Your boyfriend cannot call you a slut without having a full mental breakdown. You make him do it anyway.
cw: NSFW. reluctant dirty talk, blowjob, throat fucking, cum swallowing, humor, fluff & smut.
“You’re a fucking little—”
Satoru’s hand flew up to cover his face so fast his glasses nearly went flying. His ears were already red and the rest of him was rapidly catching up.
“Baby, I can’t.” The words came out muffled against his palm in a mortified groan.
Satoru Gojo — top of the physics department, future Nobel hopeful, the guy who still used highlighters color-coded by topic difficulty, and the softest, most hopelessly whipped boyfriend on campus — was currently having a full-blown crisis of character while the most popular girl in three different friend groups sucked his soul out through his dick.
You were on your knees between his spread legs on his dorm bed, lips still wet and shiny, looking up at him with the most devastatingly confident expression a person mid-blowjob could possibly manage. His hard cock rested against your lower lip, twitching traitorously every time you spoke.
You blinked slowly. Then you smiled that same smile that had half the campus wrapped around your finger.
“You can,” you said sweetly, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and bringing the flushed head right to your mouth. You dragged the tip slowly across your tongue, back and forth, tasting the precum that was already beading there. “You’re supposed to be the smartest guy in the whole physics department, Toru. You can manage to say some filth.”
Satoru peeked at you through his fingers. Those impossibly blue eyes were wide behind his slightly askew glasses, looking like a deer about to get absolutely wrecked.
“I— I can do equations in my head,” he muttered. “I cannot call my girlfriend a… a… that.”
His free hand hovered uselessly near your hair, fingers twitching like he wanted to touch but didn’t trust himself not to stroke it gently instead of yank.
“Come on.” You tilted your head so your hair spilled over one shoulder, then leaned in and slowly dragged the flat of your tongue up the underside of his cock from base to tip. “Grab it. Pull a little.”
He made a sound that was half moan, half dying animal. He finally settled his hand in your hair, but the grip was so careful it was basically a caress.
“Satoru.” You frowned at him.
“Fuck— okay, okay— you’re… you’re a very enthusiastic— No. You’re a fucking little—” he started again, determined this time, only for the rest of the sentence to die in a strangled noise when you took just the head into your mouth and sucked hard and slow, eyes locked on his. Your tongue worked under the tip, filthy and deliberate, while your hand stroked the rest of him, slick with spit. You didn’t go deeper. You just kept that tight, wet pressure on the most sensitive part and waited, challenging him to actually follow through.
“—shit. Shit. Baby— that’s not fair, you know I can’t think when you do that.”
You pulled off with a wet, filthy pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to the flushed head of his cock. You rested your chin on his thigh and looked up at him with deliberate, teasing innocence. The kind of look that belonged to someone who knew exactly how good she looked on her knees in a university dorm room, while her boyfriend—the same boyfriend who still got flustered when you sat on his lap—tried desperately not to combust.
“Hair,” you reminded him gently, reaching up to guide his other hand to the back of your head. “And throat. And dirty talk. You promised you’d actually try tonight. Not just panic and call me an angel again.”
“I’m trying, baby, I promise,” he said weakly. His fingers threaded carefully through your hair, more petting than gripping, like he was stroking a particularly beloved cat instead of preparing to fuck your face. The contrast between the careful touch and the way his cock was now fully hard, flushed, and shiny with your spit was almost comical.
“That’s not trying, Satoru,” you said, voice already a little rough. “That’s petting me like I’m some cute plushie. I asked you to grab my hair and fuck my throat. So either do it, or I’m going to keep teasing you until you actually snap.”
“Fuck—fuck, okay—” He was breathing hard now, chest rising and falling under his sweater. “You’re such a—such a good girl, taking me so deep, Christ—wait, that’s soft again. You’re a—you’re a filthy little thing who likes choking on my cock. Is that better? Did that sound okay? It felt weird coming out of my mouth.”
You hummed encouragingly and took him deeper until the head of his cock nudged the back of your throat. His breath hitched into a high, broken sound that was pure Satoru. His fingers tightened in your hair for half a second — real pressure, real grip.
“You’re so good for me. My good girl. You could have anyone and still you’re here, choking on the nerd’s dick. Fuck. That sounded possessive. Is possessive allowed? I feel like possessive is allowed.”
You nodded, sucking him harder.
“Fuck—baby—fuck—” His voice cracked again. “You’re so good. So fucking good for me. Taking every inch like you were made for it. Such a fucking little—slut.”
