over tonight. You’ve got this, (name).”

As you leave, a thought lingers in the back of your mind, refusing to be brushed aside so easily. Your tutor—confident, charming, effortlessly attractive Satoru Gojo—had gotten flustered over something as simple as a glimpse of your exposed midriff. Wasn’t that… strange? You’d always assumed someone like him, with his looks and charisma, would be used to far more than a sliver of non-sexual skin showing. Yet there he was, stumbling over his words and avoiding your gaze like a teenager caught off guard.

But then again, who were you to judge? You’d been with a few guys before, and you weren’t exactly immune to his charms either. There were those rare days when he’d ditch his usual cable-knit sweaters for something more fitted, and you’d catch a glimpse of his thick biceps flexing as he gestured wildly while explaining a concept. On those days, it was your turn to fumble, your focus slipping as you tried not to stare. You brushed the thought aside to the back of your mind– you needed to focus on solidifying the mistakes you’d made today.

In the final week leading up to the dreaded exam, your sessions with Satoru had taken on a new intensity, where he made you painstakingly work through what felt like hundreds of questions, each one diving deeper into the concepts that had once felt so foreign to you.

With each passing day, you found yourself understanding the underlying principles of the mathematics, no longer just memorizing formulas but grasping the logic behind them. The mistakes you once made so effortlessly were becoming fewer and farther between, much to the quiet satisfaction of both you and Satoru.

The days melted together, each one weaving you and Satoru closer in a way that felt almost inevitable. What had started as structured tutoring sessions began to blur into something softer, more organic, like the edges of a well-worn book. Before you knew it, he was just there —in your routine, in your texts, in your thoughts. 

Your phone buzzed more often now, his name lighting up the screen with a frequency that made your heart skip. The messages weren’t always about math, though sometimes they were—usually accompanied by his signature flair for the dramatic. “Help,” he’d write, “I decided to watch that k-drama you told me about while doing my quantam mechanics essay and now I’m fucking hooked.” Other times, it was a meme that made you snort-laugh in the middle of class, or a random thought he’d decided to share at 2 a.m. (“i’ve been thinking, if derivatives were a kpop group, would the quotient rule be the MAKNAE 💜 or product rule do u reckon? chain rule is definitely the leader. serious thought btw”). And then there were the check-ins, the ones that made your stomach flutter (“Sorry if I gave you too much hw :(( Lunch on me next time I promise ^_^”).  Every text felt like a little tug, pulling you into his orbit.

On days when he happened to see you on campus, lunch became an unexpected ritual. If his class finished early, or if he was just taking a break from the chaos of his research projects, he’d text you to meet up for a quick bite. It was never planned—more like a spur-of-the-moment decision—but you’d always find yourself sitting with him, talking about everything and nothing. The conversations were easy, effortless. Sometimes you’d talk about the latest problem set from his mini mocks, his hands gesturing wildly as he explained a concept you’d been stuck on, and tips on how you could manage not to forget it next time . Other times, it was about nothing at all—his latest obsession with a random YouTube rabbit hole, or bonding over an anime you had both watched, excitedly chattering about it a bit too loudly, garnering you both many pointed stares from other uni students in the area. The way his laughter would fill the space between you two, the ease in which he shared random facts about his day, or how he’d make some offhand joke about your sandwich choice made the time seem like it was slipping away unnoticed, and you genuinely enjoyed every moment of it.

And then there were the moments you couldn’t help but notice—the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he’d run a hand through his hair when he was explaining something he was passionate about, the way he’d lean in just a little too close when he wanted to make a point. You’d catch yourself staring, your chest tightening with something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just the tutoring or the lunches or the texts. It was the way it all felt so natural, like you’d been doing this forever. Like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

And so, the day of the exam arrived, and with it, a knot of nerves that you couldn’t quite shake off. You’d been preparing for this day for what felt like ages, the weight of it pressing down on you as soon as you opened your eyes that morning. But as much as the nerves gnawed at you, there was a part of you that was almost eager to get it over with. The constant studying, the endless questions and review sessions, the notes filled with scribbles from all the topics you’d gone over with Satoru—they were all leading to this moment. The anticipation had been hanging over you for weeks, and now, you just wanted to put it behind you.

Now, as you walked into the exam room, the weight of all that effort settled heavily on your shoulders. You took a deep breath, reminded yourself of how much you had covered in the past few weeks, and tried to calm the rapid beat of your heart. The nerves were still there, lurking in the background, but there was a quiet confidence now, too. You knew you were ready. Or at least, you hoped you were.

You sat down at your desk, glancing around at the other students who all seemed to be in their own worlds, some fidgeting nervously, others buried in their notes. You tried to focus, to block out the swirling thoughts, but your mind kept drifting back to all those late nights you’d spent going over practice problems with Satoru. He’d always been there, sitting across from you, ready to answer any question, pointing out where you’d missed a step, his encouragement pushing you to keep going. You hadn’t realized how much you’d come to rely on his presence until now—how much it had become a reassuring constant amidst the chaos of preparing for this exam.

Finally, the exam paper was placed in front of you, and you were off. The questions weren’t easy, but they weren’t impossible either. You recognized so many of the concepts you’d worked through together—limits, rates of change, applying the chain rule to integrals, etc. It felt like the culmination of everything you’d gone over, and the more you worked through the problems, the more confident you became in your understanding. There were moments of doubt, of course, moments where you hesitated and wondered if you were getting something wrong, but you pushed through, reminding yourself of the long hours you’d spent preparing, of the countless explanations and the way Satoru had always assured you that you were capable of doing anything you set your mind to.

And as you reached the final question, the one that had always seemed the most daunting on all the practice papers you’d done, you felt a strange sense of relief. You weren’t sure if you had gotten every single detail perfect, but you were confident. You had done everything you could. And that, in itself, felt like a victory.

When you handed in your paper, you felt a weight lift from your chest. The nerves had finally dissipated, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t just about the exam—it was about all the work that had gone into it, all the progress you had made, the lessons you had learned. And as you walked out of the room, the thought that kept running through your mind wasn’t “I hope I passed,” but instead, “I’m proud of how far I’ve come.”

You stepped outside, the crisp air hitting your face, only to be immediately invaded by a familiar tall figure who seemed to have no concept of personal space. Satoru loomed over you, his face lit up with that trademark grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. 

“So?” he demanded, leaning in way too close, his eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “How was it? Hard? Easy? On a scale of one to ten, how badly do you feel like erasing your existence from this world?” 

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck in the back of your head. “I just finished,” you groaned, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward despite your best efforts to look annoyed. “And you’re already annoying the shit out of me. Congrats.”

He didn’t even flinch, his grin only widening. “That’s my specialty. Now, spill. How’d it go?”

You sighed, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “For the record, it wasn’t that bad, actually. I mean, I think it wasn’t that bad. Like, maybe it was, and I’m just not aware of it—”

“Oh my god,” he interrupted, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “Please stop overthinking. You’re not only making a fool of yourself, but you’re also making a fool of my teaching skills. And that, my pupil, is a crime against humanity.”

