you had been at home for a few hours now, scrolling uselessly through your phone, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. you're still in your school uniform and your bag is still packed because you simply cannot find the energy to do anything. rain has begun to patter against your window and you curl up even more, trying to stop the tears.
i mean, you know he was probably lying to you, but what about all those times he called you pretty? said that he loved you, even. how demented that he could speak of you like some dog and then utter words of love.
you stand, looking into your mirror and cursing what you see. when did you become so attached? what an idiot, you think, liking someone who spends all his time making fun of you. you stand there for a few minutes before there is a knock on your front door.
you sniffle before you force yourself to answer it, slowly opening it only to find gojo on the other side. in his hands are flowers and candy, the one he always teases you for, and the look on his face is nothing short of pathetic. seeing him makes your face contort with anger and sadness, and tears begin to escape.
"go, go away, satoru."
"i'm sorry, okay? you know i would never mean it, i, i love hanging out with you. i really shouldn't of-"
"no! no, you really should not of said that about me." you yell, voice shaking as the rain begins to soak both of your hair. "you, you are such a miserable person, toru, and i h-hate that i let you treat me like this. w-whatever, whatever this is? it's not happening anymore."
gojo's eyes widen and he reaches out to you, saying your name desperately, but it's too late. you slam the door and lock it, storming back to your bedroom. you lay on your bed, hiding your face in your pillow as the tears continue to come, cursing your stupidity.
gojo stands there in the rain, tears camouflaged as he looks at your door. the flowers are long soggy, and the candy likely ruined. he can't find it in himself to turn away, to leave, but he knows you will not answer again.
Toxic bf Gojo who’s so fucking obsessed with you it’s borderline suffocating, but somehow that obsession never translates into actually treating you right. He knows your schedule better than you do, shows up unannounced because “you’re mine, I don’t need permission,” but can’t be bothered to text you back for hours when you ask how his day went.
Toxic bf Gojo who gets violently jealous if another guy so much as looks at you, who grabs your wrist in public and pulls you away from conversations.. “you were smiling at him too much,” but thinks nothing of canceling your dates last minute because Suguru wanted to hit up some party. “Don’t be clingy,” he says when you’re upset. “It’s not a good look on you.”
Toxic bf Gojo who fucks you like he’s trying to prove you belong to him, who leaves marks on your neck and bruises on your hips and makes you scream his name, who holds you after and whispers “you’re mine, only mine” like a promise…. then barely touches you for days after, busy with shit he won’t explain, leaving you wondering what you did wrong.
Toxic bf Gojo who knows exactly what makes you feel small, and weaponizes it whenever you try to stand up for yourself. “You’re being dramatic again.” “God, why are you so fucking sensitive?” “I love you, but you’re exhausting sometimes, you know that?” And you always take it. Because in between the cruelty, there are moments where he’s soft. Where he shows up late nights with your favorite food “I was thinking about you.” Where he pulls you into his lap and plays with your hair and tells you you’re the only good thing in his life. And you cling to those moments like a lifeline, convinced that this… this is the real him. The rest is just stress. Just him having a bad day. He’ll change. He loves you. He’ll change.
Toxic bf Gojo who’s so confident you’ll never leave that he doesn’t even bother pretending to care when you’re upset anymore. You cry? He rolls his eyes. You try to talk about your feelings? He’s on his phone. You say you can’t do this anymore? He just smirks and says, “Yeah, okay. You’ll get over it.” Because you always do. You always cave. You always end up apologizing to him for being too much, too needy, too sensitive.
Until today.
“I’m done.” You say it quietly, standing in his apartment with your bag already packed.
Satoru doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Yeah? What is it this time?”
“I’m leaving you.”
That gets his attention. He glances up, eyebrow raised, that familiar condescending smile on his face.
“Babe, come on.” He sets his phone down with an exaggerated sigh, leaning back on the couch like this is just another one of your tantrums. “You’re upset. I get it. But don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not being stupid. I’m serious.” Your hands grip the strap of your bag tighter, knuckles going white.
He pats the couch next to him likee he’s calling a dog. “Come here. Stop being a crybaby and we’ll talk about whatever’s bothering you.”
“No.”
“No?” His smile falters… just slightly. “What, you’re gonna stand there and pout until I beg you to stay? Grow up [name]”
“I’m not doing this anymore, Satoru. I’m not waiting around for you to decide I’m worth your time. I’m not…..” Your voice cracks despite your best efforts, tears burning behind your eyes.. “I’m not letting you treat me like shit and convincing myself it’s love.”
He stands up now, the confidence draining from his posture, replaced by something dark and dangerous. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You’re overreacting.”
“I’m not. I’m finally reacting the way I should have months ago.” Your voice is rising now, months of swallowed words finally spilling out.
He moves toward you, reaching for your wrist with that same possessive grip he always uses.
You step back.
That stops him cold. His hand freezes mid air. You never step back from him.
“Don’t touch me.” Your voice is steady, even as your heart races against your ribs.
“What the fuck is this?” He snaps, angry, blue eyes narrowing as if daring you.“Where is this coming from?”
“It’s been coming for a while. You just haven’t been paying attention.” You’re yelling now, and you don’t care anymore “You ignore me unless you want sex. You cancel on me constantly. You make me feel like I’m crazy for having basic fucking needs”
“Basic needs?” He laughs, His voice dripping with sarcasm “Basic needs are food and water. What you have are dependency issues. You’re so fucking dramatic”
“Stop. Stop saying that.” Your hands are shaking, trembling with rage and heartbreak and finally, finally standing up for yourself. You grab your bag… “I’m done being your emotional punching bag. I’m done making myself smaller so you can feel bigger.”
You turn toward the door, and he doesn’t move, just stands there frozen, watching you leave like he can’t quite process what’s happening.
Epilogue
Three weeks later and Satoru’s losing his mind.
You blocked his number. Changed your schedule. Avoid every place you used to go together.
He shows up at your apartment. You don’t answer. He leaves flowers on the doorstep every morning. You throw them in the trash without even looking at the card. He sends texts from different numbers that you don’t respond to.
“I’m sorry.” “Please talk to me.” “I’ll change.” “I am changing.” “I can’t do this without you.”
But you never respond.
Two months later, he sees you at a coffee shop. You look… good. Better than you did when you were with him..
He stands up and takes a step toward you.
You look right through him and walk out.
And that’s when it finally hits him. You’re not coming back.
He lost you
And there’s no one to blame but himself.
MDNI: adult content!ㅤbully!Nerdjo falling a little too hard for the dean's daughter, who takes art and mathematics and ends up in the classes where the physics prodigy thinks he alone dominates...
ㅤcollege auㅤsmutㅤlight fluff/angstㅤsocials stalkingㅤbullyingㅤlight degradation kinkㅤblackmail sexㅤperv behaviors (getting off to your photos)ㅤmean!Gojo but he becomes softㅤsemi-public sexㅤrough kissingㅤrough sexㅤsolo male masturbationㅤp in v sexㅤfingeringㅤhate sexㅤenemies with benefitsㅤone-sided relationshipㅤpiningㅤsome academic warfare lol
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO has you convinced, on day one of the first semester, that he's the most insufferable man who ever lived.
"That's mine."
"Not anymore."
And just like that, your nice leather bag belongs to him now. You're carrying heavy algebra I and art history textbooks for the rest of the day, struggling too heave them along with your canvas bag from lecture to lecture.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO makes intense eye contact with you as he swoops down, takes a bite of your lunch peach while it's still in your hand, slurping and suckling the juices as he tears the soft flesh clean off the fruit—then continues walking on by as if he did no such thing, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You're left with a miserable look on your face and a ruined peach dripping its sweet nectar down your wrist.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO has made it his daily mission to be your obstacle, especially first thing in the morning. In stark bright corridors of piercingly early mornings, when you're looking droopy and bleary-eyed, suddenly Satoru's yelling GOOD MORNING at your face until you jump with a start. It's deliberate; he wants to disturb you, he savors every moment of disturbing you. Almost like it's his kink.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose jealousy prickles at his neck when he sees you talking to some other guy after a lecture; so naturally, he's got to slide in and call you baby even though you're not, slipping an arm around your waist and reeling you in for a kiss all while keeping eye contact with the blonde-haired accounting student who now bears a miserable look. The moment Nanami disappears, Satoru drops the act of affectionate boyfriend and leaves you with a crude remark and lingering smirk.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO pretends he's not looking at you instead of taking lecture notes like he ought to be. Disturbance of a collar. Cotton shirt ruffling. A turn of the head. Cold, cold blue eyes. He angles his face just right to get away with looking at you, while making it seem like he's merely glancing out the window. But his eyes, his eyes are swiveling all the way to the far left in a desperate attempt to eat you up, to gobble you down.
The heart palpitations ensue when you catch him looking.
And you sneer at him, wholeheartedly.
