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Gojo was always a nerd.
When he was a kid he was obsessed with dinosaurs, begging his mom for every play set and t-shirt with one plastered on it, crying when his mom took him to a museum and he realized that he would never be able to ride a T-rex. When he was twelve he discovered the amazing world of comics, superheroes with abilities he couldn’t even dream of in his prepubescent mind. In college that didn’t change, in fact it only worsened as he realized he could spend his small paycheck from his part time job bidding on limited edition comics on E-Bay rather than his groceries for the week.
Despite how many thought his dedication to comic books was nothing short of childish, it proved to be just the fixation he needed to land a job at a local comic book store close to his apartment, where the owner’s son was taking over and looking to do some much needed renovation. There, Gojo met you, the owner’s little sister who didn’t seem to inherit the family interest. When Gojo nervously stuck his hand out to you on his first day, you barely looked up from the magazine you were flipping through, giving him a small wave before your brother decided that you were a lost cause.
“She’s always like that,” he later told the young man, opening up a storage closet filled with boxes of collector’s edition comics, “I told her if she was goin’ to be on payroll she at least had to show up.”
You never helped with anything, especially if it meant lifting up something heavy, “I can’t break a nail, you know how much these cost?”
Gojo didn’t mind though, he had a feeling if you did try to help him you would only make it worse. Instead he let you flip through whatever magazine you kept in your purse, or scroll through your phone the entire shift. It made his job of geeking out over the magazines when business was slow much easier.
“You’re such a nerd,” you snorted, looking over at how he gently pulled out a comic from its plastic sleeve, slick, black gloves on his hands. It was slow, which meant that Gojo had the opportunity to admire some of the more exclusive comics that even your brother never took out of their display cases. You both sat behind the counter, him at the register while you were only a few feet away, scrolling on your phone. “It’s just some old paper stuck together with drawings on it.”
His nose scrunched but his eyes never left the faded lacquer of the comic’s cover, it’s once bright red dulling into something much deeper, “you don’t get it, there was only ever ten of these made. The lead artist said that he didn’t think anyone would care about this character, so he-“
“Boring,” you interrupted, looking over to the man. A blush ran across his cheeks, his head hanging more than it had a moment ago as he ran a finger over the cover. He gently flipped open the first page, noting the wear at the spine, “maybe if you weren’t so busy with your nerd shit, you would have friends, or like, a girlfriend or something.”
Gojo visibly shifted, his shoulders grew tense, his lips pursing, “I don’t need a girlfriend. And I have friends-“
“No, you don’t. You’re literally here, all the time,” you turned back to your, “lemme guess,” you smiled, wicked and mean, “you probably sneak some of these down your pants and jerk off to ‘em in your dingy apartment, huh?”
Gojo felt his throat go tight, his hands grew sweaty underneath the thin gloves. His head shook, “I-I would never. I mean, that’s just-”
You laughed, standing from the rolling chair you sat in. Despite the fact that he was sitting you barely stood over him, gripping the back of his chair and leaning over his shoulder. You looked down onto the open page, pressing down on the body of a young woman with laser eyes, “she’s hot, look, her tits are huge.”
Gojo pulled the comic down, cringing at the way he can see your finger print in the light, “don’t touch,” he quickly closed the book, slipping it back into its sleeve, “there’s only ten copies,” he repeated once again, as if you didn’t hear him the first time. You rolled your eyes, going back to grab your purse which sat on the counter.
“I’m leaving,” you didn’t turn to address him, “clock me out when you leave.”
The little bell hanging at the front door chimed behind you as you walked out, pulling your keys from your purse and hopping into your car. In the store Gojo felt like his skin was on fire, the blush on his cheeks rampaging to his ears and surely his chest. He hated how worked up he got when you teased him, you always found a way to make him flustered.
