!nerdjo x reader | part 6
Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here! . part 4 here! part 5 here!
Before you read, I’m going to be completely honest: this was barely proofread. Sorry in advance! I’ll go back and edit it later if I find any typos
If you like listening to music while reading, I recommend this!
“Were you filming yourself while thinking about me, Satoru?”
The words hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs.
His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he was certain you could hear it. His mouth went dry instantly. Between the two of you, the phone screen glowed like a live grenade on the coffee table; his own wrecked, pathetic voice still spilling from the speakers, mocking him with every confession.
He wanted to disappear. He wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole. He wanted to grab the phone and throw it out the window. Or throw himself out the window. But the worst part — the most humiliating, soul-crushing part — was that he was already getting hard again. A slow, shameful throb in his sweatpants, triggered simply by the way you were looking at him.
“I…” His voice cracked immediately. He swallowed but his throat was tight with rising panic. He forced himself to look at you.
You were sitting on his couch like you belonged there, legs crossed, watching him systematically fall apart with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.
You reached forward and tapped the screen, silencing the video. The sudden quiet was deafening. The absence of his own moans left only the sound of his ragged breathing and the frantic beating of his heart.
“You what, Satoru?” you asked, your voice deceptively soft.
The heat crawled up his neck, burning his ears a deep, painful crimson. He could feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck. His mind was a storm of static and shame.
She knows I came in my pants like a pathetic loser in that hallway.
She knows I’ve been jerking off to her for months while pretending to be normal in class.
She knows exactly how disgusting I am.
“I—Yes” he whispered finally. The word tasted like surrender. He dragged a hand through his messy white hair, pulling at the roots as if he could yank the thoughts right out of his brain.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of you, but the image of you was burned into his retinas. When he opened them, you were still there. Still watching. Still judging.
“I tried to stop,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, fractured mutter. “After the first time, I—no. Fuck. That sounds like an excuse. I’m just making it worse.”
His cock twitched traitorously against the cloth, a sharp, stinging reminder of how badly he wanted to be at your feet. He shifted in the chair, a futile attempt to hide it, though he knew with agonizing certainty that you had noticed. He looked up, his blue eyes glassy, shimmering with a desperate vulnerability.
“I’m sorry” he muttered “I know how fucked up this is. You must think I’m disgusting. Some creep who’s been jerking off to you for months while borrowing your notes like nothing was wrong.”
The silence that followed was torture. Every second stretched painfully. His pulse thundered in his ears. He felt stripped bare, raw, and completely at your mercy. And, in a way that made him hate himself even more, he found that he absolutely craved the feeling.
He swallowed hard, his throat clicking, his gaze dropping to his lap where the bulge in his pants was becoming impossible to ignore. He felt so exposed it was killing him.
“I’ll delete the channel,” he said, the words tumbling out of him, desperate and jagged. He looked up again, his eyes wide and pleading, searching yours for any sign of mercy. “I’ll delete everything. All of it. Just… please, don’t hate me.”
He waited for the rejection. He braced himself for you to stand up, to leave, to call him a freak—anything would have been easier than this terrifying, steady gaze of yours.
“No” you tilted your head “That would be such a waste, don’t you think?”
His brain short-circuited.
For a second he just stared at you, lips parted, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. The words didn’t compute at first. His heart was hammering so violently he felt dizzy.
A violent shiver ran down his spine. His cock, already half-hard and traitorously interested, gave a full twitch inside his sweatpants. He hated how his body reacted before his brain could even process it.
“You…” His voice came out hoarse, almost broken. “W-What?”
Inside his head, the thoughts were screaming.
She knows everything. She saw me crying in the shower like a pathetic whore begging for her. She heard me say I wanted her to sit on my face in the hallway. And she’s saying it would be a waste to delete it?
Heat flooded his face so intensely he was sure he looked feverish. Shame burned through him, thick and nauseating, but underneath it — god, underneath it — there was a sick, desperate spark of hope. Of want.