He sneers back at you and looks away, breaking the illusion that he ever felt a soft feeling for you.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose nimble fingers unbutton, in haste, the first three buttons of that white cotton shirt that clings softly to his sharp shoulders, then the fat button of his neat suit pants. He pushes them far down, hissing at the sensation of cool air greeting his scalding hot cock. It's poking its head up so violently red, veins popping angrily all over it.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who beats his poor dick raw in the quiet of a bathroom stall, no other noise filling the air but the sounds of fwipfwipfwip and the subtle clinking of his belt paired with his quavering sighs, as he jerks himself off hard and fast to the scarce photos that exist on someone's socials of you. He hates that he can cum so easily just to your face. Since when is he such a pervert?—this level of freak is unknown to him, but now suddenly he's gasping and spraying a mess of cum all over the tiled floor.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who drapes himself over the bench outside the humanities department, snickering with his dark-eyed best friend about how all the arts students are losers with too much money to squander on a useless degree. He tightens his posture when he sees you emerging from the front doors. "Satoru? What's wrong? You've gone quiet." notes Suguru, idly twirling a lock of his dark hair. Satoru doesn't respond, only, he just sits there and feels uncomfortably hot as your eyes meet him. He can't help but be turned on even if you're glowering at him; if anything, maybe that's what gets him so hot in the first place.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose blood boils not just because you're the dean's daughter that breezed into the university he worked his ass for, but because you have the audacity to take his beloved mathematics with silly, silly art—"They coincide, she says," lingers Satoru, head of white tilted backwards as he lazes on the green expanse of the quad with Suguru, "but when has mathematics ever been about art?" he finishes. Satoru says all this, but still finds himself contemplating your argument; that art is mathematics and vice versa.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who embarrasses you in front of the very professor who he knows already views you as some lowly creature, marring your proud academic standing before it's even mid-semester. To worsen it all, Satoru steals your notes and takes the liberty of grading all your mistakes with snarky corrections, drawing passive-aggressive hearts all over the pages you worked so hard to make concise and neat.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who grinningly looks back at you after deliberately colliding shoulders down the corridors, muttering an apology that sounds sweet and sincere enough to passers-by—but you know the truth of his intention
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who plays games with you even while in the danger zone; your father's sifting through papers and talking to the professor before the lecture commences, but Satoru's winking at you, unashamedly staring, making crude gestures with his tongue between the V of his fingers, giggling with his grimy friends about how unsurprising it is that the dean's daughter should make it into one of the most elite universities
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose lips come crashing down on yours at some hazy weekend party, mouth engulfing yours with feverish need. Satoru's swallowing your moans, claw-like grip on your cheeks leaving dents on your soft skin. This doesn't mean anything, or so he grits upon your lips whenever he breaks the kiss, but how can it not when he kisses you like that? His lips slide over yours so hungrily, like he's a wolf slowly devouring its bunny.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who stalks you out of your hiding places, every little sanctuary of yours invaded by this pompous ass who thoroughly gets off on stealing your solitude, it seems. First it's the second-hand bookstore, where you like to idle in silence, contemplating which books you'll be able to afford with your meager savings, until he suddenly finds out and buys all those art books you're excited for—Kandinsky, Monet, M.C. Escher...—and he gatekeeps them like a cruel librarian, "Well if you want them, I can give them to you; it'll just cost five minutes of your lips." he bargains, shit-eating grin plastered all over his handsome face, sunglasses slipping down his nose, "So, in other words..." he calculates in his head, "If you want all of them, you'll have to kiss me for an hour."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who really gets you with this offer because... come on. Free books. Well, at the cost of your bully ravaging your lips... but he moans into your mouth almost poetically, and he cups your cheeks and presses his big body tightly to your smaller one with a fervency you've never experienced before. By the time you've earned your books, you can't think straight enough to read them; not after he's kissed you dumb. He leaves you gawking idly after him, clutching a slipping cascade of poetry and art books in your arms.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who discretely stalks your socials until, one day, he discovers your tumblr smut writing blog. And it's like hitting a god damn treasure trove. At first, he thinks he'll humiliate you for it, but then his dick ponders on it and he brews a cruel idea.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who rubs your puffy clit to your own writings, sometimes giving a harsh couple spanks to your sore little pussy, "You're such a little pervert, you know that?—let's see how seriously everyone takes you after they find out you write stuff like this. Aw, but of course, I won't tell anyone if you just do me a favor..."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose 'favor' entails you letting him stuff two thick fingers in your pussy until you're squirting all over his palm and wrist. "That's it, that's it; cum like a good girl now, and I won't say a damn thing to anyone."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who never expects you to come crawling back for more after that, but you do; more bizarrely, you're letting him flip up your skirt and bury his cock balls-deep in your inviting cunt. "Keep it fuckin' quiet, little brat. I have a reputation to uphold; can't be caught fuckin' the dean's daughter, can I? N'aw, you'd get this dick expelled. And you don't want that either, do you? Not with how you fuckin' cling to me... so keep your mouth shut."
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who makes you late to lectures because he wants to burrow his dick deep inside you and play with your breasts. With one hand on your neck, he glowers down at you, "I hate how good you make me feel, you know that?—you're not fair." he grits, feeling his fat cock strangled by your pussy. He cums way too easily when you clamp down on him, and call him romantic but he likes cumming at the same time you do... it just makes his heart flutter.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whom you begrudgingly tolerate with at the formal dance, taking his offered hand and letting him lead you to the dim dancefloor.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO whose breath is lingering on your neck, along with sweet words that you can't deny are creeping right into your soul and breaching the tall walls you built around your heart just because of him. His softness was unfamiliar, unknown, yet so sincere that you let it reel you right in. A night of closeness, without meanness or snide remarks, only two rivals threatening to become more, two kids that never wanted to grow up bonding over their yearning for another chance at youth—he tells you how he never was allowed to leave the house much, how he was sensitive and his mother coddled him too much, how he wasn't allowed to do most things other kids could do because of her nervousness to protect him, how even the smallest scratch on a playground would have her whisking him away to the safe confines of the house for a week.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO doesn't anticipate his own confession; its blurted out, "I like you, I just like you." he admits, then widens his eyes as if startled by himself.
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who gets carried away with kissing you, his feelings flooding in all too soon and suddenly you're left alone on the dancefloor, wondering why he stormed off with some lame excuse
ㅤBULLY!NERDJO who you find losing his mind in the library courtyard after thirty minutes of searching across campus for him. He's pulling at the white tufts of hair and sobbing softly to himself, "Fuck... fuck... why did I say that..." he talks madly under his breath, pacing back and forth, heart quaking with something he's never really felt before—it's called love.
ㅤANㅤI started watching Mixte 1963 purely for Joseph Descamps, and he became the inspiration for this (even though he's a major dickbag in that series! Very pretty actor though, and he plays the role so well.). Anyways, I really like the idea of a bully!Gojo slowly losing his mind because he's never fallen in love before.
fic warnings!!: dead dove do not eat, extreme bullying, dubcon/noncon, unhealthy relationships, talks of suic1de, attempts at suic1de, delulu satosugu, geto and gojo are really really horrible honestly, major trigger warning for fic and fic chapters, reader is chubby and mentally unwell at times, a lot of angst/somewhat comfort, the boys get a lil better eventually, somewhat fluff? talks of babytrapping, satosugu fantasizing about you, they're down bad and just don't admit it, breeding kink, yan!satosugu x fem!reader, smut!! very dark content, pls be warned!!!
this chapter will be more plot-heavy as I wanted to give reader more depth and the story more depth before jumping to the fun stuff, no smut but there is talk of s3lf h*rm and su1c1dal ideation in this chapter so please be warned if this is triggering material!! Next chapter will include more steamy stuff👀
Life really has only gotten worse since the incident with that guy you liked a couple weeks ago. Everyday just feels like a complete fight for you to even get out of bed in the morning to attend the hell-hole you call a school. The only thing that really keeps you going is the consolation that in about a month, it'll all be over and done with, and you'll never have to see or talk to any of these people ever again, especially those two.
Thinking of them just makes you sick. They're repulsive, and haven't let up even a bit after your humiliating public rejection a couple weeks ago. You honestly can't decide if you want to kill yourself or them more, really. Every second you're at that school, they torment you. From snarky, objectifying comments about you to making themselves apparent in every aspect of your life in the worst way possible, they were the bane of your existence. It makes you sick to see how everyone praises them and licks their boots when they see your suffering plain as day, and none of them choose to help you. You've already decided that once this is over with, you'll never see anyone here again. As soon as the diploma hits your hand, you're walking off the stage and will never talk to any of them ever again. You're just going to keep laying low, not speaking to anyone, and pretending you don't even exist to anyone around you. It's not like you really do, anyways. You're just a laughing stock for anyone around you anyways. The least you can do is just...tune it out like you've been doing.
Nobody can hate you more than you hate yourself, after all.
Satoru and Suguru have noticed your withdrawal at school for the past couple days, your usual snarky and fighty attitude towards them has lowered significantly, and they hate it. Suguru is tired of his snowy haired counterpart being a brat and sulking around like a puppy that's had it's favorite toy taken away. To be fair, though, Suguru is not exactly happy about it either. Why aren't you fighting them so much? What happened to those claws you have that are so ready to dig into their abusers? How boring. Suguru is already trying to pry around for information, trying to see if someone's pushed a little too many buttons, but he can't seem to find any info as to why. Well, that's a shame, but that's what Satoru is here for.
If anyone can push buttons one too many times, it's him.
You're on your way down to the teacher's lounge/office again, not wanting to deal with the loud and overstimulating nature of the lunchroom. That's at least one thing you can be appreciative of, is that the teachers DO notice what's going on. Even if they can't do anything about it, most of them offer you a sort of pity that makes you feel worse about your situation even more, somehow. But regardless of your feelings on that, you do appreciate their small efforts like letting you stay in "teacher only" environments to avoid the bullying and harassment you face constantly.
You're holed up in a corner in an uncomfy leather chair, body scrunched up as to hide yourself even further when you see a fluffy white head ghost by the glass window in the office. You immediately duck down further before he notices you.
The teacher sitting parallel a few feet away notices your discomfort, and immediately sighs. "Dont worry, (y/n). I'll handle him." The teacher sitting there, Mr. Yuin, stands to confront the blue eyed demon as he repetitively (and annoyingly) keeps tapping on the glass over and over again until Mr. Yuin reaches the door.
"What is it, Gojo, This is a teacher only space. You're aware of that." Satoru plasters on a sincere-ish expression on his face before replying.
"Well, the principal wanted me to come down to inquire about where (y/n l/n) is. Apparently, she's being nominated for something on the school appreciation board, whatever that could be." He's a pretty decent liar, at least. That's one of the only positive things you could say about the 6"4 menace. You shrink down into the seat further as you attempt to listen in.
"I don't think she's here, Gojo. Even if she was, I don't feel inclined to believe what you said. If the principal had a concern, he'd call me here in the office, not send one of the most notorious trouble makers here to make an "inquiry"." Mr Yuin scoffs before adding - "Do you even know what that word means, Gojo?" Satoru sighs, rolling his eyes before dropping the act. "Could you just throw me a bone, teach'? Even you know she's trash, why even bother trying to protect her? It's a miracle she's even going to graduate." A blatant lie, but a somewhat believable one, despite your grades. Unfortunately, people don't pick up on (or care) about your grades, it's all about your reputation.
Satoru keeps trying to peek his head into the office, peering around as you feel your skin start to sweat.
Fuck, what if he sees you? Will he just brute-force his way into the office? What then? What does he even want with you today?
Luckily, Mr. Yuin comes to your rescue again. "Gojo, I'm just gonna ignore that comment and ask you to leave. Please don't make me report you." He pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously irritated. Well, at least someone other than you sees how obnoxious Satoru really is. Satoru makes a display of obvious annoyance, sighing loudly and rolling his eyes before complying. "Fineeee, whatever." Mr. Yuin sighs, thanking Gojo for his compliance and goes to shut the door once he leaves, but something just doesn't feel quite right about that whole interaction...why would he give up so easily? That's not Satoru at all.
