the love letter of september 𓍼

you can just simply follow the formula he’s writing. cross section equates to pi z squared multiplied by quantity ke squared, the trace of his defined veins that are prominently noticeable on his forearms, his long fingers adorned with a silver ring, a ghosting question of the sensation of how it would feel like insi — focus. FOCUS.

you hastily scrawled the wrong formula you’ve written on your notebook, pen scratching the paper tersely that you were pretty sure it left dents on the next page but it doesn’t matter. your hands were sweaty from whatever it was that you refused to name even in your own mind.

so instead, you continued.

over ke squared, multiplied by how ethereally damning his hair falls on his forehead, ivory locks that looks like a halo. you wondered if it’s as soft as it looks like, how it would feel like to run your hands and mess it up before tugging it dow — fuck.

you exhaled shakily.

you seriously can’t have the hots for your professor now, right? damn.

“you okay?” nobara’s voice felt like an ice water was doused over your overheating face. you felt so hot despite the lecture room having a centralized ac. you weren’t even doing anything out of line yet but it felt like someone already walked in on you doing something obscene.

“yeah, just confused.” did you just say yet?

she chuckled before agreeing with you and slouching on her own seat, lazily scrolling on her phone beneath her table.

you had to momentarily rest your head on your table, eyes squeezed shut. you gently bonked your head against the back of your hand, fingers splayed on top of your notebook pages — you’re just stressed. seriously. that’s just it. 3rd year has been so draining and this is just one of those silly tricks your brain does to escape the asphyxiating pressure that nestled deep in your ribs.

“remember, the point of departure from the rutherford scattering in this case of the nucleus is the basis for the earliest evaluations…” even with your eyes closed, the sound of his voice was smooth, deep, sort-of-playful.

and undeniably attractive.

like words and diction laid deft and so familiar on his tongue.

the brain, an organ. pounds of compact flesh and glial tissues, treacherous as ever. you wondered — with eyes closed, slightly heaving — how good would he sound like, when he’s wrapped around yo— stop.

you shivered at the thought and immediately straightened up. your eyes instinctively landed on his that was already looking at you. those sharp, piercing baby blue eyes held yours for a moment, eyebrows raising infinitesimally you thought you were imagining things.

you looked away with a constricted breath. you tried to focus your attention on your paper, then back at the board, then on the people around you.

some were sleeping, others were hunched over their desk with furrowed brows, struggling to comprehend the myriad of formulas and concepts professor satoru gojo elaborated in front. some typed the lecture away, keyboards clacking mutedly on this vast lecture hall. it’s so ordinary, a scene you’re so used to seeing everyday.

it should be ordinary. and normal, you thought. but you knew, deep down, for some reason, it wasn’t.

its 12 pm. its the middle of the damn day. its hot and humid outside, not exactly the time for these… whatever this thing going on inside your head.

you need to get your shit together.

“by next meeting, we’ll have each and every one of you model an RBS spectrum. also, graph analysis deadline’s at 10pm this thursday. dismissed.” professor gojo waved his board marker casually, eyes skimming over the whole class, finding yours again in an instant — maybe not, surely not, as you tore your gaze away from him, scrambling over to close your notebook and laptop — before he sat on the edge of his table in front with arms crossed.

fuck. fuck.

with a heavy sigh — either from your traitorous mind, or the looming deadlines — you hastily packed up your materials and scurried down the lecture hall. your friends were discussing where to grab lunch and here you were fighting your inner demons.

seriously, what is wrong with you? its not like… you’re gonna act on any of these. definitely not.

however, you could hear that small voice in your head, feel the slightest spasm of your sweaty hands that stated otherwise. one you’re too horrified to admit or address so you push it down and silence it with the best of your efforts—but even the silence echoes loudly.

during the three hours lecture in nuclear physics, for what now, almost 4 months? you have lost count how often the two of you locked eyes during lessons and outside the class for more than a second.

how his lips tugged on its corners whenever you’d recite or answer one of his trick and complicated questions — like that one time he asked about the gamma decay processes. you badly wanted to melt — unsure whether it’s from validation or your harboring, silly admiration to your professor.

lost count on how some of the accidental touches — handing papers, random materials, so mundane, so normal — lingered for a beat too long, filled with warmth that engulfs your whole body, electrifying as it is. how he would lean just a tad little closer whenever you asked a follow up question regarding the formula, the topic, like what you’re about to say dictates the meaning of life and death for him; the feeling of his warm breath on your shoulder — temporal yes, but a second enough to engrave the sensation there — always sent a shiver down your spine.

breath. stop deluding yourself. he’s just doing his job.