Before you could retort, his hand shot out, flicking your forehead with a precision that suggested he’d been practicing. You hissed, swatting at him as he laughed, the sound ringing out like he’d just won some kind of prize. 

“You’re such a jerk,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. 

“Yeah, but I’m your jerk,” he shot back, slinging an arm around your shoulders as he steered you down the path. “Now, come on. Let’s celebrate your survival with food.” You tried not to look too pleased when he called himself your jerk, but the way he said it—so casually, like he was your boyfriend—made something warm unfurl in your chest. And you definitely had to try harder not to lean into his touch, not to give in to the way his large hand gently grasped your shoulder, his intoxicating scent even stronger now that he was this close.  

Leading you out of the campus, Satoru suddenly perked up, his hand still resting against you as his sharp gaze landed on someone ahead.

“Yo, Suguru!” he called out, his voice slipping into something even more boyish, eyes lighting up like he’d just found a rare treasure. His hand pressed tighter against your shoulder as he steered you toward the man with long, sleek black hair and striking amethyst eyes, who was just taking off a stethoscope, coming out of one of the labs. So he was a med student, you noted. That explained the calm, perceptive air about him.

Satoru, however, didn’t seem interested in formalities. Instead, he all but beamed, practically puffing out his chest as he motioned toward you.

“This is the one I was tellin’ you about—my student.” His grin widened, his excitement practically buzzing in the air. “Just finished her exam that I tutored her for, and apparently, it went amaaaazing.” He dragged the word out exaggeratedly, and you mumbled something under your breath about never saying that.

Suguru’s lips twitched into a smirk as he took you in with an amused glance, his eyes warm but knowing as they flickered between you and his best friend.

“Oh, so you’re (Name), huh?” He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “Your tutor here doesn’t shut up about you—”

Before he could finish, Satoru smacked him—smacked him, right on the shoulder, his usual confidence momentarily faltering.

“Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, but the betrayal in his expression was almost comical, and you didn’t miss the telltale flush creeping up his ears, nor the way his cheeks seemed a little too pink under the campus lights.

Suguru chuckled, clearly unfazed. “What?” he teased, rubbing his shoulder dramatically. “I’m just saying, you talk about her more than you talk about anything else.”

Satoru scoffed, crossing his arms, his fingers tapping restlessly against his biceps. “Don’t listen to him—he— I—what he meant was that I just—y’know, like tutoring you,” he said, clearly flustered now, his words coming out a little too fast. “You’re not as bad as the other people I’ve, uh, had to tutor.” His hands moved restlessly, gesturing as if that would somehow explain away whatever Suguru was implying.

“Alright, whatever you say, dude.” Suguru claps Satoru on the shoulder, shaking his head like he’s seen this all before. And maybe he has. You, however, are still adjusting to the sight of Satoru Gojo—the Satoru Gojo—looking this flustered.

It’s one of those rare moments where his usual bulletproof confidence actually lingers in a state of near-collapse instead of recovering in the blink of an eye. You file this moment away for later, something to tease him about when he’s being extra insufferable.

“Uh, yeah. So—so food,” he blurts out, as if physically ejecting himself from the conversation. “You don’t have any classes for the rest of the day, right? ‘Course you don’t, it’s Wednesday. You finish early on Wednesdays—”

You narrow your eyes, amusement flickering across your face. “Satoru,” you interrupt, tilting your head. “Please enlighten me as to how you know when my classes end?”

Because first, he took a wild guess about where you lived, and somehow got it right. And now, apparently, he’s got your timetable memorized? You weren’t sure if you should be impressed or creeped out.

Satoru, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. If anything, he seems pleased that you asked.

“Well—" he adjusts his glasses, looking smug, “—based on the impromptu lunches we’ve had, as well as the times I see you around campus, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

“Oh, do explain,” you say, crossing your arms, thoroughly entertained now.

He clears his throat, straightening up like he’s about to deliver a goddamn lecture.

“So, on Mondays, I almost always see you at that corridor near the main library around 2 PM, which suggests you either finish class at 1:50 or you have a break around then. And considering you usually look pissed off, I’d wager it's a stats class—”

You blink. “How the fuck—”

He waves a hand dismissively, grinning. “Tuesdays, I don’t see you until later in the day, usually near the café on the west side of campus, which means you either have a morning class that finishes around noon, or you just happen to crave overpriced lattes at exactly the same time every week.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Satoru—”

“Wednesdays? Easy,” he continues, completely ignoring your growing bafflement. “You’re free early—I know this because every time I see you after 12, you look significantly less dead inside, which must mean your shitty morning lectures are over.”

You gape at him. “You’re actually—what the fuck—”

He just keeps going. “Thursdays, you’re usually at the study hall near the east wing, which means you probably have a class nearby before that. And Fridays—oh, Fridays are my favorite—”

“I really don’t want to hear this shit anymore–.”

“—because you always look like you deeply regret every life choice when you come into the study room that I book, which means you probably have an early morning class. And since I’ve definitely caught you sneaking a Red Bull at 9:30–I was just passing by to my aerodynamics lecture by the way, it’s also like really fucking early in the morning, and in the same building– I’d say I’m pretty spot-on.”

You stare at him, part horrified, part awed. “You’re a freak,” you say finally.

Satoru just smirks, preening under your attention. “Nah, just observant.”

You shake your head. “No, no, you’re actually so pathetic. You’ve got my schedule memorized like a fucking stalker—”

To your surprise, the motherfucker just giggles—an actual giggle—before throwing up a lazy peace sign and sliding into the driver’s seat like he hasn’t just admitted to memorizing your entire schedule like some overgrown nerd.

“Hurry up!” he calls out, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. “I wanna take you to my favorite kakigōri place, and you’re just standing there like an idiot—”

You huff but climb into the passenger seat anyway, still mildly dazed by the whole he-knows-my-schedule-by-heart thing. Is it wrong that instead of feeling creeped out, you…kind of like it?

No, you tell yourself. You know Satoru. You know exactly how his brain works. If it were anyone else, maybe you’d be concerned, but this is him—someone who notices everything, whether you want him to or not.

You mean, this is the same guy who once caught you using PhotoMath to solve a particularly tricky problem, not because he saw you do it, but because he noticed that your numbers were written too neatly. “You don’t write your fives like that,” he had said, squinting at your paper with an almost offended expression. “You scrawl like a serial killer under normal conditions, and suddenly you have impeccable penmanship? Suspicious.”

You shake your head, exhaling a quiet laugh at the memory as he starts the car.

“So?” he glances at you as he merges onto the road, one hand draped over the wheel, the other adjusting the glasses now perched on his nose. “You’re awfully quiet. No scolding? No accusations of being a pathetic little nerd?”

You cross your arms, leaning back into your seat. “Oh, I still think you’re a pathetic little nerd. That hasn’t changed.”

Satoru snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Keep lying to yourself. I know you enjoy the attention. I mean who wouldn’t, seriously, from a guy like me?”

You roll your eyes, muttering something about reporting him for harassment, watching the city lights blur past the window. The late afternoon sun casts long, golden streaks along the streets, the air warm and buzzing with the gentle hum of life winding down after a busy day.

After a beat, you glance at him. “So, what’s so special about this kakigōri place?”