His breath caught in his throat as he watched you rise from the couch. You rounded the coffee table, and instinctively, he turned in his chair to keep you in sight. By the time you stopped in front of him, towering over his seated form, he had to tilt his head back to meet your eyes.
You leaned down, one hand resting lightly on the back of his neck. Your breath ghosted on the other side of his head, just against his ear
“You’ve spent so much time performing for me, Satoru,” you whispered, voice velvety. “Begging for me in front of a camera…”
He leaned forward slightly, almost unconsciously, like his body was begging to get closer to you.
You continued, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Don’t you think it’s time you do it in my face?”
Then you slowly pulled back. His heart dropped as you walked around the coffee table and sat down on the couch again, facing him directly. The distance felt both relieving and agonizing.
Your gaze dropped for a second to his lap, then back up to his face. You bit your lip.
“Show me” you said quietly.
Satoru’s brain malfunctioned.
“Touch yourself,” you said. “Right now. In front of me. And tell me everything you’ve been thinking about when you do it.”
Satoru stared at you, mouth dry, heart thundering so hard he felt dizzy. He looked at you with wide, glassy eyes — desperate, ashamed, and so painfully turned on it hurt.
“I’ve been watching your videos for the last two weeks, Satoru,” you said, voice steady and clear. “Touching myself while listening to you moan. Cumming harder than I ever have in my life. I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking you were talking about some other girl. And I suffered because of it.” You leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on his. “So now you’re going to touch yourself in front of me. Right now.”
The realization hit him like a freight train. All this time… you had been there. His mouth fell open. His eyes widened in pure, devastating shock.
The question about the molecule on his hoodie. The way you suggested vancomycin for the project without hesitation.
You had known for weeks. And instead of exposing him or hating him… you had been getting off to it.
He didn’t even have time to process it when you spoke again
“Touch. Yourself” you commanded, your voice cutting through his stupor like a whip.
He didn't need to be told a third time. His obedience was instantaneous, a desperate reflex born from the knowledge that you had seen every pathetic, broken moment of his obsession. With fingers that felt thick and clumsy with adrenaline, he untied the drawstring of his sweatpants.
The moment he freed himself, his flushed, aching cock sprang out, heavy and leaking at the tip. He looked up at you, pupils blown wide with shame and lust, silently begging for any sign of mercy.
But what he found was far worse.
You were biting your lip, eyes dark and fixed on his cock, as if the sight genuinely delighted you.
That was enough. A broken whimper tore from his throat before he could stop it. His hand finally wrapped around his throbbing length, and the first stroke pulled another pathetic sound out of him, his head dropping forward, white hair falling over his eyes and the thin frame of his glasses as he tried to hide from your gaze.
“Look at me” your voice was calm but firm. “If you had no problem saying those filthy things on camera while thinking about me, then you can say them to my face, Satoru.”
Satoru let out a shaky, humiliated sob. Slowly, he lifted his head, forcing himself to meet your eyes.
His hand started moving, slow and trembling.
“I… every time you walked into class…” he whispered, voice cracking, “I couldn’t stop staring at your legs… fuck— I kept imagining them wrapped around my head…”
Satoru whimpered and obeyed instantly, his hand speeding up.
“Your face… You’re so pretty— ahh— I’d cum thinking about you looking down at me while I eat you out…”
He let out a desperate noise but obeyed, slowing his strokes to a torturous pace, hips twitching helplessly.
“I thought about your tits constantly… how soft they’d feel… how much I wanted to bury my face between them and suck on them until my tongue gets sore…”
“Squeeze the head” you murmured.
Satoru gasped sharply, thumb pressing over the sensitive head on every upstroke, precum dripping over his fingers.
“I kept wondering if you— fuck— if it would’ve fit…”
“Faster again. Keep going.”
His hand immediately picked up speed, strokes becoming frantic.
“Your voice… how smart you are… the way you explain things in class like it’s nothing, it— it turned me on so much”
His thighs were shaking now. He was dangerously close.