a job he’s so damn good at.

yeah right. you can just exit this room normally and head straight to your dorm and busy yourself with all your backlogs. but the moment you lifted your head; instantly locking eyes with him again as you went down the stairs of the lecture hall, amidst the whole crowd of bustling students— you thought you popped an artery in your heart with how hard it contracted and drummed against your chest. how hot your skin felt, your blood running a whole marathon in every veins.

just stressed, stop reading between the lines.

just stressed, get the hell out of this room, pronto.

the sound of overlapping chatter and footsteps receded as your classmates exited the area, when he suddenly called your name.

you glanced at your friends who also paused mid-step to look back at you with confusion. you nodded at them apologetically, “you guys go ahead,” you murmured, “i’ll follow shortly.”

and then they were gone.

the door of the lecture hall closed with a loud click.

“i’ve read your email,” he started. you had your back facing him, and you could feel the weight of his gaze that made your skin prickle.

you cleared your throat as you turned to face him, mustering every ounce of sanity and strength to push down the atrocities that ran wild under your skin.

“your paper’s excellent.” he lifted his chin and held his gaze on you that felt a little too heavy too meet.

you furrowed your brows. excellent? then how come it didn’t get the score you expected even when you did everything correctly? perfectly? you spent nights crunching data points, identifying dominant errors — if the currency for excellent grades were sleepless nights, you were sure you paid the price, not too mention, excessively.

“then why give that score? i believe that my calculated data were accurate. i followed the procedure well and repeated the process multiple times for better analysis, each distance thrice to avoid random statistical errors, to confirm that the corrected count rate results were proportional to the inverse square of the distance from the source,” you reasoned out, your frustration mingling with the traitorous thumping of your heart against your chest.

he smiled — that smile — as he narrowed his eyes at you, filled with amusement. heavy silence enveloped the lecture hall that suffocated you.

“your uncertainty propagation barely scratched and elaborated the trials you ‘said’ you conducted,” he pushed his glasses up, crossing his arms as he cocked his head arrogantly to the side, eyeing you carefully.

“or were you hoping that i skim past it too?” he raised his eyebrows with that slight twitch on his lips as he stood up, setting down his marker on the table.

well shit. that’s true, but even so, “i did elaborate them! it’s just that the data interpretat—“

“was more interesting and in your own words ‘the trials conducted displayed a fascinating point-by-point consistency throughout the process, aligning well with the predicted trend across all measured distances’?” he interrupted as he read your paper — licking his lips as he used your own words against you.

damn him. it was infuriatingly annoying how he could still look so good as he destroyed your counter-arguments as to why you should’ve gotten a better score. he was staring at your paper with narrowed eyes. left arm loosely crossed and the other was propped beneath his chin, fiddling with his lower lip, slow and pondering — impossible to miss. he looked up to meet your distracted gaze.

fuck. you mentally cursed yourself as you noticed how his eyes gleamed with entertainment and curiosity as he locked eyes with you.

it was always like that.

the way he looked at you.

“come here,” he said. his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly, walking around his table to sit down on his swivel chair gracefully.

you hated it. you hated how your body responded first before your mind processed it — how your stomach lurched at the intensity, how it turned molten whenever the two of you would interact, and how difficult breathing became when you walked closer to him.

you only had yourself to lean on but these past few weeks and months, even your own body betrayed you. you clutched the straps of your bag tightly to numb out and silence the electrifying turbulence that whirled in your head, straight to your bloodstream, down to your fluttering stomach.

as you stood next to his table, your senses were engulfed by his scent; so overwhelmingly entrancing. a mixture of his —definitely expensive — sandalwood and musk perfume followed by a hint of fresh and clean linen, the just-out-of-shower scent. dizzying. calming.

and so, so damn addictive.

no. nope, snap out of it.

his gaze was piercing—he looked up at you with opal eyes that almost looked gray under the fluorescent lights, shadows were casted over it by his silver hair that fell on his forehead.

every breath you took felt charged, the air crackling with the weight of unspoken words and thoughts you dared not to think, so instead you gripped the strap of your bag and stepped in front of him.

he pushed his chair back, giving you space to look down on your paper stacked on his table. the comments and notes were written at the corner of the paper, in bold red ink with neat cursive penmanship.

“see here,” he pointed to your uncertainty propagation calculation, voice low and professional, as he circled around you.

you could feel your heart double down and ultimately flatline as he leaned down on you, his arms extending on both sides, locking you in his embrace. his breath was hot against your shoulders and neck, instantly sending shivers down your spine that he surely felt, given on the close proximity between the two of you.

you felt so lightheaded, chest rising up and down with shallow breaths—you could feel sweat bead on your temple.