Oh well, it's over with anyways. All of the stress suddenly leaves your body, and you let out a quiet sigh as your body relaxes more. You quietly thank Mr. Yuin, and go back to picking at your lunch. Suddenly, though, you look out of the corner of your eye to spot Satoru staring a hole into you, smirking ear to ear like the Cheshire cat. He mouths something, but you can't be sure of what it is. You only make out "teacher's pet" before he saunters away with that annoying, pompous attitude. God, he's such a prick. Well, at least you don't have to see him again today. You're allowed to leave after you finish this lunch break, one of the perks of being an A+ student and already having all of your required credits.
It's the next day when you begin to notice something awry in the air. The whispers around you seem louder than they usually are, and the atmosphere around you just feels...odd. You don't know what's going on, but you can only take a wild guess that it somehow involves you, unsurprisingly.
Whatever, rumors are rumors.
You're so used to words being thrown around about you that it's honestly entertaining to you that so many people believe the insane claims that your two tormentors come up with.
At least, that's what you think until you pass by Mr. Yuin's empty office with all of his decorations gone from his desk.
What's going on? Mr. Yuin never misses a day of school. In fact, in the 2 years that you've known him, you don't think you've ever seen the guy not at work, how odd. You look inside, scowling a little at the fact that your favorite teacher that usually lets you hide away from the masses isn't here today.
You find out a few moments later through anonymous whispers in the halls from a bunch of nobodies that Mr. Yuin won't be back, ever.
Apparently because of you.
Allegedly, Mr. Yuin was having an "inappropriate relationship with one of his students and a student saw and reported the incident."
That student being you, apparently.
You want to scream. This is so disgusting, and you know exactly who did it.
Your favorite teacher just got fired because of a stupid lie spread around by Satoru and Suguru out of their pettiness. Mr. Yuin was one of your only protectors at this godforsaken school, and now he's gone. You quickly walk through the halls, trying not to draw attention to yourself since you know probably 90% of these people know what happened and know YOU, which is even worse. As you pass through the halls, you can see the eyes all linger on you, some sneering, some laughing, some just staring. The whispers are really what bothers you, however.
"Can you believe that girl's been sleeping with that teacher? Yuck."
"She's beyond a teachers pet, she's a teacher's whore at this point."
"Imagine being so desperate that you coerce a teacher to fuck you. EW"
"I feel bad for Mr. Yuin. He could've at least banged a hotter student, not that sad lump."
You feel that unpleasantly familiar welling of tears in your eyes. Not now, you can't cry now. Please don't start crying. You're trying to fight the tears coming down your face as you slam open the door to the principal's office. Startled, they immediately turn towards you and can't even get a sentence out before you start:
"Who. Who started the rumor."
The principal and his assistant both sigh, looking at each other before beginning. "Y/N, you know we can't name the student who reported it, it's a violation of privacy-"
"Oh, it's a violation of privacy?? What about MY PRIVACY? You know this isn't true, why did you even let it get out?" You begin to sniffle in front of them, clearly frustrated and upset with the situation. "Violation of privacy" your ass. You know who started this, you just want confirmation so that you can finally go beat his ass seriously, maybe even shove him off the roof and watch him splatter on the concrete. The principal begins spouting out fragile reasoning and diffusion of responsibility, how they "have to take accusations seriously" and "even if it's not true it has to be investigated" and how "we know bullying isn't tolerated but there's not much they can do right now without evidence-" No evidence? NO EVIDENCE OF BULLYING? The entire school knows exactly who causes your torment and any random student could give you at least 3 instances they saw in PERSON of your humiliation and bullying. You feel so fucking sick, this is the final straw. They've already ruined your social life, your reputation, taken away all of your friends, left you isolated socially and continually harass you on the daily both physically and mentally. And now, they've taken away a teacher that you cared about and that protected you simply out of spite of him not bending to their will. You're fucking done, it's over. You quickly wipe your eyes, give all of them a dirty look and exit the office, heading to your locker to pick up your stuff and not come back to this school.
On your locker is a crudely written note with the worst handwriting you've ever seen scribbled on it:
"How was the teacher dick? Was it worth it?"
You quickly crumble it up and throw it away, gathering your things and heading out of school.
Of course your life couldn't be THAT easy, as Satoru and Suguru stand on the sidewalk, immediately locking eyes on your emotionally disheveled state. You don't even speak a word to them, not even a dirty look. Just keep walking, you think.
You hear the heavy footsteps quickly join you, snickering at your state and faux-cooing at the tears running down your face. "Awwww, didn't like the rumor? I can't believe you'd do such a thing, poor Mr. Yuin," Satoru says, leaning down into your face. Suguru isn't far behind, peering at you with that stupid coy smile and uppity expression. "You're right, Satoru. Who would've known you'd do such a thing? He could go to jail because of you, you know, " Suguru adds onto the fire. They both have a loud chuckle at this, being thrilled at finally having you under their thumb again after a couple days of you being so fucking aloof from them. You deserve this, they think. You're the one responsible for this. If you had just continued your role of being their little mouse captured in their claws, you would've just continued your usual route of bullying instead of them having to up it a couple notches. They don't feel bad at all for what's happened, if anything they're elated. God, how they love to see you cry. It's like doing heroin for them, seeing the long streaks of tears and snot come running down your chubby cheeks. It's been a while since you've actually cried in front of them. Lately, you've been trying to just "tune them out" like that'll actually help you, like you know how to "manage" them. You can't manage them, little mouse, YOU are the one under THEIR management, not them. After all, that's one of the main things that gets under their skin. You just think you can deal with it all, that you're so "strong", that it's all just a state of mind, but you're so wrong. What you don't know is that they'll continue to escalate it until you break or agree to become theirs. You're so stubborn it's infuriating. It's a good thing they're so good at playing the long game, otherwise you'd be out of their grasp by now.
Satoru is pulling at your cheeks now, laughing at how snotty and tear covered they are and making crude mockeries of your expressions as Suguru just stands and smirks like he always does. Suddenly, your hand juts out to grab Satoru's wrist. He laughs, getting even further down into your face. "What? Can't take anymore? Awwww I'm so sorry honey." As you grip Satoru's wrist even harder, you don't realize your sleeve pulling up further, revealing cut marks and previous scarring on the inside of your wrist. Both Satoru and Suguru immediately take notice of this, eyes widening as they, for the very first time in their lives, go silent for a couple moments, not being able to even form a word.
It doesn't last long before Satoru begins laughing again.
"Wow, you're cutting yourself too? God you really are so patheti-"
You reel back with all of the might you have in your body and punch Satoru square in the face, hearing a crack as you pray it broke his fucking nose. His head violently turns, as he stumbles on the pavement for a moment, blood is now streaming down his nose and his face is already turning a darker purple-ish brown color from the bruising.
Oddly enough, he doesn't look angry at you. Not even fear, or shock. This is so weird, what is he even thinking right now?
Suddenly, he stares up at you as you stand over him with a bloody fist, his face flushed and pupils dialated so wide that you can barely see the blue. He reaches to touch the spot where you socked him, smearing the blood further across his face where the impact hit.
First thing first: young Satoru isn’t evil. He’s good at his core. But he genuinely, sincerely, fundamentally believes he’s the protagonist of reality and everyone else is background sound design. NPC chatter. Ambient noise. People don’t exist to him unless they’re useful, entertaining, or threatening.
The only person he registers as real-real is Suguru. That’s his equal.
He’s also introverted as hell in the way rich, gifted, isolated kids are introverted — not shy, just… emotionally illiterate. He doesn’t know how to attach. He doesn’t know how to bond. He doesn’t know how to want someone without immediately turning it into possession, curiosity, or dominance. His childhood trained him to be worshipped, feared, or obeyed. Nobody ever taught him how to be liked. Nobody ever taught him what mutual feels like.
So yeah, stereotype or not, the reason he notices you is because you don’t give a shit.
You don’t stare.
You don’t whisper.
You don’t orbit.
You don’t flinch when he walks past.
You act like he’s not there.
And at first? He thinks it’s funny. Cute, even. Like watching a glitch in the matrix. Everyone else reacts to him — you don’t. You’re either brave or stupid or lying, and he wants to figure out which. He doesn’t see you as a person yet. You’re a puzzle. A game. A boredom cure.
So he starts trying to get close.
Not in a creepy way. Not yet. Casual. Lazy charm. Smile, hands in pockets, sunglasses tilt. “Hey, wanna hang out with me sometime?”
And you straight up reject him.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
Not gently.
You laugh.
Out loud.
In public.
In front of people.
You mock him. Make a joke out of him. You say something like, “Why the hell would I want to hang out with you?” like it’s obvious. Like he just asked something insane. Like he’s embarrassing himself by even opening his mouth.
And that’s the first time something cracks.
Not rage — not yet — but ego injury. The kind that feels like heat under the ribs. The kind that feels like humiliation but sharper. Because in his head, he didn’t just invite you. He offered you something. His time. His presence. Access to his inner circle. In his world, that’s a privilege. That’s charity.
And you didn’t just decline.
You rejected him loudly on purpose.
In front of everyone.
That doesn’t compute.
So first he ignores you.
Not calmly — performatively. He makes a point of not looking at you. But he does look. Constantly. Just in reflections. Windows. Glass doors. He checks if you’re checking. You never are. You move through the world like he doesn’t exist.
And that makes something in his chest start to itch.
You don’t look bitter.
You don’t look hurt.
You don’t look impressed.
You look… normal.
And he hates that more than anything.
Suguru and Shoko notice. Of course they do. They start teasing him. Light stuff at first. “Damn, rejected already?” “Did someone bruise the ego?” “She really said no, huh?”
Normally he’d laugh it off.
He doesn’t.
He snaps.
Like—actually snaps.
Tells them to shut up. Tells them to mind their business. His voice is sharp in a way they’re not used to. No playful edge. No teasing rhythm. Just irritation.
That’s when they realize something’s off.
Because Satoru usually laughs at everything.
After that, the behavior changes.
It starts small.
He bumps into you in the hallway. Harder than necessary. Doesn’t apologize. Just mutters, “Watch where you’re going, bitch.”
You don’t react.
You don’t glare.
You don’t snap back.
You don’t even slow down.