“And your perfume… I could smell it every time you walked past me… it made me so fucking hard I wanted to drop to my knees and bury my face between your legs right there— Fuck— I can’t—”
The command hit him like a bucket of ice water.
He let out a broken, pained whimper. His hand froze around his throbbing cock, right on the edge. Every muscle in his body tensed as he fought the overwhelming urge to keep going. His hips twitched desperately, trying to chase the friction, but he forced himself to stay still. Tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. The effort was inhuman. His cock pulsed angrily in his hand, leaking steadily, begging for release.
You stood up slowly. Satoru stayed exactly where he was, hand still wrapped around himself, trembling violently as he fought not to cum. He watched you kick the small coffee table aside with a harsh scrape. Then you stepped between his spread knees, towering over him.
Gently, you slid his glasses off his face and perched them atop his messy white hair before leaning down until your faces were only inches apart.
“Cum” you whispered against his lips.
The contact was the final spark on a fuse. He let out a wrecked, muffled moan directly into your mouth. Thick, heavy ropes of cum spilled over his hand and onto his hoodie in powerful, uncontrollable spurts. His whole body shook violently as he kissed you back with desperate need, whimpering and whining against your lips with every pulse.
When the last spasm finally faded, you pulled back slightly. You lowered his glasses back onto his nose with careful fingers. He could barely focus — his vision was blurry, his mind completely blank.
“You don’t know how much I want to fuck you Satoru…” you murmured, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “All I want is to sink down on your cock right here… but you’ve been a really bad boy.”
Satoru let out a broken, needy moan at your words. The confession hit him like a punch to the gut. You wanted him. You actually wanted to fuck him. The thought made his spent cock twitch weakly in his hand.
“So we’re going to do this slowly,” you whispered, your thumb stroking his bottom lip. “And you’ll be rewarded like the good boy I know you can be. Yeah?”
He could only nod weakly, completely fucked out. His mind was blank, his body still trembling, eyes glassy with exhaustion and overwhelming emotion.
You straightened up, gave him one final look, and turned around, leaving him there — hand still weakly wrapped around his spent cock, covered in his own mess, completely ruined.
Leaving Satoru’s dorm took far more self-control than you expected. The second the door clicked shut behind you, your legs felt weak. You leaned against the wall in the hallway for a moment, heart still racing, thighs pressed together as you tried to calm the throbbing between them.
Sitting in front of him, you realized that the camera had done him zero justice. In person he was so much thicker, longer and prettier, with veins that mapped all his length in beautiful lines. The memory of how that thick, pulsing length felt in your mind, and the impossible size of him made your stomach drop. You could almost feel the phantom of his cock opening you up, the exquisite, sharp pain of being filled by someone who wanted you that badly.
And you had made him cum just from your voice and a kiss.
The memory made your mouth water like a bitch in heat.
By the time you reached your dorm, you were so soaked it was uncomfortable. You locked the door, stripped down to nothing, and touched yourself furiously on your bed, replaying the sounds he made when he came — those broken, desperate whimpers right against your lips. You came twice that night thinking about him, no video needed.
The next day in class, when you saw him walk in wearing that stupid vancomycin hoodie, you were fighting for your life.
You wanted to drag him into the nearest empty classroom and ride him so hard neither of you could walk for days. You wanted to push him against the wall and take that thick, heavy cock in your mouth, feeling his hands tangle in your hair while you worked him until his knees buckled. You wanted to hear him lose his mind, to make him beg, to hear the exact moment your name turned into a plea.
You wanted him desperate. You wanted him to be just as hollowed out and starving as you had been, shivering in your bed while you watched his videos, consumed by the agonizing, burning jealousy of wondering who else he was touching himself for.
You ignored the way he looked at you in the hallways with those big, pleading blue eyes. You ignored how he seemed to hover near your usual seat, body language practically screaming for a sign, for a touch, for a reason to snap. Every time you walked past him, feeling his gaze tracking you, you tightened your thighs, reminded of how easily you could break him.