“Oh-ho, so now you’re interested?” His smirk is immediate. “I was expecting you to fight me on it.”

You give him a look. “I was going to, but then I remembered the last time you bought some of those insanely good soufflé pancakes for our tutoring session when I refused to come to the cafe with you, and I kinda regretted being a little bitch about it.”

Satoru cackles. “See? You do trust my taste.”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

The drive is…comfortable. You don’t even realize you’ve fallen into such an easy rhythm with him until the conversation veers into the absurd—Satoru somehow starts ranting about how calculus would lowkey be kinda sexy if the concept was remodelled into a human female (which is, frankly, an argument you refuse to engage with), and in return, you accuse him of being the type of guy to correct someone’s grammar in the middle of a confession.

“For the record, I would let them finish first,” he argues, turning into a quiet side street lined with small, traditional storefronts. “Then I’d correct them.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he parks the car smoothly, grinning at you as he unclips his seatbelt, “here you are, willingly getting kakigōri with me.”

You scoff, pushing open the door. “Yeah, well. Might as well get something out of the suffering.”

The shop Satoru leads you into is small but cozy, the kind of place that’s been around for ages, with worn wooden counters and the lingering scent of fresh fruit and syrup. A few older patrons are seated inside, quietly chatting over bowls of delicately shaved ice piled high with vibrant toppings.

The menu is hand-written on wooden plaques above the counter, featuring everything from classic strawberry milk kakigōri to elaborate matcha creations with red bean and mochi.

Satoru gestures toward the counter with a flourish. “Go crazy, cutie.”

You hum, scanning the options. “Hmmm…what’s your go-to?”

“Me?” He grins. “Mango and condensed milk. Simple, classic, elite.”

You snort. “You act like you didn’t just call calculus sexy thirty minutes ago.”

“Hey, that was a very valid intellectual discussion—”

You shake your head, placing your order, and before long, you’re both seated at a small wooden table, your respective mountains of kakigōri in front of you. The ice glistens under the dim lighting, the syrup gliding down the soft, fluffy peaks in slow, tempting drizzles.

Satoru takes a dramatic first bite, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes as he lets out a satisfied groan. “Mmm, fuck, that’s good.”

You blink at him. “Did you just moan over shaved ice?”

He winks. “I moan over a lot of things, (name).”

You stare. “Satoru.”

He just laughs, leaning in slightly, spoon balanced between his fingers. “What? Scared you’ll start associating me with pleasure?”

You nearly choke on your own spoonful of kakigōri. “Oh, my god, shut up.”

Snickering through a mouthful of sweet, mango-shaved ice, you point your spoon at him, shaking your head.

“Honestly? I feel so bad for any girl who’s been intimate with you.” You let the spoon linger in the air for dramatic effect. “You definitely seem like the type to start listing the top ten most interesting facts about the human body mid-way through sex.”

Satoru chokes on his kakigōri, hastily swallowing before shooting you an indignant look. “Excuse you! I would never—”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe one fact, but only if it was really interesting.”

You deadpan. “I rest my case.”

Satoru huffs, shoveling another bite into his mouth. “For your information, I’d be great in bed.”

You let out a skeptical hum. “Mmm. Right. You sound like the kind of guy who would start explaining the scientific accuracy of a sex scene in the middle of it.”

“What—no—”

“Or pause everything just to adjust your stupid glasses.”

Satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I wouldn’t do that—”

“Actually, you know what? I bet you’d get distracted mid-sex just because you started thinking about some dumb physics theorem.”

“Oh my god—”

“I bet you’d be like, ‘oh wait, this position actually follows the law of—’”

“Okay!” Satoru interrupts, waving his spoon at you in exasperation. “I get it!”

You grin at him, resting your chin in your palm. “So, tell me then, oh great Satoru, have you actually tested these so-called ‘amazing skills’ of yours?”

And that’s when it happens. The slip-up.

“Ehh? I mean, I’ve never actually had sex before, but if I did—”

You blink. “Wait.”

Satoru freezes.

You blink again. “You’re a virgin?”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see it—the way his entire body tenses, the way his fingers tighten slightly around his spoon. The tips of his ears turn pink first, then the color quickly spreads down to his cheeks.

“I—what?” His voice jumps half an octave, and he immediately clears his throat, forcing a casual chuckle. “Pfft. What? No. What are you—who told you that? That’s—”

“You just told me that.”

He visibly short-circuits for a second, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to find an escape route in real time.

“No, no, no, that’s not—I misspoke,” he rushes out, suddenly looking anywhere but at you. “What I meant was, I could have if I wanted to, but I chose not to, you know? Because—uh—”

You lean in, relishing this moment. “Because what, Satoru?”

His knee bounces under the table, his spoon now aimlessly stirring the ice in his cup. “Because, I have standards, okay? I’m not just gonna—gonna throw myself at the first girl who bats her eyelashes at me. Which many have done, mind you.”

“Oh my god, you really are a virgin.” You burst into laughter, barely able to breathe.

Satoru groans, shoving his hands into his hair. “Okay, can we not make a big deal out of this?”

You wipe your eyes, still giggling. “No, no, it’s just—you of all people! Mr. Flirts-Like-It’s-A-Sport. Mr. ‘I’d Be An Amazing Lover.’ You never actually—”

He slumps back in his seat, arms crossed, pouting. “You don’t have to say it like that,” he grumbles.

You lean in again, dropping your voice, just to mess with him. “Wait… have you at least kissed someone?”

His eyes snap to yours, his mouth opening—then quickly snapping shut.

You gasp.

“Oh my god.”

“No! Obviously, I’ve kissed people before, I’m not that pathetic,” Satoru huffs, but the blush dusting his cheekbones betrays him.

You narrow your eyes, tapping your spoon against the rim of your cup. “Huh. That was a weird reaction for someone who’s supposedly kissed people before.”

Satoru scoffs, shifting in his seat like he’s physically shaking off the conversation. “Well, sorry if I don’t like being interrogated about my sex life over shaved ice.”

“You don’t have a sex life,” you remind him, your voice dripping with mock sympathy.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again before he glares at you. “You’re such a little shit, you know that?”

You flash him an innocent smile, savoring the last bit of mango syrup before pushing your cup aside. “Fine, fine, I’ll believe you,” you say breezily. Then, as if the thought just occurred to you, you add, “Wow. You, a virgin. I would’ve never guessed.”

For a split second, he looks embarrassed again. But then—fuck—his usual arrogance comes rushing back, and you regret your words the moment you see that telltale smirk creep onto his face.

“Oh?” He leans forward, elbow resting on the table, chin propped lazily against his hand. His lips curl, azure eyes flashing mischievously behind his glasses. “And why’s that, hmm?”

You blink. “…Why’s what?”

His smirk deepens. “Why’d you never guess? What exactly about me gave you the impression that I wasn’t a virgin?”

Your stomach plummets. “Oh, fuck off, Satoru.”

“Nah, nah, I’m genuinely curious.” He tilts his head, that cocky grin widening as he watches you squirm. “You must’ve thought I was getting some—why’s that? Because I’m tall? Handsome? Sexy?” He bats his unfairly long ivory lashes at you, because of course he does.

