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ಇ.word count: 5.5k ಇ.art by: @!narutoss.ramen on X

ಇ.pairing: Nerd!Satoru x Nerd!Reader

ಇ.content & warnings: ꒰non canon au ⋮⋮ crack! ⋮⋮ reader & satoru are heavily inexperienced ⋮⋮ Satoru being annoying otp ⋮⋮ bad sexting ⋮⋮ masturbation m & f ⋮⋮ reader humps a pillow ⋮⋮ oral. fem rec ⋮⋮ loss of virginity ⋮⋮ p in v ⋮⋮ multi-orgasms ⋮⋮ c-pied ⋮⋮ cum eating ⋮⋮ kissing꒱

It had been a week. One whole week since the two of you had officially, undeniably, ridiculously become a couple. Your boyfriend. You still were not entirely sure how that word had ended up belonging to Satoru Gojo.

Sometimes you would be doing something completely ordinary. Brushing your teeth. Standing in line at the grocery store. Trying to decide what to eat for dinner. And your brain would suddenly go. Oh. Satoru is your boyfriend. Then you would have to stand there for a moment. Staring blankly at whatever was in front of you while your face slowly heated.

It was stupid. You had had boyfriends before. Technically. Well— Maybe not. Okay. No. Not really. But Satoru was different. Satoru was the person who had somehow gone from a complete stranger you met at a Doraemon expo, to the man whose name sat permanently pinned at the top of your messages.

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❝ HOW TO BA(N)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS ❞ .ᐟ ‘ 呪術廻戦 .

゛★ nerd ! satoru gojo is your best friend’s older brother.

# NERDJO AU ⋆ 14k words ⋆ 3 years younger!reader ⋆ not your typical nerdjo ⋆ toru has nipple piercings ⋆ smut, p in v the whole shtick ⋆ reader is a HORNDOG ⋆ side character: lia, gojo’s sister & reader’s best friend ⋆ uni setting ⋆ skip to day 9 if ur just here for the smut you perv ⋆ 18+ MDNI NSFW . art by zeilorene0

HOW TO BA(N)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS

(or: your completely unhinged, totally foolproof plan to make Satoru Gojo fall in love with you and hopefully rail you into next semester)

DAY ONE

You’re not proud of yourself.

Okay, that’s a filthy lie. You’re extremely proud of yourself. The kind of proud that has you smirking at your own reflection in the spoon like a gremlin who just discovered the cheat code to the hottest man alive.

Because you’ve just cooked up the single greatest idea of your horny little life.

It started with a text from Lia—your roommate, your ride-or-die (who you’ve known for less than a year), and the biological sister of the man who has been living rent-free in your ovaries for three straight months.

Lia: do you want to come over this weekend? my brother’s gonna be home and he’s making his famous carbonara. i swear to god it’ll change your life

Your thumbs betrayed you instantly.

You: i’ll be there with bells on

Lia: please don’t actually wear bells i live in an apartment

You: no promises

You sat there, chopsticks frozen halfway to your mouth, and the realization hit you like a freight train made of pure, throbbing lust.

Satoru Gojo.

Fourth-year genetics god. Certified nerd. Unholy levels of hot.

The man who wears wire-rimmed glasses while buried in textbooks but also has fucking nipple piercings. You know this because you’d accidentally walked in on him shirtless that one time and your brain blue-screened so hard you saw the pearly gates. Silver bars through both pink nipples, perfect lean muscle, that stupidly narrow waist, and a happy trail that made your mouth water like a Pavlovian whore.

He’d just looked at you with those glowing blue eyes, raised one eyebrow, and said, “Wrong room, kid.”

Kid.

He called you kid while you were having a religious experience over his pierced tits. Rude. And devastatingly… attractive.

You’d immediately fled, texted Lia YOUR BROTHER IS JACKED AND HAS HIS NIPPLES PIERCED WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!?!?!? and she’d replied lol yeah he works out. it’s the autism.

To which you’d replied ??? and she’d elaborated with: he’s not actually autistic he’s just psychotic about his routines. anyway don’t be weird about it

Too late. You were very weird about it. You’d spent the rest of the night with your hand between your thighs imagining what those pierced nipples would feel like against your tongue.

So here you are at 2 AM, eating sad instant ramen, and you’ve finally accepted the truth: Satoru Gojo is not a normal man. He’s a nerd. And normal flirting bounces right off his beautiful, dense skull.

You need a plan. A filthy, calculated, 10-day siege on that man’s self-control.

You snatch your phone and start hammering into your notes app like a woman possessed (a very horny possession.)

HOW TO BA(n)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS

Step 1: Research

• Find out every single one of his nerdy interests

• Learn what makes his brain (and hopefully his dick) tick

• Memorize his schedule so i can “accidentally” keep appearing in his line of sight

Step 2: Infiltrate

• Become a permanent fixture at Lia’s apartment

• Force him to notice me in increasingly slutty outfits

• Make it impossible for him to ignore the horny roommate-shaped problem in his house

Step 3: Engage

• Talk to him about genetics like i give a fuck (i don’t, i just want to watch his mouth move)

• Drop strategic nerdy compliments that slowly transition into “I want you to bend me over your genetics textbook”

• Deploy feminine wiles at maximum power (respectfully. kinda?)

Step 4: Execute

• Confess (horribly so. who the fuck’s good at confessions??)

• Kiss him

• Let him destroy you in every position known to man (and maybe a few new ones he can genetically engineer)

• ???

• Profit (multiple orgasms)

You lean back, cackling quietly to yourself in the dark kitchen like a madwoman. This was an inexplicably terrible plan.

Ten days. That’s all you need. Ten days to turn Satoru Gojo from “Lia’s hot jacked nerd brother with nipple piercings” to “the man who folds you in half and calls you a good girl while those pierced nipples drag across your skin.”

You swipe out of notes and into messages, fingers already typing out a message to Lia.

You: what time should i come over on saturday

Lia: are you okay ?? since when do you need a timeframe

You: i've never been better. i need one today. now. what time

Lia: idk like 6?? he usually starts cooking around then

You: i'll be there at 5

Lia: why?

You: no reason

Lia: you're going to be weird around my brother again aren't you

You: i'm never weird around your brother

Lia: you literally stood in our kitchen staring at him for 10 minutes last week while he was making a sandwich

You: i was admiring his sandwich making technique

Lia: i don’t think you blinked once

You: that's just how i show respect

Lia: you're going to marry my brother aren't you

You: i'm going to do a lot more than marry him

Lia: ew shut up, i'm telling mom.

You: don't you dare

Lia: i’m afraid she’d love you actually

You: i know. it’s perfect for when she’s watching us walk down the aisle

Lia: you’re insane. like actually crazy

You throw your phone on the bed and grin at the ceiling.

Saturday can't come soon enough.

DAY TWO

You’re not stalking him.

You’re conducting reconnaissance. Big difference. Stalking is creepy. Reconnaissance is strategic, horny, and completely justified when the target has arms like that.

So when you “casually” plant yourself at the library on Thursday afternoon—perfectly positioned with a direct line of sight to the returns desk—it’s not because you memorized his genetics lab schedule (2-4 PM) and know he always swings by here afterward. No, you’re simply a dedicated scholar who loves knowledge.

And penguins. Apparently.

You’ve been pretending to read an article on penguin mating habits for thirty minutes when he finally shows up. Gray henley stretched across that stupidly broad chest, white hair looking like it was styled by sex itself, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose while he carries a textbook that probably weighs more than you do.

Your cunt clenches so hard you nearly drop your phone.

Get it together, you thirsty gremlin.

He returns his books, flashes that devastating smile at the elderly librarian (who actually blushes—same, grandma), and starts to leave. Then he pauses like he’s trying to look for somewhere to sit.

His eyes find you. Mission successful.

And he walks straight over.

“You’re Lia’s friend, right?” His voice is low and smooth, like warm sin sliding down your spine. You want it whispering filthy things against your neck while he’s—jesus, stop.

“Yep… that’s me,” you manage.

“Lia talks about you constantly.” He nods at the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit? Got a break before my next class. Need to review some stuff.”

Your brain short-circuits. Your ovaries throw a full-on rave. The logical part of you that still exists is screaming say yes, you idiot.

“Sure,” you squeak. That was not cool. That was the opposite of cool. “Go ahead.”

He doesn’t seem to notice (thank fuck) as he drops into the seat and you catch a hit of his cologne—clean, masculine, expensive. It makes you want to crawl across the table and bury your face in his neck.

“You’re reading about penguins?” he asks, glancing at your book. The one you forgot you even had opened. Penguins pale terribly in comparison to the specimen who just sat across you.

“Uh, yeah. Just… curious.” You’re not even pretending to be normal anymore.

He nods seriously, completely unaware he’s two seconds away from being mentally undressed. Two seconds passed. “Emperor penguins are fascinating. The males can hold their breath for up to twenty minutes underwater. Females lay one egg, then the males incubate it for two months while the females hunt. They huddle together for warmth, rotating positions so no one freezes. It’s actually pretty efficient.”

You’re nodding like you give a damn about penguins when all you can think about is how those long fingers would feel stretching you open, how that deep voice would sound groaning your name while he fucks you slow and deep.

“That’s really sweet,” you say.

He shrugs. “It’s evolutionary. Not about being sweet—it’s mostly just survival.”

“Can’t it be both?”

He looks at you then, like he’s studying you, and something flickers behind those ridiculous blue eyes. You wonder if he can tell you’re soaking through your panties just from listening to him talk about bird foreplay. Ugh, you’re pathetically horny.

The conversation shifts easily after that. You tell him your major is undeclared (true) but you’re leaning toward psychology (also true, specifically the psychology of why you want this man to ruin you). He talks about genetics like it’s the hottest thing on earth, and honestly? The passion in his voice is doing more for you than most guys’ entire bodies.

By the time he checks the clock and sighs, you’ve collected vital intelligence:

Favorite color is a very specific sky blue (you’re already planning outfits).

Morning person (disgusting, but you’d wake up at 5 AM if it meant getting him to screw you eventually).

Thinks The Expanse is the best show ever (you’re downloading it tonight).

Has a rigid morning routine and gets genuinely cranky if it’s disrupted (noted—do not fuck with his routine until he’s addicted to waking up next to you).

Looks even better up close. Unfairly so. The kind of hot that makes you want to climb him in public.

“I should head out,” he says, gathering his stuff. “But it was nice talking to you. You’re not nearly as annoying as Lia described.”

He’s grinning. Teasing. That smile should be illegal.

“I’m telling her you said that,” you shoot back.

“Please don’t. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Too late. Phone’s already out.”

“Damn.” He laughs, low and warm, and your brain immediately files it under sounds to masturbate to later.

He stands up and you let yourself stare as he walks away—those long legs, that perfect ass, the way his shoulders fill out the henley. You want to sink your teeth into his back while he fucks you from behind. You want to watch those pierced nipples tighten when you ride him. You want him to lose that calm, nerdy composure and absolutely wreck you.

You’re in deep.

So fucking deep it’s embarrassing.

DAY THREE

You’re lying on Lia’s floor in her childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying (and failing) not to think about the fact that Satoru Gojo is sleeping just down the hall.

It’s Friday night. You’d texted Lia I’m bored, come over and she’d hit you with I’m at my parents’ house? so you’d immediately replied cool I’ll come there like a completely normal, non-desperate person. Now here you are, in the Gojo family home, wearing tiny sleep shorts and a thin tank top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide how your nipples are already perked up just from knowing he’s nearby.

Lia is sprawled on her bed, scrolling on her phone. “So,” she says without looking up, “you gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been extra unhinged all week.”

“I’m always unhinged.”

“Weirder than usual. You got all slutted up to go to the library yesterday. You hate the library.”

“I was expanding my horizons.”

“You were stalking my brother.”

You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on her bed frame. “I was not stalking him.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives you a flat look. “So you just happened to be at the exact table with the perfect view of the returns desk where he always goes?”

“It’s a public library. Lots of people study there.”

“And you just happened to be wearing lip gloss and a low-cut top?”

You deflate. “Fine. Maybe I was strategically positioning myself. It’s not stalking, it’s… tactical thirst.”

“Tactical thirst,” Lia repeats, deadpan. “Jesus Christ.”

You shrug. “I want him to notice me, okay?”

Lia puts her phone down. “Why? Because you want to bang him?”

“I don’t just want to bang him,” you protest.

“Oh? So you want to date him? Marry him? Have his kids?”

Your brain immediately supplies a vivid image of Satoru behind you, big hands gripping your hips, those long fingers digging in while he fucks you deep and growls about breeding you. You squeeze your thighs together.

“…Maybe eventually,” you mutter.

Lia starts laughing so hard she nearly rolls off the bed. “Oh my god. You’re actually down bad. You want to date my brother.”

“Is that so weird?”

“Yes! He’s the biggest nerd on planet Earth. He has a beaker collection. He watches hour-long documentaries for fun. He once spent an entire dinner arguing with Dad about the ethics of gene editing.”

“That sounds hot, actually.”

“You have issues.”

“I have a crush. Big difference.”

Lia sits up, suddenly serious. “Look, I love him, but he’s… a lot. He hyperfixates. He forgets to eat when he’s in research mode. He’s obsessive about his routines. He’s not exactly easy boyfriend material.”

“Maybe not for most people.” You grin. “But I like the weird. I like how passionate he gets when he talks. I like that he’s smart as hell. And I really like that he’s jacked.”

“Okay, that part is fair,” Lia admits. “He’s got an insane body. I hate saying it because he’s my brother, but yeah… he works out like a maniac.”

“I know. I’ve seen it.”

Lia’s eyes widen. “Have you seen him shirtless?”

Your face burns. “Lia—”

“That’s a yes. When?!”

“It was an accident! I opened the wrong door in the dorms when i was trying to get to yours and he was changing. Shirt off. Just… standing there.”

“And?”

You bite your lip. “I saw them… the piercings.”

Lia loses it again, cackling like a hyena. “You saw his nip piercings and now you’re feral. That explains everything. No wonder you’re trying to move in.”

“I’m not obsessed—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“Name three reasons you want him that aren’t the piercings.”

You pause. “He’s smart. He’s really tall. And he has huge hands. Like… long fingers. You know what those could do—”

“OKAY STOP!” Lia slaps her hands over her ears. “I get it. You want to bang my brother. Congratulations, you’re the first girl who’s ever shown genuine interest after realizing how weird he is.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously. A couple girls have tried, but they bail when they realize he’d rather talk DNA than make out.”