A lot of it had to do with how he was a loser, nerd, or had no life. One time a girl, sweet with big glasses buying a couple of comics came in and Gojo was a mess helping her, stumbling over his words, barely able to look her in the eye. She tried asking for his number in her own shy way and Gojo looked like he was going to explode. Once she left you berated him for almost twenty-minutes, asking if he had ever talked to a girl before. You teased him with your theory that he must still be a virgin because “you would explode if you ever saw a girl naked.”
You made a habit of working shifts with him because he was such a pushover. He did whatever you asked no matter how mean you were to him. A part of you wondered whether he liked it, like some secret sex-freak into degredation. He never really argued back or threatened to tell your brother about how to realistically only “worked” ten of the twenty you clocked every week. He probably should, but he wasn’t going to and you both knew it.
This night was no different. Gojo stood in the break room, comprising of a counter with a coffee maker, sink, and a microwave with a square table in another corner, four chairs around it. The fluorescent lights didn’t add much warmth in the room, instead making it feel oddly sanitized. Gojo wasn’t supposed to work tonight but took over the shift for another one of your coworkers, having been here for ten hours even his love of comics couldn’t save him from the exhaustion deep in his muscles. He brewed a pot of coffee, hoping it would be enough to keep him awake on his drive home. As the coffee machine rang on, loud with the burnt smell of coffee in the air, the door to the room swung open. You sauntered in, keys to the store in hand.
You walked over to the man, “I’m heading out,” you tapped something into your phone before pressing send “here,” you shoved the keys into his chest, causing him to stumble a bit. Gojo looked at you with wide eyes, his hand moving to cup the falling keys.
“Wait,” he squeaked, “you said you were going to close for me,” panic set in his chest. It was another two hours until the store closed, and counting stock, locking everything, counting the register tacked on at least another forty-minutes.
You shrugged, not even bothering to look up from your phone “no I didn’t.”
“Yes,” he turned to you, a tinge of anger growing in his chest as he recalls the brief conversation the two of you had where he practically begged to go home and you relented saying you would close for him, “you did.”
You sighed, “well,” you headed for the door, “I’ll close for you next time.”
Before you can leave he throws the keys at you. Barely catching them you finally looked up from your phone to see Gojo staring at you with a huff, “I’m not staying.”
“Listen, loser. I have things to do after this, you,” you dug a finger into his skin, “are going to do nothing but jerk off to whatever weird nerd porn you watch,” you shoved the keys into his chest, “so just close the fucking store.”
It was instant, the way he pushed you against the counter, his body wrapped around yours as he stared down at you with an anger you had never seen in him before. His hips hovered against yours, his breath hot on your face. He was seething, “what the fuck-“
“Shut up,” he mumbled through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the counter behind you. Your eyes were wide, leaning back you try and escape him but it was no use, “you are always fucking complaining,” his voice was low and shaky, like he was trying to control himself. Your breath was no different, chest heaving as your eyes trace over his face. His glasses barely sat on his nose, his eyes staring straight down.
You opened your mouth to speak when his head dips down, his own soft lips pressing against yours. Your eyebrows scrunch, Gojo’s hand staying planted on the counter as he pulled back for a moment only to lay back into you again. His tongue licked across your bottom lip and for some reason, as if instinctual your lips parted and he slipped his tongue into your mouth, working you open until he’s explored every inch of your mouth. Your hands, once planted on the edge of the counter moved to his chest, balling his blue uniform shirt in your hands. One of his hands moved to your jaw, keeping your head in place as he pulls back, his tongue hanging from his mouth as he pants, pupils blown out.
“Gojo-“
“G-Get on your knees,” are the only words he had to offer you. His hand rubs over your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You could hardly think, looking up to the man only for his eyes to be locked on your tongue, pulsing around his finger. For some reason, you did it. Sliding down you rest back on your heels, looking up at the man as he unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his pants. His baggy jeans fell to the ground, letting you get an eye full of the navy boxers he wore. They had superman printed on them, but before you could spit out a snarky remark Gojo grabbed the back of your head, pulling your cheek to his crotch. You winced, squeezing your eyes shut as he rubbed himself against your cheek, his cock growing harder by the second as he gazes down at you on your knees, “look at me.”