You groan, shoving your empty cup at him, which he barely dodges. “I swear to God, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He’s grinning now, leaning back with a self-satisfied expression. “You thought about it, huh? Imagined me—”

“Satoru, if you finish that fucking sentence, I will walk home.”

He barks out a laugh, standing as you both make your way toward his car. “Aw, don’t be shy now. I knew you found me attractive, but damn, I didn’t know you were thinking about me like that.”

You whirl on him, pointing a finger at his chest. “I wasn’t! I just meant—”

“Meant what?” He grins, effortlessly slipping into the driver’s seat while you slip into the passenger seat, fuming. “That I look like someone who knows what he’s doing? That I exude sex appeal?”

“I hope you crash this fucking car.”

He throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained, like he actually enjoys teasing you this much. The sunlight from the setting sun catches on the graceful slope of his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips—it’s honestly annoying how good he looks right now.

Then, just as your thoughts start veering dangerously close to he’s actually so fucking handsome, he casually drops—

“So, you’re not a virgin?”

You snap out of it instantly. “Huh?”

His eyes flick towards you, mirth dancing behind the lenses of his glasses. “You heard me.”

“Oh—uh, no. I’m not.” You shift in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of the way his long fingers tap lazily against the wheel.

The car slows to a stop at a red light, and he turns fully to look at you, lips curled in that signature smirk. “Would it be breaking our oh-so-formal professional relationship if I asked when you lost it?”

Your breath catches for a second—not because the question itself is shocking, but because the way he asks it is so casual, so genuine, like he’s just indulging a passing curiosity.

Then again, that is Satoru. No filter, no shame. Just whatever crosses his mind, slipping past those ridiculously smug lips.

“You don’t have to answer,” he adds, tilting his head slightly, watching you. “Just kinda curious.”

You raise a brow. “Why?”

He hums, like he’s actually thinking about it. “Dunno. Just want to know.” A beat. Then, with a grin: “Guess I just like knowing things about you.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate that it does. You glance out the window, lips pressing together before you huff a quiet laugh. “Fine. It was during freshman year.”

Satoru whistles lowly. “Ooh rebellious, I-just-moved-out-from-my parents-house-and-am-an-adult, era?”

“Not really,” you say, rolling your eyes. “It wasn’t that dramatic. Just… someone I was dating at the time.”

“And was he any good?”

You turn back to him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you asking?”

The light turns green, and Satoru faces forward again, still grinning. “Just trying to gather intel.”

“For what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His voice is obnoxiously smug, but the way he grips the wheel a little tighter—how he suddenly refuses to look directly at you—tells you something.

And that something makes your heart pound just a little harder.

Your eyes narrow at him, trying to gauge whether this is just his usual teasing or if there’s something else laced in his words—something a little less cocky and a little more… interested.

You lean back in your seat, arms crossing over your chest. “You’re acting real nosy all of a sudden.”

He hums, tapping his fingers against the wheel again, that smirk never leaving his lips. “I just think it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“That you thought I wasn’t a virgin.” He throws a glance your way, smirk widening when he sees your unimpressed expression. “Like, really thought it.”

You scoff. “So? A lot of people would probably assume the same.”

Satoru chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, I bet they would.” His voice lowers slightly, playful and taunting. “Especially if they find me attractive.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. He’s so fucking obnoxious.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “This is the most pathetic attempt at fishing for compliments I’ve ever seen.”

“Fishing? Babe, you just admitted it.”

You glare. “I never admitted anything.”

His grin grows impossibly wider. “Didn’t have to. You assumed I wasn’t a virgin, which means you thought I’d gotten some before. Which means you think I could get some. Which means—”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

He just laughs again, eyes flicking toward you, head tilting slightly like he’s soaking in every bit of your flustered irritation. “Aw, c’mon, no need to get all embarrassed. It’s cute.”

You blink, thrown off by how smoothly he slips that in. There’s no teasing lilt, no exaggerated drawl—just a quiet, easy amusement.

And suddenly, your skin feels way too warm.

You turn away, lips pressing together as you stare out the window. “Fucking insufferable.”

Satoru snickers, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and lets the conversation settle for a moment as he takes a turn down a quieter street that leads to your college dorm accommodation.

“Anyway,” he says after a beat, voice lighter again, “care to rate your first time? Was it  mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex?”

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely not.”

“Knew it.” He clicks his tongue, drumming his fingers against the wheel. “Bet he didn’t even make you come.”

Your head snaps toward him so fast you swear you almost get whiplash. “Satoru!”

“What?” He looks at you innocently, like he didn’t just casually say that while driving down the fucking road. “I’m just sayin’. Most guys don’t know what the fuck they’re doing at that age.”

Your mouth opens, but words fail you. It’s not that you disagree—it’s just the way he said it. So fucking confidently.

You shake your head, exhaling sharply. “How do you even know that if you’re a virgin?”

He grins, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got eyes, don’t I? And ears. Plus, I’m a quick learner. Just because I haven’t done it doesn’t mean I don’t know how it should be done.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Yeah, as if. Satoru, I bet you don’t even know where the clit is.”

At your words, something in his gaze hardens—not in a mean or harsh way, but in a way that you usually only catch glimpses of when he’s serious about something. His smirk doesn’t falter, but there’s a shift in his demeanor, a subtle intensity that makes the air between you feel charged. His fingers stop tapping the wheel, and for a moment, the playful banter gives way to something quieter, more deliberate.

“Oh, I know exactly where it is,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost too casual, like he’s stating a fact rather than engaging in your back-and-forth. His eyes flick to you briefly, and there’s a glint of something—confidence, maybe, or challenge—before he looks back at your dorm complex where you both are currently parked outside. “And I’d bet my life I could find it faster than whoever your first was.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. His words hang in the air, heavy and unapologetic, and you can’t tell if he’s still teasing or if he’s dead serious. Either way, it’s enough to make your face heat up, and you quickly turn your gaze back to the window, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your pulse has picked up.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, though your voice lacks its usual bite.

Satoru chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, and you can feel his eyes on you again, even if you refuse to look at him. “What? You started it,” he says, his tone lightening again, though the edge of that earlier intensity lingers. “Besides, I’m just saying—if you ever want to test that theory, I’m more than willing to prove you wrong.”

This is wrong. You know it’s wrong. He’s your tutor, and whatever’s happening right now is definitely crossing that invisible professional line you’d drawn in your mind—though, if you’re honest, that line had blurred long ago. Still, this wasn’t right. This was—

“Fine. Prove me wrong, then.”

And so that’s why you’re now in your dorm room, pressed into the sheets with Satoru’s broad frame hovering above you, his lips crashing against yours like he’s been starving for this. Those plush lips—the ones you’d secretly imagined during countless tutoring sessions—move with an intensity that catches you completely off guard. You’d assumed his claims of kissing others were just innocent pecks, maybe a few shy brushes of lips. 

But this? 

His tongue slides against yours effortlessly, his head tilting to deepen the kiss as he swallows your soft whimpers. Your mind races because what the fuck—how is he this good at it? 