“Their loss,” you say, already imagining pushing him against a wall and shutting him up with your mouth on his.

Lia sighs. “If you’re really doing this, you’re gonna need my help. He’s dense as hell when it comes to flirting. You’re going to have to be obvious. Like, ‘I like you please marry me ’ obvious.”

“I can do obvious.”

“You’re going to be so weird about this, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

She groans but smiles. “Fine. I’m in. Let’s make a plan before you embarrass both of us.”

You launch yourself onto her bed and tackle her in a hug. “You’re the best.”

“I know. Now stop fantasizing about my brother while you’re in my room, you whore.”

Too late. You already are.

Hours pass and you can’t sleep.

Lia passed out an hour ago, snoring softly with her phone still glowing on her chest. But you’re wide awake, mind racing with dirty strategies and the knowledge that Satoru is sleeping just down the hall. Shirtless, probably. Maybe in nothing but those ridiculous novelty boxers he seems to own.

Your throat is dry. Your brain is horny. So you slip out of Lia’s room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that could double as underwear because of how little they hide anything, tiptoeing toward the kitchen like a woman on a mission for water… and maybe a glimpse of the nerd who’s been ruining your sleep.

The house is dark except for the soft glow of the fridge light when you round the corner.

And there he is.

Satoru Gojo, standing in front of the open refrigerator in low-slung gray sweatpants and no shirt, the silver bars through his nipples catching the light like a fucking invitation to grope him. His hair is messy from sleep, glasses nowhere in sight, and the way those sweatpants hang on his hips shouldn’t even be allowed.

He’s reaching for something on the top shelf, back muscles flexing, that narrow waist tapering into the most biteable ass you’ve ever seen.

Your brain short-circuits so violently you make a small, embarrassing noise that was supposed to be you clearing your throat.

He turns, blue eyes landing on you instantly.

“Oh. Hey,” he says, voice rough with sleep. It goes straight between your legs. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

You try to play it cool. You really do. But your eyes keep dropping to his pierced nipples, then lower, following the faint happy trail disappearing into those sweatpants. You can see the outline of his dick through the fabric and your mouth actually waters.

“Water,” you croak. “Just… needed water.”

He steps aside, gesturing lazily at the fridge. “Help yourself.”

You move past him, hyper-aware of how close he is. His body heat. That clean, masculine scent. The way his arm brushes yours when you reach for a bottle.

You turn around too fast and suddenly you’re chest-to-chest with him. Well, chest-to-stomach. He’s so fucking tall.

“Sorry—” you start, but the word dies when you look up and realize he’s staring down at you.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he says quietly.

You glance down. The oversized tee has some faded genetics pun on it. You stole it from Lia’s laundry pile earlier without realizing.

“Shit. I didn’t— I can change—”

“Looks better on you,” he murmurs, and the low timbre of his voice makes your nipples tighten against the fabric.

Your brain supplies a very vivid image of him bending you over the kitchen island, yanking your shorts down, and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name. Those big hands gripping your hips. Those pierced nipples dragging against your back while he rails you from behind.

You swallow hard.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

He leans in just a fraction, eyes dark. For one electric second you think he might kiss you.

Then he straightens up, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Night, Lia’s friend.”

No no no no don’t go… you were having such a good time just staring at him.

“I have a name, you know,” you blurt out and you’re not sure where that came from.

He pauses, turns to face you with that subtle smile on his face—the one that does terrible things to you.

“I know.”

He walks out, sweatpants riding low enough that you get a perfect view of the dimples at the base of his spine.

You stand there clutching your water bottle like a lifeline, thighs pressed together, heart hammering.

Yeah.

This sleepover is definitely a sleepover. And you are so screwed.

DAY FOUR

You wake up stupidly early—barely past 6 AM—because your bladder has no respect for your sleepover plans. The house is dead quiet. Lia is still snoring softly on the bed. You slip out from under the blanket in your shorts and his shirt, hair messy, eyes half-closed, and shuffle down the hall toward the bathroom.

You push the door open without knocking (big mistake) and freeze.

Satoru is already in there.

Fresh out of the shower.

A towel slung dangerously low around his hips, water still dripping down his bare chest. Those silver nipple piercings catch the light like fucking bait. His white hair is wet and pushed back, glasses off, and the steam in the air makes everything feel way too intimate.

Your brain short-circuits so hard you can hear the dial-up tone.

He turns his head, blue eyes meeting yours in the mirror. For a second he looks surprised, then that lazy, amused smirk slides onto his face.

“Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep. “Didn’t know I had company this early.”

You’re standing there like an idiot, thighs pressed together, suddenly very aware that your nipples are visible through your thin shirt and your shorts are barely covering anything. Your gaze keeps betraying you—dropping to the defined lines of his abs, the sharp V disappearing under the towel, the way the fabric clings to his hips.

You want to drop to your knees right here on the bathroom tile and see what’s under that towel. You want to tug on those pierced nipples with your teeth while he fucks your throat. You want him to bend you over the sink and make you watch in the mirror while he ruins you.

Instead you squeak out, “Sorry— I didn’t— I’ll just—”

You start backing up but he chuckles, low and warm, and reaches for his toothbrush like this is completely normal.

“You’re fine. I’m almost done.” He glances at you again, eyes flicking down your body for half a second before returning to the mirror. “Sleep well?”

Your face is burning. Your down there is throbbing. “Yeah. Great. Perfect. You?”

“Same.” He starts brushing his teeth, completely unbothered by the fact that he’s mostly naked and you’re two feet away looking like you want to devour him. “You sticking around today?”

“Uh-huh.” You can’t stop staring at the water droplet sliding down his chest, right toward one of those fucking piercings. “Dinner. Carbonara.”

He rinses his mouth, turns around fully, and now you’re getting the full frontal view—broad shoulders, lean muscle, happy trail, and that towel that looks like it’s one deep breath away from falling.

“Good,” he says simply. “See you then.”

He steps past you in the doorway, close enough that his bare arm brushes yours and you catch the clean scent of his body wash. Your knees nearly give out.

He disappears down the hall toward his room, leaving you standing there like a horny statue.

You close the bathroom door behind you, lock it, and immediately lean against it, pressing your thighs together.

Holy fuck.

You’re never going to survive ten days if every morning starts like this.

Later that morning, after you’ve (barely) recovered and Lia has woken up, the two of you are sprawled across her bed with snacks, turning this into full war council mode.

You and Lia spend most of Saturday morning working on what you’re calling “Operation Bag and Bang the Nerd.”

“Well, first we need to figure out what he likes,” Lia says, scrolling through her phone. “He’s got a lot of interests.”

“I already know some of them. Genetics, The Expanse, the gym…”

“Okay, but you need specifics. What kind of genetics? Favorite episode? Gym routine?”

You shrug helplessly.

“Exactly. Research time.” She pulls up a document titled Satoru Intel like the unhinged best friend she is. “I’ve been collecting this for years. It’s a little creepy but extremely useful. I do it for my parents too.”

“You’re a good sister.”

“I’m the best. Okay—population genetics, especially the genetics of blue eyes for his thesis. Favorite He’s a big fan of those self help books, has a bunch. Gym at 6 AM sharp every day.”

“6 AM? Gross.”

“Right? But it means he crashes early. Evenings are prime territory for you.”

“Can I just… come over whenever?”

“Obviously. But you need to make him want you around. He’s not exactly Mr. Social.”

“So I make him want to spend time with me.”

“Bingo.”

“How?”

“Pretend to be interested in his research.”

“I am interested. I want him to explain it while I sit on his lap.”

Lia snorts. “Then ask him about his thesis. Let him nerd out. That’s the fastest way to his heart.”

You grin. “And his dick?”

She smacks your shoulder and you giggle shamelessly, “gross, woman!”

“Also, get physically close. He’s oblivious as hell. Touch his arm. Sit right next to him. Brush against him. Wear something slutty.”

“Revealing clothing?”

“Obviously. He’s dense but he’s not blind. Weaponize the tits.”

“Already planning on it.”

“And be patient,” she warns. “He’s not going to fold overnight.”

“Ten days,” you say, dead serious. “I’m getting him in ten days.”

Lia raises an eyebrow. “Ambitious.”

“I’m an ambitious slut.”

She laughs and holds out her hand. “Ten days. Starting now.”

You shake it. “Oh, I’m on day four already.”

“What?!—“ she blurts out, confused as hell. “You think you can do this in six days?”

“Just trust me, okay. I have my ways.”

Lia shrugs and lets out a chuckle, “alright then. If it doesn’t work you owe me coffee every day for a whole month.”

“That’s not fair!”

“You were so confident a second ago?”

“Fine... you’ll see.”

“One day you’re gonna get that ego checked.”

“Not today.”

You’re already mentally picking out your outfit for dinner—something tight, low-cut, and guaranteed to make those blue eyes linger.

After this morning’s bathroom encounter, you have a feeling he’s at the very least noticed your sexual appeal. You just need to keep pushing.

DAY FIVE

You spend an embarrassing amount of time getting ready.

Four outfit changes, two complete hair redos, and so much makeup reapplication that you’re starting to look like a different person which you start to hate and then remove entirely and settle on mascara and lipgloss. You settle on pants that make your ass look great and a tight black top with a plunging neckline (per Lia’s very helpful suggestion).

Your phone buzzes as you’re leaving the dorm.

Lia: are you coming or what

You: omw

Lia: good bc satoru is already cooking and if you miss his carbonara i will personally end you

You: you’d fight me for missing pasta??

Lia: it’s that good

You: fair

The second you step into the Gojo house the smell of carbonara hits you like heaven. Creamy, garlicky, sinful. Lia lets you in with a wicked little grin.

“He’s in a good mood,” she whispers. “Thesis breakthrough. He’s feeling generous.”

“Perfect timing.”

“Just… don’t be too obvious. He gets weird about it.”

“I’ll be subtle.”

“You’ve never been subtle in your life.”

“I’ll be my version of subtle.”

“That’s what terrifies me.”

You walk into the kitchen and there he is—Satoru Gojo in a “Kiss the Cook” apron, looking unfairly domestic and hot as hell. The apron strings are tied around that stupidly narrow waist, and you immediately picture untying them with your teeth.

“Hey, Lia’s friend,” he says.

“Hey, Lia’s brother,” you fire back.

He glances up with a smirk. “Satoru. You can call me Satoru.”

“You know my name and you still call me Lia’s friend.”

“Good point.” He stirs the pasta, muscles flexing under the apron. “Staying for dinner?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I made enough for a small army. Lia always invites strays.”

“I do not,” Lia protests.

“You literally just did.”

The carbonara is obscene—rich, silky, perfectly cheesy. You moan around your first bite and don’t even care how it sounds. Satoru’s eyes flick to your mouth for a second.

“Holy shit,” you say. “This is better than sex.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “High praise.”

You spend the rest of dinner complimenting him shamelessly and then steering the conversation to his thesis. The second you ask about the genetics of blue eyes, his whole face lights up. He launches into a passionate ramble about OCA2, HERC2, melanin production, and ancient mutations while his hands gesture wildly.

You don’t understand half of it, but you’re riveted anyway—mostly because watching him get excited makes you want to climb him like a tree and ride him while he keeps talking nerd shit in your ear.

“Most people zone out when I talk about this,” he admits at the end, looking almost shy.

“Nope. I could listen to you talk about genetics all night.”

He blinks, then gives you a real, soft smile. “You’re weird.”

“Good weird, I hope.”

“Very good weird.”

Lia watches the whole exchange like a proud mother.

After dinner she claps her hands. “Movie time. The Expanse. Season one, episode one. No skipping.”

Satoru perks up immediately. “You haven’t seen it?” he asks you.

“Nope.”

“We’re fixing that right now.”

The carbonara plates are cleared and dropped into the sink, compliments thoroughly given, and the three of you migrate to the living room. Satoru takes his usual spot on the big sectional couch while Lia claims the armchair so you two can sit together. You deliberately sit right next to him instead of leaving a polite gap—close enough that your thigh almost brushes his.

He doesn’t comment on it. Just queues up The Expanse and starts explaining the premise, talking with his hands the way he always does when he’s excited. You watch him more than the screen.

Lia lasts about twenty minutes before she fakes the world’s most obvious yawn.

“God, I’m wiped. All that science talk drained me. You two keep going—I’m tapping out early.” She shoots you a quick little smirk behind Satoru’s back and vanishes down the hallway before either of you can protest.

Now it’s just the two of you.

The episode plays on, but you’re barely paying attention to the plot. You’re too busy watching Satoru’s face light up every time something interesting happens on screen. He keeps pausing to explain details—Belter culture, the physics of space travel, the political tensions—and you find yourself actually leaning in, not just because you want his hands on you, but because the way he gets lost in it is weirdly endearing. Cute, even. This giant, jacked nerd with nip piercings rambling about fictional solar system politics like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It’s hot. And sort of adorable.

You shift closer under the pretense of getting comfortable, letting your shoulder press against his. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he relaxes a little, arm stretching along the back of the couch behind you.

“So the Belters,” you say, genuinely curious, “they’re basically space miners who got screwed by Earth and Mars, right? That whole ‘we were born in space, you were born with gravity’ thing?”

His eyes flick to you, surprised you actually seem into this. “Yeah. Exactly. It’s this whole class and resource struggle layered on top of incredible sci-fi worldbuilding. Most shows would make it black and white, but this one actually shows how everyone’s kind of right and kind of wrong at the same time.”

You nod, letting your knee rest against his thigh now—body slightly tilted towards his on the couch. “That’s cool. I like when stories don’t treat the audience like idiots.”

He turns his head to look at you properly. Those ridiculous blue eyes are softer in the dim TV light. “Most people just nod and wait for me to shut up when I start explaining stuff like this.”

“I’d like to think I’m not most people.” You tilt your head, letting your shoulder settle more firmly against his chest—he stiffens for a second before relaxing, letting out a soft breath he thought you wouldn’t notice. “Keep going. What happens after that scene?”

He launches back into it, voice dropping into that low, enthusiastic register that does terrible things to your insides. You listen, asking real questions, but your mind keeps wandering to filthier places—imagining that mouth against your neck while he explains genetics, those long fingers sliding under your top, pinning you down while he rambles about melanin between thrusts.

At one point he laughs at something on screen and the sound vibrates through his chest into your shoulder. You have to press your thighs together.

“You’re actually paying attention,” he says after a while, sounding almost impressed. There’s a flirty little edge to his voice now, playful. It’s so hot and so distracting. “Most girls pretend to be interested for about five minutes before they start checking their phones.”