“your graph’s meticulous, but… in this one?” he traced the outline of your graph, slowly. his arm brushed past yours — his skin felt warm, too warm —as he leaned closer, his breath tickling your earlobes.

you were aware of how close you two were, and suddenly, the whole lecture hall felt like it was closing in on the two of you at that moment.

you definitely should bolt out of this room. accept your grade as it is and outline your apology speech addressed to your mother for not being able to maintain the grade needed for your scholarship. to push him away and slap the hell out of him.

you know that’s the right thing to do. part of your brain still screams at you to be reasonable and to snap out of the trance that’s got you so stuck in the moment—you know that the proper reaction to whatever that was happening right now was to move away from him and push him.

but your feet remained firmly planted on the carpeted floor, your mind refusing any reasons you came up with.

“your slope’s slightly off the theoretical by at least -2. mostly accurate, but a tad average in precision.” he murmured, voice raspy.

you dared not to move a muscle. “but it’s not about precision or accuracy, is it? it’s about the raw data of the trials, which is pretty much like what you said on my output, ‘accurate’.”you managed to croak out, repeating his own words with the slightest tremble of your voice.

you should run.

but still, you don’t. especially not when his lips ghosted on the shell of your ear, chuckling lowly— you swore it reverberated down to your core. he leaned closer and nuzzled his face on your hair, deeply inhaling your scent.

“defiant as ever, aren’t you?” you could hear his smile on his tone as you noticed his white-knuckle grip he had on the edge of the table.

he was restraining himself.

your heartbeat was erratic, skin too hot it felt like it was about to melt and meld one with his. the way your shoulders tensed up as you pressed your thighs together, suppressing the molten heat that gradually ached.

“professor,” your breathing was labored, vision blurring, losing focus. everything was fading in and out and all that ever mattered as of that moment was how you badly wanted his hands on your skin.

reasons of why this shouldn’t be happening all flew out the window.

“satoru,” he rasped, dropping his forehead on your shoulder.

“ha?”

“call me satoru instead,” his breath was hot against your collar, and all you could do was gulp, the sensation of his actions all magnified to an extent.

“i can’t do this anymore.”

“do what?” that was a dumb question. you knew. of course you do. deep down, your stomach lurched, a silent confirmation that it wasn’t just you.

you felt him move closer towards you, grinding his hips against your jeans—completely feeling the rigid outline of him restrained through the layers of fabric.

you inhaled sharply from the dull pleasure as he buried his face on your hair.

his frustration and arousal showed as his breathing became even more ragged, the way he leaned behind you—how stiff and taut his body was as he inhaled your scent.

“come on, push me away. hurt me, tell me to stop.”

well shit.

“curse me for wanting you, so fucking badly,” he whispered, emphasizing the last part, as he pressed himself closer to you—you felt hot, vision blurring from how your skin prickled with desire. your senses were crowded— from how good he smelled: sandalwood, clean linen, and something that’s so… him. it engulfed you, diminishing any rational and responsible thoughts that kept you tethered to the ground.

you finally straightened up and turned to face him, and — good god.

under the bright fluorescent lights, you saw how much of a mess he looked like up close. his cheeks were flushed in deep red, pupils all blown wide, half lidded, dark with lust and incredibly drunk behind those glasses, from just staring at you. his body was rigid as he towered over you. you noticed how magnetic he looked, noticed the soft flutter of his eyelashes behind his glasses, they way he eyed you and your lips.

your gaze dropped down on his mouth that was slightly hanging open— like he too, can’t breath properly without wanting to inhale you fully and wholly in his system. you noticed the sheen of sweat that formed on his forehead and temples, a good clump of his silver hair stuck on it.

he looked so fucking ethereal, so distraught like that before you.

“say something.” he murmured.

you knew then and there, that there was no way out of this. of him.

without thinking, you closed the distance and crashed your lips on his, your hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer to you.

and like a somatic response his hands instantly found your waist pulling you closer to his body.

it was hasty, urgent and so, so damn desperate — the way his arms snaked down your waist down to your ass squeezing the plump flesh, pushing your hips against the bulging tent on his pants.

he kissed you like starved madman — fervent and desperate, like he has been thinking of doing this for so long. dreamt of your lips, your body, and your warmth against his skin more than what he’s allowed to, with the way his hands roamed down your back, slipping beneath your shirt, seeking for a skin-to-skin contact.

you stumbled backwards on his table as the two of you made out, his tongue deftly licking your lower lip, asking permission to devour and explore your mouth.

you thought you were losing your mind as you gasped against the sloppy and feverish kiss. both your tongues clashing, teeth grazing, him greedily sucking your lower lip as his hand tilted your head, angling your face to devour your mouth even better, while the other swiped the contents of his table.

the items—stapler, pen and markers, analysis papers— hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud before grabbing you by the waist to set you down properly on his table, without breaking the kiss.

he momentarily pulled away, resting his forehead on yours, before opening his eyes to look at you— blue eyes all dulled to gray, drunk with lust behind his fogged up and skewed glasses.

