Summary: Mini skirts, tiny crop tops, and over-the-top pink clothes are things that perfectly describe a bimbo: you. A head full of hairspray instead of thoughts, you're barely making it through your second year of college… again, and you’re too busy partying and shopping to bother picking up a book. You need help pronto: a tutor who can get you back on track and still be cute enough to entertain you. After a recommendation from Shoko, you find yourself being lectured by the tech nerd Satoru Gojo, determined to help you even if you make him want to rip his hair out. Nose buried in books and majoring in physics, he’s the perfect guy for the job… or so he thinks.
Art credits to hunnismoker
Tags- stereotypical bimbo reader, nerdjo, dumb reader, gojo being perverted, grinding and dry humping, kissing, masterbation, reader is failing school, some smut at the end, kinda slow burn??? idk, shoko is tired, fantasizing, wet dreams, kinda tame for first chap, gojo is kinda pretentious?, college au, teasing, gojo is a virgin
a/n: hi you're probably wondering why tf I took like 3 months to finally release this shit and the thing is...I uhm procrastinated a lot ok? plus I was busy chudmaxxingg and I got writers block :-: I'm only human after all...so anyway enjoy the first chap ever this is my first time writing a long series and I'd appreciate if you guys read my other smaller works and leave likes and comments cuz it really motivates me. I promise I’ll be more consistent. Have fun reading!
They can’t be that bad, right? It’s not like you spent the entire year slacking-
“Oh my God, I have Fs in all my courses?!” you cry out, turning to look at Shoko beside you. “I literally go to all my classes! How am I failing?!” You almost knock over the frappe next to your arm from recoiling in shock.
The expensive MacBook, bought for college assignments but mostly used for messaging and online shopping, sat in front of you with its screen showing the worst possible grades.
“Sucks, huh? Who could’ve guessed? It’s almost like you spent more time hooking up and getting wasted than studying.” Leaning over your shoulder to look at the Mac’s screen, she reaches for a cigarette in her pocket. “Better fix that, want something for the stress?” she offers, smirking.
Glaring, you shove her face away from your shoulder. “Ugh, no! Put that thing out. You know I hate it when you smoke. F.Y.I., I don’t even go out often. I attend some of my classes, so I don't understand how that doesn't count for a good grade!”
Shoko laughs, her head shaking in amusement. She lights the cigarette anyway. “Newsflash, girl, it doesn't work that way. Did you even do the work assigned?” She raises an eyebrow.
It is silent for a second, as if your brain is slowly absorbing her words. “I mean, no…but showing up should still count for something!” you huff. I mean, you kind of have an idea that your grades wouldn’t be the best, given how much you spent outside of class, but this being the result is dizzying.
Last year, Shoko saw the same situation, and even then, you barely passed with how much time you spent slacking around. You tried going to class this time, thinking it would help, but your calculations were incorrect.
“Oh, you dumb, poor soul. Maybe the filler really is getting to your brain, if you even have one,” Shoko croons mockingly. She has tried to help, really, but you are a total lost cause.
“Meeting with your counselor is the best option right now; you’ve got no other choice unless you want to be kicked out for good,” she continues, blowing cigarette smoke away from the delicate princess.
“That’s too far,” you huff. “And do you really have to smoke right now? You know I hate the smell!” You cover your nose, coughing as some of the smoke hits your face.
“How many assignments do you even have missing?” She mumbles, ignoring your coughs. Taking the MacBook now, she clicks on some things before it finally takes her to the page she wants.
The system marks 35 missing assignments red, including tests and exams. The gasp that escapes her is loud enough to catch the attention of everyone at the cafe's outdoor tables.
“You wonder why you’re failing- this is ridiculous! When was the last time you turned something in?!” She was practically yelling now, utterly baffled about how it was even possible to miss so much schoolwork.
“Shut up, you’re being loud! Look, I’ll fix this soon enough somehow,” smiling sheepishly, you yanked the MacBook back from her hold and scanned the assignments. “This doesn’t seem too bad…so what about that counselor thingy? What do they even do again?”
Sighing deeply, Shoko slumps back in her chair, focusing on smoking just for a moment. She needs to muster some patience before dealing with the idiocy you radiate.
“Your counselor will help you plan and guide you back on track. They’re going to get you out of this mess, or at least try in your case.”
The counselor's office was located inside the library, way too far from where you are sitting outside the campus’s local cafe. Walking there would be a trip, especially with those stilettos you are always wearing for some godforsaken reason. You say it’s for fashion, not for practicality.
“How would I even get there?! That’s way too far for me to walk, plus I haven't even finished my Caramel Frappuccino, oh, not to mention I am supposed to meet a guy after this for a date!” you whine, not thrilled about having to go all the way to the office just for some grades. It’s not like you didn’t care about your future- you just had better things to do than be stuck in an office. That mindset irritates your dear friend.
Shoko can only roll her eyes- hearing you whine and complain got on her nerves.
“You’re rich; you’ve got Uber money. Also, you always go on pointless dates. This guy will just end up on your dump list. You're such a princess, I really wonder why I am friends with such an airhead-”
“Shoko, you’re a genius!!! An Uber, of course! Aw, you’re the best!” you squeal, interrupting her rant. What an ingenious idea of hers, really. She is right about the guy, too. The only reason you agreed to the date was that he bribed you with your favorite food.
