SYPNOSIS .ᐟ satoru’s always been the kind of guy who gets a little too obsessed with things. his genius brain doesn’t just learn—it clings, latching onto complex theories about the universe like they were bedtime stories. he's seen it happen time and time again, obsessions he can't let go, things he fixates onto. digimon, vintage comics, the secrets of the universe. and fucking you raw just happens to be the latest on his long list of fixations
★ INCLUDES 18+, NSFW, nerdjo, headcannons, college au, unprotected sex, creampie, satoru gojo and the absolute feral mess he becomes when it comes to your pussy, filthy, messy, so much cum my god, cumshot, fantasies, frottage, he just loves you so much he wants to be inside u all the time :(
⌗ A NOTE FROM IVY ⸝⸝ i had wayyy too much fun with this headcanon, planning to flesh parts of this out into an actual oneshot bc i cannot let this idea go
Satoru Gojo is the kind of boy who wants everything he shouldn’t. He’s smart, brilliant, and a little too into you for his own good. So when it comes to the way he fucks, it’s no surprise that he always wants it raw. There’s something about it that short-circuits his brilliant brain; the way your pussy grips him without any barriers, slick and tight, sends him to a place no theory or equation ever could. Some days in the middle of his lectures, where he should be paying attention to his professor explaining dark matter, he finds his mind drifting off instead, thinking about your cunt, the slick heat of it, the way it clenches around him when he gives a particularly deep thrust.
It’s perfect, he thinks. He knows that nothing in the universe is ever really perfect, that perfect is a measure nobody can reach. But your cunt, well and truly might be the definition of perfect. The way it hugs his cock, the way it takes him, walls snug around him as he pushes in deep. He’ll think about it absently even as he lazily jots down some notes on his ipad, the exact way your pussy opens up for him, stretches around him, the little pulse it gives when you’re cumming around him.
He doesn’t even realise it, that he’s fantasising about you in the middle of class until his cock gives a little jerk, eyes shooting down, mortified to find he’s already tenting in his jeans, length swelling at the nasty thoughts that are running through his brain like a loop. He’ll shove his hoodie down to hide his bulge, cheeks flushed pink and hiding his face, afraid that if somebody looks at him, they’ll be able to read his mind and see all the filthy thoughts he’s been having about you. And look, he’s not a perv. He just loves you so much—loves being inside you, feeling you around his cock, no condom in the way, nothing but skin on skin.
So when you’re in his dorm, when you’re spread under him, lips swollen from kissing, arms around his neck, hair fanned beneath you like a halo, like you’re his own personal angel, he’ll push in slow. He’ll whimper, pushing in inch by inch until his hips are flush with yours, and his whole body shivers like he’s been struck by lightning. His cock throbbing deep inside you, pressed snug against every flutter and clench of your walls, and his breath will stutter out of him—a high, needy whimper muffled against your throat. His hands, always trembling, will press into your hips, clutching at them.
“F-feels so good,” he'll gasp, lashes damp and fluttering like the feeling of you around him, hot and bare, could make him finish alone. “You’re so warm, I— fuck—” he'll whimper brokenly.
He’d trade anything for the gift of going in raw—every rare Marvel comic he has, every limited-edition Digimon card, every immaculate collection he's carefylly accumulated over the years. Because of it holds a candle to the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him, slick dripping down the base of his cock as he bottoms out, skin to skin, nothing in between.
You’ll hear the way his voice breaks with every drag of his cock, the way he pants into your throat like he’s been running, glasses fogging and hips rutting desperately into you, like a puppy who's only instinct is to cum, hips jerking and rocking fast and needy, the feel of you around his cock the only thing filling his usually cluttered mind. He'll hone on it, zero in on the feel of you around his cock until it's all he's thinking about.
When you tease him about it later—about how he’s too smart to get so dumb when he’s inside you—he flushes red to the tips of his ears, stammering about how it’s “just different” without the condom, that it feels more real, more you. He always says the same thing as you laugh softly, fingers in his hair, stroking through the messy white strands that stick to his forehead. “I feel more connected to you,” he'll mumble against your chest, voice soft, cheek pressed to your skin, like the skin to skin contact soothes something in him. “Like— like there’s nothing else but us.”
And in that moment, it’s true. When he’s inside you raw, it’s like his brain goes quiet for once. No theories, no academic obsessions, no endless chatter about cursed techniques or physics or cosmic order—just the sound of your breath, the rhythm of your heart, the tight heat of your cunt milking his cock. He'll pant against your throat, hips rutting into you in messy, needy thrusts, glasses fogged, a low, helpless whimper leaving him every time he feels you clench. He’s all instinct, all hunger—the smartest man in the room reduced to a trembling, whining mess who can only think with his cock, pulling whimpers and broken gasps from his lips every time you clench around him.