“if we continue this, there’s no turning back.” he licked his lips, his gaze fixated on your mouth that hang open, like he can’t wait to kiss you again.

he stood in between your thighs, hands slipping beneath your blouse once again, kneading the flesh with force, while the other squeezed your thighs.

the skin contact had you closing your eyes.

“you know that right?”

to hell with those fucking reasons.

“of course i do,” you snapped, it was all you could mutter. you wished he would just shut up and kiss you, take you or whatever it is to finally satiate the need to have him close to you. he grinned as he pulled away to remove his fogged up glasses, taking a moment to ogle at you up and down before grabbing the back of your head to ravish your mouth again, now with renewed fervor.

he trailed kisses from your jaw down to your neck, sucking and biting that supple spot that earned a restrained whimper from you. his other hand groped your breast, palming and kneading. you could tell with the way he held you, the way he touched you, bit you— that he probably thought of this before, and instead of being appalled, heat just pooled down your core.

“fuck, baby, can’t believe you’re real,” he gasped as he thumbed your hardened nipple through your blouse, and not long after, your eyes shot open after you heard fabric ripping and buttons dropping on his table and the carpeted floor mutedly— “what the hel— fuck!” just as you were about to protest, he yanked your bra down and licked the curves of your breast before latching his mouth on it desperately, swirling and sucking on it making you arch your back for him even further, all protests dying on your throat as he fumbled with your pants.

he pulled away with a ‘pop’ from your chest, cupping your jaw with a firm grip making you focus on him.

“keep it down baby, or do you want the whole campus to know how good i’m making you feel?” he grinned, before pulling your pants just halfway down and cupping your drenched pussy. the feeling alone got you digging your nails on his shoulder, ruffling and snagging the threads of his dress shirt—he got you biting you lips to stifle your own needy moans when his fingers trace the outline of your slit through your slick drenched panties, but satoru? right then and there he felt like heaven just opened its gates for him. he swore he almost came by feeling how wet you were for him. is this a dream? if it is, don’t fucking wake him up.

“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking of this, huh?” he murmured, resting his forehead on yours, intently watching your reactions, the details of how you scrunch your face in anticipation and pleasure—it made him suppress a groan (to which he almost failed)—seeing you pliant and flushed under his touch—it was too much for him. too much that he felt his body heat up even more, the way his pants felt tighter than before, the way his hands itched to explore and map out your body.

“fuck, ‘cause i have. every damn time. you have no fucking idea what you do to me baby,” he kisses you again, devouring your soft gasps as his hands slipped past your panties and inside your folds.

he slipped one digit inside you, stretching you wide, dragging his fingers along your walls, watching your micro-expressions of pleasure as he pumped his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt. your hips buckled, meeting his thrusts, leaving you breathless and gasping for him. your hands grappled for leverage, something to hold on and grab, ultimately ruining his shirt but he never budged. never moved away. his pace was steady as he pumped another digit, the burn painfully pleasurable as he pushed your body down on the table.

his fingers were long, reaching places in you that you never thought was possible—the way he curled it against your spongy spot had you curling your toes, stomach trembling from pleasure while his other hand stopped your thighs from closing. his thumb circled on your sensitive nub deliriously. “fuck, fuck, i’m c-hnggh-close, please,” you babbled, head thrown back, reckless and uncaring of how indecent this whole ordeal was. your world seemed to narrow down with how good he was making you feel at that moment.

he abruptly stopped his actions, pulling his fingers all the way out—making you whimper from the whiplash of being denied, leaving you feeling so empty as your pussy clenched on nothing, chasing the high. he leaned down on you, pressing his body weight against your sweaty body. “what did i say, baby? huh?” he rasped and you could feel him unbuckling his own pants in a hasty manner. he pushed his fingers in your mouth, making you taste your own arousal.

his pupils were blown wide with lust and desire, half lidded as he pumped his cock now free from the restraints of his boxers with his fist, smearing his precum and your slick on it. he didn’t even give you the chance to rake your gaze on his body, he kept you down as he teased his tip on your sensitive nub, deliberately riling you up. he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and groped your breast before pushing in slowly.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” strings of profanities fell on his lips, babbling and looking so drunk from your snug and wet cunt. his face was all flushed, brows were furrowed, hair clumped on his forehead with sweat beading on it, lip caught in between his teeth from his carnal desires.

you couldn’t even fathom the stretch and pleasure that mingled together when he bottomed out. it was even better than what you’ve imagined—he was long and thick, and he gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size, peppering kisses on the hollow of your throat, gasping your name.