“I am interested,” you say honestly. “It’s well-written. And I like how passionate you get about it. It’s… cute.”

The second the word leaves your mouth his eyebrows shoot up. “Cute?”

“Shut up. You heard me.” You nudge his side with your elbow, but you don’t pull away. If anything you sink in closer, letting your head tilt toward his shoulder. “Don’t let it go to your head, nerd.”

He chuckles, low and warm. “I’ll think about it.” His arm shifts slightly behind you—not quite around you, but close enough that his fingers could brush your arm if he wanted. “You’re weird, you know that?”

You look up at him through your lashes. “You’ve mentioned, but weird how?”

“You listen. Ask surprisingly good questions. Wear tops like that.” His gaze drops to your cleavage for half a second before flicking back to your face, a little guilty, a little heated. SCORE!! He noticed your tits this is going beautifully. “And you smell really good. It’s distracting.”

Your pulse spikes. Heat pools low in your stomach. You want to straddle him right here on the couch and see how fast that nerdy composure cracks. Instead you smirk.

“Good. I like distracting you.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind those eyes. Then he turns back to the TV, but his arm settles more deliberately along the back of the couch, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

The episode keeps playing. You keep leaning into him. And for the first time, it feels like he’s actually seeing you—not just as Lia’s friend, but as something a lot more interesting.

You’re still going to fuck his brains out the second you get the chance.

But damn if the nerdy rambling isn’t growing on you too.

DAY SIX

You wake up at 5:30 in the morning like a masochist.

Your phone alarm is blaring. Your body is begging for mercy. But you drag yourself out of bed anyway because the mission demands it.

Satoru Gojo works out at 6 AM sharp every single day. And today, you’re going to “coincidentally” be there too.

You spend way too long picking an outfit: black leggings that hug your ass, a matching padded sports bra that gives excellent lift and cleavage, and a loose tank top that keeps slipping off one shoulder. Your ponytail is artfully messy. You look like the kind of girl who lives at the gym.

In reality, the last time you ran was to catch the bus in high-school.

You walk into the gym at 5:55 AM and immediately spot him.

Shirtless.

On the bench press.

Holy fuck. You might be here every day from now on if it means getting front row seats to him in all of his glory.

Sweat is already glistening across his broad chest and down those ridiculous abs. His arms flex with every rep, veins popping out, and those silver nipple piercings catch the harsh lights like they’re kindly asking you to stare. You nearly walk straight into a weight rack.

He racks the bar and sits up, towel around his neck, catching sight of you.

“You?” He blinks, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

You try to sound casual. “Working out. New fitness journey and all that.”

“Since when?” He wipes sweat from his forehead, muscles shifting in a way that should be illegal before breakfast.

“Uh… since recently. I’m turning over a new leaf. Becoming a morning person.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused by your new goal. “You told me two days ago you hate mornings.”

“I’m evolving,” you deadpan. “It’s a process but hey, I managed to get out of bed and come here. Good progress.”

He nods, studying you for a second, eyes drifting down your body—leggings, sports bra, the way your tank top clings to your skin—before flicking back to your face. “Alright. Treadmills are over there if you’re running. Good view of the TVs.”

“Thanks.”

You climb onto a treadmill and start at a light jog, trying not to look like a complete and utter fraud. Your heart is already racing and it has nothing to do with the speed—okay it has some to do with the speed.

A couple minutes later he appears beside your machine, still beautifully shirtless, towel slung over one shoulder.

“Your form’s off,” he says without preamble.

“My what?”

“You’re heel-striking. It’s gonna wreck your knees long-term.” He steps onto the side rail of the treadmill. “Can I fix it?”

“Please.” You slow the treadmill to a stop and stand there with your heart beating against your chest as he reaches down and taps your ankle, guiding your foot placement. His fingers are warm and firm against your skin through the thin legging material. You clench involuntarily.

“Land on the ball of your foot,” he instructs, voice low. “Like this.”

Then his hands move to your hips, adjusting your posture with gentle pressure. He’s so close you can smell his sweat mixed with that clean cologne, feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. Your brain floods with vivid images: those big hands gripping your hips harder while he fucks you from behind, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. Maybe those biceps putting you in a chokehold. You have to snap yourself out of it before you forget where you are.

“Lean forward just a little,” he murmurs, right next to your ear. “Not too much. There… yeah. That’s it.”

Fuck, you’re pretty sure you’re soaking through your leggings.

“Better?” he asks, stepping back but not far.

“Much better,” you manage, voice a little breathless. “Thanks, Satoru.”

“No problem.” He gives you that crooked, flirty smirk. “Always happy to help pretty girls with their form.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Pretty girls?”

He shrugs, casual, but there’s a spark in those blue eyes. “What? You look good. The outfit works. Just… don’t push too hard if you’re new to this. I don’t want you sore tomorrow.”

Too late, pretty boy. I’m already sore in all the right places.

“I can handle it,” you say, turning up the speed a notch. “But if I die, you’re carrying me home.”

He laughs—low, warm, genuine—and the sound shoots straight down in between your legs. “Deal. I’ll spot you on the weights after if you want.”

You spend the rest of your (very short) workout stealing glances at him. Watching him load plates onto the bar, muscles bulging, sweat dripping down that perfect V-line into his shorts. You want to lick the sweat off his chest. You want to see how sensitive those nips are. You want him to pin you against the mirror and fuck the “morning person” energy right out of you. Or into you. Whatever, potato potahto.

But underneath all the raging lust, you’re also weirdly into how focused and disciplined he is. The way he tracks his reps, the quiet intensity on his face—it’s hot. And impressive.

When you finally step off the treadmill on shaky legs, he wanders over again, handing you a spare towel.

“Not bad for a new morning person,” he teases.

“You watching? High praise from the 6 AM regular.”

He lingers for a second, eyes flicking over you again. “Making sure you don’t fall over and hurt yourself. You coming back tomorrow?”

“Maybe. If my legs don’t fall off.”

“I’ll be here.” He gives you one last slow smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Hard to when I’m basically a resident at Lia’s.”

You watch him chuckle and walk back to the weights, that glorious back and shoulders on full display, and feel a rush of triumph mixed with pure, aching want.

Day six is a huge success. You’re sweaty, exhausted, and hornier than ever. But he noticed you. He touched you. God you’ll be thinking about that all day.

DAY SEVEN

You’re at the Gojo family home again. At this point you basically live here. Lia has started making jokes about charging you rent, and you’re starting to worry she’s only half-kidding.

You’re sprawled on the couch with her, pretending to watch some trashy reality show while mostly scrolling on your phone, when Satoru walks in from the hallway looking annoyingly good in just a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats.

“I’m making coffee,” he announces casually. “Anyone want some?”

“I’ll take one,” Lia says lazily.

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply.

He nods and disappears into the kitchen. A few minutes later he returns with two mugs. He hands one to Lia, then turns to you and holds out the second.

“I made you one anyway.”

You blink. “I said I was good.”

“I know.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “But it’s got hazelnut creamer. You mentioned you like it that one time.”

You freeze mid-reach.

He remembered. Not just that you drink coffee, but the specific creamer you like. From a passing comment days ago.

You take the mug, fingers brushing his, and feel a stupid little flutter in your chest. “Thanks. That’s… pretty thoughtful.”

“It’s just coffee,” he says, but there’s a small, pleased smirk playing on his lips.

“It’s not just coffee. It’s thoughtful coffee.”

He leans against the doorway, studying you with those oh so pretty blue eyes. “I pay attention to things. Especially people. I like figuring out what makes them tick.”

Your pulse kicks up. You take a sip to hide how much that affects you. The hazelnut is perfect.

“And what makes me tick?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He holds your gaze for a long moment. “Still working on that one. But I’m getting there.”

Then he pushes off the doorframe and heads back toward his room, leaving you staring after him like an idiot.

The second he’s out of earshot, Lia whips around on the couch, eyes wide.

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s so into you.”

“He’s not. He was just… being nice.”

Lia snorts so hard she nearly chokes on her coffee. “Nice? My brother doesn’t do ‘nice’ like that. He forgot my birthday three years in a row. He barely remembers to make himself coffee most days. But he made you one with your favorite creamer? Unprompted?”

You look down at the mug in your hands, the steam still curling up sweetly. “Maybe he’s just trying to be a good host.”

“Please. He doesn’t give a shit about being a good host. Half the time he ignores people who come over. But he remembered your creamer preference and brought it to you anyway?” She pokes your arm. “That’s practically a confession for him.”

You laugh, but your face feels hot. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right. And the way he looked at you when he said he’s ‘figuring you out’? That was flirty as hell.”

You shift on the couch, thighs pressing together as your mind immediately goes to images of him figuring you out in much more hands-on ways—those long fingers between your legs while he murmurs nerdy observations about what makes you tick.

“He does have a habit of paying attention to details,” you admit.

“Exactly. And right now all his attention is on you.” Lia grins excitedly. “Operation Bag and Bang is working. My brother wants you.”

You take another sip of the perfect hazelnut coffee, warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the drink.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe he really is starting to like you back.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re not only in this for the filthy fantasies anymore. The way he listens when you talk, the way he remembers little things, the look he gets in his eyes when he looks at you… it’s doing something stupid to you. Makes your heart flutter, makes you blush like a lovesick girl.

Doesn’t mean you aren’t going to still absolutely fuck him senseless the second you get the chance, though.

DAY EIGHT

You’re in Satoru’s room.

His room.

You’re sitting cross-legged on his bed, physics notes, textbooks, and crumpled practice problems scattered everywhere. He’s leaning against the headboard looking unfairly hot in a loose black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, glasses perched on his nose as he flips through your messy notes.

You’d asked him yesterday to help you study because you’re genuinely shit at physics and the test is in two days and you’re sure you’re going to flunk. He’d agreed immediately, telling you to bring everything over. You told Lia and she encouraged you and said she’ll leave the house so you two can be alone (best wingwoman and best friend ever btw) Now here you are—surrounded by his nerd clutter of books, beakers, and posters—trying (and horribly failing) to focus while the sexual tension threatens to burn the room down.

“Alright, pay attention,” he says, voice casual but firm as he taps your paper. “This free body diagram is still fucked. You keep forgetting the normal force direction. If you do this on the test you’re gonna lose a ton of points.”

You nod, but your eyes keep drifting to the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest, the faint outline of those nipple piercings visible through the fabric. You want to push him back on this bed and ride him until he forgets every equation he’s ever learned. Maybe you’ll make him solve some while he’s buried inside you just to see him struggle. God you’re getting horny just thinking about it. That’s until he rudely interrupts your fantasies.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers lightly in front of your face, smirking. “Focus. This test actually matters. I’m not letting you bomb it because you’re too busy staring at me.”

“Sorry,” you say, not sorry at all. “You’re distracting.”

“Yeah, well, get used to it. We’re staying here until you can do these problems without thinking.” He scoots closer, large muscular thigh pressing firmly against yours as he leans in to redraw the diagram. His arm brushes your chest and you have to bite your lip. “See? The force arrow goes this way. Not that way. Mess this up on the real test and you’re pretty much screwed.”

You try again. He checks your work, nodding when it’s better but immediately pointing out the next mistake.

“Better, but still not perfect. Come on, you’re smarter than this. I know you are.” His tone is light, but there’s real concern underneath it. And fuck if that doesn’t turn you on because what the hell’s hotter than a dude actually caring? “I don’t want you stressing out the night before because you half-assed it. Let’s do the next one.”

The tension is unbearable. Every time he leans in to correct something, his knee stays glued to yours. Every explanation comes with casual touches—his fingers brushing your hand when he passes the pen, his shoulder pressed against yours, his breath warm against your ear as he talks through equilibrium problems. You swear he’s doing it on purpose just to torture you.

You keep getting distracted by your uncontrollable filthy thoughts—his hands gripping your hips, that deep voice in your ear explaining exactly how he wants you to move while he fucks you.

“Focus,” he says again, gently flicking your forehead. “I’m serious. This shit builds on itself. If you don’t get the fundamentals now you’re gonna be fucked for the rest of the semester.”

“You’re really invested in my grade, huh?” you tease, shifting so your thigh slides more firmly against his.

“Yeah, I am.” He looks at you directly. “I like when people actually learn stuff. Especially you. So stop looking at my tits and solve the damn problem.”

You laugh but actually try this time. When you get it right he gives you a pleased little smirk and ruffles your hair.

“There we go. See? You’ve got this. Just need to stop getting distracted by how hot your tutor is.”

“Impossible,” you mutter.

He chuckles, low and warm, but immediately dives back into the next concept. “Torque next. This one trips a lot of people up. Pay attention— I’m not explaining it three times.”

You spend the next couple hours like that: bodies pressed close on his bed, heavy tension crackling between every word, while he stays surprisingly focused on making sure you actually understand the material. He’s casual and flirty, throwing in teasing comments and lingering touches, but he never lets you derail the session for too long.

“Last set,” he says eventually, handing you more practice problems. “Nail these and I’ll be impressed. And maybe… reward you somehow.” His eyes drag slowly down your body before flicking back up, heated. Holy shit. Is he implying what you think he’s implying? “But only if you actually get a decent grade. Deal?”

You swallow, already thinking about everything. “Deal.”

He leans back against the headboard, arm stretched behind you, fingers idly playing with the hem of your shirt while you work. The concern for your success is weirdly attractive—mixed with all that casual confidence and the constant undercurrent of want.

You’re definitely passing this test.

And you’re definitely going to fuck your tutor senseless the second it’s over.

DAY NINE

(except it’s actually day eleven because the last two days were just non-stop tutoring and you finally crushed that physics test)

You don’t mean to confess.

It just slips out.

It’s late. The house is quiet. Lia passed out on the couch an hour ago, and Satoru suggested the two of you keep watching The Expanse in the living room. Now you’re alone with him on the big sectional, sitting so close your thighs are pressed together and your shoulders keep brushing.

The show is on, but neither of you is really watching anymore.

Your heart is hammering. His hand rests on the cushion between you, fingers twitching like they want to close the last inch of space between yours and his. The tension has been building for days—those long study sessions where he’d scold you to focus while his eyes lingered on your mouth and legs.

“So,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “I got my physics grade back today.”

He turns his head, blue eyes sparkling with interest. “And?”

You smirk. “A solid B+. Would’ve been an A if someone hadn’t kept distracting me with his hands and voice the whole time.”

Satoru lets out a low laugh, but there’s heat in it. “Told you to focus. I take my tutoring duties seriously.”

