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Satoru’s always loved eating you out—it’s one of the first things you'd found out about him.
The first time he'd asked to eat you out, he’d been blushing and embarrassed, and you’d grinned, spread your legs and let him have at it. “Y-you sure?” he’d stammered, and you’d just grinned, already spreading your legs wider, teasing, “Go on then, genius.”
His pupils had blown behind his glasses when you spread your legs, showing him your pretty cunt waiting for him. He’d swallowed visibly before carefully pressing a soft kiss to your pussy. He’d looked up at you from under his lashes, unsure and you’d just stroked his cheek, grabbed his hair and pressed his face forward. He’d let out a cute little yelp, smothered against your cunt. But then his tongue came out—one clumsy little lick. He’d whimpered at the taste. And he was gone. Lapping messily at your cunt, whining whenever your grip in his hair got tighter, shoving him forward. He always obeyed—licking and sucking at your clit, hands clutching at your thighs to steady him.
He’d made the sweetest, most desperate noises, whimpering into you as your fingers found his hair and pulled him closer, his nose bumping your clit. It was clumsy, uncoordinated, wet—but his enthusiasm more than made up for it. Every gasp you gave only made him hungrier. Every time you tugged at his hair, he moaned high and desperate. And he sucked at your clit and dragged an orgasm out of you, you’d squirted all over his face and he’d whimpered, closing his eyes and let it happen.
“Jesus Toru,” you’d breathed, looking down to see the mess of your cum all over his cheeks and lips as he panted hotly against your cunt, refusing to move his face. Your eyes had dragged lower to see he’d cum in his pants, untouched, like just getting a taste of your cunt had been enough to get him there.
“You really liked that, huh?” you’d murmured breathlessly, fingers brushing through his hair. He'd nodded as panted against your cunt, cheek smushed against your thigh, glasses crooked on his nose.
“Mm—another?” he’d mumbled, not caring that your thighs were still trembling, tongue already out to lick up the cum leaking out of you.
From then on, Satoru was obsessed with it—eating you out whenever he was stressed with classes or exams, waking you up with his mouth between your thighs. When you’d asked once why he liked it so much he’d just gone pink and mumbled that it made his brain quiet—that all he had to focus on was making you cum, and he liked that. Liked that for once his mind wasn’t working at a hundred miles per hour, wasn’t constantly flirting around from topic to topic, too fast for even him to keep up with. He likes being overwhelmed —overstimulated in the best way— until his head goes quiet and all he can focus on is your cunt.
In between your thighs, Satoru finds quiet, finds a rare kind of peace and rhythm that he likes existing in. The feeling of your fingers pulling his hair taut, the taste of your on his tongue, the smell of you filling his senses—it shuts his brain down. Nothing else calms him down like your pussy could. Even when he’s up to his elbows in writing papers on astrophysical magnetism and the interstellar medium, he’ll put his pen down and crawl towards you, with a breathy whimper of “m’stressed." And you’ll just guide his head down, his breath hitching as he finds peace in the one thing that can quieten his frantic, brilliant mild.
Which is why, one afternoon, as the sunlight poured into his dorm room in lazy, honey-thick stripes, you weren’t surprised when he cleared his throat mid-assignment, eyes still flicking across the glowing screen.
“So, uh… can I ask something?” Satoru asks, fidgeting with his pen.
You hum from where you’re on your phone on his bed, in one of his grey oversized NASA hoodies that always smells like coffee and his laundry detergent. "Shoot."
Your eyes flick eyes up to your boyfriend who’s chewing on his bottom lip, fingers fiddling with his pen.
“I uh—” Satoru pauses, and you spy the way his Adam’s apple bobs, his eyes avoiding yours behind his round glasses, focused on his socked feet instead. Curious. "I wanna...."
“What?” you muse, phone turning off. Satoru fidgets under the weight of your attention, shifting in his old leathery chair. He only ever gets nervous about two things—group projects and sex. You know he doesn’t have any group projects this semester (he’s paranoid his project partners don’t like him, which is fair because he’s smarter than all of them combined and isn’t afraid to make it known) so it must be the latter.
“I uh,” Satoru fumbles about, biting his lip, squinting at his socks—small stars stitched into them that you’d given him a couple weeks ago.
“What is it, Toru?” you sigh, leaning back against the bed frame, eyeing him.
He flushes. “It’s not— I didn’t—“ he stumbles and splutters. You watch, amused. “I wanna—“ Then he says something, muttered under his breath, too fast and rushed for you to make out.
“What?” you ask, brows furrowed and he blushes furiously.
“I said,” Satoru mutters, wetting his lips nervously as those bright blue eyes flick to find yours for a half second before averting again. “I wanna… wanna eat you out.”
Oh. “Okay,” you laugh, amused, lazy. You’re already in panties and a hoodie, it’s not like it’s a crazy request. In fact, by now you’re used to it. “Why so nervous? C’mere then.”
Satoru shakes his head and doesn’t move from his seat, fiddling with his pen instead. “N-no. I mean, yes!” he scrambles and exhales sharply, eyes shutting, brows furrowed like when he's solving a complicated equation. “I mean. I don’t wanna—Like not the usual way.”
You arch a brow at that, and wait patiently as he gathers his confidence. The flush is crawling up his throat and he swallows softly.
“I wanna—I want you to sit on me,” Satoru mumbles. “Sit on my face.”
You blink at that. Soft. Slow. Then you smile, slow and wide.
“Yeah?” you murmur, and you see the way Satoru’s thighs press together at the way your voice travels through him, thick and sweet like molasses. “Want me to sit on your pretty face, Toru?”