You keep walking like he didn’t just exist behind you.
And that makes his stomach drop.
Not because he hurt you.
Because he didn’t matter.
So he escalates.
Pulls your hair when no one’s watching. Shoves your shoulder. Corners you against walls and leans too close, voice low, breath hot, eyes bright and mean. Tells you you’re useless. Tells you you don’t belong here. Tells you you should go back to wherever the fuck you crawled out of.
And he does it in front of people too.
Especially Suguru.
Especially Shoko.
Like he needs witnesses.
Like he needs to prove something.
He degrades you out loud. Calls you names. Laughs at you. Makes you the punchline of conversations you’re not even part of. He turns your existence into a public inconvenience. A joke. A stain.
And the fucked up part?
You still don’t react.
You don’t cry.
You don’t beg.
You don’t explode.
You just… exist around it.
Which drives him insane.
Because he wants impact. He wants reaction. He wants proof that he can reach you. Hurt you. Move you. Make you feel anything about him. And you’re giving him nothing. He’s pouring gasoline on concrete and wondering why it won’t burn.
So it gets physical.
Not brutal — not yet — but invasive. Smacking you into walls under the guise of “accidents.” Twisting your wrist too hard when you try to walk away. Leaning over you until you’re cornered and whispering shit like, “You think you’re special? You’re nothing.”
And the whole time, his eyes are too alive.
Bright.
Focused.
Wrong.
Like he’s trying to scrape something out of you.
Suguru and Shoko get worried.
Not about you — at first — but about him. Because this isn’t normal. This isn’t playful. This isn’t teasing. This is fixation. This is obsession wearing the mask of hatred.
They call him out.
Tell him he’s acting weird. Tell him he’s overdoing it. Tell him he needs to chill the fuck out.
He laughs too fast.
Too loud.
“As if. I just hate her. That’s it.”
But his eyes are wide when he says it. Focused. Like he’s trying to convince a jury that doesn’t exist.
He keeps talking. Keeps explaining. Keeps justifying.
“She thinks she’s special. She’s not. She’s just annoying.”
But nobody even asked.
And that’s the part that’s unsettling.
His words come out like he’s arguing with himself.
Like he’s trying to convince someone invisible.
And the truth is, he is.
Because he doesn’t hate you.
He’s obsessed with you.
But his brain doesn’t have a category for that. He doesn’t know what attachment feels like unless it’s rivalry or worship or possession. He doesn’t know how to want something without wanting to own it, dominate it, break it, or bend it until it fits into something familiar.
So his mind rewrites the narrative.
You’re obsessed with him.
Yeah. That makes more sense.
You’re just playing hard to get.
You’re just pretending not to care.
You’re just trying to get his attention in some fucked up way.
That must be it.
Because the alternative — that you genuinely don’t care — is unbearable.
So he builds this whole story in his head.
That you stare at him when he’s not looking.
That you listen when he talks.
That you flinch when he’s close because you’re nervous, not scared.
That you ignore him because you want him to chase you.
And every time you don’t react, he rewrites it as restraint.
Every time you walk away, he rewrites it as longing.
Every time you don’t speak, he rewrites it as shyness.
He decides you’re in love with him.
Deeply.
Desperately.
Pathetically.
And that you’re just bad at showing it.
And that’s when it gets really bad.
Because now, in his head, you’re not a person anymore.
You’re a narrative.
A character in a story where he is still the protagonist and you’re the love interest who doesn’t know her place yet.
So the abuse shifts.
He stops trying to humiliate you publicly.
Not because he feels bad.
Because, in his head, “Why would he hurt someone who loves him?”
Now it’s quieter.
More private.
More controlled.
He corners you alone. Lowers his voice. Gets closer. Talks softer but more threatening. Tells you things like, “You don’t have to pretend around me.” “I know what you’re doing.” “You don’t have to play dumb.”
And when you look at him like you don’t understand what the fuck he’s talking about, his expression doesn’t change — but something in his eyes tightens.
Because that doesn’t fit the script.
So he decides you’re lying.
And lying means manipulation.
And manipulation means you’re dangerous.
Which justifies everything.
He starts monitoring you.
Not consciously at first. Just noticing where you sit. Who you talk to. How long you laugh. Whether your smile looks real or fake. He memorizes your schedule without meaning to. Knows when you leave rooms before you do. Knows when you’re alone. Knows when you’re vulnerable.
And anytime someone else talks to you?
His mood tanks.
Not visibly. Not explosively. Just… colder. Sharper. Meaner. He gets snippy with Suguru. Short with Shoko. Aggressive with strangers. Like his nervous system is on fire and he doesn’t know why.
Because in his head, you’re his.
Not officially. Not verbally. Not consensually.
But narratively.
And seeing you interact with other people feels like cheating.
Which pisses him off.
But he can’t confront you about that — because you’re “playing hard to get,” remember? So instead, he punishes you indirectly. He escalates the bullying again. Gets rougher. Crueler. More invasive. Tells you you’re trash. Tells you no one actually likes you. Tells you everyone just tolerates you. Tells you you should be grateful he even looks at you.
And then five minutes later, he’ll be standing too close, voice low, tone almost gentle, saying, “Why do you always look like that around me?” “You don’t have to be scared.” “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
While actively hurting you.
And the scariest part?
He genuinely believes both versions of himself.
He believes he hates you.
He believes you love him.
He believes he’s the victim.
He believes you’re provoking him.
He believes he’s responding, not initiating.
So when Suguru finally snaps and tells him to leave you the fuck alone?
Satoru laughs.
Like actually laughs.
“Bro,” he says, “she’s obsessed with me.”
Suguru blinks. “What?”
“She’s just pretending she hates me,” he says casually. “It’s obvious.”
“Obvious how?”
“She never reacts,” he says. “She watches me when she thinks I’m not looking. She acts all cold but that’s just because she doesn’t know how to talk to me.”
None of that is true.
But he says it like it is.
Like it’s a fact.
Like it’s common sense.
Like everyone else is stupid for not seeing it.
And when Suguru tells him that sounds insane?
Satoru gets defensive again.
Not angry — insulted.
Like how dare you question the narrative in his head.
“You don’t get it,” he says. “You’re not there when she looks at me.”
“She doesn’t look at you,” Suguru says.
Satoru stares at him.
Long.
Flat.
Wrong.
“Yeah,” he says slowly. “She does.”
And from that point on, reality stops mattering.
Everything you do becomes evidence.
If you ignore him — you’re playing games.
If you avoid him — you’re shy.
If you flinch — you’re nervous because you like him.
If you get angry — you’re emotional because you care.
If you tell him to leave you alone — you’re lying to yourself.
There is no action you can take that doesn’t reinforce his delusion.
You’re trapped in a narrative you didn’t consent to.
And he starts acting like it.
He stops degrading you publicly, but he becomes territorial privately. Interrupts your conversations. Stands too close to people you’re talking to. Inserts himself physically between you and others. Smiles while doing it. Casual. Friendly. Possessive in a way that feels accidental until it doesn’t.
And when you call him out?
He looks genuinely confused.
“What?” he says. “I’m just talking.”
“You’re always near me,” you say.
He tilts his head. “We’re in the same building.”
“You touch me,” you say.
He shrugs. “Accidents happen.”
“You won’t leave me alone,” you say.
And that’s when his smile drops just enough to show teeth.
“I am leaving you alone.”
Which is terrifying, because he genuinely believes it.
Meanwhile, his internal world is rotting.
He thinks about you constantly.
Not in a romantic way — not soft — but compulsive. Intrusive. Like an itch in his skull. He replays your expressions. Your tone. The way your mouth twists when you’re annoyed. The way your eyes narrow when you’re tired. He memorizes micro-expressions he pretends not to notice.
He imagines conversations with you.
Arguments.
Confessions.
Moments where you finally break and admit you like him.
He doesn’t fantasize about kissing you.
He fantasizes about you snapping.
About you yelling at him. Crying. Losing control. Finally reacting. Finally cracking. Finally proving he exists to you.
That’s what he wants.
Impact.
Reaction.
Proof.
And when he doesn’t get it, he gets meaner.
Not louder.
Sharper.
Colder.
More surgical.
He starts isolating you without realizing that’s what he’s doing. Interrupts friendships. Sows doubt. Makes people uncomfortable around you by association. Says shit casually like, “You know she talks shit about you, right?” then denies it when confronted. Makes you look unstable. Difficult. Dramatic. The problem.
Because if no one else wants you, then obviously you’ll turn to him.
Which, again, makes sense in his head.
And the entire time, he keeps telling himself:
“I hate her.”
“I can’t stand her.”
“She’s annoying.”
“She’s nothing.”
“She’s beneath me.”
“She’s irrelevant.”
But he knows what time you leave.
He knows who you talk to.
He knows what mood you’re in before you speak.
He knows when you’re tired.
He knows when you’re lying.
He knows when you’re alone.
And when he sees you laughing with someone else?
Something in him goes cold and bright and violent.
Not outwardly.
Internally.
Like glass snapping under pressure.
He starts seeing everyone else as threats.
Not rivals.
Threats.
Like they’re stealing something from him.
Not affection — ownership.
And that’s when the thoughts shift from harassment to control.
Not “How do I get her attention?”
But “How do I make her stop leaving?”
Not “How do I make her look at me?”
But “How do I make her stay?”
And the scariest part?
He doesn’t think of it as trapping you.
He thinks of it as protecting you.
Because in his head, the world is cruel to you. People misunderstand you. No one sees you the way he does. No one knows the “real you” like he does. Everyone else treats you like you’re nothing — he treats you like you’re important.
He thinks he’s the only one being honest with you.
The only one seeing you clearly.
The only one who understands you.
Which is insane, because he doesn’t know you at all.
He knows the version of you he invented.
And that version loves him.
So when you finally lose it — when you scream at him to leave you alone, when you tell him he scares you, when you tell him you hate him —
He doesn’t get angry.
He gets soft.
Genuinely soft.
Like, voice low. Calm. Almost gentle.
“You don’t mean that,” he says.
And when you tell him you absolutely do?
He smiles.
Not cruel.
Not mocking.
Fond.
Like you’re adorable for thinking that.
“No,” he says. “You don't.”
And that’s when you realize:
There is nothing you can say that will reach him.
There is no reaction you can have that he won’t reinterpret.
There is no version of reality where you’re allowed to just not want him.
Because in his head, your rejection isn’t rejection.