“You also promised me a reward if I did well.” You shift closer, letting your hand rest on his thigh. “I did well, Satoru.”

His breath catches. The tension snaps tighter. He looks down at your hand, then back up at your face, eyes darker now.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” His voice is rougher. “What kind of reward were you thinking?”

You lean in until your lips are inches from his. “I think you know exactly what kind I want. I think you’ve known for a while now. Unless you’re just… super dense. Which Lia told me you are, but I think you’re smarter than that.”

He swallows hard. The air between you feels electric. “You’re really not subtle anymore, huh?”

“Nope. I’ve been trying to be subtle for a while now.” Your fingers trace slow circles on his thigh, teasingly high. “So… about that reward.”

He exhales sharply, hand finally moving to cover yours, squeezing. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good.” You tilt your head, lips brushing his jaw. “Because I’ve been dying for days. Sitting in your room, letting you play teacher while all I could think about was climbing onto your lap and shutting you up with my mouth.”

His grip on your hand tightens. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. That’s the idea.”

He turns fully toward you, free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. The show is completely forgotten. “You really want this?”

“I’ve wanted this since I walked in on you shirtless that first time.” Your voice drops and you bite your lip. “Since I saw those piercings. You’re gonna need to tell me the story behind those someday. Preferably after I’ve had them in my mouth.”

His eyes flare and he chuckles nervously—breathlessly. The tension is so thick it’s suffocating in the best way. He’s breathing harder now, thumb stroking your neck.

“I’ve been trying to be good,” he mutters. “Trying to make sure you actually passed that test instead of just thinking about bending you over my desk every time you leaned over your notes.”

You grin against his mouth. “And now?”

“Now?” He leans in, lips hovering just above yours. “Now I’m thinking about collecting on that reward too.”

You close the distance first.

The kiss starts hungry—three months of built-up tension exploding all at once. His mouth is hot and demanding, tongue sliding against yours as he pulls you closer. You moan into it, and he swallows the sound greedily, hand sliding into your hair.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard.

“Well,” he says, voice hoarse, “that was a long time coming.”

“Too long.” You nip at his bottom lip. “And we’re nowhere near done. I still want my full reward, tutor.”

He laughs, low and filthy, forehead resting against yours. “Greedy.”

“You have no idea.”

He kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, hands roaming your sides like he’s been dying to touch you. The living room feels too small, too public, but neither of you cares enough to stop.

Satoru pulls back from the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. “We can’t do this here,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “Parents are upstairs. Lia’s literally passed out on the couch. If anyone hears—”

“Then take me to your room,” you whisper against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip. “Now, please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up, grabs your hand, and practically drags you down the hallway, both of you moving as quietly as possible. The second his bedroom door clicks shut behind you, he pushes you up against it, kissing you hard again. This time there’s no hesitation—his hands roam down your sides, gripping your ass as he grinds against you.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groans quietly against your neck. “You have no idea how many times I had to stop myself from bending you over my desk during those study sessions.”

You laugh breathlessly, hands already sliding under his shirt like you’ve imagined a thousand times over the course of the past ten days. “Then stop stalling and show me, nerd.”

He tugs your shirt off first, then his own, and there they are—those perfect, lean pecs with the silver bars through both pink nipples, already hard from the cool air and the tension. You stare like a woman starved.

“God, I’ve been so fucking obsessed with these,” you admit, running your palms over his chest, thumbs brushing right over the piercings.

Satoru hisses sharply, hips jerking against you while his abs clench abruptly. “Sensitive— fuck— they’ve been extra sensitive since I got them done.”

“That’s to my advantage.” You push him back toward the bed, watching him sit on the edge as you climb onto his lap. “I’ve honestly wanted to play with them for months.”

You lean down and drag your tongue over one pierced nipple, flicking the bar lightly. Satoru’s head falls back with a choked groan, one hand flying up to cover his mouth, teeth digging into his fingers.

“Shit— easy,” he hisses, voice strained. “Parents are right upstairs. You’re gonna get us caught.”

You smirk and suck the other nipple into your mouth, tugging gently on the piercing with your teeth. His cock twitches hard against your thigh through his sweatpants.

“Fuck, you’re so evil,” he pants, trying to sound cocky but sounding wrecked instead. “I’m trying to be all cool and collected here and you’re— ah— sucking on my tits like you’re trying to milk me.”

“I wish i could,” you murmur, switching sides and rolling the other bar between your fingers while you lick and suck. His chest is flushed, nipples puffy and oversensitive from the attention. Every tug and flick makes him shudder underneath you. “They’re so pretty. Look at how they get all hard for me.”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he groans, chest heaving, biting his fist to stay quiet. His face is so red he’s hard to recognize. You’ve never seen him lose his composure this hard but damn if you’re not getting off on it. “I’m supposed to be the one ruining you, not the other way around.”

You grind down on the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants, still lavishing attention on his chest. “Who says we can’t do both?”

He finally snaps, flipping you onto your back on the bed with surprising strength. He hovers over you, sweat dripping down his chest, hair messy. “My turn. Shorts off, baby… please.”

You obey, shimmying out of your shorts and panties while he kicks off his sweatpants. His cock springs free—long, thick, and already leaking. You gasp—audibly so—at the sheer size of him. You knew he was big because you’d seen him in those sinful grey sweats but you never could picture it in your head. But now it’s right here… fuck, you’re soaking. You reach for it but he catches your wrist.

“Not yet,” he says, voice cocky but with that nervous edge underneath. “I’ve spent too many nights jerking off thinking about this. I’m not rushing it.”

He kisses down your body, mouth hot and eager, but you pull him back up by his hair. “You’ve jerked off to me?” You ask breathlessly, a little cocky smile on your lips. “I’m flattered.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes right at you, licking his lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t done the same, pervert.”

“Never acted like anything.”

“Good.” He’s about to go down on you, his lips finding your neck and then gradually moving lower but you can’t help but want to toy with his nips again. Your fingers gently coax him up to your face again by his hair and he groans. “C’mon…gimme’ a chance to make you feel good.”

“No. I want these again.” You cup his chest, thumbs circling his swollen nipples. “They’re so fucking sensitive. Look at you—shaking just from me playing with them.”

Satoru buries his face in your neck to muffle a moan as you pinch and tug on the bars. “You’re— fuck— such a brat. I’m trying to be a good tutor-turned-lover here and you’re using my piercings against me.”

You laugh softly and lick over one again, sucking harder while your hand strokes his cock slowly. “They’re pretty much mine now. I’ve earned them after all that studying.”

He shudders, hips bucking into your fist. “Yeah? Then keep earning them. Just— quiet, baby. I swear if my mom hears us I’m so dead.”

You keep teasing his chest relentlessly—licking, sucking, tugging on the piercings while your hand works his cock in long, slow strokes. He’s panting into your shoulder, trying so hard to stay quiet, occasionally letting out these choked little whimpers whenever you twist the bars just right or squeeze him a little tighter on the upstroke.

“God, you’re so hard,” you whisper. “All this from me playing with your tits?”

“Shut up,” he groans, embarrassed but clearly loving it. “They’ve always been sensitive but you’re making it so much worse. Or better. Fuck, I don’t know anymore.”

You push him onto his back again and straddle him, rubbing your soaked pussy along his length while you continue lavishing attention on his chest. He grips your hips hard, biting his lip bloody trying to stay silent.

“You gonna fuck me now, sir?” you tease, grinding down. “Or do I need to keep playing with these until you beg?”

He lets out a shaky laugh. “Don’t—don’t call me that, it does things to me,” he groans, cock twitching against you. “Come here— I need to be inside you before I lose my mind.”

He reaches over to his nightstand, grabs a condom with trembling hands (still nerdy enough to be prepared), and rolls it on. Then he pulls you down onto him in one slow, deep thrust.

Both of you moan—his muffled against your shoulder, yours against his neck.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “So tight. Been thinking about this for days.”

“Try three months,” you groaned into his neck, breathing heavily. You start riding him slowly, still playing with his oversensitive nipples, tugging and rolling the bars while you bounce on his cock. Every time you pinch them he thrusts up harder, trying desperately to stay quiet.

“Quiet, Satoru,” you tease breathlessly, echoing his earlier words. “Wouldn’t want your parents knowing their genius son is getting his pierced nips played with while he fucks his sister’s best friend.”

He groans, hips snapping up. “You’re evil. Absolutely evil. I’m never— shit— gonna recover from this.”

You don’t let him recover. You keep the pace torturously slow and deep, spoiling his chest with attention while the pleasure builds and builds for both of you. His cock fills you perfectly, stretching you with every downward grind. The room is thick with the sound of skin on skin and muffled breathing and held back moans.

Satoru’s hands slide up your waist and cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples with deliberate pressure. He’s not gentle about it—pinching and rolling them between his fingers while he thrusts up to meet you.

“Fuck, these are perfect,” he mutters, voice low and rough. His eyes are dark, needy, but there’s that cocky edge as he watches your face. “Been wanting to get my hands on them since you kept leaning over my notes in that tank top.”

You moan softly and he immediately covers your mouth with one hand, the other still tugging on your nipple.

“Shh,” he whispers, a little smirk playing on his lips even as his hips snap up harder. “Parents are literally right upstairs. You want to get caught, hmm?”

You shake your head, but the way he’s playing with your tits makes it hard to stay quiet. You lean down and take one of his pierced nipples into your mouth again, sucking hard while you roll your hips.

He groans into your hair, the sound needy and broken. “God— you’re like an addict.”

You pull off with a wet pop, still riding him slow and deep. “Why’d you get them pierced?” you ask breathlessly, fingers tracing the silver bars. “They’re so sensitive. Was it for pleasure purposes?”

Satoru’s hands tighten on your hips, guiding you faster for a few strokes before he forces himself to slow down again. Dominant and needy all at once. “Got them after I lost a bet in second year. Didn’t realize how fucking sensitive they’d make me.” He thrusts up sharply, making you gasp. “Now every time you touch them it’s like they’re wired to my dick. It’s torture. I fucking love it.”

You clench around him at that, riding him a little harder. “What about your cock?” you tease, voice low. “Ever think about getting that pierced too?”

He laughs, the sound shaky and turned on. One hand leaves your hip to slap your ass lightly—playful, teasing—before gripping it again and pulling you down with a soft whine. “Thought about it. A lot, actually. Prince Albert maybe. But I chickened out. Figured I’d rather have someone else decide if they want to decorate it.” His eyes lock on yours, needy but cocky. “You offering to help pick one out?”

You moan at the image, grinding down harder. “Maybe.”

His hands are back on your tits, squeezing and playing while he fucks up into you with controlled, deep thrusts. He’s the perfect switch—letting you ride and tease him one second, then taking over the pace the next, pulling you down onto his cock like he owns your pussy.

“What about you?” he asks, voice husky as he pinches both your nipples at once causing you to moan. “You ever think about getting these pierced?”

You arch into his touch, riding him faster now. “Thought about it. Especially after I saw yours. Thought it’d be hot to have you play with them the way I play with yours.”

Satoru groans, the sound muffled against your shoulder as he buries his face there. “Fuck, don’t say shit like that while I’m inside you. I’m trying not to lose it.” He flips you suddenly—smooth, easy—putting you on your back without pulling out. He hooks your legs over his arms and starts fucking you deep and steady, eyes locked on yours.

“I’d love it,” he admits, voice rough and needy again as he leans down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. “Love watching you get all sensitive and shaky for me. Love marking you up.” He bites gently, then soothes it with his tongue. “We could match.”

You’re close—both of you are—but he keeps the pace deliberate, drawing it out. His mouth moves between your tits while he fucks you, occasionally lifting his head to kiss you hard, swallowing your moans.

“You feel so good,” he pants against your lips. “This is insane… I’m so into you.”

You tug on his nipple piercings again and he shudders, stomach clenching and hips stuttering. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna come,” he warns, but he doesn’t stop you. He just fucks you harder, switching between needy groans and cocky little comments.

“Yeah? Gonna come from me playing with your tits while I ride your cock?” you whisper.

“Shut up, you brat,” he laughs breathlessly as he pins your wrists above your head with one hand and keeps pounding into you. “You’re gonna come first. That’s an order from your tutor.”

He keeps you right on the edge—slowing down when you get too close, speeding up when you beg, all while his mouth and hands stay on your tits and his cock stays buried deep inside you. Every thrust drags his cock against that perfect spot inside you, but he’s not letting you race to the finish. He’s controlling the pace—slow and grinding one moment, sharp and punishing the next.

His mouth is on your tits again, sucking one nipple while his fingers pinch and tug the other. You’re arching up into him, one hand fisted in his white hair, the other still toying with his nipples.

“Fuck— pull harder,” he groans against your chest, voice muffled but needy. “Yeah, like that. God, you’re gonna make me lose it.”

You yank on his hair and he moans, hips stuttering. At the same time you scratch your nails down his back—hard enough to leave marks. He shudders violently, a full-body reaction that makes his cock twitch inside you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, doing it again. “You like that? You little masochist.”

He lifts his head, eyes glassy but still cocky. “Yeah. I like it when you mark me up. Pull my hair, scratch me, bite me— fuck, I’m into all of it.”

You laugh softly and bite his shoulder, then suck a mark right next to it. “So the nerd’s a little pain slut, huh?”

“Shut up,” he laughs breathlessly, thrusting harder to shut you up. “You’re the one obsessed with my chest. I’ve been edging you for ten minutes and you’re still playing with my nips.”

He suddenly pulls out completely. You whine at the loss and he smirks, kneeling between your spread thighs. He takes his cock in one hand and slaps it against your soaked pussy—wet, obscene sounds filling the room as the head smacks your clit, your folds, dragging through your slick.

“Look at this mess,” he murmurs, voice low and dominant again. “Dripping all over my cock. You were so cocky earlier about your reward. Where’s that energy now?”

You reach down and spread yourself open for him. “Still cocky. Just desperate. Put it back in.”

He slaps his cock against your clit again, harder this time, then rubs the head up and down your slit without pushing inside. “Ask nicely.”

“Satoru—”

He pushes just the tip in, then pulls out again, teasing. “Nuh-uh. Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

You glare up at him, pouting. “I want you to stop being a tease and fuck me properly. Or I’m gonna flip us and ride you with my hands on your tits until you’re the one begging.”

He chuckles, low and filthy, and finally sinks back into you in one smooth thrust. “There she is, atta-girl.”

He fucks you harder now, one hand braced by your head, the other sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles.