The days dragged on like that. Torture for both of you.
Until Friday night, when you finally picked up your phone and typed the message.
Tomorrow 6pm? For the project. My dorm.
You hit send. Then you watched the little typing… bubble appear.
Nearly a minute passed before your phone buzzed.
By the time Satoru knocked on your door at 6pm on Saturday, you had already decided how the night was going to go.
You opened the door wearing nothing but a thin white tank top with no bra and tiny black pajama shorts. The moment he saw you, his eyes widened, dropping straight to your chest, then to your bare thighs. He swallowed hard.
“Come in” you said calmly, stepping aside.
He walked into your dorm like he was entering sacred ground. His eyes darted around — the desk covered in notes, the photos on the wall.
He looked nervous. And it was endearing.
For the first hour, you actually made him work. You explained papers, pointed at diagrams, asked him questions. He tried his best to focus, but you could see the way his eyes kept drifting to your chest, the way he shifted uncomfortably every few minutes.
You loved how hard he was trying.
You leaned in closer, pressing your soft tits against his arm as you pointed at something on the laptop.
“You’re doing so good, Toru…” you murmured near his ear. “Keeping focused even though you’re already so hard for me.”
He let out a shaky breath, the little nickname breaking something inside him.
You kept teasing him like that — small touches, pressing your body against him, whispering praise while talking about the project. By the time you finally closed the laptop, he was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, cock visibly straining against his sweatpants.
“Come with me?” you said softly.
You led him into your bedroom, the air suddenly thick and stifling. The only light came from your bedside lamp, casting shadows across the sheets—the very same sheets you’d ruined yourself on multiple times watching him.
Satoru stood in the center of the room, looking like a man standing on the edge of a cliff desperate to jump.
“Close the door, Satoru” you said
He obeyed instantly, the click of the lock sounding like a gavel. He turned back to you, his blue eyes blown wide, searching your face behind his glasses.
“You haven’t said a word since you got here, aside from chem stuff” you remarked, stepping closer. “Are you enjoying the torture? Is that what this is for you?”
“It—It’s not torture,” he rasped, his voice rough “I just— I can’t breathe. I’ve been thinking about you all day, all week”
You stopped right in front of him, looking up at his tall frame.
“Tell me, Satoru…” you said softly, reaching up to brush your fingers along his jaw. “What do you want to do to me? Say it.”
He swallowed hard, struggling to get the words out.
“I… I want to drop to my knees and bury my face between your legs,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I want to taste you until you’re pulling my hair and telling me I’m doing good”
He was breathing faster now, clearly humiliated by his own honesty, but he kept going.
“I want to feel how tight you are around me. I want to hear you moan my name while I fill you up…”
His voice cracked at the end, eyes dropping to the floor in embarrassment.
You smiled softly, heart racing with satisfaction. Without saying anything, you turned around and walked slowly toward your nightstand, giving him a perfect view of your ass in those tiny shorts.
“And what do you want to do to my pussy, mmh?” you asked over your shoulder
You opened the drawer and retrieved your new toy—thick, realistic, and a little oversized. You’d bought it with one purpose in mind: to stretch yourself out until you could finally handle him
You turned around, holding the toy in your hand, and climbed onto the bed. You sat against the headboard, legs slightly parted, and looked at him.
Satoru’s eyes were glued to the dildo. His mouth was open, cheeks burning red. He looked completely overwhelmed.
With your eyes fixed on him, you hooked your thumb into the waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs in one smooth motion. You tossed them aside and spread your legs slowly, exposing your glistening pussy to him.
You extended the dildo toward him.
“Come show me,” you said softly, voice dripping with need. “Show me exactly what you want to do to me, Satoru.”
Satoru froze. For several long seconds he just stared, completely stunned. His mouth fell open slightly, blue eyes wide behind his glasses as they raked over your body — your nipples hardening through the thin tank top, your spread thighs, your wet, shiny pussy right in front of him.
He had spent months fantasizing about this exact moment. Months touching himself while imagining you like this. And now it was real.