You opened your eyes, his hips stopping for a moment so you could gaze up at him from the ground. He peered down at you through his glasses, his chest heaving. With his other hand he slipped his underwear down, hissing when his half-hard cock sprung free. It tapped your cheek, causing your skin to grow warm. He was bigger than you would’ve imagined, weighty and curved at the tip, it looked like something from a porno.
And you couldn’t take your eyes away from it.
He spit in his hand before starting at his base, running his hand all the way up to his tip, thumbing the end of it. He could feel your breath on his cock, uneven, needing. The way you looked at it almost made him less mad at you, it was almost enough for him to forget the past six months of teasing and degradation you’d thrown his way every time it was just the two of you together in the store.
That was until you opened that stupid mouth of yours.
“You get a lot of practice jerking your dick, huh,” a smile had developed across your lips as you peered up at him. Somehow, even in your position you knew exactly how to get under his skin. His head cocked to the side, his once parted lips twisting into a frown as that familiar feeling of shame pools in his stomach. You had what could only be described as a shit-eating grin on your lips, your tongue poking the inside of your cheek as you established one thing, that even on your knees, he was still the loser. He moved his hand to the base of his cock, his tip flying to land on your lips.
You tried to pull away but his other hand kept you there, forcing you to take the tip of his cock in your mouth. Your tongue lies flat, letting his shaft run over it again and again until he’s hitting the back of your throat, his head flying back at the way you contract around him. He started slow, letting out a soft whimper when your nose brushed against the patch of white hair at the base of his cock. He took the opportunity to look down only to be greeted by your eyes—big and glossy, staring up at him. Your hands were planted on your thighs, balled in your lap you looked like you were struggling, air barely making it through your nose to your lungs.
“You’re a lot prettier when you’re not talking,” he mumbled, rolling his hips. You hummed in response, trying to keep yourself from gagging on the sheer width of his cock. It was torturous, the slow pace he kept, savoring the way with every thrust you screwed your eyes shut until he told you to open them up again. It made you acutely aware of the way his cock slid across your tongue, the subtle taste of salt which leaked from him as he let himself enjoy every moment of seeing you unravel. It didn’t help that every once in a while your hips shifted, the feeling of your underwear against your throbbing pussy proving to make it all that difficult to keep your attention on controlling your gag-reflex.
You hummed once again, hoping he would take it as a sign to hurry up. Perhaps out of pity, or more likely that his own orgasm was creeping up on him Gojo goes from slow rolls to thrusts, he let his hips take control and snap back-and-forth as he hunches forward, gripping the counter behind you. Your hands moved from your thighs to his, gripping into his skin for support, “fuck,” he moaned, feeling his body tense, “t-take it,” his words came out shakier than he meant, biting his lower lip he gave one finally thrust before pulling his cock out of your mouth, fisting it over your face.
A gush of air ran down your throat, a cough developing as tears well in your eyes. You don’t have much time to think about it before you feel something warm across your cheeks, your nose, your lips. Above you Gojo is groaning, his head thrown back as he catches his breath, chest heaving. It’s then you realize he purposely pulled out just to come all over your face, some dripping into your mouth. You lick away the saltiness on your lips.
“You ruined my fucking makeup, idiot,” you groan, wiping away some of the back of your hand, wiping it on his boxers. He doesn’t pay any attention to the insult as he takes a step back, kicking off his jeans and throwing off his shirt. From the floor you get a clear view of his strong chest and sculpted core, his pale skin almost glowing under the ugly white lights. His chest was red, but your eyes trail down to the white hair leading down to his cock, which, even soft was still daunting. You feel frozen on the floor, almost forgetting about the cum on your face when Gojo takes a step forward, grabbing you by the arm to your feet.