He leaves your lips for a moment, his own going down to press wet kisses to the column of your neck, your smaller frame squirming underneath him.

“Can I..?” He asks, lifting his head up from your neck, glasses a little askew and pink lips kiss bitten, a delicious flush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His large, warm hands make their way under the sweater you were wearing, resting on your hips as he kneels between your legs, torso hunched over you to assess your reactions. 

You nod, a little too eagerly, and his hands eagerly push the sweater up under your chin to expose your tits covered in a plain black bra— but with the way Satoru’s eyes are gleaming, you might as well have been wearing some lacy bra from Victoria’s Secret.

“Fuck. Your tits are so pretty.” He mutters, large hands squeezing the supple flesh and making you gasp. His lips slot themselves against yours again, and one of his hands goes behind your back to unclip your bra deftly. 

If you weren’t thrumming with need, you might’ve asked how he knew to do unclasp a bra, but you’re too busy focused on the feeling that his lips have moved down from yours to your breasts, lips wrapping around a nipple and rolling his tongue around it, making you shriek. He lavishes the same attention to your other breast, and then pulls back to rub his thumbs around your now peaked nipples, snickering.

Your hips thrust upwards at the feeling, and his hands come down to grasp them to stop them from moving, glasses slipping down a little as hooks a thumb into the waistband of your pants.

“Can I?” He asks sweetly, and you nod, caught up in completely taking off the sweater he’d tug up above your chest.

“Please.” You murmur, watching as he tugs your pants down, revealing simple black panties, and once again, Satoru’s eyes light up as if he’s being offered a treat.

His thumb comes down to press against the hood of where your clit is under, atop your panties, letting out a small gasp as he feels how slick you are– not visible due to the fact you’re wearing black panties.

“Shit–you’re so wet,” he mutters, more to himself than you, and presses his thumb down a little harder, rubbing circles on your covered clit as you squirm beneath him, a hand coming to grasp the sheets beneath you at the way he’d seemed to find your clit before even taking your panties off.

“Hmm– so I was right, this is the clit… with the way you’re squirming it has to be it. Besides… What else did Suguru’s anatomy textbook say…?” He blinks, rubbing your clit absentmindedly. Even while your skin feels hot, and you feel like you’re ridden by lust from watching your extremely hot tutor finally touch you after weeks of subtly pining after him, even you have the ability to muster up an exasperated expression at his chattering while he’s supposed to be making you feel good. 

“Suguru’s textbook? Satoru, what– ah– what the fuck are you on about?” You murmur annoyedly, momentarily distracted by him replacing his thumb with his middle and ring finger to rub a little harder.

“Oh—I was reading Suguru’s anatomy textbook, and when I came across the female human body, it said the clit has about 10,000 nerve endings…” he says casually, his voice low and steady, like he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather; as if his fingers aren't slipping into your panties to touch you directly on your pussy, fingers expertly locating your sensitive pearl as he continues his relentless probing against it.

You squeal, legs attempting to lock around his hand, but one hand comes in to grip one of your thighs to push it back, while a knee pushes the other leg, opening your legs for him.

“Satoru– when I said you’d list facts during sex, I didn’t think you’d mean it–”

“... 10000 nerve endings. Well that settles it.” He says thoughtfully, pausing his fingers much to your displeasure. 

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, bucking your hips up against his still hand, now getting thoroughly annoyed.

“Teach me how to eat your pussy.”

“Huh?”

“I said, teach me how to eat your–”

“I h–heard it! I– what– why the sudden interest?” You ask, a blush spreading across your cheeks at his words. You glance at his face, a forced look of the calm, arrogant composure plastered on it, but you can tell he’s just as flustered as you are, the pink tips of his ears a huge giveaway.

“Since the clit has 10000 nerve endings, the best way to stimulate the majority of said nerve endings would be with dual stimulation, so in this case, I’d like to have my tongue involved too. So, teach me how to eat your pussy.” He says, and you just blink. Not only does him speaking to you in such a manner turn you on immensely, but your face is probably emanating steam from how red it is. 

“I–I’ve only been given oral once, you know, so I don’t think I’ll be a very good teacher–”

“Did it make you come?” He interrupts you, and you scowl, reluctantly shaking your head.

“Oh, okay. Then teach me, please. Tell me what mistakes he made, and what you would’ve wanted him to do. I– I wanna make you feel good..” He says softly and you almost come alone from his words. Nodding wordlessly, you slide down your panties, legs closing instinctively at the way his gaze focuses on your core. 

“Shit– don’t do that! It looks so fucking pretty… Okay, where should I start?” He asks eagerly, getting on his stomach between your thighs, large hands prying your legs apart. 

“Wait, these are getting in the way.” He murmurs, taking off his glasses and setting them aside, blinking a few times. 

“Uh– so.. Um.. he kept.. Like he didn’t know where the clit was, so he was just like… licking me where it wasn’t pleasurable at all–” You begin, but in true Satoru fashion, he cuts you off, this time not with his words, but directly pressing a kiss to your clit, making you squirm in surprise.

“So the problem was him not giving enough attention to the one part responsible for all the pleasure? What a dumbass..” And with that, he begins, spreading you open with two fingers to lick a long stripe up to your clit. Doing this a few times, he lets out a breathy yeah when you jolt, nose nudging against your clit as he brings his mouth up to it, giving it a harsh suck. 

“Oh my god–” You moan, pushing your hips up into his face, hands winding into his white hair as he smiles against your pussy, pulling back to swirl his fingers against your clit. Gathering the amount of wetness that’s formed, he slides down to your needy hole, pushing a finger in, sharp eyes focused on your face to assess your reaction.

“Feels okay, baby?” He asks, inching his long, middle finger in slowly. Heat crawls up your spine at the way he calls you baby, but you nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth and eyes scrunched half way shut in pleasure. 

He grins, curling the long finger inside and making you let out a low moan as you get up on your forearms, aching for the sight of seeing him between your legs and doing things like this to you. It makes the feeling much better, you think. I mean, who wouldn’t enjoy seeing the sight of the Satoru Gojo, eating your pussy like a pro?

His mouth is attached to your clit again, licking and sucking as he slowly starts pushing his finger in and out of you at a steady pace, his actions making you roll your eyes back in your head. 

“Ah–nnh– Tastes so good, I could do this forever..” He murmurs against you, spreading your lips open again to flatten his tongue against you, while simultaneously slipping another finger past your clenching hole, ignoring your protests of being too much! (I mean, they are canonically six inches long.)

He continues pumping his fingers in and out, while his tongue continues rotating between licking and sucking on you. But what really draws the most reaction out of you is when he nibbles lightly on the spongy tissue of your clit, making you press the heels of your feet into your bed, when you’d really like to lock your thighs around his head but his hands have such a strong grip on them while he eats you out that you really can’t do much. 

Your back arches up and he does it again, sensing how your reaction was much more intense, and you abruptly come, his name leaving your mouth like a mantra, your lower half trying to escape his strong grip as he pushes your thighs up to press his tongue flat against your hole, trying to get as much of your essence as he possibly can. He’s moaning against your pussy, savouring the taste before you come to your senses through your overstimulated mind, tugging on his hair and he stops, sitting up between your twitching legs.