The second the words left him you moaned around him. Low and real, the vibration going straight through his dick. Your eyes fluttered for a second and you took him deeper on purpose, throat relaxing around the head like you were rewarding him for finally saying it.
Satoru made a broken sound, hips jerking once before he could stop them.
“Oh— fuck— you liked that?” His voice cracked. His fingers finally tightened properly in your hair, not careful anymore. “You— you actually liked that. Shit. Okay. Okay.”
He started moving your head himself.
Not hard at first — still a little hesitant, still clearly fighting himself — but deeper. Steady. Using the grip on your hair to pull you down until your nose brushed his stomach, then letting you up just enough to breathe before doing it again. Every time the head of his cock dragged over the back of your throat you moaned around him, wet and low, and the sound made his hips jerk harder than he meant to.
“Fuck— look at you,” he breathed, voice rough and almost disbelieving. “The same girl everyone stares at in the dining hall and you’re on your knees taking my cock like a fucking slut. Made for this. Made to choke on me.”
You moaned again, louder this time, eyes watering as he pushed deeper. Spit ran down your chin in thick strings. Your thighs pressed together instinctively.
Satoru’s breathing was getting messier by the second.
“You like it when I say that, don’t you?” He thrust a little harder, still not fully rough but no longer careful. “You like being my filthy little thing. Looking up at me with those eyes while I use your throat. Fuck— you’re so wet for this, aren’t you? I can tell. You’re dripping just from having my cock in your mouth.”
You couldn’t answer with words, so you did the next best thing.
Your hand slid down between your legs, under your skirt, and you touched yourself right there on your knees with his dick buried in your throat. The second your fingers found your clit you moaned hard around him — open, desperate, the vibration going straight through his cock — and Satoru completely lost it.
“Oh my god— are you— are you touching yourself?” His voice cracked into something high and wrecked. His grip tightened in your hair and his hips started moving properly now, short, deep thrusts that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out. “You’re touching yourself while I fuck your throat. Jesus Christ. You’re such a dirty fucking slut. My dirty cockslut. Taking it so well and getting yourself off on it—”
He was babbling now, half dirty talk, half overwhelmed genius who couldn’t process how hot this was. His thrusts got faster, less controlled. You kept rubbing yourself in time with him, fingers slick, moaning every time he pushed deep enough to make you gag.
“Fuck— fuck, baby, I’m— I can’t—” Satoru’s rhythm stuttered hard. “You’re gonna make me come. You’re touching yourself and moaning around my cock and I can’t— shit—”
He shoved deep one last time and held you there, cock pulsing hard against your tongue as he came down your throat with a broken, high sound that was pure Satoru. Thick pulses of come that you swallowed around him while your own orgasm hit almost at the same time — sharp and sudden, thighs shaking, a long muffled moan vibrating around his cock while you kept rubbing yourself through it.
Satoru finally loosened his grip like he’d just woken up from a fever dream. He pulled you off gently, hands shaking, and stared down at you with completely ruined blue eyes — glasses fogged, face scarlet, sweater still on, looking like he’d committed a crime against physics itself.
You licked your lips, still catching your breath, fingers still between your legs.
“…I can’t believe I just did that” he whispered, voice completely gone.
You smiled up at him, wrecked and satisfied.
He covered his face with both hands and groaned like he was dying.
“I’m never recovering from this. I said ‘slut’ three times,” he whispered, sounding both horrified and oddly proud. “And ‘cockslut.’ And I held you down. I actually held you down on my dick and said filthy things.”
You grinned, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“You did. And it was hot.”
“It felt illegal. Like I was violating some fundamental law of the universe.”
“It was requested,” you reminded him. “And you’re getting better. Next time maybe we’ll get past the panic phase faster.”
He laughed, soft and breathless, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with the same careful fingers that had just held you down on his cock.
“I still like calling you baby better” he admitted, voice dropping into that warm, private register that always made your chest ache.
You kissed the tip of his nose. “I know. But I like choking on your cock while you call me a slut.”
Satoru made a wounded noise and buried his face in your neck.
“You’re actually going to kill your soft, nerdy, hopelessly awkward boyfriend with pure filth.”
“That’s the plan,” you said cheerfully, carding your fingers through his ridiculous white hair. “Death by blowjob and slow corruption. Very on-brand for the physics genius who still blushes when I sit on his lap in the library.”
He groaned into your skin, but you could feel him smiling.
“Next time I’ll do better. I promise.”
Even if “better” still sounded a lot like love.
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