“Okay, catch you later!” Grabbing your bags and frappe, you are off on a brief journey.
Shoko can only shake her head. It’s like you didn’t even hear the last part. It doesn’t matter. She still cares for you, no matter what she says, even if you are stupid beyond belief.
The ride to the office is relatively short by car. The library comes into view: an immense brick building with a clock prominently displayed at its center. It rang out loudly at 12 pm, spooking you every time you were nearby.
The Uber driver pulls to the curb, eyeing you like candy as you step out of his old grey Honda.
“Thank you, Mr.! Ah, almost forgot your tip-” before you can reach for your purse, he stops you.
“No need for that, Sweetheart. The tip was your presence itself,” he chuckles, a sleazy smirk on his face.
“Well, if you say so!” How generous of him.
The library connects to the counselors through a double brown door with a sign above it, indicating the entrance to the office halls. You burst in loudly, asking for directions, making everyone look up from their work.
“Where can I find…Mr.” you look down at your phone to check the name of the guy you are looking for ”...Sakamoto?” You finish, scanning the room for the old gramp who is your counselor.
Everyone stares. People always stared. Especially if you look straight out of a Playboy magazine–smelling of hair products, artificial cherries, and dressing like you work at a strip club.
A woman in her 40s runs up to assess the situation quickly. You wonder why she is so frantic; after all, you only asked a question! Whispering in a low tone, she points to the exit, to your confusion. “Excuse me, miss, you must be at the wrong place. The club is downtown.”
Gasping indignantly, you clutch your purse. “The club downtown? Pft please! I’d never be caught there! That place has the worst drinks ever! Also, you didn’t hear it from me, but like, the guys there are brok-”
“Yes, yes, miss, my mistake- you must’ve come here intentionally…” she interrupts, shaking her head.
Intentionally? What does she mean by that? “Anyway, I'm looking for this guy. He's here, right?” You hold up your phone, the college's webpage open, showing the counselor's information.
The old lady, whom you believe is the librarian at this point, glances at your phone and then back at you.
A heavy sigh leaves her shrewd lips. “I see, yes, he’s here, follow me, miss,” she leads you through some doors, passing the computer tech and the printers. The clink of your heels against the wood floor is loud. You can hear a pin drop in here.
And of course, people look up to see the hot babe strutting by, or the source of the strong fruit scent nearby. That includes a particular head full of snowy hair. Striking bright blue eyes scan your long legs to the top of your head.
“Whoa..” the breathy gasp escapes him before he could catch himself ogling like a weirdo.
He shakes his head, readjusts his glasses, and goes back to coding for his computer tech class. He can’t get distracted now, definitely not from a random girl passing by, but you aren’t really a random girl.
You are in his physics course, sitting right across from him up in front of the classroom, a hell of a view for him to space out on, or so he tries convincing himself. You are too busy fussing over your appearance to even notice him staring, but even then, he thinks you're used to stares.
He swears the sight of you is irking. You wear heels all the time, the smallest tops, the shortest shorts, and the highest heels he’s ever seen. It makes you completely not his type.
What kind of person goes to college dressed like a bunny model?
You're wearing a pink tank top that showcases cleavage and the lowest-riding shorts he’s ever seen, and on top of that, you can also spot a heart with flames tattooed on your lower back.
Too much visible for his taste.
Does he even have a taste? He doesn’t talk to women, he's never been on a date, he's a virgin, and he’s always stuck inside his own apartment studying for the hell of it and coding shit for his courses.
Yeah, he is a nerd with a pretty face who gets no play. His chances of even scoring someone like you are literally 0.
Not needing to linger on his patheticness, he tries to redirect his focus back to the work in front of him, but it is impossible with the image of you seared into his mind.
“Ugh, this place smells like rotting paper,” you grumble under your breath as you walk through the hall. Old photographs of past teachers, notable graduates, and miscellaneous paintings adorn the walls.
The librarian knocks on the door of the counselor’s office, his name on a plate above the door frame.
“Come in,” an older voice beckons.
The inside of the office isn’t any different either, except that this place has window light.
The librarian bows her head politely. “This young lady says she’s here to see you. I hope we're not interrupting anything.”
You shift your purse, the key chains on it clinking noisily. You gaze down at the shorter man, no older than 70, and wave.
He shakes his head, taking a seat at his desk. “Oh, I'm not busy at the moment. Please sit down, Miss. You may go now, Mrs. Kujo.”
You plop down on the seat in front of his mahogany desk, watching him open up his computer and lean in close to the screen. How did you even start the conversation?
“So, Miss, what brings you here today? I am assuming it has to do with your grades?” he enquires, leaning over on his desk.
“How did you know? Are you some type of psychic?” you gasp. He somehow knows why you are here! This makes things so much easier.
He chuckles amusingly, opening a book to a list of names. “Oh no, just a guess. People like you come to see me about grades most of the time. Guess I hit the mark, huh?”
Nodding vigorously, you cross your legs, getting comfortable. “Yes! I need something done about that! I’ve got no clue what I’m doing in some of these classes,” you confess, sighing in defeat.