The lower half of his face is adorned with your release, his pink lips glistening as he draws in ragged breaths. His tousled white hair falls in disarray, delicate strands cascading into his eyes, framing a visage that radiates an almost otherworldly allure. He is the very embodiment of divine beauty.

“You– how was that your first time… Satoru, this is the fastest I’ve ever come before.” You say weakly, sitting up to straddle his thighs, tits pressing into his chest as you move in to kiss him, tasting yourself.

He moans, kissing you back with gusto as his hands ghost your sides, moving up so his thumbs are situated on the underside of your breasts.

With a sudden, deliberate motion, you press him down onto your narrow bed. As he settles, his long, graceful limbs sprawl effortlessly, consuming every inch of the modest space. You move down, lips still slotted against his as you move your hands up under his sweater, tugging it off. The sight underneath you makes you nearly blanch.

He’s undeniably built—broad, powerful, and sculpted in a way that commands attention. His wide chest boasts firm, defined pectorals, and his abdomen is a masterpiece of taut muscle, abs the kind that might be described, in the most clichéd terms, as a "washboard." But the most striking detail, the one that draws your gaze irresistibly, is the faint, silvery trail of hair that begins at his navel and trails downward, disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks.

“Just for how good you ate me out, I think you deserve a reward too, don’t you?” You say quietly, a sweet smile on your lips, as you look down at the man below you, thoroughly enjoying how his face turns a pretty shade of pink at your words.

“I–I do? A reward? Wh– what, okay! Yeah!” He nods his head mindlessly, a whimper escaping him as you cup his very prominent bulge through his slacks. He’s fully hard, hot and throbbing under your touch even through the layers of clothes. You begin undoing his slacks, and push them down along with his boxers, stifling a gasp when his cock slaps against his stomach.

Just like the rest of him, his dick is also beautiful. The tip is flushed the same pink colour as the one you’ve been recently seeing on his face, and the shaft is pale, prominent veins on the underside.

Giggling at the strangled noise that escapes his throat when you wrap a hand around him, you pump him a few times, relishing in the noises that he makes. You shimmy your way out of his legs and sink down to your carpeted floor, watching as he adjusts himself to sit in front of you with his thighs spread, cock bobbing in your face.

“You don’t have to gimme head jus’ cause I ate you out–”

You cut him off by resuming your previous motions, pumping his shaft and watching him turn into a mess from just that. 

“I want to suck you off. So shut up, please?”

 Leaning in, you place a kiss on his tip, and take it into your mouth, eyes trained on his face.

Instantaneously, his head is thrown back, and you can tell it takes all of his self control to not buck his hips up directly into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. Trying your very best to remember that this is his first time doing something like this, you inch your mouth down on him further slowly, to make sure this experience lasts long enough for him. To nobody’s surprise, you gag once he’s half way in– his size is too impressive for you to take all of it. So using your hands, you pump the part of his cock that can’t reach into your mouth, while bobbing down your mouth on what it can take.

You can feel slickness pooling between your thighs at every deep groan that escapes him every time you take him in your mouth after pulling off of it. Determined to make him lose control, you bob your head a little faster, ignoring the way his tip keeps slamming against your throat every time you try to take him in deeper. You’re definitely gonna have a sore throat after this.

Your hand grips tighter on the base of his cock, and he yelps out your name, a hand fisting into the back of your hair. He mumbles out a broken sorry, and you’re about to ask him what for, but the answer becomes clear once he gently pulls your head off to thrust his hips back into your mouth, using your mouth to get him off.

The action of him doing something so domineering makes you grip his thighs firmly so he can properly fuck your mouth. It seems like that even through the lust filled haze, Satoru knows you can’t take him fully, so he sharply thrusts until he can see more than half of his dick in your mouth, repeating the action before he’s cussing and babbling, the thrust of his hips becoming sloppier and sloppier.

“Ah! Nnhn– I– (name), you’re making me feel– ngh– so good, so good. Can I cum in your mouth, please can I come in your mouth?” He begs, and you nod to the best of your abilities while having his cock shoved into your throat. You pull back from him fucking your throat to suck at his tip, tongue running over the leaky slit, and that’s what it takes him to reach the edge, emptying himself into your awaiting mouth. His hands are clutching at the sheets under him, abs clenching deliciously as he downright whimpers, hazily watching as thick ropes of cum deposit themselves on your pink tongue.

You swallow while maintaining eye contact with him, trying to stifle a grin as the sight makes his cock twitch weakly. 

“You’re—oh my god, that was… so fuckin’ amazing,” he murmurs, his breath ragged, his hands settling firmly on your waist as you shift to straddle him once more.  

“Really? You think my mouth is that… skilled?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He nods fervently, his expression utterly sincere.  

“I mean it—I think you just sent me to another dimension,” he says, his voice low and awestruck. “Honestly, if physicists ever needed proof for string theory, they’d only need to study the way you sucked me off like that—” He cuts himself off, and you laugh softly, shaking your head at his hyperbolic charm.

“Would you like to have sex, Satoru?” You purr, running a hand down his chest as you look down at him. You feel his dick immediately harden and twitch against your ass, a barely concealed smirk making its way onto your lips.

“Looks like I got my answer”

“Shit—I really, really want to,” he admits, his voice tinged with frustration, a faint pout forming on his lips as his piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, brimming with longing. “But…”  

Your heart softens instantly. You realize you might have been too insistent—this is his first time, after all. He’s probably nervous, maybe even scared.  

“Aw, I’m sorry for pushing you, Satoru,” you murmur, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss against his lips. “I should’ve been more understanding. It’s your first time, and I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”  

“Oh, it’s not that,” he interrupts, his tone suddenly serious, one hand cradling your cheek as he looks at you with unwavering sincerity. “It’s just… we don’t have any condoms. I don’t want to risk anything, you know? I’m not the kind of guy who’d be irresponsible about this.”  

You can’t help but roll your eyes, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Satoru, I’m on birth control,” you say, your voice laced with amused exasperation. 

He blinks a few times. Instead of getting happy like you thought he’d get, his face, if even possible, turns a deeper shade of red.

“You’d seriously let me cum in your pussy?” 

You choke at his words, slapping his chest. “Don’t say it like that! But yes, I suppose if you wanted to… I mean.. I wouldn’t mind..” You say, cheeks turning pink yourself, trying not to imagine Satoru pumping you full of his seed. 

“Huh? I just ate you out like you were my last meal, and you sucked the life outta my dick until I reached an alternate reality but you draw the line at me saying I wanna cum in your pussy? Weirdo.”

You don’t respond, instead grabbing his semi erect cock. Your touch alone both helps him shut up and get fully hard again. Lifting your hips up, you align his tip with your entrance, looking down at him.

“You ready?” You ask softly, and he nods, breathing already heavy just from seeing his shift gently probe at your hole. You nod, before sinking down, inch by inch onto his cock. The stretch is delicious, you don’t think you’ve ever had anything this big inside you before. Your reaction is nothing compared to Satoru’s, whose eyes have dilated so much with lust that you can only see a faint ring of azure lining his enlarged pupils.