“Been thinking about this every night after tutoring,” he admits between thrusts, voice rough. “You leaning over my desk in those shorts, asking me about torque while I was imagining bending you over it. You have no idea how many times I had to adjust myself because you kept playing with your hair and biting your lip.”

You moan and pull his hair again, making him curse. “I knew. Why do you think I kept doing it?”

“So mean,” he pants, but he’s grinning. He pulls out again, flips you onto your stomach, and yanks your hips up. Doggy this time—deeper, rougher, nastier and so fucking hot. One hand grips your hip while the other reaches around to play with your pussy, two fingers rubbing your clit while his cock slides back in. He lifts one arm and pulls you upward so his chest’s pressing right up against your back. He puts you in a chokehold, bicep against your jaw as he leans in to nibble on your ears.

“Touch your tits for me,” he orders, voice strained. “Play with them while I fuck you. I wanna hear you.”

You do as he says, pinching your own nipples while he pounds into you from behind. Every time you clench around him he groans and fucks harder. When you start getting too close—thighs shaking, moans getting louder—he slows down dramatically, almost stopping, just grinding deep and circling your clit lazily.

“Not yet,” he whispers against your ear, chest pressed to your back. “I’m not done with you. I edged myself for hours thinking about you. Turnabout’s fair play.”

You whimper into his arm, hands coming up to grab onto it for support while he fucks you so torturously slow from behind. “Satoru, please—”

He bites the back of your shoulder, then soothes it with his tongue. “Please what? Use your words, pretty.”

“Please let me come. I’ll be good. I’ll stop teasing your nipples— for five minutes.”

He laughs, the sound warm and wrecked, and starts fucking you properly again. “Five whole minutes? That’s generous of you.”

He keeps you right on the edge for what feels like forever—changing angles, pulling out to slap his cock against your cunt again, fingering you open while you’re empty, then slamming back in. Every time you get close he eases off, kissing your spine, murmuring filthy praise.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he says, voice husky. “All desperate and dripping. My smart girl who aced her test and now can’t even form sentences because my cock’s inside her.”

You reach back and scratch down his thigh, then up to his ass. “And you’re the one who gets hard from having your hair pulled and your back scratched.”

“That makes us a perfect match,” he agrees, flipping you onto your back again so he can see your face. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, fucking you deep and slow while his thumb circles your clit.

“Come for me,” he finally says, voice cracking with need. “I’ve got you, baby. Come for this nerd.”

You do—hard. so hard it’s life changing—clenching around him with a muffled cry into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck and fingers tightening in his hair. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he comes with a low, broken groan followed by a few shorter ones. Your insides grow warm with the weight of his load-filled condom.

For a long moment neither of you moves, just breathing hard, sweat-slick and tangled.

Satoru lifts his head, hair messy, lips swollen, looking thoroughly fucked out but still smug.

“So,” he chuckles breathlessly, voice hoarse. “Same time tomorrow for round two? I still have more physics notes to go over.”

You laugh weakly and tug his hair one more time. “Only if you let me play with your tits again.”

“Deal,” he murmurs, kissing you slow and sweet. “Brat.”

“Pain whore.”

He grins against your mouth. “Sure, but I’m your pain whore.”

DAY TEN

You wake up tangled around Satoru like you’re trying to fuse with him.

Legs hooked around his waist. One arm slung across his chest. Face buried in the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in—skin, faint sweat, that clean scent that still makes your brain lag. Your other hand rests on his narrow waist, thumb brushing the sharp cut of his hip bone, resisting the urge to slip underneath his pants and squeeze that gorgeous ass.

Holy fuck. You actually fucked Satoru.

And it was filthy. Perfect. The kind of night that ruins you for anyone else. The way he’d switched between pinning you down and letting you play with his oversensitive nips until he was shaking. The way he’d edged you for what felt like hours, cocky and needy at the same time. You’re sore in all the right places and already thinking about round… whatever number you’re on now.

You squeeze your thighs around him tighter, pressing your body closer. God, you’re obsessed with how he feels. All that lean muscle, the way his skin is stupidly soft over hard lines, the little shivers he gives when you accidentally brush his piercings.

Satoru stirs, letting out a low, sleepy groan. His arm tightens around your back, hand sliding down to palm your ass possessively.

“Morning, clingy,” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep. “You gonna let me breathe anytime soon?”

“No,” you answer without hesitation, lips brushing his neck. “I earned this. Ten days of plotting and I finally got the nerd in bed. I’m collecting my trophy.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. One hand comes up to scratch lazily at your scalp. “Trophy, huh? That what I am now?”

“Yep. Property of me.” You drag your nails lightly down his back, right over the very obvious scratches you left last night. “These marks are cute, by the way. Very ‘I got banged’ esque.”

Satoru hisses softly but presses into your touch. “You’re such a shit. I told you my back was sensitive and you still went crazy on it.”

“Ehh.. you liked it.” You nip at his neck, then soothe it with your tongue. “You liked it so much you almost came just from me tugging your hair and playing with your piercings.”

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s a grin in his voice. He shifts his hips, letting you feel that he’s already half-hard against your thigh. “You’re the one who couldn’t stop sucking on them. Thought you were gonna give me a hickey on my fucking nipple.”

You laugh quietly and flick one of the bars with your thumb, making him twitch. “They’re too pretty not to. I’ve been obsessed with these things since the first time I saw them. Still can’t believe you let some random person stab metal through them.”

“Regret nothing,” he says casually. His hand slides between your bodies, cupping one of your tits and lazily playing with your nipple. “Especially not after last night. You were real into it.”

You hum happily and press closer, face still tucked into his neck. “Best decision of my life. The sex was insane. You’re surprisingly flexible for a nerd.”

“Surprisingly?” He squeezes your ass. “Rude. I’ll have you know I’m very coordinated.”

“Yeah, yeah. Big talk from the guy who almost dropped me when we switched positions.”

He snorts. “That was your fault. You started playing with the piercings again and my brain shorted out.”

You smile against his skin, inhaling him again. The realization hits you somewhere deep in your chest when his fingers card through your hair—this isn’t just about how hot he is or how good the sex was. You actually like him. Him. The rambling, the routines, the way he remembers stupid little things, the way he looks at you like you’re entertaining as hell even when you’re being annoying.

You’re catching real feelings. You’re definitely going to marry this guy.

“Ten days,” you murmur. “Took me ten days to get you here.”

Satoru’s hand strokes down your spine. “Took me about three to realize I was screwed. You kept showing up everywhere looking like that and asking me questions about my thesis. You sure knew the way to my heart.”

You lift your head just enough to look at him. His hair is a mess, eyes half-lidded, that lazy smirk on his face. He looks stupidly good in the morning light.

“You’re not mad I basically stalked you into liking me?” you ask, half-teasing.

“Nah.” He leans in and kisses you, slow and easy. “Worked out pretty well for me.”

You settle back against his neck, legs still locked around him, arms holding him close. “Good. Because I’m not moving for at least another hour.”

“Fine by me,” he says, voice already drifting back toward sleep. His hand keeps stroking your back in lazy circles. “Just don’t fall asleep with your hand on my nipple again. Last night you almost twisted it off when you came.”

You giggle softly. “No promises.”

He squeezes your ass in warning, but he’s smiling.

You stay wrapped around him for a while longer, trading lazy kisses and occasional teasing touches, until your stomach starts growling loud enough for both of you to hear it.

Satoru huffs a laugh against your hair. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you admit, finally untangling your legs from around his waist. “We did burn a lot of calories last night.”

He smirks, sitting up and stretching. The morning light hits the scratches you left down his back and the faint hickeys on his neck and chest. You didn’t exactly do a great job hiding them. Neither did he—there’s a very obvious bite mark on your shoulder and bruises on your hips that ache in a weirdly pleasuring way.

You both throw on clothes quickly—him in fresh sweatpants and a t-shirt, you in one of his hoodies that swallows you and a pair of his huge sweats you had to tie really tightly because they kept falling.

As you’re about to head out the door, you pause.

“So…” you say casually, leaning against his doorframe. “What are we doing here? Like, are we actually a thing now? Or do we just keep doing… whatever this is and see where it goes?”

Satoru turns, one eyebrow raised. He looks a little rumpled and stupidly hot. “I mean, I’m down to make it official. If you want. I’m not really into the casual thing if it’s with you.”

You nod, keeping it light. “Yeah. Same. Boyfriend, then?”

He grins, walking over to pull you in for a quick kiss. “Boyfriend. Sounds good.”

“Cool.”

The conversation ends as easily as it started. Wow. It really is that easy huh.

You head downstairs together.

The second you step into the kitchen, it’s immediate. His mom is at the counter cutting fruit. His dad is scrolling on his phone at the table. Lia is already stuffing her face with toast.

All three of them look up at the exact same time.

The silence is deafening. Terribly so. You want to sink into the ground.

You’re pretty sure the bite mark on your neck is visible even with the hoodie. Satoru has fresh scratches peeking out from under his collar and his hair is doing that freshly-fucked thing. You both tried to look normal. You failed miserably.

Lia’s eyes flick between the two of you, then she smirks around her toast like she just won the lottery. She doesn’t say anything—just goes back to chewing with this shit-eating grin.

His mom raises an eyebrow. His dad just stares for a second before clearing his throat.

Satoru, cool as ever, walks straight to the coffee machine like nothing’s weird.

“Morning,” he says casually, grabbing two mugs. “Oh yeah, we’re dating now, by the way.”

He says it like he’s announcing the weather. Like he’s making small talk. Like he didn’t just announce a relationship.

You freeze mid-step, eyes wide. Wait—right now? Just like that? You were still processing the conversation upstairs and now he’s dropping it on his entire family like it’s no big deal. Your face heats up but… you don’t really mind though. It’s very… him.

Lia snorts so hard she has to set her toast down. His mom pauses mid-slice, then just nods slowly like she’s processing. His dad blinks twice.

“…Since when?” his mom finally asks, fighting a smile.

“Since last night,” Satoru answers, pouring coffee like this is the most normal conversation in the world. “Pass the hazelnut creamer?”

You stand there awkwardly for a second, still a little stunned he just launched it like that, before grabbing a piece of toast and sitting down quickly. You take a big bite to give yourself something to do.

His dad clears his throat again. “Congrats. Try to keep it down next time. The walls aren’t that thick.”

You nearly choke on your toast. You start coughing hard, face flushing bright red as you reach for water. The memories of last night—moaning into Satoru’s shoulder, him telling you to stay quiet, the headboard—flash through your head at full volume.

Satoru just smirks like that didn’t even fucking faze him at all, sliding the creamer your way like nothing happened. “Noted.”

Lia is openly grinning at you now, kicking your foot under the table. His mom is pretending to be very focused on the fruit again, but her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

You’re mortified. His dad heard you?! THE WHOLE—

“Relax,” Satoru chuckles like it’s no biggie as he slides in next to you, arm resting on the back of your chair as he hands you your coffee.

“I told you be quiet,” he teases, whispering against your ear like he was sharing some sort of secret. Which technically he is—but now they all know so is it really a fucking secret????He lets out a low groan followed by a laugh when you jab at his side with your elbow, your mouth stuffed with said toast because you’ve been trying not to choke it down.

But despite it all, sitting here in his oversized hoodie, with your crush who’s now your boyfriend and having dinner with his family like he didn’t just fuck your brains out for hours last night, you can’t help but grin through the embarrassment.

This family is never going to let either of you live this down.

But… that’s not too bad, is it?

Because the plan worked and in the span of ten days (technically eleven but that’s not the point), you’ve managed to bang and bag the nerd you’ve been pining after for three months.

well that was fun and took ridiculously long to write this is my longest fic yet but yk what hell yeah. consider this a 1k special because i can’t get anything else out on time LMFAO. i will be continuing this as a mini series that isn’t really a series it’s just oneshots of this gojo x reader and some drabbles and shit idk anyway yeah i hope u guys enjoyed this !!! took me pretty much two days to write and i was writing like nonstop LOL <3 !! side note i had to do so much stupid ass research abt blue eyes and fucking genetics for this shit i am SICK

tag list : @limitlesweets @haniipie @white-camellia-kois @xhslvt @neotoru @gaytron3000 @winniethepoohjusttookapooh @dreamieeesposts @mayhemi @ilymooongo @snowlepod @lewlz @scarletreigns @darkphantommagazine @bangtannnnn @chanpoo @tharunnihaa @miyahluvsjjk @poopynono @mx-mekla @horndogfornerdjo @skeletaldynamolegion

fukiouh

[SOLVED] | nerdjo x reader

The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. The second was moving in with him anyway. Satoru Gojo is a gorgeous man and a terminally online incel who will explain exactly why a nice guy like him can't get a girlfriend. When you decide to weaponize your hotness against his incel worldview, you expect to break him and his “alpha male" ideologies. You do not expect to spend a random evening getting your roommate's dick out of a stuck cock ring.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

warnings: 18+ (mdni!!), explicit sexual content, afab!reader, modern AU, roommate AU, nerdjo, incel!gojo, virgin!gojo, oral (m and f receiving), piv, creampie, light degradation, praise kink, cum in hair, cum eating, cum-drunk, pussy-drunk, cock rings, fleshlights, improper use of hair tie, improper use of yogurt (accidentally ??), oil and fluids everywhere, it’s a bit disgusting, light choking, groping, big time copium from reader, secondhand embarrassment you’d die, reddit, incel stuff, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut, slow burn but the burn is just pure cringe

word count: 17k

The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. Should’ve been a red flag, really. The second was agreeing to meet the guy in person.

You walked into the coffee shop, scanning the midday crowd for someone who matched the description — twenty-something, remote-employed, appreciates a quiet living environment. You were expecting a tired grad student, maybe. Or some tech guy in a Patagonia fleece. Something like that.

Instead, you found a gorgeous, gorgeous looking man. And you were confident it was him, since there were exactly two men present — him, and some grandpa having his afternoon caffeine fix.

And the guy was, objectively and objectifyingly speaking, probably the prettiest guy you had ever laid your eyes on. Way too tall, way too broad, the messy hair and the cute glasses adding the je ne sais quoi of the hot nerd aesthetic you were simply too weak for. Even hunched over his phone like that, he looked aggressively cute. But, let’s be honest, you weren't exactly against a cheeky roommates-to-lovers situation, if you catch my drift.

gojover

A LESSON ON LOVE

with your love life in ruins, the last thing you want to do is think about romance. unfortunately, between passive-aggressive notes and an infuriating neighbour named 4B who won’t leave you alone, love might not be done with you just yet

pairing: frat!jo x reader

content: mdni idiots in love, satoru as a faceless voice for a while, larping abt frats again, one (1) frat party scene, voyeurism, p in v, slightly intoxicated but consensual sex, cunnilingus, slight public sex/hidden sex 30k+

note: there are some images in this fic for immersion but if there's any difficulty in reading them, please click the alt text option! alternatively, you can read this on ao3 !!