“Tell me your name, and we’ll see what we can do from there,” he types your name into his computer. He pulls up your grades for the semester. “Hm, yes, seems like you’ve got a lot of work missing, no good marks about class participation, and quite a lot of…interesting grade reports. I'm seeing Fs in a lot of your classes, or all of them actually, not up to this place's standards, which means you’re close to failing this semester.” His reaction is minimal, making you think he’s dealt with much worse cases, which means you’re in good hands!
“And, uhh, how do I fix that?” Your marks are surely savable. They just have to be.
“I’ve got a few suggestions. The first thing that could help you greatly is a tutor. I have a few options you can choose from.” He takes out a portfolio of mostly middle-aged men and young adults who don't catch your interest. Those guys aren't hot at all. They’re all old and just a bore to look at. If only there were a cutie who could do that job instead. Did cute, studious guys even exist?
“O-oh…is that all?” You ask, an unsure smile on your face.
“Well, unless you can find someone else who’s in our tutoring program, these are the options we're working with right now. Otherwise, there are some other steps we can take to steer you in the right direction…”
You leave the place stumped. Sure, his other suggestions are helpful, but you still need a tutor that you like, cause he needs to be hot, otherwise your attention will be elsewhere. Last time you tried tutors, it didn’t end well. Most of them quit during the second session because you kept falling asleep or getting off track. And yes, there were many tutors.
Shoko is still at the cafe when you return; she has her own studying to do for her finals. She looks up from her notes when you sit right in front of her.
“Oh, you’re back already? It hasn’t even been an hour, how’d it go?” she questions, stretching out her arms behind her.
“I told you I was coming back. I literally texted you, but whatever. The old fart said I needed a tutor, but the people he recommended are boring-looking or just ancient.” Sighing loudly, you slump back in your seat, taking out your little compact mirror and lip gloss from your purse. You find solace in your reflection.
“You’re too picky with this kind of stuff, but if you really need someone who could capture your little brain’s attention, I know who,” she smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Oh, really, and who could that be?” You look up from the mirror. “Is he hot?”
“I guess so, it’s an old friend of mine, his name is Satoru Gojo. He should be in your physics class…he’s in the tutoring program.”
Satoru Gojo? That name seems familiar.
“Is it the guy with the blue eyes and white hair?” You lean forward. If it is who you think it is…
Shoko nods. “The one and only, I think you’ve met him once during that study hall I forced you to go to?”
OH, that’s right! You remember him. He seemed quiet...not your usual type, but he was cute. He looked bearable enough to be taught by. “Hm, yeah sure…I’ll talk to him, but tomorrow! The guy I bailed on has been texting me nonstop this whole time. I need to take care of him.”
“Cool, you’ll find him in the library around this same time. This will be fun to watch,” she snickers, a hand over her mouth.
Shrugging, you pay no mind to her antics; you have your own worries, anyway.
The next day after classes, it is the windiest it’s ever been that month. Freaked out by all the leaves blowing everywhere, you make a run for the library in your heels after your last class.
He should be easy to spot.
Bursting in again like yesterday, you make a scene by yelling out his name for the whole place to hear. “Hmmm Gojo, Gojo, Gojooooo? Has anyone seen a guy with white hair, suuuper tall, and pretty blue eyes?”
Unbeknownst to you, he is hiding with his sweater over his head, avoiding being spotted far in the library. “God damn it, what can she possibly want from me?!” he’s thinking, his mind racing to come up with some sort of explanation about why you of all people were searching for nobody like him.
Watching you walk around aimlessly, shouting his name, made him give in after a moment; letting you make a fool of yourself no longer makes him feel bad.
“H-Hey…over here.” He's raising his hand hesitantly, ears bright red from the curious onlookers, wondering who the poor fellow you are looking for is.
In seconds, you’re walking in his direction with a wide smile on your face.
“Gojo! There you are! Heh, I thought you weren’t here for a sec.” He is bright red, flustered as hell. This hot babe was looking for him willingly?!
“Yeah, uh, what do you need from me?” he goes straight to the point; he wants to go back to the comfort of his study books and notes.
Silence, not even a peep from Satoru.
“T-tutor you? You want me–” pointing to himself, “-to help you with your classes?”
He looks around, making sure you are truly talking to him. Uhhhh yeah, I mean, who else is here?”
“And why should I help you? My prices aren’t very cheap, you know.” Bang.
His mouth drops when you slam an enormous stack of hundreds right beside his textbook.
“Money is not a problem here! So, how about we start this Friday?” The look on your face made it seem like dropping such a large amount of money is the norm for you. He’d heard from Shoko that you are filthy rich; he should have figured out that money is never a problem for a princess like you.
“I could also pay in other ways…” You purr, fingers slowly making way up his forearm on the table.
He yanks his arm back to rest on his lap. “No, no! The money will suffice!”
“Really? Yayyyy, I'm so excited.” You clap your hands, pleased with the deal going through. He wasn’t half bad either; the idea of covering his face in kisses and watching him turn pink is fun. Maybe you can have your own secret game that he wouldn’t have a clue about. How long will it take to get into your tutor’s pants?