“Fuck— you’re so tight, and warm. Holy shit y’r pussy is suckin’ me in.. Oh my god,” he grits out, watching as your warm, fluttering heat takes his cock in entirely, and you’re sitting atop him, naked and stuffed full with his thick shaft.

“Wait!” He says, scrambling to get his glasses and hastily planting them on his face. 

“Wanna see you— wanna see you better.” He pants, twitching inside of you as he sees your beautiful face, and your titties in his face. He hopes he dies like this.

Your heart warms at his words and you reach down to kiss the corner of his mouth. You let him get used to the feeling of being inside you, honestly even getting used to it yourself, before you’re lifting your hips up and slamming back down on him, ass meeting his pelvis.

“Feels good?” You ask breathily, feeling him so deep inside of you from this position. He chokes out a yes yes yes fuck—

And you take it as a sign to plant your knees down on the bed, before you’re moving your hips up and down, little whimpers leaving your mouth every time his dick is stuffed inside you to the brim. He feels so good— so good that you think you’ll come again without any clitoral stimulation. You’ve never experienced such pleasure just from penetration before. 

Slowing down to catch your breath, you grind sensually atop him, clit brushing against the coarse white hairs of his happy trail, making your hips stutter with each movement.

Satoru watches you on top of him, hair disheveled, lips glistening, and eyes hooded as you tire yourself out while milking his cock, an experience he didn’t know could feel so extraordinary. And thank fuck he put his glasses back on because he can notice that you’re slightly tired, pride and arrogance swirling in his chest when he realised you’re tired because you’re trying to pleasure him and he’s too much for you—

“Is my baby tired?” he coos, the teasing lilt in his voice making your breath hitch. But there’s something different now—something in the way his tone has dropped, in the way his whole demeanor shifts like he’s just remembered exactly who he is and what he’s capable of.

And taking charge? Oh, he’s always been good at that. Too good.

He tilts his head, watching you with sharp, calculating eyes, his smirk deepening as he takes in the way your breathing has changed, the way your body reacts before you can even think to stop it.

“C’mon,” he drawls, leaning in, so close that you can feel his breath fan against your cheek. “You were takin’ my cock so well  earlier, acting like you could keep up. Don’t tell me you’re already wearing out on me? ‘S my cock too much for you? Too much for your body?”

The worst part? You can’t even think of a good comeback, not with the way he’s looking at you now, with that smug little smirk, with the casual arrogance that makes your stomach tighten and your pulse race. How is it that he could switch instantly from that pathetic man asking if he could eat your pussy and losing his shit when you gave him head to… this?

“Dumb now? Need your Satoru to help you?” He hums, and before you know it, he’s effortlessly lifting your hips up to start plummeting himself into you, making you double over as you fall into his chest, hands on his shoulders to keep yourself upright. 

How the hell is he a virgin? No other man you’ve been with, has ever had so much stamina like this?

“Satoru, please don’t stop. It feels so good,” You whine, grasping the headboard behind you as he Satoru continues to fuck you roughly. Obscene, slapping sounds fill the room as he continues slamming his cock into you. One hand is on your hip, and the other on your ass, hand squeezing the flesh.His pace is a little off track, probably because he’s trying not to bust inside of you, but he’s still hitting that spot into you again and again.

His face reaches up in between your tits to bury it between them, all while his strong grip holds you up. You’re probably going to have hand shaped bruises on your hips but you don’t really care, too focused on the fact that you’re going to come for the second time right onto his cock. The vein on the underside of shaft is dragging deliciously against your velvety walls, and you can feel yourself clenching, about to–

“Oh fuck— (name), ‘m sorry, can’t hold it in—“ He says, before he reaches a hand from your hip up to the back of your neck to pull your face down to mesh his lips with yours. His tongue swirls around against yours quite obscenely, as he buries himself to the hilt deep in your pussy, spilling himself with an intensity that makes him gasp and groan against your mouth as he bucks his hips up again, releasing the last bit of his load in you, 

The feeling of him filling you up in such an unrestrained manner pushes you over the edge as you clench desperately around his cock, and Satoru— smart Satoru realises, bringing a shaky hand down to play with your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm. He stays buried in you until you’re panting, slumped over him.

Both your bodies are covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he pulls your hair to kiss you again. The kiss this time is slow, languid and sweet, all while his hands run soothingly down your sides. 

“I came too early, didn’t I—“

“No, you— you were perfect.” You break him off, wincing at the feeling of his cock softening inside of you as you look down at him. “Honestly, you uh, you had a lot of stamina, actually.” You giggle as he smirks, reaching up and kissing your lips as an apology as he coaxes his dick out of you. 

You wince some more as you feel his seed spill out of you, and Satoru lays you gently down, a little flustered by watching himself spill out of you.

“Let me clean you up— wait—“ He says, grabbing the tissues situated on your bedside table and spreading your legs gently to clean you up as thoroughly as he can.

“I’m really tired now,” you yawn, stretching your arms over your head, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in your bones. Satoru lets out a quiet chuckle, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he leans over to grab the crumpled tissues and tosses them into the bin.

You watch as he moves across the room, the way the muscles in his back flex slightly, the definition of his lean form on full display. He’s only bothered to pull on his boxers, and you can’t help but admire the way they sit low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination.

He catches you staring in the reflection of his mirror, and when he turns, there’s an unmistakable glint of amusement in his cerulean eyes.

“Are you checking me out?” he asks, grinning as he stretches his arms above his head in an exaggerated display, making a show of the way his abs contract.

You don’t even bother denying it. “Yeah,” you admit shamelessly, your voice still a little hoarse, a little sleep-heavy.

His grin deepens, cocky and self-satisfied as he prowls back toward the bed. “Y’know, most people would at least pretend to have some shame,” he teases, hands bracing on either side of you as he leans down, his breath warm against your cheek.

You smirk, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “And yet, you like me because I don’t.”

Satoru laughs, a deep, satisfied sound, before he presses a quick, teasing kiss to the tip of your nose. “Fair point. But before you get too comfy…” His fingers trail down your arm, touch featherlight, before he straightens. “You should go pee.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by the abrupt shift in conversation. “What?”

He shrugs. “Aftercare, babe. I read somewhere that you’re supposed to pee after sex so you don’t get, like, a UTI or something.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head with a chuckle. “That might be the single least sexy thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Wow, and here I was just trying to be a gentleman,” he huffs, flopping onto your tiny dorm bed as you drag yourself to the bathroom.

When you return, he’s sprawled out like he owns the damn thing, taking up more than half of the already-cramped mattress. You clamber in beside him, and as soon as you settle, he immediately pulls you into his chest, long limbs wrapping around you like a human octopus.

“You really need a bigger bed,” he grumbles, shifting as he tries to get comfortable, which is difficult when he’s all legs and arms and your bed is barely big enough for one person.

You snort, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “It’s a college dorm, Satoru. I don’t exactly get to choose the furniture.”

“Well, the furniture sucks.” He presses a slow, lazy kiss against your forehead. “Or maybe you’re just tiny.”