Satoru lets out a noise that might be a strangled whimper before clamping his mouth shut and you laugh softly.
“C’mere baby, I can do that,” you murmur and Satoru’s body unlocks just like that, getting out of his chair, knees pressed into the sheets, crawling over to you. He sits in front of you on his knees, white hair messy, cheeks pink.
“Pretty boy, you need me to sit on your face?” you murmur as your brush a strand from his face, fixing his glasses for him as he nods, throat bobbing.
“Y-yeah, wanna try,” Satoru murmurs breathily, leaning into your touch liked a starved cat, preening under your attention as you stroke his cheek.
“We can do that,” you murmur softly, thumb dragging over his bottom lip, pressing down and his lips part obediently, taking your thumb in, mouth closing around it and sucking softly, humming at the weight on his tongue, pale lashes fluttering.
“Get on your back, yeah?” you mutter and Satoru nods dumbly as you thumb pops out, leaving his lips slick and pink as he does as you say, shifting to lay back on his sheets.
“First time a girl's ever sat on your face, hm?” you muse, just to see him flush deeper as you swing a leg over his shoulder, knees pressing into his sheets at either side of his head.
“Just wanna see what it’s like,” Satoru argues weakly, blushing as you settle on top. His blue eyes latch onto the sight of your cunt greedily, the wet spot that’s already growing on your panties. His fingers slide up your thighs, helping you steady yourself, clenching around them nervously.
“Yeah?” you muse as you drag your panties to the side and he honest to god whimpers at the sight of your slick, soft cunt waiting. “Well, let’s give it a go, baby. Think you’ll like being suffocated by my cunt, won’t you?”
Satoru doesn’t have time to reply because the moment you lower yourself onto his face, he forgets how to think. The heat and slick of your cunt press down over his mouth, and the soft weight of you settles against his tongue. He moans—loud, whiney—muffled against you. The sound vibrates right through you, and his hands find their place instinctively: one gripping the curve of your hip, the other spreading over your thigh as if to anchor you there, to make sure you don’t pull away. This is so much better than just kneeling between your thighs—this way you’re completely surrounding him, thighs on either side of his face, your pussy over his mouth.
You hear him breathe you in like he’s starving for air and can only survive on the scent of you. His tongue flicks out, tentative at first—one shy, trembling lick through your folds—and the taste hits him like a revelation. Sweet, warm, dizzying. You can feel his chest rise sharply beneath you as a noise leaves him, low and broken. Then he’s gone again, completely, all that discipline and astrophysical precision melting away as his tongue licks deeper, broader, messier.
“God, Toru—” you gasp, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the soft white strands as his nose presses into your clit, lips moving with devotion. He’s sloppy, uncoordinated, lapping and sucking like he’s trying to memorize you, every sound you make. The wet noises he makes are obscene, your slick mixed with the muffled, eager hums against your skin.
Underneath you, Satoru looks wrecked already—his brows furrowed, glasses crooked, cheeks flushed red, his lips shiny and wet. His hips shift restlessly against the sheets, like he can’t help himself, humping up against nothing. You can feel the faint tremor of his moans through your thighs, his tongue circling your clit, then flattening against it, sucking softly. His eyes flutter open just enough to watch you through heavy lashes, pupils dilated and dazed, gaze glassy with worship.
You grind down a little harder, testing him, and he whines—a needy, helpless sound that gets swallowed right into you. His hands flex on your thighs, urging you to move, to ride his face, and you do, rolling your hips slowly against his mouth. His tongue meets every movement, eager and desperate, his breaths coming fast and wet beneath you.
"Oh, that's it," you breathe as you slowly rock your hips down, grinding down against him, and Satoru whimpers at the praise, slurping and licking needily. "That's it, so good at eating pussy, Toru," you murmur, head falling back, freely using his mouth as you grind down on it as he whimpers.
You tug Satoru's hair harder and he moans, the sound vibrating against your clit, sending sparks down your spine. “You like this, don’t you?” you breathe, voice trembling, “you like when I sit on your face, pretty boy?”
Satoru nods—or tries to—but your hips are pressing him down, and his reply is just another hungry sound, another eager lick. His tongue slips down to your entrance, slow and teasing, before dragging back up to circle your clit again. He's sloppy and desperate he he buries himself in your cunt, dragging the orgasm from you with every sloppy lick.
"Shit—" you breathe and Satoru moans as you ride his face, grinding down, dragging your cunt over his mouth until his nose is bumping against your clit, rolling your hips down faster, harder. He takes it like the good boy he is, hands slipping to your ass, tongue hanging out for you to use him, grinding down against it. You ride him the way a pretty face like his deserves—messy, desperate and dirty. He takes it, licking and slurping, panting and moaning all the while.
"Fuck—FuckfuckfuckSatoru—" you gasp as you cum, head rolling back and Satoru moans in response, eyes rolling back as you cum on his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and your thighs tremble around his head. Satoru's mouth hangs open against your pussy, cock jerking in his jeans, once and then again, until he's cumming in them, moaning relieved and muffled against your cunt. He pants against your pussy, still pressed up against it, hot breaths fanning agaisnt your slick folds.
When you finally look down, his hair is messy, his lips swollen and glossy, chin slick with your cum. His pretty blue eyes are hazy, glasses fogged, and you realise he looks peaceful.
“Holy shit,” you breathe, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “You really like this, huh?”
Satoru just nods dumbly against your thigh, flushed and utterly content.