“Yeah, sure, exciting, you’re going to be impossible to deal with, aren't you?” he mumbles under his breath, adjusting his glasses. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to study for my finals.”
“Ohhh, really? Well, don’t mind me then, Gojooooo.” You make yourself comfortable, placing down your bag and taking out your little makeup powder and compact mirror. That sweet little drawl of his name sent shivers down his spine. Such a little thing shouldn’t affect him.
“Ahem,” he clears his throat.
“Lip gloss, pencils, perfume, keys, wallet…lip gloss, pencils, perfume, keys, and my wallet. What am I missing?” you mumble to yourself, searching your book bag repeatedly.
“Since you’re going to tutoring, I'm guessing it’s your textbooks, homework, and assignment binder?” Shoko chimes in. You are on FaceTime with her, preparing for the first-ever session of the year with Gojo. You have your iPad propped up on the desk, giving her a clear view of you rummaging.
“Oh yes! How could I forget?” You shove whatever school-related items you find into the bag and zip it up.
“Where would you be without me?” She sighs. “I'll leave you now. Have fun with the nerd.” Prepared now, you turn to face the iPad and wave goodbye.
You lift the bag and hook the strap over your shoulder, and stop in front of the full-length mirror near the door to your very own apartment (courtesy of parents) to check on your outfit before you leave.
You definitely want to raise those grades of yours, but the idea of flirting with the hottie nerd who’d agreed to help you is so enticing. Your plan is simple: distract him, watch his careful speech trip and dissolve into a shy smile, and watch his face turn into a pretty shade of pink. You relish the thought, knowing you’d totally be able to get him hard just by brushing your hand on him. He looks too easy.
Gojo is staring at his phone’s black screen, bored, waiting for any sort of message saying you were on your way. His head fell onto the table with a thud.
The longer he ponders, the faster time seems to fly. He taps his phone. The time is 5:47 pm. You are 17 minutes late. He should call it off; his mind isn’t in the headspace to deal with you right now anyhow. He gets up, just about to grab his bookbag, when the door swings open.
He stands there, completely frozen. His brain is racing at a million hours per hour. You walk in looking stunning in your tight pink and grey sweats, paired with a snug crop top that leaves little to the imagination, and he’s expected to act normal?
“Wow,” he gasps under his breath. Raising his hand, he gestures for you to come over. “Hey! I’m over here!”
Inside, he is trying hard to keep it together. You whip your head to where he’s standing, rushing to him in no time.
“So sorry I was late! I had to run to Starbucks and get myself a treat to get me through this. A girl has to have her sweets, you understand, right?” You take a seat next to him, dropping your heavy bag on the table and slurping obscenely on your pink drink.
He stares at you in disbelief. Is this girl serious? She’s late because she wanted Starbucks, of all things? Unbelievable, exactly why girls like her get on his nerves and aren’t worth wasting his time on.
“Don’t let this become a habit. A good, diligent student is always on time for everything. Behavior is also important for good grades,” he scoffs. He sits back down, eyeing you disdainfully until he realizes how really close you’ve leaned into his personal space. You are too close, and he can feel your body heat.
He can just imagine how warm you would be if you were sitting on his lap instead, kissing up his neck instead of working on this- but no, he couldn’t let himself think like that. He’s here for the extra cash. No fantasizing is allowed on the job.
“Do you mind?” Gojo grumbles, placing a heavy textbook, a journal, and colorful sticky notes in front of you.
You move away from him, catching onto how flushed the tips of his ears are. You are right, he is easy. Your eyes turn to look down at the textbook in front of you, confusion replacing your smugness.
“Physics, really? That’s too hard to start with!” you complain, flipping through pages of the textbook distastefully.
“Actually, Physics is perfect to start with because of the amount of work you’re missing. If you were only responsible, you wouldn’t be in this, now would you? The sooner you learn the material, the faster things will get turned in. Now shush and take out your binder, assuming you have one?”
Huffing, you reach for your bag, unzipping it and digging until you find your work. Gingerly, you take out a bunch of rumpled, wrinkled paper, and some of it looked like it had been wet before.
“This is all my stuff, I think,” you giggle sheepishly, placing the pile on the table between you.
“Good grief,” he pokes at the pile with a pen, making sense of what the hell is in it and why some of the paper is stained pink. “Where do we even start…”
“By the way, you’ll teach me at a slow and steady pace, right? I’m a slow learner, so I really hope you let me go at my own pace.” You purposely nudge your thighs against his leg, brushing your foot with his. A small distraction from the mess in front of you.
Gojo stiffens, moving his leg away like fire touched him. “Yeah, sure as slow as we need to,” he grits out, opening his journal to his notes.
“We’ll start from the beginning of the unit. Buckle in for the exciting world of physics and try to pay attention, please.” he’s silently begging you to just focus on the topic. No flirting, no teasing, no anything, just an educational environment where he can peacefully ramble about topics he’s passionate about.
“I have a great attention span, don’t you worry about lil old me,” you insist.