When you eventually gained the courage to break up with your shitty boyfriend, you knew it would be a public spectacle considering he’s the vice president of Tau Delta Phi. What you didn’t expect, however, was to find yourself spotlighted in the living room of some random houseparty, an empty red plastic cup in your hand and whatever had been inside now poured over your ex-boyfriend’s head.

It was almost funny watching humiliation and rage surge across Naoya’s face, marked by that red-hot blush you’ve seen far too many times, spit flying from his mouth when he yells that you’ll regret this, he’ll make sure you do. To no surprise he had you kicked out, leaving you stranded on the side of the road at 2am, alone, slightly intoxicated, and with a massive hole punctured through your concept of love.

“You’re lucky that’s my dupe deck or I’d end this friendship right here and now,” Gojo says, an easy grin on his face as if he wasn’t pressing up against you, his chest warm and hard against your side, your elbow awkwardly jutting into him. Your hand flexes around the cup, and the ring shifts slightly on your finger. Gojo’s gaze drops to it for half a second, a private little smile cutting across his mouth before he looks back at the table. “We heard about what happened inside,” Geto says. “Are you okay?” Would it be too late to suddenly go mute? If you’re able to recognise Gojo by his voice, then the chances of him putting name to face with the girl next door and you is also very high. Though, considering the way he isn’t immediately pulling you aside to ask if you are indeed the voice in his walls, you want to believe that he has yet to figure out your identity. So no, it isn’t too late to go mute. You nod in response to Geto’s question and flash him a smile, hoping none of it comes off as rude. Gojo hums beside you, the vibration travelling through your bodies. He leans down to speak into your ear, a conversation just for you. “Not much for words? What happened to all the snark earlier?” You stall for time by taking a long sip of Shoko’s concoction, the sting temporarily skyrocketing to the top of your concerns. This may or may not be a bad idea because now that you’re seated, all the previous drinks sloshing around in your stomach and this adding sip burning down your throat, you feel the world tip a little. You probably can’t deflect this question, not when he asks like this, so you settle for something else. Clearing your throat, you try for a lower octave than usual. “I only talk to the people that deserve it,” you say, then let out a small huff at how ridiculous you sound. The grin he shoots you is all confidence and self-assurance, leaning in a fraction closer. “How would you know if you’ve never given me a chance?” “It’s pointless, I already know what you’re like.” Maybe it’s the bonfire or the drink in your hand but you are getting really warm. You take another long sip.

“I think I would remember someone like you.” That causes you to raise an eyebrow, letting his casual flirt roll off you. “Flattery,” you start, poking his chest. You let him catch your hand in his, holding it there against his heart, “won’t get you anywhere especially when it’s empty.” “Who said it was empty? Besides, I know I wouldn’t forget such a pretty girl.” “Oh, you would. You are.” You laugh again, finding the inside joke hilarious. “Try a little harder to remember, hm Satoru?” The challenge makes his eyes glow just like you knew they would, always have known from the moment when a wall still separated the two of you and he had laughed at your provoking, all dark and not humourous at all. “Maybe if you gave me a name.” You’re not quite ready to hear his name from your lips just yet so you only shake your head, wagging your finger at him playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?” “I’m usually a patient man and I’m all for the chase,” he starts, fingers inching closer, brushing hair from the back of your neck as he leans in, “but you’ve left me high and dry for so long.” His words go in one ear and out the other, your breath hitching at the slightest touch. Despite yourself, you gulp and taste the bitter alcohol in your mouth. You feel it too, warmth pooling in your gut and making your head spin. “I’m not an easy person,” you whisper, eyes flickering down to his lips and you bite your own, the rush of all your fantasies suddenly overwhelming you. In all other them, you’ve never once imagined his lips on yours, not until now. And you don’t doubt that after this, you'll be thinking of them often. “Trust me,” he chuckles. “You’re not easy, you’re stubborn as hell and you always give me a hard time.” As if sensing your temptation, Gojo’s eyes trace the way your teeth dig into your lip, watching the pull before you release it, red and slightly jutted out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick the marks it leaves behind.

Sure, you think, eyes rolling back, as if your Etsy witch can touch me anymore when Gojo is fucking me. You slump forward, relief flooding you when you hear his footsteps retreating, but Gojo doesn’t let you rest. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and resumes his brutal pace. “Good girl,” he purrs. His voice is different now, softer, honeyed and almost affectionate. “Such a good fucking girl. You did so well. You listened. You obeyed.” He kisses your shoulder, open-mouthed, wet. “See? I knew you could be good for me.” The whiplash is dizzying and it only makes you arch more, something inevitable and delicious approaching in the far distance. “That's right,” he murmurs, still fucking you deep and slow. “You took that so well. Pretended you weren’t getting your tight little cunt stuffed while your ex was right outside. That takes skill, pretty. You’re so fucking perfect for me.” His hand snakes around your front, fingers finding your clit. He rubs slow, tight circles, and your hips buck. “Bet you've been practicing, haven't you?” His voice is a low, knowing drawl. “All those nights you thought nobody was listening. Thought nobody could hear you moaning. But weren’t you the one to tell me? The walls are thin as shit, angel.” He’s ramming into you now, fast and rough again, his words spilling out between each thrust and all you can do is be a ragdoll in his hold. “You'd lie in bed, late at night, fingers in your pussy, listening to me stroke my cock. I’d hear you. The wet sounds. The little ‘oh, yes’s. And I’d think... fuck, I need to have that. I need to feel that cunt clench around me.” You're dizzy, overwhelmed. His hand on your clit, his cock in your cunt, his words in your brain, it’s all too much. “Did you think I didn’t recognize you at the party tonight? The girl with the needy little moans?” He bites your earlobe, hard enough to sting. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to corner you. And then you showed up drunk and sad, with that asshole on your heels, and I knew tonight was the night.” He’s watching you in the mirror and you catch his reflection. His eyes are dark, lips parted, face flushed. He’s absolutely beautiful.

minayans

Never just sex with Satoru.

You and Satoru agree to become friends with benefits with one cliché rule: no falling in love. But you do. And you stupidly confess. What now?

Tags: Smut, angst w comfort if you squint, fwb, p in v, riding, kinks, gojo is a little avoidant shit, model!gojo. Haven’t proofread yettt, I don’t write as much lately. 18+++ I have never written smut please don’t fire me..

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

You have felt Satoru everywhere by now—buried deep in between your legs, lengthy cock stretching you and hitting that one spongy spot that makes your vision go blank, his hands on your face like he's holding something precious.

You have felt his large hands map every inch of skin you wear. No surface untouched especially late at night when he texts you he's coming over with little to no explanation why.

No feelings.

No strings.

That was the deal. No, that is the deal.

Just sex.

And you have had a lot of sex with Satoru. From fucking in the comfort of your bedroom or his, to riding him all sweaty and hot in his jeep, to even getting eaten out in changing rooms during his fittings.

He's tried everything with you. Every curiosity he's had about a new toy, a new kink, a new position—he's tried and fulfilled with you. You've been stretched into positions you never thought you could with him.

Your legs over his shoulder with him greedily thrusting, your back so arched against his chest while receiving mean back shots, reverse cowgirl with a leash around your neck, full nelson—anything, you name it, you've done.

You've had him in between your legs so many times to point out that he particularly dislikes missionary, loves rope play, biting and marking your skin like you don't have a shift next morning—but he's never vanilla.

Never.

Well, he never was.

He always devoured you with a hungry mouth, a desperate and lustful look in his eyes, animalistic thrusts, brutal grip on your hips when he slammed down on you like he wanted you to break.

Sex was casual between the both of you.

The rules were clear. No hickeys, scratches, bites on him while he could mark you as freely as he wished to do so.

Never a mark on him though.

And no, no feelings.

None at all.

Sure, he was attractive. And you didn't have a problem with hooking up with him when he'd bring you over the gates of heaven or soothed you through the most aggressive orgasms ever.

You were fine with the whole arrangement before last week when he'd texted you "I'm coming over, leave the door open." At 2 AM.

Shrugging, you left him on read, unlocked the front door and he was walking through it no more than 15 minutes later—dark gray sweatshirt masking his muscles, hood messily pulled over his white tuff of hair, sunglasses slipping from his nose bridge, usually bright eyes dull like you'd never seen them before.

He had crossed the threshold to the balcony where you were curled up in on the couch, crawled on top of you and...

Kissed you with soft lips, slow movements of his jaw, reverent touches, hesitant hands that mapped your body under him.

He kissed with too much feeling. With too much gentleness. With something so not Satoru.

Slid in between your legs, deliberately softened your walls till you could take him, tasting you on his tongue till you were tattooed in his mind, made you fall apart like he'd never done before.

Then he repositioned himself, chin glistening from your juices, didn't bother with a condom—you were too far gone to even stop him and remind him of protection, mind hazy with his unusual attitude.

He had pushed himself inside, losing himself in your wetness bit by bit, watching how his cock disappeared inside your walls.

Both your legs by his sides.

And he drew his chest down—skin flush against your breasts—locking himself in missionary, a position he avoided at any given chance.

You shook underneath him—eyes glossed over from the feeling of him, unprotected, raw in you. The slow drag of his cock in you, meeting your warmth over and over.

Veins imprinting themselves in you, leaving their shape, moulding your pussy to fit him and only him. The deep, intimate thrusts had your throat go dry, a ball growing there and your orgasm growing painfully slow.

Satoru's breathing was shaky, his lips on your neck, behind your ear. Sucking on your nipples, leaving faint marks you'd see in your reflection morning.

Desperately begging in your ears with pleas that had you clenching around him.

"Please look at me, baby, please."

He was making love to you.

No harsh grinding, no position switching or new experiments.

It was terrifying.

So terrifying.

Because you liked it too much.

You liked this Satoru too much.

Fuck.

Sex is never just sex.

You should have listened to your friends when they warned you.

You knew you were fucked when he came undone with you, whispering sweet nothings you found yourself silently praying to be true.

"You look so—hng- beautiful, angel."

Babbling when he held your face, blue orbs melting with yours when his gaze was zeroed on you and only you. Not on your skin meeting his.

"Just a bit more beautiful, I'm almost there—shit, you're close too, huh? Clenching onto me so sweetly..."

Those stupid nicknames of his—making your heartbeat falter, your pulse travel to pound against your temples, heat settle on your cheeks.

God, he's such an asshole.

Making love to you on your balcony under the moonlight, on the 10th floor where no one else lives.

When morning came, when you found yourself on your bed alone and with a heavy chest, you knew you were screwed.

He kept fucking you after that day like he didn't rearrange the wires in your brain with no effort.

He kept having sex with you like he wasn't kissing every crevice of you just a week ago. Like he hadn't silently loved every part of you, kissed and paid attention to every insecurity and scar on your skin.

Still, he took you to the moon, had you spasming around his cock like always—only this time, leaving you empty even after he filled you up with his cum.

You knew you felt empty because you wanted him to love you again. You wanted him to see you again, not the body he goes to whenever he wants.

Fuck, you really messed everything up.

You were asking for the impossible, for Satoru to care and love.

So you tried to push him away. Avoid meetups and his messages that only arrived after midnight strikes the clock.

It made no difference—in fact, you felt worse without him around.

By the second week of dodging him, you were about to cave and call him when your front door unlocked and there he was.

Dressed in all black, straight from work—black chemise with enough buttons undone to reveal his pale collarbones. Black slacks and perfectly tailored dark pants that only highlighted his height.

Your heart lurched—half fear and half relief that had adrenaline already coursing through your veins. You stumbled over your words.

"Satoru—what are you—how did you get in here?" Voice shaky, a light frown placing itself on your face.

He was wearing a stern expression on his face, all pursed lips and locked jaws is the kind. An unfamiliar sight to you as he was always obnoxiously smiling even when ticked off.

His hand rose to reveal your spare keys, you dont remember even granting him access to them but don't have time to ponder about that before his arm drops, he throws the keys on the counter and closes the distance between the both of you till he's looming directly over you—hands in his pocket.

"You have been avoiding me." He says, an underlying layer of annoyance sending a chill down your spine.

You try to deflect, "No."

A beat passes, the expression on his face remains.

"No, I haven't." You say more clearly.

And finish with, "I've been busy."

Complete and utter bullshit, you get off work on the dot and your shifts have never been so boring.

But he doesn't need to know that.

Not convinced at all, Satoru curves his spine till his glasses slide off on their own from where they were perched on his nose just enough for his eyes to pierce holes through you.

Blue, cerulean, sky blue consumes you.

And you hate it so much.

So much you wish you could swim in them.

In him.

"Try again." He says, not narrowing his eyes. You swallow, feeling an uneasy sensation in your stomach that makes you want to throw up when revealing yourself to him crosses your mind.

But he won’t believe you if you spew some other bullshit out.

Fuck it.

“Satoru.” You whisper, seeing his eyes run over your whole face.

“I messed up.”

His figure stiffens. A thousand thoughts running through his mind, a billion questions. Shit, are you pregnant? Weren’t you on the pill? Fuck, what is he supposed to do now?

You see the way his adam’s apple bobs at your statement.

“What is it?” He asks, feeling his knuckles turning white in his pockets, a shiver overtaking his body.

Trying to start, you say. “I.. uh.” Still not sure, and still not confident enough.

Satoru silently prays it isn’t what he thinks it is.

A moment of silence passes, he watches you shift around, fiddling with your hands. Biting on and on your lips.

“Y/N?” He calls out to you and you snap out of it.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

And it’s not as stupid as it sounds.

You don’t like Satoru because he fucks you like no other man has. But because he messes with your heart without even knowing it.

Holding you after he’s done is not casual, it’s not normal. You’ve had ex boyfriends who don’t know the world aftercare, but Satoru bathes you, he wipes you clean.

Holds you in the bathtub, washes your hair, draws absentmindedly circles on your tired and tense shoulders.

Brings you your favorite dessert before he goes on to have his fav.

Makes you laugh a laugh that comes from the deepest parts of you which yearn to be light and happy with him.

He’s such a prick, completely unaware of his effect beyond his looks.

And you’re such an idiot for believing him.

For liking someone so good.

He stands there, quiet for what feels like an eternity. Your chest is tight with pressure when he straightens up and takes a step back.