“god you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned as he started moving, finding his rhythm almost instantly, railing you with such fervent pace like this is the first and last and the only time he could fuck you like this.

“i used to only dream of this, how you’d sound and — mnghh— feel — fuck,” he couldn’t even form a coherent and straight sentence, already pussydrunk and on the edge as he stares down at you, a babbling mess beneath him. "this pussy's so damn tight,"

with each drag of his cock as he pounded deep in you, his veins grazed that one spot that had your body tensing and shaking, clenching on him that did things to him as well. his large hands, palmed and pushed down on your lower abdomen, admiring the way he could see him bulging and disappearing each thrusts he did.

the squelching sounds of your pussy and skin slapping was shameful and obscene. you were aware of how wrong this was but would it make you a morally gray person if it turned you one even more? for satoru, who was gasping and biting your skin to stifle his moans, he couldn’t really give a fuck. he found it hot.

hot and thrilling. holy fuck his next class was about to start but he’s not gonna stop anytime soon bot when you feel way too good clenching on him, a telltale sign that you were close. “getting close, sweets? come for me, yeah?” he rasped, devouring your lips messily again to swallow your moans, before his fingers found your clit again, deliriously circling your already sensitive nub— “satoru, i’m — holy fuck, hnggh—“ you moaned in between the sloppy kiss.

“come for me baby—mmgh—let me see you fall apart,” his pace was erratic, pounding even faster, chasing his own high along yours.

you held on his shoulder and dug your nails on his dress shirt with utter desperation and when you came—he even clamped one of his hands over your mouth to muffle your moans.

“shit, didn’t i say to stay quiet baby?” he grunted, pulling away from you only to take both your hands together and tug you towards him as he pistoned in you, determined to ride your high. white rings of your combined slick and arousal formed on the base of his dick as he continued thrusting in you.

“let me come— mmgh— in you, baby. you’d let me, yeah? say yes — oh fuck— pretty,” he groaned, voice raspy and sweet.

“fuck, oh my — fuck— satoru— can’t—“ you couldn’t form a proper sentence because of how overstimulated you were becoming—both from his cock and the way he continued torturing you with rubbing and playing with your clit.

“come on, you can take — hnngh — it. please?” you could only muster a hasty nod, feeling another wave of pleasure building.

god, satoru thought. what a lucky bitch he was. is this really happening?

his pace stuttered before he went still, painting your insides white, coming hard, as your pussy milked him dry as you came with him.

“holy fuck.” he whispered, pressing his own body weight on top of you as he chased his own breath. he placed tender kisses on your collarbone and on your jaw before looking up at you with those cerulean-colored eyes, pupils blown wide from ecstasy.

“you’re free to enter my office next time for another complaint about my grading system on your paper about the scattering processes of nucleus. i don’t mind it at all,” he grinned at you.

“fuck off,” you gasped, feeling all worn out as you pried him off of you, wincing as he pulled out. you could feel his cum dribbling down your thighs as he fixed your underwear in place.

his eyes were glinted with mischief and desire yet again after seeing that sight—if you only know how much you drive him insane, god.

“was gonna ask if i can lick that off of you, but i still have a class in approximately—“ he looked down on his silver wrist watch briefly before combing his sweat-drenched hair back boyishly with a satisfied look on his face. “2 minutes. it’s a good thing most of my students hate this class so no one comes early,” he grinned before grabbing his own coat and giving it to you.

“sorry for ripping… your blouse.” the fucker doesn’t even seem apologetic at all.

god. he was infuriating. infuriatingly pretty too with that kiss-swollen lips, flushed face— the afterglow just looks good on him. he looked like a mess like you, but yeah. he doesn’t give a fuck that he just fucked one of his students.

his favorite one at that too.

either you’re gonna steer away from him (that felt impossible now after what you two just crossed—violated even) or agree to take his offer. either way, there was no going back.

author’s note 𓍼ོ see u next update hehe probably gonna write another satoru au or lads au who knows idk too ToT if u did enjoy hearts and reblogs are well appreciated. xoxo, yna!