He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses promptly. "Let's start with the first lesson: Quantum Physics. Now it’s important to learn this because it studies the tiniest aspects of the universe, which exist as waves or energy particles. It helps us understand how atoms work and their binding that determines matter like…”
At some point, you find yourself tuning him out. His words become gibberish to your ears, but it is endearing to watch him passionately explain the mechanics and their revolutionary impact on the world. But you’re bored, and watching a nerd yap can only entertain you so much. Slowly but surely, you lean more and more towards him, appearing as if you are looking over to look at the paper.
His tangent stops as soon as he becomes aware of your hot breath hitting close to his neck, his eyes narrowing. He regrets looking over at you; your face was so close, too close. Those pretty eyes stared right back at him so entrancingly.
“Okay…new rule, no getting into my personal space, thank you very much,” he blurts out, scooting his chair away.
“What? I was just trying to look at the paper,” you protest, twirling a lock of your hair seemingly unbothered with the sudden distance.
He can tell from that look on your face that you are messing with him on purpose, and he isn’t going to be set back from some dumb flirting at all. He is better than that.
“You don’t have to be almost on top of me to look at the paper, and stop acting oblivious!” He hisses. He shifts in his spot once more; he’s starting to feel hot under his collar, even if his mind keeps nagging him to keep it together. The tiniest whiff of your perfume has him crumbling.
“Try this problem. Take your time solving it…”
He slides a practice worksheet in front of you. You have not been paying attention to his words at all. Biting the eraser edge, you try to look back in your memories, but staring at his pretty albino eyelashes fluttering against his cheek is the only thing you have. You scribble something down, the best you can come up with after piecing something he said earlier and some other shit straight out of your ass.
He takes the paper from you and sighs.
“You haven’t been paying attention to anything I’ve been saying, have you?” As expected, you shake your head no. “Great. Here now- let me explain your mistake by starting from the top again.”
“Am I going to be punished for my mistake, Toru?” you whisper close to his ear.
The pencil in his hands snaps. “Wh- no. No one is getting punished!” he sputters, voice cracking. “Focus this, please. I know you’re trying to flirt yourself into some erotic, heated tutoring session, and I’d appreciate it if you didn't-”
“You’re really assuming that? What do you take me for, a slut?” You hold onto his bicep, pouting with a dramatic edge. Then suddenly something catches you off guard, his bicep feels firm, pausing, you feel the hard muscle flexing beneath his sweater from his hands still clutching the broken pencil with a lethal grip.
“You’re strong! Do you work out?” you gasp.
The shift in subject throws him off. Are you seriously changing the topic again? But with the way you’re in awe, feeling him up without a spare thought inflates his ego, and he is always one to show off.
“I work out, believe it or not…”
“Really now, you don’t look like the type. Can I lift your sleeve?” You tug on his brown sweater sleeve. Did he have what they call sleeper builds? You’ve never heard of a nerd actually being athletic. Satoru does look a bit too big for your average geek, but you thought it was just genetics.
“What, no! We’re getting off track here-” he chokes out, shrugging your hand off.
“If you’re so strong, does that mean you could lift me easily with just one arm?”
He absolutely can; he can do it right now. The way your legs would wrap around his waist, his hands palming your soft warm flesh, kissing you against the nearest bookshelf and then-
“Yes, now shut up. Write the question down now.” His tone is serious, but his voice is trembling, and his mask of indifference is slipping. His knee under the table is bouncing so much it’ll fall off at any time now.
“Whatever you say, I'll do, teach.” You say, batting your eyelashes.
He rolls his eyes. “If that's the case, then actually sit and pay attention. You need to learn this formula otherwise, you're going to be lost for the rest of the lesson.”
It was trial and error with you, revising notes, looking back at formulas, and making flashcards just for some things to stick, is starting to wear on his patience.
“Okay, new plan. It’s flashcard time again,” he grabs a stack of colorful paper and writes down the names of the formulas and the actual formulas on each side.
“This is called the power rule,” he holds up the card. “The actual formula is d/dx (x^n) = nx^(n-1). It’s simple math steps. Identify N, multiply by N, subtract 1 from N, and simplify- like so.” Step by step, he solves a problem, vocalizing the instructions slowly.
“See? Easy enough, a monkey can figure it out. Your turn.”
“I guess..” You solve the next problem a little quicker than the last, using the already solved solution as an example. You slide the paper back to him, which he skims over quickly.
His light blue braces glint in the library's fluorescent light when he finally grins for the first time since the session started. Some progress after talking to a wall for almost an hour now.
“Huh, you’re finally catching on, thank God. Do a few more of these, and we can finally move on.”
“Really? Do I get a kiss for getting it right?”
“A kiss? You really think you deserve a kiss for solving basic high school math?” he bristles.
“It’s just a tease, you’re no fun,” you lean on your chin on your palm, winking at him sweetly. “Don't act like you don’t want to.”
“This is not about having fun, it’s about educating the ignorant,” he grits out, ignoring how his face feels 10x hotter than before. A kiss from you? Pftt yeah right, as if those filler lips would be soft, warm, and feel good against him.