It’s denial.
And denial means he just needs to push harder.
Be closer.
Stay longer.
Wear you down.
Not violently.
Not loudly.
Just… persistently.
Relentlessly.
Like gravity.
And the fucked up thing?
He still thinks he hates you.
He still tells people he hates you.
He still calls you annoying. Useless. A waste of space.
But he watches you like you’re oxygen.
Like you’re weather.
Like you’re gravity.
Like you’re something that exists whether he wants you to or not — and now that you do, he doesn’t know how to survive without orbiting.
And he’ll never call it love.
He’ll never call it obsession.
He’ll never call it possession.
He’ll call it:
“I just can’t stand her.”
While memorizing the sound of your breathing when you’re tired.
While tracking your movements without thinking.
While rewriting reality to make you his.
While genuinely believing you’re in love with him.
While slowly, quietly, methodically erasing every version of your life that doesn’t include him.
Gojo knew you were his when he first laid his pretty blue eyes onto your godly form. The way you talked, the way you walked, they way your leg slightly bounces when your mad. It all made him even more in love with you.
He was never the type to focus on something for too long, always goofing off with his best friend Geto, but when he seen you, lips slightly glossed with a cute concentrated look on your face.
How could he possibly look away? You’re just so plump adorable to him. He could eat you up!
You on the other hand, an absolute bookworm. Studying every second of the day you can. Soaking up every inch of knowledge you could. Never going out to parties. Always in your own little world. With nothing but peace and quiet.
That is until Satoru Gojo showed up. Slamming the books right out of your arms as your walk past him in the hallway. Him and his friends laugh out, the snickering and giggling echoing in your head. “Watch where you’re going, freak.” He spat, wasting no time to kick your books away from your reach.
You stayed quiet and reached down for your books. Picking them up one by one until you finally reach for the last one. Only to see it stamped under his expensive looking shoe. He tilts his head smugly, everyone in the hall stopping to look, but of course they all stay quiet, not daring to help. “You want it? Say pretty please.” He smirks, hands in his pockets.
You scowl, wanting to do nothing but spit in his face and say ‘fuck off!’ But of course you know better. So you mutter a small soft “pretty please..” in humiliation.
The white haired male then barks out another laugh. “Pathetic.” His glasses drop a little as he leans forward, giving you a glimpse of those intimidating glowing orbs.
He kicks the book and walks off with his crew following close behind. Your breath picks up, you want nothing more than to just leave. This has been happening every day for the last four months. You don’t know why he chose you specifically to torture but he did, and he fucking loves it.
Picking up the last book you rush to your feet, quickly running down the hallway and into the nearest bathroom. As soon as you walk in you sink to the floor. Back hitting the wall harshly, you let your warm tears stroll down your cheeks. You hate this, feeling so weak. You hate it all. You hate him. You grip the fabric of your shirt, gritting your teeth in frustration.
he’s right. You ARE pathetic, in fact you are nothing, always will be, and always has been.
You stay in there for a while, not wanting to come out. Knowing everyone is still laughing and talking about it. But you muster up the courage to get up and walk back to class, making sure to wipe off the messed up mascara off your cheeks.
you push open the door, keeping your head low and eyes to the ground. You hear the low whispers. ‘Was she crying?’ ‘Probably, looks like it. You know she’s a pathetic crybaby.’ They are talking about you.
Trying your best to ignore it you take your seat in the back, praying to god this day will end faster.
At first Gojo didn’t exactly plan on being this way to you. But what else could he do? What other way could he be able to make you show such emotion? Besides, he loves knowing that you think of him. Like how you purposely walk the other way to avoid him. Or how you try to make yourself smaller so he won’t notice you. But of course he always does! Your his darling.
he just can’t get enough of you. He also loves your scent, it’s always on his mind. He even keeps a pair of your gym shorts that he stole from your locker while you were away. Drenched in your sweat, it’s his favorite, he keeps it hung up in his room. And sometimes displayed on his bed as he strokes his achy leaking cock, desperate to cum for you.
Along with the other pictures and small trinkets you leave behind. Like your pencil you left on your desk, or the piece of gum you put under a bench that he now keeps in a small plastic baggy, or even the used panties you leave laying in your room. Like treasure for him to find!
why can’t you see he loves you! Why can’t you see how bad he wants to lick the sweat right off your neck, or kiss the fresh bruises from your precious skin, or even finger your cunt so hard you cry those pretty tears!
He adores you so much. Every curve, every mark, every flaw. It’s all his, forever his . It brings him so much joy to see you cry because of him-no for him. Only him. He makes sure no one else bully’s you the way he does. Hell, he makes sure no one even looks at you the way he does. Your his. And he is yours.
summary! gojo has no idea how to grab the attention of a girl he ACTUALLY likes... (but it works out for him anyway, because it always does.)
warnings! yandere behavior, stalking, body worship, foot kink (kinda), foojtob, cunnilingus, unprotected piv sex, gojo is a little unhinged and creepy, highkey sexual harassment, reader is lowkey also mean, kinda dominant reader?, and pathetically devoted gojo, no curses au/university au, stem majors gojo and reader
Believe it or not, Gojo knew what he was doing when he chose you as his perfect target—not because you needed a little more adversity in your life to round out your character a bit. No! You had plenty of character. Almost too much character that he just… needed a piece of it.
But he didn’t know how to get your attention. You were too busy caught up in your own life, as any strong, intelligent, go-getter women like you should be, pursuing a degree in STEM and actually barely passing a lot of your classes (by your standards, from what he’d overheard from eavesdropping on conversations with your classmates). He was pursuing that same degree. Top of his class, actually, but that went without saying. He was a blessed man in just about everything and he never shied away from boasting about it either. His classmates and friends were probably beyond sick of it at this point but it wasn’t like anyone did anything about it either.
He was always academically gifted from practically birth (yes an exaggeration but the fact of the matter was he could absolutely back up his claims) and everyone came to him for any kind of help in exchange for… eh, the pleasure of his company. Ultimately. Sometimes he charged folks depending on how much he liked them (or otherwise), but he didn’t really need the extra cash considering how well to do his family was. That was another reason he was widely known across campus for, actually. He had to believe you had to be interested in at least that aspect of himself, since he overheard in another conversation with a friend about how you yearned for someone to ‘just take care of you for the rest of your life.’
And he was!!! Right!!!!! Fuckin’!!! There!!! So how DID he end up getting your attention?
Well, he may have been academically bright, but that ultimately was his only saving grace. He was not known to be the one with the brightest ideas whatsoever. Even he could acknowledge that about himself, and his best friend Geto often commended him for such self-awareness because most people lacked such a thing.
Right. Anyway, it started with him sneaking an upskirt photo of you while waltzing down the same hallway to the exact same class. Yeah, that was his first absolutely brilliant idea and he made sure he was absolutely caught in the act.
Class wasn’t for another, like, ten or so minutes, so at the sound of the phone camera whirring you whipped around, glaring down at the shaggy white haired man with a boyish smirk on his face as he waved his phone with his freshly caught photo of you.
“Pardon me but I just couldn’t pass up this golden opportunity,” he answered like he wasn’t about to get his ass beat or his face smacked—and oh god he hoped you would do both—but instead of you cussing him out or anything else, you merely flared your nostrils and glared down at him like he was the scum of the Earth (he was he could admit that and this was the whole fucking point of him doing this).
“If that’s the only way you can get yourself off, then I feel really sorry for losers like you,” you spat, and you actually spat in his face, something he didn’t even bother wiping off because holy motherfucking SHIT you were talking to him. You were actually talking to him and he was absolutely giddy from the inside out!!! “Keep the photo, it’s not like you aren’t the first guy who attempted that with me.”
With that, you turned on your heel and stormed off into the lecture room, leaving behind Gojo with his jaw hung open. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. Actually, wait, of course he could believe it, most men were classless asshats and he was no exception to that fact, but now he wanted to hunt down and murder any other man who thought that was a bright idea so you wouldn’t have to worry about something like that ever again.
It didn’t take him that long. With looks like his and him practically being made of money, he got the names. He hunted them down. Blackmailed each and every one of them and they not only deleted those files of you, they paid you, just about the same amount of money it took him to even get those names. You weren’t sure how this happened, and you didn’t know what to make of the fact that that was more men than you (or even Gojo) expected to pull off shit like that, but at least that was one less concern for you. You could go back to focusing on your goals.
But he wanted to find another way to attract your attention. It was still assholey but it was better than being straight up ignored.
(He didn’t delete that photo of yours because he wasn’t going to be an asshole and upload it to the web, or something like that. He just wanted it for himself. He still snapped a lot less scandalous photos of you in secret, just you living your life, because you were a work of art. Absolutely beautiful. And he wanted the walls of his apartment to be full of you, a true beauty.)
Maybe he should have thought of a more amicable approach, but Gojo was also never known to be that kind of guy, either. He liked to press on people’s nerves. He liked to see how long it took for them to shatter but as it would appear you were one of the toughest nuts he ever had to crack.
So that meant he may have had to bring out The Big Guns. His extra pair of pincers for when he couldn’t do things the manual way if you will. He always got his way and he never knew how to handle the painful sting of being ignored even when you had every right to ignore his ‘efforts.’
If sneaking scandalous pictures of you wasn’t enough, he resorted to other classics: a classic smack! on your ass every time you passed by him, hard enough that he left a large imprint on your jeans (something he took a little too much pride in, he had to be honest with himself). When you whipped around to glare at him you were met with a dopey grin from him. This only infuriated you for a split nanosecond and then you went right back to your normal day to day activities and that had him absolutely livid and he didn’t know why the absolute fuck nothing he was doing was working yet. Did you really have that much experience in this department? Of course you had, nearly every girl in the world had and he was only an addition to the statistic that ‘maybe it’s not all men but it’s always a man.’
Now he had to up the ante. Maybe this worst idea was fisting himself until he could fill a jumbo ziploc bag of his cum to keep as a surprise for you when you went to your locker after doing your typical gym routine. He might have had a little too much fun with the way you shrieked at the sight of it, begging the nearby custodian to do a thorough disinfection of all of your belongings (especially seeing as there was a little rip on the bag and it seeped into your post-workout clothes, which made the scenario even better) and he was there just listening outside the women’s locker room of the campus gym. He enjoyed every second of it. He hated that he enjoyed every second of how absolutely appalled you were by this turn of events. That had to mean you finally noticed him in some fashion! Or at least you knew it was him because he cackled on his way out of there once everything was taken care of and you were given fresh clothes as a complimentary gift for such an… unfortunate discovery.