“Or maybe,” you counter, poking his side, “you’re just huge.”

Satoru suddenly shifts, propping himself up on one elbow as his fingers idly trace patterns along your arm. His voice takes on that telltale tone—the one that means he’s about to drop some nerdy fact on you.

“Hey, you ever heard of convergence theory?”

You groan. “Oh my God, Satoru, not now.”

He ignores you, of course. “It’s from social psychology. You should know this, considering your major and all… Okay, anyways, so, it’s this idea in social psychology that people with different backgrounds and experiences will—over time—start to develop similar beliefs and behaviors just by being around each other.”

You lift your head slightly to squint at him. “Are you seriously psychoanalyzing us after sex?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “And I’m saying that clearly, you and I spend way too much time together because you’re starting to become just as shameless as me.”

You roll your eyes, flopping back against his chest. “Yeah, or maybe I was always like this and you’re just now realizing it.”

He hums, tucking his chin over the top of your head. “Dunno… guess we’ll have to spend more time together to find out.”

You feel his smile against your hair, and your lips twitch. “Oh? Sounds like you’re trying to extend our little tutoring arrangement.”

“Mm, maybe. Though I think it’s safe to say you’re officially a math genius now, thanks to me.”

You snort. “Math genius is a stretch.”

“Nah, you’re brilliant,” he counters, his tone uncharacteristically soft before he ruins the moment entirely. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—sometimes I still think your brain is full of shit, but you’ve come a long way.”

You gasp, lightly smacking his arm. “Asshole.”

He laughs, catching your wrist with ease before lacing his fingers through yours. “You love it.”

“You wish.”

“Actually, I know,” he says smugly. “Because if I remember correctly, you were very, very into me just a few minutes ago. Actually scratch that, I was very into you, literally, I mean I literally came inside—“

Heat creeps up your neck as you scoff, pulling away slightly to glare at him. “And you absolutely just killed the moment.”

Satoru just grins, unbothered, before something flickers in his expression—something nervous, hesitant. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

He clears his throat. “Uh, speaking of… y’know… us.”

You blink. “That’s a weird segue.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to—” He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I swear it’s not just because we had sex—not that the sex wasn’t great, because it was, I mean, obviously, it’s me—”

“Satoru.”

“Right, right, I’m getting there.” He shakes his head, then glances down at you, nervousness creeping into his normally easy confidence. “I just… I really like you. Like, not just in a ‘this is fun and flirty’ kind of way, but in a ‘holy shit, I actually care about you and want to keep seeing you’ kind of way.”

Your breath catches, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs.

He fumbles on, growing more flustered. “And—fuck—I don’t want you to think this is some post-sex high talking because I’ve actually liked you for a while now, and I thought I was being all cool and subtle about it, but Suguru told me I was being about as subtle as a brick to the face, so—”

You laugh, cutting him off. “Wow, you’re really bad at this.”

He groans, flopping onto his back dramatically. “I know! This is so much harder than it needs to be.”

You grin, shifting to prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. “Well, since we’re doing confessions, I should probably tell you that I’ve liked you for a while too.”

His head snaps toward you, cerulean eyes wide. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Obviously,” you say, mimicking his earlier words. “I mean, did you think I let every annoying asshole bully me into extra tutoring sessions and make fun of the way my graphs are wonky?”

“I knew you liked me,” he says smugly, but his voice is softer now, like he’s savoring the words.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, are you gonna ask me properly or just keep making a mess of it?”

Satoru exhales, shaking his head with a grin before he turns onto his side, looking at you seriously. He lifts a hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingers linger against your cheek.

“Be my girlfriend?” he asks, and for once, there’s no teasing in his tone. Just sincerity.

Your lips curve as you reach up, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I’d love to.”

His smile is instant, bright and dazzling, before he’s suddenly pulling you on top of him, wrapping his arms around you as he rolls onto his back. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re mine now.”

You laugh, settling against his chest. “I guess I am.”

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his grin still evident against your skin. “Good. Because I plan on annoying the hell out of you for a long time.”

You sigh dramatically. “Lucky me.”

But really, you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

—

bonus - 

You sit cross-legged on Satoru’s ridiculously plush couch, one of his oversized hoodies draped over your frame as you anxiously refresh your university portal for the hundredth time. The apartment around you is an unfair testament to just how absurdly wealthy he is—floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek modern furniture, a TV that takes up an entire wall.

But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is the stupid little number that’s about to determine whether you passed your math exam.

“Babe,” Satoru drawls from behind you, where he’s lounging far too comfortably. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke. Just wait for the email.”

“I can’t wait for the email,” you hiss, refreshing again. “I need to know now.”

Satoru sighs dramatically before sauntering over, flopping onto the couch beside you. He props his chin on your shoulder, peering at your screen with an exaggerated squint.

“Oh, look at that,” he muses, lips curling at the corner. “Anxious little thing, aren’t you?”

You elbow him in the ribs. He just grins, unfazed.

And then—

Your breath catches in your throat. The grade pops up on the screen, crisp and undeniable. A good grade. A very good grade.

“I—holy shit, I passed!” You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands before twisting to look at Satoru, eyes wide with disbelief. “I actually passed!”

He lets out a loud, triumphant whoop, grabbing you by the waist and hauling you into his lap. “Knew it! Knew my baby was a genius!”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he spins you slightly, pressing sloppy, exaggerated kisses all over your face. “Satoru, stop—”

“Never,” he declares, before finally catching your lips in a proper kiss—deep, warm, tasting like sugar from whatever ridiculously expensive snack he’d been eating earlier.

He pulls back just enough to grin down at you. “Sooo… celebratory sex?”

“Oh my God.” You smack his chest, and he cackles. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What?” he says, all faux innocence, but then his grin turns slow and lazy, and he suddenly looks far too pleased with himself. “You know, Aristotle once said that excellence is not an act, but a habit.”

You narrow your eyes. “And?”

“And I think,” he murmurs, nosing along your jaw, “that we should make this a habit.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You are so horny. Give it a rest, freak”

He smirks. “Mmm, I can’t help it.”

You roll your eyes. But then—maybe it’s the rush of relief, or the way he’s looking at you, or maybe you just don’t want to hear any more Aristotle quotes—

You thread your fingers into his hair and tug, just hard enough to make his breath hitch.

“Alright,” you say, lips curling. “I’ll take you up on that previous offer. Just to shut you up.”

Satoru just grins, eyes dark and so smug.

“Baby, you are so gonna regret saying that.”

You don’t.

a/n: i hope everyone knows i had to research physics in my free time to get the convos to sound somewhat coherent AND go through my old mathematics textbook and math notes-- BUT ITS WORTH IT I LOVE EVERYONE ON TUMBLR AND I LOVE PHYSICS NERD SATORU!!!

can't even think of the word physics anymore without thinking of my glorious king..

but thank you for reading and waiting for this fic :)

[cuntyji]

nerdjo by mvtchaee

[ahresprite]

is it casual now?

[witchyblade]

need to keep them in my pocket and protect them from any harm, art by @ hazzadessine on twitter

[viorelx]

The way vi is holding cait's arm

From: star_ry_eyed (twitter)