“Just a little kiss? It would be such an honor to get a kiss on the cheek from the smartie pants Satoru Gojo, famous for... actually, you’re pretty much a nobody. Oh, wait- I mean you kinda are. Your brother is that popular hottie frat boy-,”
“Shshsh, nope, he’s irrelevant right now! I actually was thinking about giving you that kiss, but now you’ve ruined it, and for the record, I'm just as interesting as he is,” he protests, crossing his arms, pouting. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s a nobody compared to his brother, infamous for his loud parties every weekend and being the biggest heartbreaker to ever exist.
His relationship with him is close to say the least; close enough that he’d force him to go to his parties against his will, pushing him out of his comfort zone, just for him to stand in a corner, finding the right time to sneak away.
The two are so different in their own ways. His brother can get any girl he wants with a wink, and Satoru? He’s never held a female's gaze for as long as 30 seconds before his nerves dissolved any ounce of confidence. His brother is a social butterfly, whilst he prefers being left alone. Just the thought of you thinking his twin is better than him makes him irrationally irritated.
His discomfort is obvious; it only makes you want to prod at him more. “What? Are you jealous of me calling him hot? Don’t feel too bad, I actually think you are way cuter anyway-”
“It’s not about that, it’s- wait, really, you think I'm cuter?” He looks like a puppy who has just received a treat, with a rosy complexion and a look of genuine disbelief.
“I mean, I’ve always liked the more…brute tattooed hunky guys…but I'm also trying to expand my taste- and you can be a sample!” you prattle on, hands finding purchase on his bicep again.
Brute tattooed guys? That description makes him the arrow that missed the target by a mile.
“Sample? I’m not here so you can pass the time with me- we’re getting way off topic again!” He doesn’t move, though. Your comment went straight to his head, and the idea of you showing just a hint of interest in him makes his heart flutter. No one has ever called him cute to his face before, unless his mom counted, but he digresses.
You watch him rise suddenly, disappearing into the narrow aisles of the bookshelves. Your hands drop to your lap, frowning as he brings yet another stack of books to use.
"We are switching topics," he announces, dropping a stack of heavy old acrylic-covered textbooks right in front of you. They had been stored away for too long, and as soon as they hit the table, dust covered their surfaces.
“Hey, you did that on purpose,” you coughed, waving your hand for the dust to go away. “Ugh, seriously, history?”
He ignores your complaints. He opens his laptop again, side-eyeing you.
“History is complex and rich in information to memorise, like dates and facts. It may be tough for a brainbird like yourself, but tackling this subject now will pay off in the long run.”
“Mmm, and how many assignments are missing in that class?” you ask.
“Too many,” he replies. “You’ve got at least 6 major assignments long overdue.”
“And how many are essays?”
His eyes twitch as he scrolls through your records. Essays, you say? “All of them,” he deadpans, turning the screen for you to look for yourself. “Six full essays, all about different topics.” He takes a deep breath. “How did you let it get this bad?
“Nooooo, you can’- I can’t do that! I know I wasn’t in that class much, but to be fair, it’s my first class of the day, and I'm way too tired in the morning to bother getting up and listening to a teacher yap on... Mummies or something, I dunno.” You insist, fiddling with the rings on your fingers.
"Are you saying you skip your morning class and miss out on valuable education just for more sleep?" He doesn’t know whether to walk out or strangle you. It has him questioning whether the money you’re paying him is really worth it.
"I'm not a morning person, like at all," you say, as if that makes it any better. You shift in your seat and grab the nearest history book.
“So what’s the topic?” you ask, grabbing a pencil to seem more prepared. You swear that vein on his neck is about to pop any second now.
“‘How World War II shaped society into what it is today and what are its lasting effects.’ With the right resources, you can write a pretty decent essay right now with the time we have left."
“Okay!” You grab your notepad and bring your laptop forth. You sit there and stare at your screen. A minute or so passes before you’re asking him a question again.
Gojo’s jaw drops slightly. Don’t you know how to write an essay? That’s like the main thing a third grader has to learn. He has to stop himself from actually crashing out. It's like you want him to hate you.
“Okay,” he mutters. He flips open his notebook and jots down bullet points with sharp pen strokes.
“Your crash course: 1. Hook 2. Background 3. Thesis…” he finishes writing down everything you need for an essay. Unbelievable, he’s even doing this for a grown ass woman.
“I’ll also be checking for plagiarism. Don’t try anything funny under my watch.”
“Heh, of course not! But one more thing…what’s a thesis?” You giggle shyly, pulling your notepad closer to your face. You wonder if he might really throw those textbooks at you.
He only chuckles unnervingly. “A hook,” he says slowly, as if talking to a toddler, “is a sentence that states your main argument.” For example, “the lady in front of me is a lazy bum and should get off her ass and actually go to her classes’. Get it now?”
“Hey, I don’t appreciate you being rude. I'm trying to learn here!” you protest.
“I wouldn’t have to be so stern if you knew basic elementary and middle school knowledge. Did you even go to school? I'm starting to think you have never stepped foot in a classroom ever.”
“I swear I did. I was never a very…attentive kid. That’s how you use the word, right?”
“Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs, turning back to his notebook and writing down more notes for you. His eyes flick to your screen only to see the Ulta browsing page open.
“You’re fucking with me, right? Get off that and go to your doc,” he scowls, jabbing you with his pen. He leans over your shoulder to make sure you get off it, and he regrets it again. You smell so delectable it makes his brain fry, not to mention how cute your embarrassed face looks. He has half the mind to forgive your antics.
