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Gojo Satoru looks like a joke.
A nuisance, a loudmouth, a grinning, lanky bastard draped in blue-light glasses and sweatshirts too baggy for his frame. He stretches out in class like he owns the place, flirts with the girls who fawn over him, gets on your nerves like itβs his full-time job. Heβs every professorβs golden boy and your personal nightmareβan irritating, overachieving prick with too much charisma and too little shame.
βYouβre so grumpy all the time,β he muses, chin propped in his palm, watching you scribble in the margins of your textbook. His voice drips with the same sickly sweetness that makes your skin crawl, a tone he reserves just for you. βYou should smile more, yβknow? Might make you less of a bitch.β
You donβt react. You never do. It only makes him worse.
His sneakers tap against the linoleum floor. His pen clicks, clicks, clicks between his fingers. He hums under his breath, a stupid, meaningless tune, and when you finally slam your book shut and shoot him a glare, he grins like youβve just given him the best gift in the world.
βSee?β He leans in close, white hair falling over his forehead. His voice is a whisper, just for you. βThatβs what I like about you. Youβre so easy to rile up.β
You hate him. You loathe him.
And thatβs why, later that night, when heβs got you pinned down with your face mashed into his pillows, the weight of his body holding you still, itβs so much worse.
Because everyone thinks heβs harmless.
A puppy.
A nerd.
A virgin.
But the Gojo Satoru who fucks you isnβt any of those things.
Heβs a menaceβcruel, overwhelming, insatiable. Heβs a man who talks too much but never bothers with sweet nothings, only degradation and mockery, a steady stream of filth against the shell of your ear.
βThought about you all fucking day,β he mutters, teeth nipping at your earlobe as he drives into you, your body helpless beneath him. βSβwhy I kept bothering you. Knew Iβd get to have you like this laterβknew Iβd fuck you stupid, just like I always do.β
You choke on a sound, biting your lip, but itβs pointless. Heβs ruthless. He knows how to break you down.
His hand snakes between your legs, fingers toying with your clit, making your back arch despite yourself. He laughs when you try to twist away, pressing his chest against your back, his breath hot against your neck.
βDonβt run,β he coos. βYouβre already mine.β
He fucks you into the mattress until your body trembles, until youβre boneless and exhausted and utterly ruined beneath him.
And in the morning, heβll sit beside you in class like nothing ever happened.
Like he isnβt still inside you, carved into your skin, written into the marrow of your bones.
And worst of all?
Heβll still be smiling.
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