❝ HATE MOOTS ❞ 呪術廻戦. 18+

CHAPTER 3 ⇢ PREV - NEXT

# NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ 18+ MDNI | SMUT AHEAD ⋆ mean/popular fem!reader ⋆ secretly mutuals ⋆ satoru & reader make softporn on twt ⋆ university au ⋆ no use of y/n but reader’s alias is ‘love’ ⋆ fake dating ⋆ academic rivalry & animosity ⋆ satoru and reader hate each other ⋆ reader briefly cheats on her bf… sorry… ⋆ art by @to00fu & dividers by #omi.resources

The group project meeting was supposed to be neutral ground. Ethics class, paired randomly by the TA who clearly hated their job, and somehow you ended up stuck with Gojo and two other people who were too smart to bail but too awkward to say anything when the tension in the room got thick enough to choke on.

You’re in one of the smaller study rooms on the third floor of the humanities building—the one with the shitty lights and the broken down air conditioners and a poster on the wall that’s been there since before you started uni. Some motivational bullshit about “collaboration” with a cartoon brain and a lightbulb. You’ve seen it a hundred times. Never thought twice about it until tonight.

Satoru’s already there when you walk in, laptop open, glasses on, looking like he dwells in this kind of place. The other two group members are huddled at the end of the table scrolling their phones, probably praying this ends quick. You drop your bag on the chair across from him and don’t bother with pleasantries.

“Late,” he says without looking up, fingers flying over his keyboard. “Typical.”

“Traffic,” you shoot back, even though there was no traffic. “Some of us have lives outside of jerking off to our own GPA.”

He snorts. Like the damn pig he is. The sound is so fucking smug you want to throw your notebook at his head. “Cute. Still coping with the test results? It’s been two days. Move on.”

The other two students exchange a look. One of them mumbles something about “maybe we should start with the outline” but neither of you acknowledges it. This is how it’s been for three years—every shared class, every accidental run-in, every forced interaction turns into this verbal knife fight where neither of you ever lands the killing blow but both of you walk away bleeding a little.

You lean forward, elbows on the table. “Outline? Sure. How about you do the whole thing like you always do and we all pretend you’re not just trying to make the rest of us look bad. Again.”

Satoru finally looks up. Those stupid blue eyes behind the glasses, sharp and unreadable. “Or you could contribute for once instead of riding my coattails. But we both know you’re better at riding other things.”

The jab lands. Your face heats. One of the other students coughs like they’re choking on air. You flip him off under the table where only he can see it.

“Fuck you, Gojo.”

“Already did that in my head during the last lecture. Five stars. Would recommend.”

The meeting drags. Banter sharpens into actual arguments over who does what section. You accuse him of being a control freak who can’t let anyone else touch his precious work. He accuses you of being all talk and no follow-through, the popular girl who coasts on charm until the real work starts. It’s the same script you’ve been running since first year, except now it’s layered with three years of academic one-upping and whatever the hell that online thing has been doing to your head.

Because even while you’re glaring at him across the table, part of your brain is thinking about toru. About the way he called you “love”. About the video he sent last night that you came to twice. It’s disgusting how easily your mind splits like this—hating the guy in front of you while secretly craving the anonymous version of him who doesn’t know your real name.

Or at least… you thought he didn’t.

The other two students bail first. One claims a “family emergency” that’s clearly just code for “I’m not getting paid enough for this sexual tension.” The other just mutters “text me the Google Doc” and flees. The door clicks shut and suddenly it’s just you and Satoru in the warm and fluorescent hell of the study room.

You start packing your bag, eager to escape before the air gets any thicker. “Great. Another productive session of you being insufferable. Text me when you’re done hoarding all the credit.”

You stand. He doesn’t.

Instead he leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you with this new expression. Not the usual smirk. Something sharper. Like he’s been waiting for this exact moment ever since he stepped into the room.

“You’re not leaving yet.”

You pause, one hand on your bag strap. “Excuse me?”

“Sit down.”

The tone is different. Still arrogant, but lower. Commanding in a way that makes your stomach flip for all the wrong reasons. You should tell him to eat shit and walk out. But something in his face stops you. You sit. Slowly.

Satoru doesn’t say anything at first. Just reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out his phone. Unlocks it. Scrolls. Then turns the screen toward you.