But that wasn’t enough, apparently. You still ignored him even after knowing for sure that he was the fucking culprit. You would have your nose always stuck into your notebooks, revising your notes or something and he would try to make a pass at you or make some kind of snide remark and you wouldn’t so much as look him in the eyes.
How absolutely maddening but it just made it hotter somehow too. That you could put him in his place indirectly or directly. And he kind of liked whatever was wrong with that.
The next time you two spoke again in an actual human conversation and not just in passing was during a lunch hour and he cut in front of you in line for coffee.
“What the fuck!?” you grumbled, “I was here before you!”
“I can see that,” he retorted as he gave you a once-over. You were in your casual “What did you want to order?”
He soaked up every moment you rebooted in real time.
“…Wha?” you were still trying to process what was happening right then but this was also the only time he ever spoke to you like you were a person and not just the object of everything he ever desired (why couldn’t two things be true at once)?
“I’m treating you to coffee,” he explained, then hastily added: “Don’t say no. Please.”
Ah, finally! He got you right where he wanted you for once. He could tell by the way you were still fuming, pouting while pondering your options. You had very few.
You gritted your teeth. “A white mocha with three pumps of sugar free syrup and almond milk.”
“Got it,” Gojo tried to avoid grimacing at such a boring drink. “Seriously, if you’re going to have coffee which is only the best drink ever and at a place like this, let loose a little bit!”
“Excuse you but some of us have goals and aren’t genetically blessed like you happen to be,” you retorted while crossing your arms. All the while Gojo tried to contain the excitement that in some weird way you did compliment him on his physique. “And I just want to be mindful of how I eat! That 6kg weight gain is no joke you know.”
“Alright, alright, fair,” he ordered your coffees and brought yours back for you. “So you know me, right? We’re in—!”
“—Quantum Physics together, yeah, yeah, I know who you are,” you huffed as you idly sipped on your cup. “Everyone knows who you are around here. Pretty sure you’re used to that.”
Well, he couldn’t exactly argue with that logic, he thought in his head while sipping on his overly sugary sweet salted caramel latte.
“Damn, you can drink it straight out piping hot like that?” he inquired in awe, he actually had to take his time to blow the steam wafting out of the sipping hole.
“Well yeah, this is the only time the flavor’s the strongest,” you responded while perking an eyebrow. Yeah, for an asshole he could be kind of weak in some ways… god forbid he was human. “What, you like your coffee lukewarm or something? Eugh! Sorry, but coffee’s either good iced or piping hot. No in between.”
“Nah, ‘course not, I like hot coffee too, but not so hot it’ll burn my tongue off or something… you must be made of steel,” he laughed while taking another experimental sip, deciding this was an okay enough temperature. “Anyways, I kind of got curious and peeped your latest exam grade when we got them handed back today… yikes. Y’need any help, or…?”
“…I think I’ll get by just fine,” you replied, ushering him to move out of the way as other students poured into the cafe. “You probably charge way too much for your services anyway.”
“It’s free.”
“…Huh?”
“Like, my tutoring services are free!” he babbled on, “I don’t really need to be making extra money. And we’re all here for the same reason, right?”
Please say yes PLEASE say yes PLEASE say yes—
“—you think I haven’t forgotten you taking that picture of me? That was my first impression of you. The last thing I need is to be in debt to someone who violated my privacy.”
Oh. Oh. Right. He never apologized for that, didn’t he? Then again, he had hoped you would have forgotten about that since that happened to you enough times already beforehand (which he was still angry about learning even after giving you the justice you so rightfully deserved).
“I’m afraid I don’t recall such an incident,” he decided to go with lying straight through his teeth and by the adorable way your eyes twitched at his denial, he took that ball and ran with it: “So maybe we can help each other out in the sense that, uh, maybe you could… remind me what happened that day? That way we both get something out of it. Besides, I have plenty more for you where that came from.”
Why the fuck was he digging his own grave? He might have really wanted to get his ass kicked, but if that meant it was by you and you actually gave him the time of day, that was everything to him.
For whatever reason, your resolve caved and you sucked up your pride in favor of focusing on what was better for you, and that was improving those nasty exam scores. Okay maybe they weren’t all that bad but by his standards and by the amount of limitless potential you clearly displayed? Atrocious. You deserved phenomenal things.
The first tutoring session, he invited you over. You swung your backpack into the chair next to you at his dining table and he joined you.
“Damn, don’t I even get a hello, and/or a thank you, Gojo, for taking the time out of your day to help me study and I don’t even have to pay a damn cent!”
“You said this service was for free,” you reminded him, pulling out your meticulously organized folders for your shared classes. “And we still have to address the elephant in the room. What did you mean by you had more where that came from? How long have you actually been stalking me, you fucking weirdo?”
Oh fuck, he hoped you kept talking to him like that. No one ever talked to him like that.
“I might have done you a few favors since our last few encounters,” he confessed, “But nothing that you have to worry your pretty little head about! Let’s just say I made sure no one else gave you any trouble ever again.”
“The fuck is that supposed to mean? You don’t need to be all vague and cryptic! Just say whatever the fuck you wanted to say and then let’s get started. I’m not here to get buddy buddy with someone who clearly lacks social skills. What kind of asshole takes upskirt pictures of random girls for no other reason than to be a creep? Why the fuck did you smack my ass so many times? We never even interacted,” you rambled, while Gojo fell silent, allowing your disgust to really sink in but all it did was make him become an even bigger sip for you. “What else have you done? Oh yeah, the bag of semen in my locker. That was fucking nasty. I had to get one of the custodians to do away with that and I still felt bad that they even had to bear witness to it.”
“Yeah,” he licked his lips, “Keep going. What other grievances about me did you want to air out?”
He didn’t now why you kept going unless there was some twisted part of you that liked the attention he was giving (he knew he was going off wishful thinking and pure delusion), but you decided to give him what he wanted, laying everything out on the table for him and he did everything he could in that moment to keep himself composed.
Except Satoru Gojo knew what he was good at just as well as what he actually was spectacularly awful at, and one of those things he was spectacularly awful at was keeping his fucking composure.
“I felt the amount of times you tried to push yourself into my ass when leaving class,” you added, “And that wasn’t cute. My friend Shoko knows you and she kept asking me whether we actually knew each other and we didn’t before you cut me in line that day.”
“Ohhh, so that’s why Shoko kept giving me death glares during our hangouts lately,” Gojo commented while stroking his chin. “She was more concerned with Suguru anyways and was hardly talking to me.”
You didn’t know who Suguru was, it looked like from the blank expression on your face (or you were just tuning him out, that was just as likely, because he came equipped with this unfortunate side effect of being insanely attractive until he opened his blabbermouth) and instead of reacting, you pointed to some of the topics from the lectures that week.
“So let’s review the material that cost me the last exam,” you went on, and as you babbled, Gojo’s mind ran far away somewhere else. He already enjoyed getting to be so close to you! He wondered how many other ways he could leverage this. While he did say his services were for free, that didn’t mean he stilll didn’t want payment in other forms… there was no rule saying no, right?
At that point Gojo knew his grin spread so wide it connected to his ears and he would be embarrassed about if not for the fact that there was actually nothing he found embarrassing about his clear attraction to you.
It was probably more than attraction though at this point. How long had it been now? They were already nearly finished with junior year and he had been pining for the last like seven months now.
“Excuse me, uh, Earth has been trying to contact Gojo for the last five minutes. Do you copy?” your voice drew him out of whatever daze he was in because he was too busy watching your lips move rather than listening to what you were actually telling him or asking him about, which he totally would not apologize for either because at least it was your lips and not your gorgeous tits.
But now that he mentioned them, his eyes ventured lower—
“—Eyes up here, Gojo,” you grumbled, fighting off the urge to roll your eyes. “You seriously don’t think without your dick involved, huh?”
“Nope,” he admitted, not an ounce of shame from that tone.
“Maybe we need to do something about it,” you said out of nowhere. Either his ears were deceiving him, or you propositioned him… did you proposition him or was he still stuck in his maladaptive daydreaming?
“Well?”
“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he trailed off, trying to find wherever the hell his brain went in this scenario but who was to say you even needed your brain when you just offered him an outlet?
“I’ll let you blow off some steam,” you went on in a sweet, honeyed tone as you waltzed over to his side of the table, resting a palm to his chest, where his beating heart gave more away than he wanted. “But under my rules.”
You shoved him away from the table, leaving a gap large enough for you to get in between and to dig your knee into his crotch while your other leg snaked up over his shoulder. He groaned, his hands flying to grab generous fistfuls of your ass, and you reprimanded him (or rewarded him?) by digging your knee deeper against his cock which already became rock hard. You probably found that pathetic and he couldn’t get enough of the fact.
“Fuck, please, pleasepleaseplease let me fuck you,” Gojo pleaded, “Please.”
You shushed him with a feathery light peck to his lips and he whined through it. Tame him like the brat he was, he would do more than just be a fucking brat if it meant you paid attention to him.
“How far would you go just to touch my pussy?” you murmured against his lips before nipping his lower lip. He whimpered, actually fucking whimpered and Satoru Gojo did not fucking whimper, but you seemed to be the exception rather than the rule for him.
“Anything,” he replied, voice dripping in lust. “Anything at all.”
He didn’t mind that at all. Welcomed the idea with open arms. He liked the idea of someone whipping him into proper shape. He never received that kind of conditioning anywhere else.
Your lips locked again and the two of you nearly tipped over the chair he was still seated in until Gojo thought quick enough to hoist you up and travel to the couch, where he lay his back on while he continued to fill your mouth full of his tongue. He sought every crevice, every nook and cranny, desperate to be drenched in you (and he definitely would soon in more ways than one). He refused to break the kiss, and he got a little too into your little whiny protests and—
“—holy fuck did you just step on my dick?” he gasped and his eyes fell to the heel of your foot doing just that, adding more pressure to his already oversensitive cock and the dull ache that was beginning to surge through his body but oddly enough he found himself enjoying that a little too much. He seemed to be learning something new every second more he was spending time with you.
“This contact is already more than what you deserve for everything you’ve done,” you retorted, “You said you would do anything to even touch my pussy, right?”
Wow, you were really hitting him where he was really weak.