“Oop!” You switch the docs tab and take his notes. “That was there from when I was last on, I swear!”
His eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Right. Answer me this, when did World War II officially start?" he cocks his head to the side expectantly.
You don’t answer right away; you think it over before smirking mischievously.
“Eat me out if I'm wrong, but was it in 1965?”
His eye twitches and his face turns a rosy pink again.
“Wha- I'm not doing- stay serious!” he inhales, tapping his pen against the table. “1965 is your final answer?”
“Uhm…yes.” You smile, shaking your head confidently.
“No,” he said, his voice flat. “It was 1939.”
“Oh, right, I knew that.”
He rolls his eyes at your shitty excuse, sure, right. That’s your go-to whenever you say something outright idiotic. It’s starting to grind on his nerves.
“Yeah, sure,” he snorts. “Just forgot the most basic fact about the most significant war in the world, hm? Why am I even surprised? You don't even know how to write an essay.”
“Why do I even try?” he mutters, his head falling onto the table.
“Because you want the best for me and I am paying you?” you quip back, resting your head beside his on your forearms.
He lifts his head, blinking slowly at your face, taking his time to adjust his gaze. Then, he looks nervous and turns away. He sits up, packs his things, and hands you a paper ripped from his notebook.
"I want you to know that I care about your education. As your tutor, it’s my responsibility to help you succeed. Now, it's time to assign some homework. For my sake and sanity, we’ll be ending this early session. Your task is to complete two assignments from each of your classes. I’ve prepared a list for you, and tomorrow morning, I will send tutorial videos for each subject. I expect you to complete all assignments by next Wednesday."
You stare at it for a moment and watch him get up.
“Aweee, what about my weekend plans?” you whine, voice heavy with frustration. This ruins so many things! I was going to go shopping with my girlfriends, go to a party, and also do a self-care day-”
He shifts his book bag on his shoulder and glances back at you. “Forget about them. Work comes first.” He storms out of the library in a rush. He can’t be around you anymore, not unless he wants to have an aneurysm.
“At least say bye, ‘Toruuuuuuu!”
A long whine of his nickname for him echoes in his ear as he steps out. Your tone is so sickly sweet when you say “Toru”. You’re the most infuriatingly attractive girl he has ever encountered.
You sat there, alone now with crumpled papers surrounding you and a pit in your stomach. He’s actually making you work!
It’s late, way too late. Satoru shouldn’t even be up at this hour- he has classes early in the morning, for Christ's sake, he shouldn’t be stalking your Instagram.
How was he able to stumble upon your page? By clicking on Shoko’s follower list and finding your account, which is public for everyone to see. You have 12k followers and over 50 posts; it is clear you’re popular around campus.
But if he’s being honest, without hearing from Shoko complaining to him about something dumb you did every other day, he wouldn’t have known about your existence. Sure, you’re in one of his classes, but he doesn’t care enough to memorize the names of his classmates. He is there to learn, and that’s it.
He also found out from you that Shoko is the one who recommended him for tutoring. He had confronted her about that after the first session today. Her answer was, “You’ve said you needed some extra cash lately, and she’s rich as hell, so I put two and two together and figured this could benefit you guys.”
It makes sense why Shoko put him on the spot like that; he needed some extra money for his new computer tech setup. Your reputation for being an airhead does make him fear a little bit.
He needs to prepare more; he needs to know exactly who he is dealing with for the next few weeks, which is why he decided to look up your Instagram. Looking at what you’re posting will definitely tell him everything he needs to know about you. So he told himself.
“Let’s see, she only has 3 highlights…Friends, Myself, and Food,” he mumbles, clicking on the first one.
Parties, group photos with friends, drinking, hangouts, typical stuff that you’d expect from your typical college party girl…except his eyes kept straying to your face, to your body in each captured moment, analyzing every article of clothing you wore.
The fabric is always short and tight, presenting every single curve you possess in such an alluring way. In the next highlight, he takes his time soaking up each selfie. The first picture is you in your room, dressed in a pink tank top and Nike Pros, sitting on your bed, innocently gazing at the camera.
You look pretty, I mean, when didn't you look pretty? Those glossy lips, pretty doe eyes, and long lashes make you irresistible to the naked eye. In the next picture, you were at the beach in the tiniest bikini ever; it was pink, just like everything else you wore. The string bikini clung to the gentle curve of your breasts so nicely, and those bottoms were so tight on your ass.
His hand instinctively goes down to palm himself through his sweats. He’s getting hard just from two pictures; he feels like a pervert, and he is a pervert if he’s being honest with himself. The heat pooling in his stomach doesn’t stop as he taps the screen to the next photo.
It’s you at a party, a pink buzzball tilted to touch those luscious lips of yours- his mind imagining they’re touching the tip of his leaking, aching cock instead. Your tongue sticks out slightly to catch the liquid pouring down your mouth and spilling to your chin and onto the pretty slope of your breasts.