You somehow land on the small table in the corner of the room, kicking one of the chairs aside Gojo throws you forward, letting your ass hang off the edge, “I’m gonna be late-“
His hands begin to massage over your ass, pulling, pushing, squeezing. It was a weird feeling, almost ticklish as he pushes down your shorts, showing off nothing more than a simple pair of black cotton underwear. His thumb hooks onto it, pulling it straight into the air. Your hips rise, following his direction as it pulls against your clit, coaxing a moan from you. Your head falls to the table, trying to keep composure you take a shallow breath, but it’s no use when Gojo’s other hand snakes forward, two fingers landing right over your clit.
A broken whine leaving your lips, his fingers press through your underwear, harsh, slow circles around you. He smiles when he notices the shake in your hips, on your tip-toes as your body rocks back on his fingers. “You like that,” his voice is quiet, almost returning to that naturally sweet tone he had. You don’t respond, a mix of pride and whenever you open your mouth he speeds up his fingers before slowing them down again, keeping you in this nebulous state of satisfaction, “you looked good with my dick in your mouth,” he licks his lips, “e-even better when I fuck you.”
You shake your head, taking a breath, “i-in your dreams, loser.”
Gojo leans forward, his cock pressed against your ass as he pushes your underwear to the side, slipping two fingers inside you. The stretch is immediate, his fingers clumsily scissoring you open only to pump back in, curling knuckle-deep inside you. You had no choice but to push back into him, eliciting a moan straight into your ear as his cock somehow grows hard again. You bury your head in your arm before a hand pulls your hair, every moan and whimper from your lips echoing off the walls.
“Fuck,” you whimper, body flexing as he pumps his fingers in and out.
“You’re goin’ to take it,” he bites the cusp of your ear, groaning as you grab onto his arm which was snaked around your body, “a-and you’ll say sorry.”
Shaking your head, you laugh, almost being brought back to earth, “you’re knuckle deep inside of me, a-and you want an apology,” you turn to try and face him, his eyes trained on you, “you really are pathetic.”
Your head drops, his grip on your hair moving down to your clit, the pads of his fingers rough as he moves in quick circles, synced to his movement in and out of you. Maybe calling him pathetic was too far because he sheds any care for your pleasure, only working his hardest to make sure you come all over his fingers, trying to take you down from that pedestal you seemed to sit on. Not too long after you’re squeezing around him, biting down on your bottom lip as hard as possible so he won’t have the satisfaction of knowing that he was able to make you come from just his fingers, but from the flex of your legs and the arch of your back, it was more than evident to him.
His hands quickly slipped away from your body as you fell to the table, catching your breath as you get ready to finally leave—even though you could hardly remember what you were supposed to do after this. Your hands move to push yourself up when you feel hands on your hips and a cock sliding up and down your slits.
“Gojo-“
His cock slides in you with a concerning ease, bottoming out on his first thrust Gojo lets out a heavy breath, his lips parting into a slick smile when he feels the squeeze of your pussy. Any sense of reason slips from your mind as he begins to thrust, the sound of his hips slapping your ass barely audible over the sound of you letting out whiny, desperate moans. He held your hips up, letting him take full control as he fucked you into the table, the legs rattling against the floor.
His cock was big down your throat, but it felt otherwordly inside you. You could feel him reach the deepest parts of you, poking up into your stomach. You try and conjure up words, anything, “no,” “what the fuck,” “you asshole,” but nothing comes out of your mouth, nothing except pathetic moans, each thrust coaxing something more and more foreign out of you.
“Y-Yeah,” Gojo moans, one hand moved from your hip back to your hair, the expanse of your throat meaning that every noise you let out was that much louder, “fuck, who’s the fuckin’-the fuckin’ loser now, huh-“ his words barely come together, his core flexing with every slap of his hips to your ass. You could feel the shake of the table under you, how its edge digs into your thighs with every thrust. He pulls your hips up, one of your knees landing on the table just for him to lean over you, digging his cock into you with deep, low thrusts.