Your blood runs cold.

It’s your latest post. The one from last night. The video. Your hand between your thighs, the familiar angle, the caption you typed in a post-orgasm haze. And right there in the corner of the frame—partially visible behind your bed—is that stupid schedule.

He zooms in slowly, like he’s savoring it.

“Funny thing about backgrounds,” he says, voice casual like he’s talking about the weather. “They’re hard to fake. Especially when you post from the same place at the same time every week. Same lighting. Same angle. Same shitty campus Wi-Fi lag in the video metadata if you know where to look.”

Your mouth goes dry. Heart hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it.

He keeps going, scrolling through your page while you stand there with your heart in you throat and your knees seconds from buckling.

“You’ve been begging for more of me for weeks now,” he continues, and the words hit like a slap. “texting me at 2 a.m. Calling me ‘toru’ like it’s cute. Getting off to my hand like it’s the best thing you’ve seen all semester. And the whole time it’s been you. The girl who humiliated me in front of half the freshman class three years ago. The one who’s been trying to one-up me in every class since. Lovesick. Love.”

He locks the phone and sets it down between you like evidence in a trial.

You can’t breathe. The disgust hits first—visceral, gut wrenching , like you swallowed something rotten and your body was insisting on throwing it up. Him. Of all people. The guy you’ve hated for three years. The one who you made feel small on day one and then spent every semester after making you feel smaller with his perfect scores and quiet superiority. You’ve been touching yourself to Satoru Gojo. Letting him see you like that. Calling him toru while he called you love and neither of you knew.

Your face burns. Your hands shake. “You—how the fuck did you—”

“Doesn’t matter how,” he cuts in, leaning forward now. “What matters is I have it. All of it. Screenshots. The texts where you told me exactly what you wanted to see. The videos. The pictures. Enough to make your little secret very, very public.”

The blackmail drops like a bomb.

“You’re going to break up with your boyfriend,” he says, voice steady, almost bored. “Publicly. And you’re going to pretend to date me. For real—parties, introductions, the whole thing. I get to walk around campus with the popular girl on my arm and maybe people will finally stop looking at me like the guy who you humiliated on day one. My reputation gets a glow-up. You get to keep your slutty little hobby private.”

You stare at him. The disgust curdles into rage so fast it makes your head spin. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“Am I?” He shrugs, that same infuriating little movement. “Option B is I send everything to the group chats. The frat ones. The sorority ones. The ones that actually matter on this campus. By tomorrow morning everyone will know exactly what ‘love’ looks like when she’s desperate. Your boyfriend will know you’ve been shamelessly cheating on him. Your friends will know. The whole school will know you’ve been posting nudes and getting off to some faceless guy while playing perfect popular girl in real life.”

The horror slams into you like a truck. Campus slut-shaming. There’s no fate worse than that. The whispers. The screenshots being passed around. Your reputation—the one you’ve spent three years building—gone in a single afternoon. You’d be the joke. The cautionary tale. The girl who thought she could have secrets.

You swallow hard. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” No hesitation. “And before you threaten to expose me back—go ahead. Post my shit everywhere. Ruin my reputation too. I don’t care. I’ll still have gotten what I wanted—your reputation ruined.”

The words land heavy. You hate him. God, you hate him in this moment more than you ever have. The arousal underneath it makes everything worse—like your body is betraying you on top of everything else now that it knows who he really is. Some sick part of you remembers the way his hand looked in those videos and feels a traitorous pulse between your legs even while your brain screams disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

“You’re a piece of shit,” you sneer.

“Never said I wasn’t.” He stands up slowly, towering over you again. “So what’s it gonna be? You gonna be my girlfriend for the next few months, or do I start sending attachments?”

You want to scream. You want to hit him. You want to crawl into a hole and die. Instead you sit there, breathing hard, staring at the phone on the table like it’s threatening your entire existence (it is).

The thought of everyone knowing—of your boyfriend seeing those videos, of your friends screenshotting and laughing—makes your chest tighten so hard until it hurts. You’ve built this image. The untouchable one. The one who humiliated him on day one—even if you werent necessarily proud of it. If it all comes crashing down because of some anonymous Twitter account you used to blow off steam…

You hate that he’s right. Hate that he has you cornered.