“Yes,” he breathed, eyes darkening as he began to embrace that pain slowly mounting into pleasure. “Anything.”
“Then this is how you’ll come, Gojo,” you replied, freeing his cock from his pants and cupping his shaft between your heels. “I’m already giving you more than you deserve.” You went on as you walked a pair of your fingers along his pecs, making him groan again and nearly throw his head back. “So take what you want. I’m letting you.”
Through verbalizing far too many whimpers and cries Gojo did as he was told like an obedient little boy, bucking his hips and fucking his cock between the soft moisturized heels of your feet. His vision became as white as his shock white hair after pumping long enough that he drenched his arousal all over your feet, and you didn’t even make a face, only grinning into his neck as he took what he longed for and didn’t even stop after one orgasm like the greedy little fuck he was. You didn’t protest, and unfortunately for you, he had plenty to give you. He would give you everything if you let him.
And then some.
He wrung another. And another. But rather than keep going, he paused, cupping your face and saying, “I’ll clean you right up. Sit and relax, will ya?”
“Oh,” you replied while hiding your mischievous smile behind your hand. “But did I tell you that you could?”
“Can I clean you up, baby?” he asked again, in a more softer, reverent tone. “I’ll make sure I’ll take care of every last drop.”
You pretended to ponder over your decision, your eyes rolling upward before he shifted positions, having you sitting and relaxing like he gently requested of you earlier. He took his time with each toe on either of your feet, locking eyes with you the entire time as you tried to keep up that ‘stern dominitrix’ persona. Which clearly at this point, you were failing to maintain that character. To be fair, he knew you didn’t have that kind of personality in you, not really, but he was willing to let you have the controls here.
But now you were the one trying to keep from begging him for something. That was what he was waiting for as he finished his job and might he just admit to himself that he did an immaculate job while inspecting his handiwork because by the end of it you were already keening, spreading your legs, trying to crawl away from him but he kept you locked in place. He did say he was going to take care of every single last drop of his mess and h meant every word of that.
“Did I finally earn the right to touch your pussy, baby?” he purred with his eyes cloudy from lust and affection, leaning in toward your crotch. He could already smell your wetness, that natural musk of yours so dizzying and he wanted a taste. Just a taste would be enough for now, if that was all you would allow him for today. He could always work his way up to more. He could always come crawling back because he decided this was what he wanted waiting for him every single damn day for the rest of his fucking life already.
“Please,” you whispered, the spoken permission barely audible but he already had you being the one to beg! And unable to contain his eagerness, he dove between your legs and yanked off your shorts, revealing that little patch of dampness on the cotton of your sheer pink panties and drool began to dribble down the corner of his mouth.
“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he grunted as he leaned in to inhale more of your natural musky scent.
“Really? You think all those times you weren’t trying too hard to get my attention weren’t obvious tells you wanted me soooo bad?” you taunted back, “I think subtlety isn’t your strong suit…”
“Heh, you’re right baby, it isn’t…” he found himself agreeing, smothering your thighs with slobbery smooching before returning to the real matter at hand: taking care of you. In his own unique way. He was getting a reward he clearly didn’t deserve; he may as well take his time milking every little bit of this. The pads of his fingers rubbed the dampness in little circular motions, his sky blue eyes examining your reactions. Already wriggling in your spot, he decided not to tease you for too long, ripping off the fabric which earned a harsh scolding out of you about how you didn’t have any spares.
“Don’t worry,” he laughed, “I’ll let you borrow one of mine and we’re even, alright?”
“Not sure how I’ll feel wearing boys’ boxers…”
“They’re honestly really comfortable.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Laughing again, he resumed his task, enjoying the view of your pretty pussy already sopping wet for him and he barely started. His fingers lightly tapped against your engorged clit, making you inhale sharply from the raw contact and he purred at you to relax.
“I got you,” he promised, his fingers continuing in slow circular motions. “Just leave it all to me, gorgeous.”
He noted the way your cheeks dusted pink from that. You might deny how much you liked being praised, but he wasn’t going to ignore the fact. Before long, you were more than squirming beneath his heated gaze and dexterous fingers working that little swollen bundle of nerves and he relished in your little cries and pleas after you tried so hard to take back some control over the situation. As if to rub more salt into the wound (in, uh, a pleasurable way?) his tongue entered the picture, lapping between your folds in tandem with his fingers which had you thrashing about and he coaxed you with a gentle squeeze on your hip with his unoccupied hand.
“Fuck,” he groaned, lapping at your pussy like he thirsted for you and the only way to quench that thirst was with your raw natural taste. “So good. So fucking good.”
“Gojo…”
“Nu uh uh,” he tutted, “My name, baby. Say it.”
“Satoru please,” you gasped, “Close.”
“Yeah?” he taunted, “Come in my mouth, baby. Give it to me.”
He closed his mouth over your twitching hole and the dam broke. Your arousal trickled into his mouth with a sort of lewd elegance and he took every last drop like this was the only way to sate his desires and this was far from over. The craziest part of all of this was he hadn’t even unleashed his full beast yet and he wasn’t sure if you were ready to experience it. That might be something he would have to ease you into by how putty into his hands (or into his mouth) you already were…
“Fuck,” he said again, still tasting the remnants of you on his tongue and refusing to let it die. He needed more. He needed you. He sucked off whatever more he could from his fingers like you were a delicacy and there was no contest that you were the cream of the crop. Much like him, actually. That was why he thought you were the perfect match for him. Quite frankly you were the only one who was a match for him.
“Do I get to do more than just touch your pussy, baby?” he asked after a period of catching his breath and allowing you to come down from riding that high. “Though, I kind of already did, huh?”
“Y-you can,” you managed, breathless, clearly, but of course you were, it was him who was doing this to you and he outperformed the majority of men in this department. You were lucky enough to be on the receiving end for as long as this went, and if he could help it, this was going to last for the rest of your lives. Call it jumping the gun too soon or whatever you want, but he knew who or what he wanted.
And he always got what he wanted.
Case in point.
He was already lining up his veiny, desperate cock, already twitching with need and you could feel it ghosting the rim of your hole.
“Don’t tease me,” you pouted, “You already do that too much!”
Without further preamble, he pushed himself in with another grunt, eyes rolling back as he was hit by overwhelm at how easily your pussy sucked him in, like you were the perfect sleeve and he was hellbent on wearing you on him for the rest of his life.
He really meant that.
He held his tongue, figuratively speaking of course. He was lucky that he was already inside you, he was lucky that he even got to be inside you, and he locked his gaze onto yours as your nose scrunched from the intrusion. Your body reacted far too readily at even the slightest touch.
His thrusts were easy, almost painfully gentle, as he was ah hem rather large and comparatively so to the rest of his peers and he definitely didn’t let that get to his head, no not at all! Definitely not by the way he rested his forehead against yours and barely seemed like he was doing most of the heavy lifting here when he clearly was. Your eyebrows furrowed as you studied him and he took in the little details. The little mole you had. The way you fluttered your eyes shut as another moan stroked your pretty lips that he wanted to kiss again, so he did, brushing his against yours while murmuring how gorgeous you were like this.
“You do look so much better when you aren’t on the defensive,” he teased with a little grin as he jerked his hips suddenly which had you clinging to him for support. Fuck he loved every minute of that.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have to be on the defensive so much if you weren’t such a fucking shitshow at getting a girl’s attention,” you shot back but you were smiling so he knew you were just spewing shit out of your ass. He cackled, that gradual pace soon melding into a faster and sharper one, his hips snapping with each rhythmic thrust and your body pulsated in real time. Your whole body convulsed as you clung to him for dear life, wrapping yourself around him, whimpering, suddenly the dam broke again and you were spilling yourself all over his cock which was still fucking into you at a more ruthless pace.
“That’s it. Let go for me, Princess. I swear you’re still using your head too much even when I’m trying to fuck the brains out of you,” he chuckled with a soft peck to your forehead. “Got to turn that brain off sometimes or you’re going to lose your mind. I’ve witnessed that firsthand with some people I really care about you know? Don’t want that to happen to you too, so let’s see what we can do about putting your worries aside so I can take care of you, yeah?”
“I… why are you being so weirdly sweet to me right now?”
“I don’t know. Probably ‘cause I got the entirety of my cock inside of you and it’s rewiring my brain chemistry Neuroplasticity and all,” he quipped.
You whacked his shoulder and groaned. “So fucking corny. I don’t know why or how someone as cool as Shoko hangs out with a guy like you.”
“Come on, I literally am giving you orgasms and you’re already talking about my clearly way cooler friends?”
“Well duh, it’s just something I can’t wrap my head around! That Geto guy, I can understand because he’s just you but somehow more civilized and actually has a filter, but Shoko I just can’t figure out.”
“Like I said, baby, you are using your head way too much when there should be no reality involved while I am literally. inside of you.”
“Yeah, still can’t believe you are, can’t you? Which is why you keep bringing it up,” you retaliated as that dusty pink flush on your cheeks deepened to an almost unnatural degree. So. Fucking. Cute.
“Nope,” he replied with another one of his dopey grins before poking your nose. “Now shut your gorgeous little mouth and let me get a few more out of you, and then maybe we can discuss the logistics or the lack thereof on how I’m friends with the people you think are way cooler than me.”
“It will forever remain a mystery,” you clapped back as you leaned in and kissed him again, all the while he was still working himself inside of you and holding himself together because maybe he was preventing himself from coming for a bit so you could have your fill. He was a generous man after all. So, so generous.
“Because you have yet to apologize for all of that weirdness from before,” you muttered into his lips. “And yet I’m letting you fuck me.”
Gojo scoffed, whispering into your ear before kissing it: “Have you ever considered that you just might be a little into it?”
“Thought you wanted to fuck the brains out of me because I’m still thinking too hard.”
“Oh! That’s right,” he replied with an especially sharp jerk of his hips and getting your spot just right, wringing another orgasm out of you. Your lips found each other again and he definitely didn’t have a watch around, uncaring that by the time he was through with you, all feeling was lost in your hips and legs and he still wanted more out of this.
“Sorry we couldn’t get anything… uh, done today,” he confessed while rubbing the back of his head, helping you into a fresh set of clothes. His. His expensive ass white button up that seemed to suit you way better than it did him somehow and a pair of oversized shorts. You were kind of drowning in his clothes which he found insanely cute and totally photographable but he already had way too big of a shrine of you in his room which he had yet to take down. Maybe you would be into that though. He already kind of really worshiped you… never mind his unique way of expressing such worship.