“Fu—oh my god,” he presses your head to the table, his hand wrapped in your hair, “Sa-Satoru,” your mind feels blank, entirely connected to the pleasure running through you as he rolls his hips, keeping himself deep inside you.
“Say-say sorry,” he barks, “you,” he thrusts, “fuckin’,” again, “bitch,” and again. Your mouth is stuck open, your tongue lolling to the side as you begin to pant like a dog, trying to decipher his words in the ecstasy of pleasure.
“I’m-I’m sorry,” you mumble. He thrusts deep in you again, keeping his cock parked inside you as he grinds deep inside, your mind and pussy feeling like they were melting, “I-I’m sorry,” tears well in your eyes, “I’m sorry, ‘m sorry—Satoru, ‘m fuckin’ sorry,” tears rolled down your face, wetting your hair. Above you Gojo felt a swell of pride in his chest—the person who had made his life hell, who had called him a loser, a virgin, a fucking weirdo more times than he could remember was under him, crying on his cock, fucked stupid.
Before you realize he flips you on your back, grabbing your legs to wrap around him as he slams back into you, savoring the completely wrecked look on your face. Your mascara was running, your lipstick completely gone as you begin to hiccup, looking up at him with glazed over eyes—he wanted to make sure you never forgot how good he fucked you. He used one hand to keep himself up, with the other he gripped your shirt, pulling it up for your breasts to fall free, the cold air making your nipples erect. He palmed your nipple, pinching and swiping over it, watching the way you squirm under his touch. He leaned forward, capturing your other in his mouth, licking and rolling your erect bud between his teeth before leaving a harsh bite, your body jerking against him, “Sa-Satoru,” you cried, looking down to see those blue eyes gazing back up at you. He was unforgiving in the way he played with your tits, at one point pressing them together just to imagine how good they would look with his cock between them.
The rhythm of his hips snapping against your skin had you melting more than you already were. He let you cry and scream and beg all you wanted as he felt his own orgasm rolling towards him, his hand moving back down to your puffy clit. He was quicker, harsher, meaner than before. Instead of rubbing tight circles for your pleasure he was overcome by the desire to see you completely ruined, to be able to say he got you squirming and coming over his cock. You dig your nails into his bicep, your body feeling like it was something entirely other than your own, “no, no no-Satou-fuck, no,” you cry, but your body doesn’t resist, it arches into his touch, letting his fingers abuse your poor clit.
“Shut up, I-I told you,” he feels the squeeze of your pussy, his own orgasm practically punching him in the stomach, “you’re prettier when you shut up.”
With one final thrust he comes inside you, his hips twitching as he spills every drop of cum he has inside your pussy. Despite this he doesn’t stop his fingers, your own orgasm causing your body to tense, your head falling to the side as you go silent, completely gone to the wave of pleasure that washes over you. His fingers don’t stop until you’re twitching, split spilling down your chin as your body turns to jelly—completely out of your control. Gojo falls forward, his chest landing against yours as he attempts to catch his breath. Your legs fall to the side as your eyes begin to flutter shut, the exhaustion weighing you down.
Eventually Gojo stands, slowly pulling himself out of you, a whimper escaping your lips as your mixed cum spills from you. He used his fingers to scrape against yours walls, fully coated he brings his fingers to your mouth, some spilling onto your chin. You accept it, licking around his fingers, “I’ll help you close,” he mumbles, looking over the way you gently grip his wrist, “but next time, I’m going home early. Got it?”
You hum around his fingers, nodding. He gently pulls his fingers out before wiping them on your shirt, demanding to hear you say it, “y-yeah, Satoru.”
After that, there were a couple late nights full of bargaining. Despite Gojo's insistence, somehow he always ended up staying late, cleaning up the mess you made.