“…Fine,” you say finally, voice hoarse. “I’ll do it. But if you fuck me over, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what toru looks like when he’s jerking off to the girl who humiliated him.”

Satoru smiles. It’s not nice. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. Break up with him tonight. Public enough that people talk. I’ll pick you up for the Kappa party this weekend. Wear something pretty for me, okay?”

He grabs his bag, slings it over one shoulder, and heads for the door. Pauses with his hand on the handle.

“Oh, and one more thing.” He glances back, eyes gleaming behind the glasses. “No more secret DMs as toru and love. If you want to talk to me now, you do it in person. Or text my real number. No use pretending we don’t know each other.”

The door shuts behind him.

You sit there for a long time after, staring at the motivational poster on the wall. The brain and the lightbulb. The same one that gave you away.

Your phone buzzes. A text from your boyfriend.

BF: you home? wanna grab food?

You stare at it. Then you stand up on shaky legs, grab your bag, and head out.

The breakup happens in the parking lot outside his apartment building because you’re a coward and you don’t want to do it in his space where he can slam doors or throw shit.

He’s confused at first. Then hurt. Then angry in that quiet way that makes you feel even smaller.

“I don’t get it,” he says, leaning against his car. “We were fine. What changed?”

Everything. Nothing. You can’t tell him the truth. So you lie through your teeth like the expert you’ve become.

“I just… need space. We’re not working. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, bitter. “Space. Right. You’ve been checked out for weeks. On your phone all the time. Secretive as fuck. I’m not an idiot.”

You flinch. The guilt hits but it’s buried under the bigger, louder terror of what Satoru could do if you don’t follow through. You keep your voice steady. “It’s not about you. It’s me.”

“Bullshit.” He pushes off the car. “Whatever. Go be with whoever the fuck you’ve actually been talking to. I hope he’s worth it.”

He gets in his car and drives off without looking back. You stand there in the cold night air until your legs stop shaking, then you pull out your phone and open Twitter one last time on the secret account.

You don’t post anything. You just scroll to limitless’s profile. Stare at the last video he sent you. The one you came to last night. The one that was him the whole time.

The disgust rises again, thick and choking. You’ve been getting off to Satoru Gojo. The guy who had the balls to ask you out first week. The guy who’s been beating you academically for three years. The guy who just blackmailed you into fake dating him.

And the worst part?

Some sick, traitorous part of you is already wondering what it would feel like when he touches you for real. Because yes, you hate him. Yes, he’s the worst. But you’ve been crushing on his online persona ever since you’ve met him. So what the hell does that mean?

You lock your phone, shove it in your pocket, and start walking home.

In his quiet dorm on campus, Satoru lies on his bed, holding his phone with a troubled look on his face. He’s not sure whether choosing the blackmail route was the right decision or if he should’ve just… played the long game, knowing it was you and all. Guilt weighs on him, but he shoves it deep down. He has to remind himself that you’re the same girl who single-handedly ruined his college experience. You owe him this.

He doesn’t open the app. Doesn’t need to. He already has what he wants.

The girl who laughed at him three years ago is his now. Publicly. On his terms.

And the thought of her breaking up with her boyfriend tonight makes something ugly and satisfied and guilty twist in his chest. A cocktail of emotions of which he didn’t know which to prioritize.

He closes his eyes and lets the memory of your face when he showed you the screenshots play on repeat. Maybe he can at least salvage his senior year.

scheming little nerd

ᘛ ꒰ 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐃 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐗 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𑁤

ᘛᰍ𝅄 how 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 and 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 act with a crybaby girlfriend ♡

ᘛ ꒰ satoru gojo and satoshi gojo (separate) x crybaby reader | university au | fluff, crack-ish, 3.2k wc. no real warning, this is pure fluff. art by @/ge2lovu dividers by @uzmacchiato and @pixopix ྀིა

nerdjo and his crybaby girlfriend ♡

You've cried in front of Gojo Satoru exactly eleven times. He keeps count. He'll actually say it out loud, mid-argument, like it's evidence in a trial only he's allowed to preside over — "this makes eleven, for the record" — and somehow that's worse than if he'd just let you have the moment.

Right now is going to be twelve.

❝ ALTER EGO ❞ 呪術廻戦.

CHAPTER 8 ⇢ PREV(7) ⋆ NEXT(9).

# NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ popular fem!reader ⋆ fluffy ⋆ the ‘what are we’ talk ⋆ no smut in this chapter ⋆ loverboy!nerdjo ⋆ sfw .

The morning light was too bright. Your phone was too hot in your hand. And your brain was still replaying last night on an endless, mortifying (albeit sexy) loop.

You'd talked him through it. Through an orgasm. Your voice telling him exactly what to do. How to touch himself. How to think about you. How to say your name when he came.

And he had.

You'd heard it. Every moan. Every gasp. Every time he'd whispered your name like it was the only word he knew at that moment.

And then he returned the favor. Talked you through your own orgasm with those filthy words you’ve heard in his videos. He was good. Of course he was. The guy gets paid to do this shit.

You'd hung up and immediately wanted to crawl out of your skin. What the fuck was wrong with you? This was supposed to be a blackmail arrangement. You were supposed to be in control. Instead, you'd become his personal phone sex operator at midnight like some kind of desperate—

Your phone buzzed.

glassesoff: morning.

You stared at the screen. Of course he was texting you. Of course he was acting like nothing had happened. Of course he was—

You: don't.

glassesoff: don't what?

You: don't act like last night was normal.

glassesoff: it wasn't normal. it was really hot.

You: I'm going to break my phone in two.

glassesoff: don't. I need you to text me back.

You: why?

glassesoff: because I can't stop thinking about you.

You felt the words in your chest. Warm and unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

You: you're doing that thing again.

glassesoff: what thing?

You: the thing where you say stuff that makes me want to punch you.

glassesoff: you say that, but you're still texting me.

You: because I pretty much have nothing better to do

glassesoff: liar, you like texting me

You: whatever.

glassesoff: not a no

glassesoff: anyways, can we talk? like, actually talk?

You: we just talked last night.

glassesoff: I mean in person.

Your stomach did a little flip. Not necessarily the good kind, either.

You: why?

glassesoff: because there's something I want to ask you.

You: you can ask me over text.

glassesoff: better in person

You wanted to say no. You should have said no. Every rational part of your brain was screaming at you to say no.

You: fine. library at 2

glassesoff: I'll be there

— — —

The library at 2 was quiet. Mid-afternoon lull, everyone was either in class or pretending to study in their dorms. You found him in the corner, same spot as always, laptop open in front of him.

He was wearing his glasses. His hair was slightly less messy than it had been in his dorm. He was wearing a sweater—navy blue, oversized, the kind that made him look soft and innocent.

You knew better now.

You slid into the seat across from him, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral.

"Okay," you said. "What's so important that you had to drag me here in person?"

He closed his laptop. Leaned back. Looked at you with knowing eyes.

"We need to talk about us," he said.

"There is no us."

"There is definitely an us. We've been doing this for weeks. We text constantly. I made you—"

"Don't."

"—y’know."

"I said don't."

"You're blushing."

"I'm not blushing. It's warm in here."

"I’m not warm and i’m wearing a sweater."

"Your point?"

"My point is we need to figure out what we're doing." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Because I can't keep doing this if I don't know where we're going."

You opened your mouth to deflect. To make a joke. To do anything but have this conversation because it’s too early to confront feelings you’re not even sure of.

"Okay," you said slowly. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I want to know what you want."

"I don't know what I want."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"You know what you want. You're just scared to say it." He tilted his head, watching you. "So I'll go first. I want you. I want to keep doing this. Whatever this is. But I need to know if you're actually in or if you're just going to keep running from this."

You were silent for a long moment. Thinking about the implications of this whole ordeal. When the hell did it get so out of hand?

"I'm not running," you said finally.

"You literally ran out of my dorm yesterday."

"Because you were being an asshole."

"Because you were about to jump me."

"Oh please, I was not—"

"You were. I saw it in your eyes. You wanted to kiss me so badly you could barely stand it. That’s why you left.”

"I'm going to punch you."

"You love this face too much.”

You glared at him. He glared back. And then, slowly after realizing this whole entire back and forth was pointless, you sighed.

"Fine," you said. "I'm not running away. But I'm also not... I don't know what this is. I don't know what I want. And I don't want to rush into something that's going to blow up in my face."

"So we take it slow."

"Slow is fine."