Any shame he has is forgotten as his hand reaches inside his boxers, squeezing his erection. There is already so much precum making a mess on his hands, and it makes his boxers uncomfortably sticky. He taps again on the last photo in your highlight. It’s you kneeling on the floor in front of the mirror you own. The camera focused mostly on your face. It’s a hell of a view- tongue sticking out and eye winking at the lens.
He takes out his cock properly, zooms in close, and presses the head of it right on his phone screen, his pre-smearing a bit where your tongue is out in the picture. Groaning, he tilts his head back on his pillow, stroking his pale base while imagining your tongue licking him instead of his hand. He envisions your lips wrapping around his tip and sucking gently, tongue teasing his perineum. You’d take more of him down until your nose and his curly white hairs would meet.
You would gag on him, pretty watery eyes looking up at him as he’d force your head up and down, making you take all of him regardless of the protesting whimpers vibrating deliciously on his dick. Your acrylic nails would scratch his thighs, you’d grab onto for support, moaning weakly with drool dribbling down your chin.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” he grunts out subconsciously, his hand moving furiously up and down- his thumb pressing down on the sensitive vein under his cock. “So pretty…take it all, baby,” he whimpers. He is whining quietly now as he approaches his high. If his roommate hears him now…
“Ahah- fuck.. yes…yes…angh-!” His hot seed spurts out before he can register it. He came so quickly, all over his phone screen, staining your face in the photo. He knew he should feel disgusted with himself. Your looks clouded his perverted mind, and he did all of this despite barely knowing you, with no shame.
Now his phone was all gross and sticky with his cum. Great. While grabbing a couple of tissues on his nightstand to clean the mess, he notices that at the bottom right of the story. He liked your story.
“Holy shit,” he gasps, post-nut clarity hitting him like a truck. Somehow, amidst his depravity, he pressed the heart button like the dumb fool he is. What’s he supposed to do now? She has probably seen the notification already and is texting her friends about how the tutor she hired is going through her posts and definitely jerking off to it, because why wouldn’t he? Or he’s just an overthinking idiot. You probably have too many guys in your DMs to even notice such a small thing.
“I’m so gross,” he groans. He tosses his phone aside and curls up in his sheets. Maybe it was just a moment of weakness- he’ll feel better tomorrow.
He jolts awake, disoriented from being suddenly awakened. The first thing his bleary eyes see is your face staring right into his baby blue eyes. The warm weight of you straddling his hips seeps into his thin basketball shorts.
“How did you get in my dorm- how are you here?” he gasps, feeling like his body is stuck to the mattress. You’re here, somehow, in his dorm, on top of him like it’s nothing.
What’s more, you're in nothing but the tiniest lacy thong and bra he’s ever had the miracle of looking at. You’re so warm too, he doesn’t want to move, and it's not like he can.
You flutter your eyelashes, holding onto his shoulders as you start peppering kisses up his neck, and he lets you. Why should he question a sexy babe on his lap showing him attention he's never thought he could get?
He groans softly as your hips start to rock right on his crotch, his hands fly to your waist, gripping you tightly.
You blink, smiling innocently. “Just making you feel good…”
He tilts his head back, letting you move your hips back and forth on his straining cock.
“What are you doing to me?” he whimpers as you press a kiss right on his pulse and lick his ear with the tip of your tongue.
“Calm down, it’s just me. Touch me anywhere you like, I'm all yours this morning.” You guide one of his hands to the clasp on your bra.
“Take it off for me,” you whisper.
He complies almost instantly. Who was he to say no to you? A flick of his wrists and your bra is discarded on his floor, right next to dirty socks on the floor. He’d have to clean that later.
His shaky hands gently cup one of your breasts, testing the weight of the soft mound carefully.
“You’re so pretty,” he’s revering you, like a goddess is right on him, grinding her pretty cunt on him. He’s so close already, and you haven't even touched him yet.
“Don’t be afraid to do anything…” your lips find his in a messy kiss, you swallow his soft whines as you speed up. Rocking your hips back and forth over, over and over, building his high steadily.
“Aghnh slow down! Cumming!” he moans, and just as he’s about to cum-
Gojo’s eyes snap open, the realization hitting him like a cold bucket of water. He sits up, running a hand through his mussed hair. He turns off his phone alarm. It was a dream. Right. That would never in a million years happen.
“Oh my god,” he flops back onto his pillow. He lets out a long, shaky sigh. His boxers feel sticky, and he feels a mix of guilt and frustration.
“What is wrong with me? This is absolutely ridiculous, she's in my dreams!” he mutters to himself, lifting the band of his boxer to confirm his suspension.
His phone buzzes once, then twice. Who can be texting him at 7 am? It’s your number; he forgot he has it saved.
Message 1: Heyyyy, I was wondering if we could have our next tutor session at the local cafe near campus.
Message 2: I feel like the setting change will help me focus more lmk what you think 💞💞
A cafe is a pretty good place to study, but in your case? You’d probably get distracted and start ordering a bunch of shit, and it can get busy there too, and you’d probably start socializing instead of paying attention. He has half a mind to reject the idea.
His eye twitches, his tongue runs over his braces, then clicks as his mind processes the texts. His fingers hover over the keyboard before he types something in and presses send.
Satoru:” Sure, sounds fine. Does 5 pm work for you?”