“I’d say this session turned out better than expected,” you snarked, hiding your hands into his sleeves. Your face was still deeply flushed and your hair clung to your forehead, damp from sweat. Gojo found himself licking his lips again.
God, you were beautiful.
“I’m glad you think so,” he finally said after clearing his throat. “Same time tomorrow? And uhhh, maybe a proper date? Let you know the deets later?”
꒰ summary : satoru gojo has a terrible habit of ruining the things she finds pretty.
꒰ content warnings : mdni. fem!gojo x fem!reader, toxic yuri, college au, rich mean girl gojo, bullying, panty stealing, hate sex, jealousy, humiliation, degradation, marking, bruising, biting, rough sex, strap-on, fingering, fingers in mouth, corruption kink. word count 1.9k art creds @cakkezzz on x
fem!satoru!gojo is a bitch, a heinous bitch, some might even say. her family is ridiculously rich. she’s beautiful with snowy white hair, glossy and shining, cut into long layered strands that always look effortlessly messy—but the kind of messy that’s sexy, not unkempt. her eyes are an alluring cyan blue, like uncharted oceans, varying in icy hues and depths, cold enough to make anyone freeze beneath her stare. her skin is a vast expanse of milky porcelain, supple and smooth, utterly flawless without a single blemish.
fem!satoru!gojo is beautiful, feared, and sought after by everyone… yet she’s too busy staring at the shy, quiet girl who rarely speaks, face buried in her phone, earbuds always plugged in—a perfect target for satoru, a new fixation for her.
so wherever you go, satoru follows. annoyingly bitchy as ever and a complete bully, purposely causing you to trip and spill your papers right outside chem—stacks of white sheets scattering across the hallway—just so she has a reason to bend down and help you gather them, sneaking a glance at your soft, dewy tits in that pretty shirt—way too revealing for her liking. i mean, seriously, the guys around here are pigs. she’s just looking out for you.
which is exactly why, during gym next period, she shoves the top you left in your locker—completely unknowing of her malicious plans—as she steals it and shoves it into her bag with every intention of burning it once she gets home… or maybe rubbing it against her aching cunt first. either way, she’s getting rid of it.
fem!satoru!gojo would’ve never expected the effect you have on her, though. so easy to bend to her will, so soft for her, so easy to rile up—yet somehow liking such dirty things, liking when she uses you, leaves you all pretty with marks from her teeth and lips :( cute, really. don’t let that fool you though, you’ll get bitchy with her from time to time, bratty in ways that have her sighing through a nasty grin. satoru just knows how to smack it right off you, in the only way she’s good at.
fem!satoru!gojo who bullies and ridicules you daily.
every time the professor assigns partners, it’s the same thing—papers rustling, names being called, and then her chair scraping back like she already knew. sometimes you think she pays the professor just to partner you together. that, or she has annoying, absurd luck.
“stupid girl,” she mutters as she sits down beside you, not even bothering to look at your face yet, already flipping the assignment over with rough, careless fingers, annoyance clear in her tone. “you really can’t do anything right. you know that’s why we’re always partnered together.”
your skin hums with nerves, tension tightening under the strain in her voice. she notices, like a predator hunting prey—her eyes narrowing on you with something sharp and eerily similar to bloodlust, with her need to ruin you. she’d never admit it, but seeing you all scared and nervous makes her clit tingle with anticipation for when she has you fucked dumb and squirming beneath her, fingers shoved in your mouth as you drool around them like a dumb slut.
a lazy sigh escapes her pretty, glossed lips that always carry a faint sheen of glimmer. her voice is loud enough to carry across the room despite it being merely a lackluster sigh.
“aw, c’mon,” she drawls, leaning back in her chair, long limbs stretching out like she owns the space, nearly kicking the person sitting in front of her. “you’re really gonna stick me with her again, teach?” she rolls her eyes, pointing at your frame as her lips form a bored pout.
people whisper to their respective groups, snickering cascading down the rows of students, disdain reaching your ears. their voices are shrill as they laugh without restraint, full of imprudence and ignorance. not surprising, though—laughter always follows when satoru speaks, even the stupidest of things; everyone here kisses the ground she walks on.
she tilts her head toward the professor, all faux annoyance and boredom, like this is some personal stain to her name.
“she’s just too stupid, really. it’s a shame she’s unteachable, bottom of the barrel, the lowest of them all,” she says casually, like it’s obvious to anyone with eyes. then she glances back at you, a smile forming—shifting into something sharp, vampire-like in the catch of the light, canines pearly white, the grin stretching long and wide, curling into something almost sinister, a full cheshire grin—“isn’t that why you always stick her with me so she can copy whatever the smartest one does and get an A? pfft. that’s low even for you, y/n.”
“don’t worry, though,” she says absentmindedly toward the professor, already leaning in, her perfume cloying and sweet, smelling like something sugary, almost like whipped vanilla and tart berries. sweet yet bitter, perfectly emasculating her sweet tooth, and the sourness that coats her tongue and lingers in her words, her breath skittering down your warm flesh in its feverish wake—spoken like a warning—before she finishes her sentence: “i’ll handle her, professor.”
fem!satoru!gojo who gets meaner when she’s jealous. someone glances at you too long, and she’s already there—cutting in with that lazy smile that never reaches her low, dead-set eyes.
“don’t,” she says simply, like it’s obvious you’re her pet. she should really get you a collar—maybe bedazzle it. she’s thinking a fifteen-carat flawless white diamond set into a pastel leather leash, only the best for her baby. she lets out a small snicker to herself, then pauses—nah… that’s too much.
she can’t stand when another person even throws a glance your way. last time a guy hit on you, she got him expelled. surprisingly easy when you have her money, status, and a last name professors practically bow to.
fem!satoru!gojo leaves bruises where her fingers dig into your flesh, teeth sinking in and puncturing skin in her wake. make her jealous, and it becomes your punishment.
fem!satoru!gojo sees you as something she can have whenever she wants—something she can use, take, ruin. corrupt under her gaze, her fingers knead into your soft doughy skin, as she pulls you into some secluded room, your skin sick with need, goosebumps crawling up your arms. she’s not even bothering to be gentle as she strips you bare.
her touch is confident; she knows she’s in control as her fingers skitter across the skin between your inner thighs, coming to a halt at your clothed core, fingers slipping through and working through your cunt, aware of all your sweet spots, your pussy swallowing her slender digits down to the knuckle as she curls and pumps into your heated core.
and you don’t fight it.
if anything, your body leans into her. chasing her touch.
this weird, hostile, hate-fueled thing between you and satoru is something you willingly take part in. you hate her—her attitude, the way she’s rude, snobby, so stuck-up it makes your blood boil—but she’s also the only one who can fuck three orgasms out of you back-to-back and leave your thighs clenching just from the sight of her sharp, smug grin, too cocky, and all teeth.
and don’t even get started when she pulls out the strap.
she’s mean about it—ruthless, sadistic.
your face is shoved deep into the pillow, barely able to breathe between shallow gasps as her hips snap forward again and again, the brutal force knocking the air from your lungs. the plastic cock drives deep inside you, your panties shoved to the side, your body already sensitive from the way her long fingers teased your clit beforehand. this position she’s got you in—she knows exactly what she’s doing—lets her hit that spot perfectly, every thrust dragging a scraped, broken sound out of you.
the room fills with it. the soft, wet, obscene squelching sound, the constant echo of your greedy cunt taking everything she gives.
“pathetic,” she mutters, voice low and mocking. “going dumb over my cock like this.”
she really believes it, too. she talks like it’s hers, like it’s real, like if she wanted, she could come inside you and leave you completely ruined, full of her seed, leaking with it. god, what a nerd, you think.
“fucking slut for this cock, aren’t you?”
you grip the sheets, nails digging into the fabric, your voice muffled into the pillow. “ngh—fuck, s’toru, it’s too much… i hate you.”
she’s got a crooked smile, teeth dragging over her bottom lip, all need. “nah, baby, your pussy’s telling me different. she’s a real bigggg talker, you know.”
satoru slowly eases the baby blue strap from your tight heat, and your cunt clings—desperate, greedy, almost rotten in the way it sucks her back in. when she finally pulls out, the ridges are coated, slick with your creamy release.
“mm.” she hums, satisfied, a little amused. “see that? you’re painting my shit.”
something shifts in her at the sight—something sharper, more carnivorous—and suddenly she’s rutting into you harder, faster, pushing you up the bed with the force of it. then she slows, dragging it out, letting you feel every inch as your pussy clamps down around her.
she flips you over without warning, forcing you onto your back so you have to look at her.
her white hair is messy, pushed back, strands sticking from sweat. her eyeliner is smudged, lashes pale and catching the light, her expression wrecked in a way she’d never admit you’re the cause of.
her voice comes out rough as she leans in, thumb pressing against your lips before pushing inside your mouth, forcing past your teeth. the second you feel her, you bite down hard, leaving behind tooth-marked petals.
something dark flashes through her sky-kissed eyes—she’s quick with her movements. her hand snaps across your face, sharp and sudden, a sting that burns hot against your skin without quite tipping into real pain.
you just grin at her like a crazy woman. your eyes are glassy, wet with tears pooling along your lashes, your cheeks flushed and overheated from everything she’s dragged out of you. your body’s still trembling, ruined from the way she’s pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you, damp strands of hair clinging to your skin, mascara faintly smeared beneath your eyes.
“cocky, aren’t we,” she murmurs.
her fingers shove deeper into your mouth this time, pressing against your tongue, pushing far enough to make you choke, your eyes watering as tears finally spill over. at the same time, her other hand slides down your body, dragging along your slit before slipping your lace panties off completely.
she brings them up, pressing the soft lace to her face, inhaling slow.
“mm… yeah. think i’m gonna keep these,” she says, almost casually. “you don’t mind, do you?” she bats her eyelashes at you, long white lashes fluttering softly, deceptively sweet. yeah, you don’t mind. even if you did, it’s not like you could say anything when she’s looking at you like that—so sickly saccharine it’s almost suffocating.
she doesn’t wait for an answer—just tucks them into her bra like they’re hers now, just like you are, already looking back down at you with that same awful, knowing smirk. yet you catch the way it frays at the edges, faltering beneath your held gaze.
꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ masterlist - kofi - emergency comm info!
note . . i love evil women hello !! @kamislop this is for u 😈
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