Well, this is it.

“We agreed on no feelings, Y/N.” He says like your heart isn’t splitting in half.

You breathe out a shaky breath, slowly nodding because you are aware. “I know, I’m sorry.”

His eyes unlatch from you, taking a look at the window that shows the view of Tokyo from your floor like it pains him to look you in the face after the confession.

“I don’t see you that way.”

He never likes when you bring up another man, but he doesn't see you that way.

He whispers against your skin that he'd die seeing you with somebody else, but he doesn't see you that way.

You pull a tight smile on your face. “Okay.”

Then you tip the glass over, ruin yourself further. “We can keep seeing eachother if you want, my feelings won’t come between us. I know what I got myself into.” You say. A bittersweet feeling on your tongue.

When did it become so complicated?

You just can’t let him go.

He looks shaken by your proposal, head swinging back to you.

“No, you’ll just hurt yourself, Y/N.”

Stop saying my name, stop being so considerate.

You almost choke on your words from the thorns growing in your throat when you speak. “No, I promise I won’t. We can keep seeing each other.”

Push and pull.

He pushes you, you pull.

And you both keep seeing eachother.

But you detach yourself from everything. From him.

It doesn't even happen on purpose. You didn't mean to zone out when he'd start talking, mind drifting to how you both would've been if he hadn't rejected you.

You don't deliberately choose to start refusing his closeness outside of the bedroom on purpose, the growing cold pit in your chest just froze the strings between the both of you.

He notices your fucked out state on a different world the first time he feels you after the confession. A distant look in your eyes and not the usual cloud of pleasure in them.

Is he not making you feel good?

It took a week, a full week for you to let him in after what happened.

And it’s not true, you do feel good. You know you feel good because he’s doing everything right—the angle is perfect, his tip is brushing the deepest parts of you and the coil is threatening to snap in your lower stomach, but you don’t feel it as much as before.

You’re quiet, minimally moaning, hiding the noises. Not saying a single word unless he asks you something.

“Baby?” His hands find the back of your neck, making your eyes flutter open while he pounds into you.

Propping himself with one hand next to your head, his other holds the back of your neck while your sight settles on him and the worried look on his face.

“Hm?” You sleepily hum, exhausted from the orgasms, the rounds, the ache in your legs and the sensitivity of your clit.

He asks, breath heavy, pieces of hair clinging to his forehead as he reaches his escape—quiet groans filling your ears. “You okay, sweets?”

You nod with an inaudible hum, not really sure what he’s even asking.

“Fuck.” He groans, thrusting a few times before burying himself deep in you as you clench around him and feel his ropes paint your insides white.

Collapsing next to you, his hands leave your body and you run cold. An arm protectively swings over your waist as he readjusts on the bed, coming down from his high before he cleans you up.

You still haven’t said a word. Somewhere too far gone, feeling too used. But you agreed to this.

There’s no one to blame.

And though you’ve both been at it for hours, even though Satoru’s cum is oozing out of you and his cock is limp, he doesn’t feel satisfied.

That uncomfortable feeling in his pit stays there for days while he works.

A photoshoot here and there, a text to you which he receives no reply to, a runway, no response from you. A missed call. The absence of your messages or any sign of life from you bothers him more than he'd like.

Last time you replied was three days after your last hook up where you'd texted him a flat "I'm busy."

Not "Hey, I'm busy. We'll talk later." Or "Busy, ttyl." Which is still dry, but with a promise to talk later.

He finds himself wondering what you’re doing when you don’t reply.

Cooking in those skimpy little lace shorts he brought back for you from a high end brand? Brushing your soft hair with your legs crossed and your face stoic? Covering your beauty marks with concealer maybe?

The days drag on and on, hours struggle to bleed into other when his phone is so dry, when the smell of you is no longer clinging onto him.

His sex drive is dead. Libido low for the first time reaching a new low.

He doesn’t even text you multiple times a day for sex, he just wants you to reply.

Or to see you.

So much he considers driving himself back to your house again.

But he doesn’t have the spare keys anymore. The ones he had sneakily picked up one time.

Those would’ve been really useful for a surprise right now—he could’ve painted your apartment in pink roses, gift bags of Victoria’s Secret’s new line he heard just came out.

Gosh he’d do everything to see you in those new panties. To then take them off and kiss every curve of your body, every dip of skin.

Shit, it’s never really just sex.

You suffocate in your feelings, in the emptiness that comes of being a toy. Turns out, you’re not as strong as you thought you were.

Being nonchalant about what you feel is way harder than you thought it would be.

So you ignore him.

For days.

A month passes.

Your girlfriends are sick of it. Sick of hearing about him.

You feel stupid.

Maybe you are.

The whole scenario of him rejecting you runs another lap around your head as the elevator climbs 10 floors.

The familiar automatic ding of the lift snaps you out of your head. Doors opening, you step out.

You step out and boxes and boxes of pink flowers are on your doorstep, swallowing the entry with no way to get in your house.

Of course it’s him.

Sure, you knew he was a sex addict. But… not to this extent.

So when you catch sight of the singular envelope sticking out from the biggest box of roses and pluck it out, you expect something like “U and me tonight?” With a cheeky emoji.

But you rip the envelope open to “Please pick up the phone, princess.”

Fucking asshole.

Yet, you kick the roses sideways to make way, unlock your door, drop your bag and text “Door is unlocked.” With a disappointed sigh leaving you.

You make your bed knowing it’s going to get ruined in a few hours, clean the kitchen like he’s going to care about anything that isn’t ramming into you.

And the door unlocks sometime past 9 in the evening while you swirl a glass of wine in between your fingers on the balcony, sore legs kicked over the small coffee table.

He comes up on your right through the door. The details of his outfit unknown as you don’t pan your eyes over to him.

One month of no sex—no, no you, has shown Satoru that he does feel for you.

It’s shown him that what he felt was not just naturally from sex, it was straight from his heart. It wasn’t his hormones acting when his chest tightened when he had to leave.

Leave your peacefully sleeping figure in the morning all alone when it was practically begging for his arms to wrap around you again.

It’s shown him that he can’t breathe without you there.

He kneels in front of where you’re sat on the couch to reach your line of sight as you refuse to even acknowledge him.

Your eyes narrow to the wine before downing it all and setting it down on the glass table and swinging your feet off it.

The silence is thick with tension, unspoken words clawing at your lips. Both yours and Satoru’s.

You feel his eyes trace your every action.

Your spine meets the leather of the couch before you finally break the silence.

“I’m yours, Satoru. Just get on with it.”

His heart shatters into a billion different pieces. Just get on with it? Like you’re a task he has to finish? Like you’re not someone with feelings?

Feeling his heartbeat skyrocket, his mind starts running with questions. Do you not want him anymore? Does he not satisfy you anymore? Have you found someone else?

The thought of you with someone else has his stomach churning. He hasn’t even come to have sex with you, just to clear the air.

Still, your vague look and lack of expression makes his body go cold.

“I’m not here for that.” He says, feeling his voice waver, vocal chords shaking.

Your head finally turns to him. “Then why are you here?”

Internally, he winces. “Because I can’t go another second without you, Y/N.”

You feel the stars sparkle in amazement, the moon shine in delight. Your heart double over.

Is he..?

“I love you.” He cuts your thoughts off.

“I’m a liar, I love you so much I can’t breathe when you’re not around. When you’re not talking to me or holding me.”

“It was never just sex—I”

You cut him off, smashing your lips against him on his knee. There’s no need for you to reciprocate, he knows you love him.

He sighs against you, shoulders dropping from the tension in them leaving, forearms wrapping around your waist as he gets up and sits in your seat.

You land on him, knees digging onto the leather by his sides—feeling his heartbeat against your chest while he pulls you flush against him.

Your arms hold him tight by the neck. Moving around and repositioning yourself ears you a grunt from him as you feel him grow beneath you.

A sheepish smirk presses against his lips as you fail to suppress it. In revenge, his hands drop from your waist and onto your ass, pushing your clothed pussy over his hardening boner.

One month of celibacy has you sensitive to the slightest touch, the imprint of him being nothing like the shitty toys you hoped would get you off in his absence.

He groans once more as you shift over him—now deliberately grinding in slow movements.

A hand slips under the shirt you’re wearing to find that you aren’t wearing a bra, though he already suspected it from your hard nipples against his chest.

You let out a quiet moan from his cold hands against your back.

The low sound of his muffled chuckle vibrates against your lips as he invades your mouth, tongue tasting every inch of you.

Not letting him be in charge, you tug his hair and his mouth falls open for you to explore.

Your lungs beg for air and only then do you break the kiss, feeling his hand push your shirt upwards till your breasts meet the cold night air.

Without even catching his breath, Satoru’s mouth latches onto your nipple like he’s starved and you’re his favorite food.

His tongue swirls while his other fingers pinch your lonely nipple, coating your chest in saliva, bundles of nerves electrifying under his touch.

You’re a moaning mess till you have enough of the teasing.

“A-ah—Satoru-” He doesn’t stop at your calling.

“Satoru—”

Finally he perks up. “Yes, sweetheart?”

You try to focus on your words as he humps you dry. “Make-make—love to me.”

His eyes widen like it’s Christmas day. A second passes. He crashes. God, his name coming from your lips, the seemingly innocent request when it’s so secretly filthy. The wires reconnect in his brain and suddenly you’re grateful you only wore a really oversize, old shirt of his you stole.

What else would you need to wear with him around? The damp material of your lacy panties gets pushed aside and he unbuckles his pants, freeing his hard, dusty pink, groomed cock out.

You gasp when his tip pushes at your entrance, having forgotten the sheer size of him and his girth.

“Satoru!”

He groans, head falling back as your juices leak down on him.

“Oh fuuuck,” he drags, eyes falling closed. “Ah- should’ve prepped you—It’s been a while now, hasn’t it, baby? But you’re so wet I’m sure you can take me, right my sweet girl?”

So you do, you bite your lips, stabilise yourself on his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him. He kisses you slow, pressing soft skin against you, bitting your bottom lip delicately.

His hands leave your ass and one of them wraps around your back, bringing you impossibly close to him.

The other presses into your hair, angling your head sideways so he can lose himself in your mouth.

He lets you stay bottomed out for a moment so you can readjust, relearn the shape of him.

A needy whine vibrates against Satoru's lips once he shifts inside of you.

You feel his grin against you before he delivers the first thrust—deep, slow, curved just right to hit your cervix right off the bat. Your lips part for you to let out a moan from your chest.

He takes the opportunity to bite your neck. Leave his mark and kiss down your carotid. Gentle, reverent kisses. Deliberate nips. Purple and pink shades decorating fron your neck to your collarbone and breasts.

You're his vision. His canvas.

With two hands under your thighs, Satoru bounces you on his length. Perfectly inclined pink tip that never really leaves your pussy when he lifts your hips, but meets the familiar muscular ring deep within you whenever he drops you down every.single.time.

The sound of skin meeting skin so intimately getting absorbed by the sky.

You writhe over him, legs starting to ache, lips swelling—throat going dry from the moaning once he starts to circle around your clit, drawing you closer to the edge.

In one sudden movement, he lays you down on the couch. Your back against the soft cushions—his hot figure hovering over you, hand on your hip, elbow dug in the leather to prop himself up.

And he really starts hitting the spot. Your sight starts to blur, tears prickling at the corners from the feeling of sheer fullness. He starts to pick up the speed just a bit, going harder, not fast yet enough for him to feel you reaching your climax.

Your nails claw at his back under his shirt, looking for something that will tether you to earth while you clench and clench till his rhythm is stuttering.

"Oh my pretty girl, I'm so close-ugh—you're doing so well f'me." His teeth sink into your shoulder and you feel your legs going weak.

A hand dips under you, hooking under your back and arching you upwards.

Once.

Twice, he thrusts.

And you come. Hard.

He follows immediately, shaking when he buries himself inside of you. Walls fluttering and pulling him in viciously.

Neither of you dare to move, he collapses over you and flips you both with him still inside your walls till your head lands on his chest.

You don't need to say it out loud.

But you're his.

And he's yours.

Haven’t proofed this yet because im a little lazy buttttt what if its not just a masterlist either…?

Working on pregnant reader x husbandnanami and hockey!gojo x reader..

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eraserbread

virgin → track six: current affairs ✩

pairing dad's best friend!satoru gojo x university student!afab reader

synopsis something with satoru has began to change. at first, it feels right, then all at once, your life is falling apart. latching onto the truth is one way to keep your situation real, but when your father finally calls, all that confidence seems to fade away.

tags angst, unbalanced unhealthy relationship dynamics, smoking, struggles w eating/insecurity, crude language/humor, smut (oral m!receiving, mentioned sex-tapes, spitting, breeding kink, lots of pillow talk) lots of pet names (papa, daddy, baby/sweet girl) unrequited feelings, suguru cameo/megumi mention

word count 6.9k

author's note one year of the virgin album 🩻 and over halfway through this baby. someone slow my fingers down, i don’t want this to end

(jo by @/_3aem 🩻 gradient divs by @/cafekitsune, chains by me)

You swallow… hard.

It doesn't go down. You swallow again.

When you exhale, it's slow and clicky — getting stuck at the front of your chest, and bubbling miserably before escaping through your nose. Caught in the ghost of your cigarette, you squeeze your eyes shut, then open them back to the dimmed screen sitting on your lap.

On a park bench, legs crossed, you ash your smoke into the passing wind, watching as it gets caught in the stone cracks before being carried by the breeze into the atmosphere. You're leaving your mark in the city with ash, smoke, and the single, dwindling tear that slips from your eye. You reach up and wipe it away with the hand cradling your cigarette, wincing as the smoke curls right into your reddened, emotional eyes.

6x-x9

ಇ.word count: 3.8k ಇ.art by: @!narutoss.ramen on X

ಇ.pairing: Nerd!Satoru x Nerd!Reader

ಇ.content & warnings: ꒰non canon au ⋮⋮ crack! ⋮⋮ reader & satoru are heavily inexperienced ⋮⋮ dry humping ⋮⋮ bathroom stall handjob ⋮⋮ prem-ejaculation ⋮⋮ fingering ⋮⋮ multi-orgasms ⋮⋮ kissing꒱

Satoru Gojo is fucking gorgeous, which is so deeply unfair that you’re still kind of processing it as he pays for your movie ticket with trembling fingers. His white hair is slightly tousled, soft against his ears, and his glasses are tilted just a bit on the bridge of his nose. He keeps pushing them up like he’s stalling, trying not to meet your eyes too long because every time he does, he gets flustered. His face goes pink and he laughs too loud. You bite your lip every time he does that.