Satoru gets lost in it. You can see it, the way his pupils dilate, his mouth parting around gasps as he sinks into you. His hands will drag down your body, pushing your thighs apart so he can see the way your pussy takes him, shiny and stretched around his cock. He’ll whimper at the sight of your cunt stretched around him, swallowing his cock. And he'll keep you spread open like that, hands under your knees, pushing them up as his hips roll, watching the way your cunt takes him, hit teeth biting into his bottom lip as your pussy swallows him, hugging his cock tight, slick sounds filling his dorm as he whines and moans at the feeling, hips rocking harder, skin slapping against skin.
Because Satoru Gojo, as nerdy as he might be, as consumed by physics and math and galaxies as he might be, can fuck good. His cock is big, thick and flushed, pressing into you deep enough to kiss your cervix, drag against your g-spot with every fast thrust. He's feral with it, nails pressing into your thighs, pushing your legs wide and up, hips rutting into you, gasping and whining, finding the exact angles that have you gasping for breath, back arching off his sheets. His mind will latch onto the the way your breath hitches when he rolls his cock in deep, the way you clench tighter when he starts going faster, fucking into you with a rapid, ungodly speed, mouth pressed hot agaisnt yours whining that it feels too good as he fucks into you like it's the only thing he knows. Because in that moment, it is.
He'll pant against your mouth, tongue messily licking into you more, rutting into you fast and hard, making you see stars, pounding you into the matress, headboard smacking the wall. He's more than once broken his dorm bed from how hard he fucks, and he'll flush embarassed the morning after as you scroll online for replacements, but in that moment all he cares about is fucking you stupid. You'll cry out loud, scream his name when you cum around him and he'll just keep going, panting and whining into your ear that it feels too good, that he can't stop, fucking you through your orgasm.
And when Satoru gets close, he gets loud. He gets desperate. He'll moan and gasp, voice pitching high, whining as he presses you open, fingers digging into your thighs, prying them wide, the lewd sound of skin slapping filling his dorm room, accompanying his endless whimpers. “Please— please lemme cum in you, please—I need it, I’ll be so good, I promise—” he’ll whine, the words tumbling out between desperate rocks of his hips, cock throbbing inside you, desperate for release.
He begs every time to finish in you, to let him spill inside you so deep he'll forget his name, to feel your cunt squeeze and milk every drop from him. His glasses will be hanging crooked on his noses, lenses fogged as he whines and ruts into you like he'll die if he doesn't. Because what Satoru Gojo loves more than fucking you raw, is cumming inside you raw. Feeling your walls hug him as he paints them with hot messy spurts, spilling deep inside you. He's always had a big load, always had cum spurting endlessly from his cock whenever he jerked himself off on late nights, tshirt tugged between his teeth as he stroked through every pulse of his cock, spilling out from his tip endlessly through every pass of his fist. But there's nothing better than finishing inside you, pumping his cum into you with every pulse throbbing through his cock, spilling into you deep and messy.
Satoru goes feral for it, for that feeling, for that sight of your pussy drooling his cum, painted in it. Some nights he doesn't even need to be inside you, he can just rut against your cunt, cock rubbing between your folds that hug it tight, cockhead nudging and rolling over your clit until he's cumming on nothing but the pathetic way he's rutting against you like a dog, hand shooting down to aim his cock so the first messy spurts will hit your cunt. You'll moan at the feeling, and his eyes will flutter open to watch the way your cunt flutters, painted in white streaks as he pumps himself through it with his hand, fist coaxing every spurt and pulse out, milking himself and every drop of his spend until it's smeared over your pussy in messy white dribbles.
But when you let him finish in you, when you breathe, “cum in me, Toru,” into his ear like a siren he'll gladly surrender his life to every time, he'll break. His hips will stutter, mouth falling open around a cry as his cock throbs and spills deep inside you, thick ropes of cum painting your insides until you can feel him filling you up.
He'll stay there, trembling, cock still pulsing as he catches his breath, chest slick with sweat, heartbeat hammering against yours. But he’s not done looking—never is. When he finally pulls out, he won't stop staring at the mess he’s made: his cum spilling out, slick and white against your folds, drbbling down your cunt, seeping out of your entrance endlessly.
Satoru will groan, biting his bottom lip as his hand wraps around your thigh, pushing it back into your chest, bending your knee so he can spread you open to watch the way your pussy flutters and clenches around nothing, his cum leaking out of you. “Fuck," he'll whimper, broken on a moan as he watches, cock twitching at the sight, better than any porn he could ever find on the internet.
Then, like he can’t help himself, he'll push back in—slow, filthy, the squelch loud enough to make your toes curl. His hips will roll, his cum spilling out around his cock, dripping from the corners of your pussy.
“So good,” he’ll breathe, forehead pressing to yours, eyes glassy and feral, panting against your lips. “So so good. I never wanna stop doing this. Wanna be in you forever,” he’ll whimper, hips already rocking forward again, cock throbbing back into hardness just at the thought, needy even after fucking you filthy into his sheets.
And you’ll moan, breathless and broken, arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his sweat damp hair as he pounds into you, your tits bouncing against his chest with the rhythm he’s fucking into you. The bed frame will rattle against the wall as Satoru gasps filthy little fantasies and confessions into your throat, panting open mouthed as his hips move, unrelenting, desperate to be back inside you even after fucking you filthy.
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