He crawled between your legs like he was in a trance, breathing ragged and uneven.
“Fuck…” he whispered, almost to himself. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he leaned in closer, eyes glued to your dripping entrance. “You’re too beautiful, I’m going to die”
His hand trembled violently as he took the dildo from you.
“Stop waiting for permission Satoru” you groaned, impatient “Show me how badly you want to be inside me“
He obeyed, pressing the thick head of the toy against your folds, rubbing it up and down slowly, coating it with your slick. His breath hitched every time he felt how wet you were.
“Put it in” you encouraged.
He slowly pushed the tip inside you. The sight of your pussy stretching around the toy made him let out a broken, needy moan.
“Oh my god…” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re so wet…”
He started thrusting the dildo slowly, almost reverently, his eyes never leaving the point where it disappeared inside you. He reached out with his free hand, resting his palm gently against your thigh.
“You’re doing so good,” you murmured, rolling your hips to meet his movements. “Fuck— this is not even as big as you… You’re going to fucking rip me up, won’t you?”
Satoru whimpered loudly, pushing the toy deeper.
“I want to…” he confessed, voice trembling but growing bolder with every thrust. “I want to stretch you open so bad… I want to feel how tight you’d be around my cock… I’ve jerked off so many times imagining how you’d squeeze me…”
His strokes became more confident. The shame was still there, burning on his cheeks, but the hunger was winning. He was getting lost in the sight of you.
You moaned louder, one hand reaching down to rub your clit.
“Faster” you breathed “Show me how you’d ruin me.”
He complied instantly , fucking you with the dildo harder, eyes glassy behind his glasses as he watched every inch slide in and out of you.
“You’re so wet…” he whispered, almost in awe. “I can hear how soaked you are… I want to bury my cock inside you so bad… I want to feel you clench around me while I fill you up.”
After a few minutes, you looked at him with dark, hungry eyes.
“You can touch yourself,” you said. “Stroke that big cock while you fuck me with the toy.”
Satoru didn’t hesitate. He pushed his pants down with his free hand and wrapped his fingers around his throbbing cock, stroking himself in time with the thrusts of the dildo.
“Fuck— you’re so tight…” he groaned, eyes flicking between your pussy and your face. “I don’t know how I’m going to fit —ahh—but I want to try so bad. I want to stretch you open until you’re —fuck—crying my name”
Satoru’s breath hitched, his strokes growing erratic and desperate.
You reached up, threading your fingers into his snowy hair and yanking him down into a fierce, messy kiss, swallowing his broken moans as your tongue claimed his mouth. He melted instantly, letting you lead, his strokes turning sloppy and frantic as he fucked you with the toy exactly how you wanted.
The coil inside you snapped first. You cried out against his lips, thighs trembling as your orgasm ripped through you, clenching hard around the dildo while pleasure flooded your body.
The moment you started cumming, Satoru broke.
“Mmph—!” His muffled whine vibrated against your mouth as his whole body jerked. Thick, warm spurts of cum spilled over his fingers and onto your stomach while he kept desperately kissing you back, needy and sloppy, like he couldn’t bear to pull away even while he was falling apart. His hips stuttered, hand still weakly pumping his cock through the orgasm, completely lost in you.
When you finally let him breathe, he was panting heavily, cheeks flushed deep red, lips swollen and shiny. His forehead dropped against your neck, hot and shaky breaths fanning over your skin.
You were still coming down from your high, gently stroking his hair, when you felt it — something warm and wet against your collarbone.
You blinked, tilting your head slightly.
He tried to hide it by pressing his face harder into your neck, but his shoulders were trembling and little sniffles kept escaping him.
He was crying. The realization made you start to panic.
“God—” he choked out “That was the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
You buried your face in your hand, his breath still lingering against your neck.
Now, you were the one who was truly fucked.
You finally got a taste... you can’t say I’m edging you anymore LOL 😭
Reblogs are sooo appreciated
part 7 coming soon !
masterlist
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