You’re no better. Your hands are clammy inside the sleeves of your hoodie, because you thought this was going to be a safe little date. Nerdy. Harmless. You met at a fucking Doraemon expo for god’s sake, where he gave you a Doraemon-shaped candy and then looked like he wanted to die from shyness.

And now you’re sitting in a too-dark movie theatre with his knee brushing yours.

spideyyeet

➷ Unspoken Conditions ✦ 8 || Oasis

[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else ✦ frat!kuna fwb ✦ ongoing series

[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ only. nsfw. angst. FAMILY DRAMA. a wholeeeeeee lot of plot. fwb. slight degradation. dumbification. sukuna’s thick happy trail. SEXTING. phone sex. dacryphilia. toxic frat culture. sukuna has ANGER issues. crying. toxic co-dependency. TRAUMA. domestic abuse. child abuse. depression. anxiety. wc: 22.6k

series masterlist ✮ previous chp ✮ next chp (coming soon)

the buzzing in sukuna’s ear was deafening.

all the blood in his body felt like it was burning through his skin. anger pounding behind his eyes as they stare at the red hand print on his little brother’s cheek.

the band on stage continues playing, a backdrop of chaos and cheering, all while sukuna stands completely still backstage. his heart pounds against his chest, cracking his ribs with boiling rage. the sweat builds on his face, and he slowly drags a finger towards kaori.

“…did you fucking touch my brother?”

3-aem

and again

sofi4dsam

im catching print rn

bambismoon

it ain't me, babe - five fratjo x avoidant!reader

warnings - [mdni] angst | yearning!gojo | implications of sexual assault | sexual themes | alcohol

wc - 7.3k

☀︎

you woke up slowly, slower than you were used to.

not abruptly, riddled with panic that had no real cause other than the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin. there was no immediate fight or flight feeling that made your heart race and lungs tight. there was no forgotten nightmare that lingered long after your eyes opened, tainting your day before it even started.

you woke comfortably, your face warm and something solid rested beneath your cheek, rising and falling in a steady rhythm that lulled you right back toward sleep if you let it.

a soft weight was wrapped around your hips, holding you in place while warmth surrounded you entirely.

you couldn’t remember the last time you'd slept this deeply.

it felt embarrassing to admit even to yourself.

your brows furrowed slightly as your eyes blinked open and you immediately wished you hadn’t.

oh fuck.

for a moment, you simply stared. your cheek was pressed directly against satoru’s bare chest, one of your legs tangled comfortably between his while his arm remained firmly around your waist, all solid and heavy.

the realization washed over you, making something unpleasantly warm crawl up your neck.

you were practically laying on top of him!

your gaze slowly drifted upwards to see that satoru was still asleep, the morning light spilling through the curtains and they softened him in a way you couldn’t help but admire.

it washed away his usual arrogance and mischief that seemed permanently attached to his features, leaving behind something purer and more boyish.

his snowy hair was a mess atop his head, unfairly long lashes gently rested against his cheeks and his mouth was slightly parted.

there was something strangely vulnerable about him like this, almost human.

ugh, you hated it immediately!

you were horrified, simply put.

not only did you wake up in satoru gojo’s arms but you’d stayed there the whole night.

your throat tightened.

•18+ Adults Only

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starmapz

for your entertainment ch2: let go

౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader [adult boutique au] - ongoing series

❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue: you're a virgin. you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞

౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is 24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. mild love triangle with gojo. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. sex toys & explorations of safety in kinks. destigmatization of virginity & sex. smut & piv. virginity loss. see masterlist for full cw.

౨ৎ wc ; 11.1k.

౨ৎ art ; ackshuallyvalerie

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⪡ prev || next ⪢

The door rattles on its hinges as the smell of approaching rain floods the shop’s interior. You can’t be sure whether the wind or Sukuna’s hand carries the door hard enough to slam on its hinges, his expression untelling. Little has changed since you asked him to be whatever the hell you are now two days ago, but you have noticed one thing, as small as it is.

His gaze lingers on you.

Not in the kind of way one might hope. You get the feeling that in spite of the fact that he’s still mildly inconvenienced by you, you equally surprised him. It’s as though he thought he had you figured out and now he’s trying to understand what he missed where once he was sure he had you read back to front like an open book.

6x-x9

ಇ.word count: 18.7k

ಇ.pairing: 𝕋oji ℤenin x 𝔽em!reader

Back from college and staying with your dad in his shitty apartment complex, the older man... your neighbor next door has been noticing you, just as you have?

ಇ.content & warnings: porn with no plot :: non canon au :: reader is implied to be thicc :: age gaps - (reader is 19-20, Toji is in his Mid 30s) :: older neighbour trope :: touching through clothes :: kissing :: oral f.rec :: pussyjobs :: multi-gasms :: p in v :: spitting :: different sex positions? :: anal play - (thumb) :: c-pied :: description's of sex and anatomy was meant to be more on the 'graphic side' ::

The back porch of apartment 07 was nothing special — just cracked concrete painted a faded green years ago, a single wobbly plastic chair, and a rusted railing that overlooked the narrow strip of shared yard nobody ever used. Summer heat clung to everything like wet cotton, thick and slow even now that the sun had dipped low enough to turn the sky bruised purple.

You’d been inside all day, scrolling on your phone until your eyes ached, hoodie zipped halfway over a thin tank top because the AC was barely spitting cool air anymore. Shorts riding up high on your thighs, the soft cotton clinging where sweat had gathered at the crease of your hips.

Ninety degrees and no breeze, so you finally gave up and dragged yourself outside to sprawl on the single step, legs stretched long, bare feet dangling over the edge.

That’s when you saw him.

himboelover

FUCK ME THIS WAS FIRE

rambld

would you ever write sexting situationship sukuna...

cw: suggestive, sexting, a little bit of an awkward reader hehe (hope this is okay, anon!)

the thing about being in an unlabelled whatever-this-was with sukuna. a situationship as people called it is that it'll take ages before you actually get to the benefits of it all.

you thought that this was perfect when you agreed to it. he's easy to talk to, calm and composed despite the aggressor he is on the rugby pitch and very blunt. the man is the type to initiate things which is godsent for an awkward freak like you.

except you're stuck in this strange, flirty yet horny phase of the relationship where risqué texts are anticipated with bated breath when the clock strikes eleven at night. the things said are borderline sexting but toe the line and are ambiguous so you can never tell and it drives you crazy.

what's worse is that the tatted, pink-haired bastard sees you the next day and barely bats an eye, doesn't mention what was said under the cover of night and treats you to your favourite hot drink and pastry like he always does.

there's been a couple of times where you've invited him over for a movie night, something all young adults in college do as code for come-over-and-hook-up. and yet all he fucking does is devour your snacks, slurp the spicy noodles and chug your sodas, eating everything in your apartment but the very willing host.

“looks like it's time for me to go. i think i've overstayed my welcome, yeah?” he'd decide, rising from the couch and stretching with a groan that was tired, not sexual yet still had your stomach in knots, especially since his shirt rose and teased you with the ink etched into his hip and the waistband of his boxers.

fret not because everyone has their breaking point and you decide to mess with him one night when you're about to go out with your friends.

the shibuya neon smears against the taxi window, but you aren’t looking at the city. you’re staring at the screen, your thighs pressed so tightly together they’re starting to ache. under the silk of your backless dress, your skin feels hypersensitive, every bump in the road sending a jolt through your core.

sukuna is a mountain of controlled intensity on the pitch, but in your dms, he’s clearly bored with how many texts he's sent you and knows exactly how to make you squirm.

it started harmlessly. as usual.

mimuju

princess treatment w/ choso ! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

choso is a firm believer that pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything.

it’s not something he’s ever said out loud, not in those exact words, but you see it in the way he kneels at your feet when your evening slippers are pinching, in the way his hands steady your ankles as he slides them off.

you see it in the careful, reverent way he unties the laces of your dress at night, his knuckles brushing your spine, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

"cho, i can do that myself," you protest for the hundredth time, reaching for the hairbrush on your vanity. you’ve just returned from a work dinner, your face aching from smiling, your scalp tender from the weight of your responsibilities.

"don't be like that," he says softly, taking the brush from your hand. he’s already behind you, his reflection meeting yours in the mirror. he’s wearing a simple black sweater now, his pigtails undone, but he still looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. "let me help you."

"you’re going to spoil me rotten," you murmur, but you’re already sinking back against him, your eyes drifting shut as he starts working the brush through your hair in slow, even strokes. the bristles scrape gently against your scalp and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure.

"that’s the point," he says, his voice low. he sets the brush down and reaches for the cloth and cleansing oil. "you're too beautiful to even lift a finger, baby."

he’s wiping the rouge from your cheeks now, the kohl from your eyes. his touch is so gentle, so methodical, like he’s polishing something precious. you let him tilt your chin up, let him clean away the day’s mask. when he’s done, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"cmon, bed." he commands. not harshly—never harshly—but with the quiet authority of a man who knows exactly what you need.

you stand, your hand in his, and let him lead you to the mattress. he undresses you slowly, layer by layer, the silk pooling at your feet. when you’re down to your thin shift, he pulls back the covers and tucks you in like you’re something fragile.

"sleep," he whispers.

but you catch his wrist. you’re not sleepy. not anymore. the tiredness has shifted into something else, something warm and heavy low in your belly.

"stay," you plead.

he hesitates. "you’re tired."

"i want you," you clarify, your thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. "but i’m... i’m exhausted. but— but i want you— but i don't want to do anything—"

something dark flickers in his eyes. understanding. hunger. devotion.

"then don’t," he says. he climbs onto the bed, fully clothed, and crawls up your body until he’s hovering over you. "don’t do anything. don’t even think. just let me make you feel good."

eraserbread

virgin → track six: current affairs - PREVIEW

pairing dad's best friend!satoru gojo x university student!afab reader

a/n can u guys lmk how ur vibing with this new layout? i'm trying to trash the mature label tumblr has on this fic, but i'm lowkey too attached to the og, so this one just looks... wrong. ANYWAYS off i go to ex husband nanami as promised... outlawkuna, you're next, too

(jo by _3aem 🐾 scene divs by cafekitsune)

Satoru claims you from that moment on.

It's something unsaid — he walks next to you instead of in front of you, hand sneaking to your side so he can hold you unapologetically through the bustling city center. You two take the train home, standing side-by-side in the station, muttering aimlessly through the noise. Satoru talks about work and training, and you talk back in short, staccato bursts of energy, smiling in passing, shrugging off attempts he makes to get you to break past your Megumi-colored gloom.

Nothing works. Not his touch on your back, and surely not his muffled voice in your ear. It all feels so… temporary, like you know above all that you two are completely and utterly fucked the second your love faces the real world — if he ever had the guts to entertain it as such.

•18+ Adults Only

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maegumi

𝜗ৎ OBSESSION.

⤷ aka Toji loves groping your full & swollen pregnancy tits! <33

𝜗ৎ SUMMARY: Toji's always been a tits guy. especially a your tits guy. naturally, during pregnancy—when your tits grow alongside your tummy—this man goes absolutely feral for them. good fucking luck.

𝜗ৎ WARNINGS: 18+ MATURE CONTENT. pregnant!reader. tits play, nipple play, talks about pussy eating and p in v in general, Toji is HUNGRY, literally a leech, blowjob, deepthroating, boobjob, he smacks our tiddies, praise, he calls us mama, finishing on reader's tits, pussy pronouns, nastyyy stuff! first jjk fanfic, be nice :((

𝜗ৎ AUTHOR'S NOTE: uhhh 👉🏻👈🏻 hello 🫡 been obsessed with this man lately, so I thought I'd start posting some of the nasty thoughts I've been having. be nice, im scared!!!

wordcount: 3,5k | pairing: Toji x f!reader

Toji has always loved your tits. His hands are on them at all times, whether that be in public after some loser's been staring at you for too long or in private, curled up in bed, his arm slung over your waist protectively to keep you flush to his broad chest, one of his big hands beneath your pyjama top playing with them to help him fall asleep.

Well, to be very fair—Toji is an ass guy too. Or perhaps he's just a you guy. He loves exploring every part of you equally—no matter if that's your tits, ass, hips, thighs, or pussy. From the very first moment he saw you, he knew you'd be his—and he has not held back showing you just how much he loves you since.

The first few weeks of your relationship, he spent more time inside you than not—even if that's difficult to believe. The amount of stamina this man has freaks you out to this day.

Sure, you had heard rumours about a certain Toji Fushiguro from other girls in town—how could you not? He's the talk of the city, attracting women left and right, and none of them ever complained about his skills in bed but rather the exact opposite.

According to their tellings, Toji Fushiguro is more god than man in bed.

And what can you say? He lived up to his name in a way you did not dare dream of.

eraserbread

PASSION PLAY ◁ II ▷ track six: buckle ✩

pairing bassist!suguru geto x vocalist!afab reader x lead guitarist!satoru gojo

synopsis the greatest gig of your life comes with the greatest loss; satoru is the only one close enough who can pick up your shattered pieces

tags mentions of drug/substance abuse, established relationship (suguru x reader), modern/band!au, western-set, age-gap (satosugu is early 30's, reader is early 20's), heavy angst, relationship breakup, drinking, mutual pining, crude language, light smut, emotional adultery, arguing/fighting, emotional manipulation, mention of vomit, nsfw

word count 5.7k

authors note this one was a soul written in libraries, parks, cocktail bars, cafes and on my phone under the sheets, in the city this story calls home!! it means sm to me, buttt same deal over here: thank yall for ur continued patience 🫶 and thank u phy for everything, always. buckle up, u guys (pun intended)

(stsg by _3aem on x 🐾 scene divs by cafekitsune)

As you've done for the past six years, you kiss the stage floor, bare knees pressing into your x-marker.

The first song is always the hardest — the crowd is thick, but it's too dark to see much. The stage lights are blinding, and even as your voice trembles out years-old tales of love and loss in a melancholy hue, they all cheer for you — sobbing for you, living for you.

Your stomach hurts, and your head is hazy — it's the shot you took before you stepped onstage, grimacing as the alcohol numbed most of your self-preservation, making it easier to be around Suguru, and easier to bounce off Satoru's jokes. Choso doesn't like it when you drink, and even though he's only known you for a week, he thinks he's never seen you smile, let alone laugh. So, neither does he.

"I love you, and it's killing me, because I don't know where we stand."

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