"But slow doesn't mean nothing." He leaned forward again, eyes intense. "I'm not interested in being your secret. I'm not interested in sneaking around while you pretend I don't exist in front of your friends or whatever. If that's what this is, we can stop right here."

"Satoru—"

"I mean it." His voice was firm. Serious. No trace of the teasing smirk. That was definitely new, but that’s how you knew he wasn’t kidding. "I've spent my whole life being in the background. I'm not going to do that with you. Not when I actually care."

You didn't know what to say. Because he was right. You'd been treating him like some dirty little secret. Like something to be hidden away.

"I'm not ashamed of you," you said firmly.

"Then why won't you be seen with me?"

"Because people talk."

"I don't care what people think."

"I do." You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "I have a reputation. A life. If people see me with you, they're going to—"

"Think you're dating a nerd?"

"Think I'm slumming it. Think I'm desperate. Think—"

"That you actually like me?"

The question hit you like a physical blow. Maybe you were being too harsh. Being with him isn’t… slumming it. It’s not desperate.

"Ignore everything from before. Listen—I do like you," you admitted. "That's the problem."

"How is that a problem?"

"Because liking you is complicated. It's messy. It's not the easy, casual thing I'm used to."

"So you'd rather have easy and casual than something real?"

"I don't know." You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated. "I don't know what I want. I thought I knew. I thought I was in control. But then you showed up and—" You stopped. Swallowed. "I don’t know—I’m just confused."

"Okay," he said finally. "Here's what I'm proposing. We keep doing this. We keep talking. We keep seeing each other. But we're not a secret. I'm not going to hide. I'm not going to pretend like you don't mean anything to me."

"But what if people—"

"Fuck what people think." His voice was laced with finality. "If you're with me, be with me. Don't half-ass it. I'm not a half-ass kind of guy."

"I never said I was half-assing anything."

"You're half-assing this conversation right now."

"I am not—" He’s not letting you get a single sentence out.

"You are." He leaned forward, eyes boring into yours. "You keep talking about what other people think. You keep talking about your reputation. You keep talking about everything except what you actually want."

"And what if I don't know what I want?"

"Then figure it out. But don't drag me along while you do."

He was right. You were dragging him along. You were stringing him along. You were using him and then pushing him away and then pulling him back and—

"Okay, no… you’re right. I’m sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't mean to—"

"I know." His voice softened, just a fraction. "But I need you to be honest with me. About what you want. About what you're willing to do."

"I'm willing to try."

"Try what?"

"Try this." You gestured vaguely between you. "Whatever this is. I'm willing to try it. But I need time. And I need it to be slow. And I need people not to know until I know what we are."

"That's… fair."

"Wait—really?"

"Really." He leaned back, the smirk returning. "But I'm going to hold you to that. You said you're willing to try. So try."

"Stop making it sound like a challenge."

"It is a challenge. You love challenges."

"I don't love challenges. I hate them."

"And yet you're still here."

"You keep saying that. It’s like your catchphrase.”

"Maybe so."

You smiled despite yourself. He had that stupid… stupidly cute smile on his lips and his glasses were a little crooked and his hair was messy and you were definitely falling in love.

You sat in silence for a moment, just looking at him, letting the realization settle.

"So," he said eventually, breaking the silence. "We're doing this."

"Yup." You idly tapped your fingers against the table.

"Slow."

"Slow."

"And private until you figure out what you want."

"Private until I figure out what I want." You nodded.

"And when you figure out what you want, you'll tell me."

"I'll tell you." You nodded again.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He held out his pinky, slender finger pointed in your direction. You stared at it like it was a joke.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Pinky promise. It's binding."

"If you’re five maybe..." you sighed. Rolled your eyes. And then you linked your pinky with his.

"Happy?" you asked.

"Ecstatic."

"Better not get used to it."

"Too late." He grinned, and it was infuriating and endearing and everything you didn't want to admit you loved. "So. When are we having sex?"

Your brain lagged. Did he just…?

"Excuse me?"

"You said it was casual. Casual means sex. So when are we having sex?"

"I didn't say it was casual."

"You said you wanted it to be slow. That's code for casual."

"That's not code for casual. That's code for I don't want to rush into something that’s—."

"So you're saying we're going to have sex eventually."

"I'm saying—" You stopped. Sighed. "I'm saying we're going to take it slow and see what happens."

"So we're going to have sex eventually."

"Why are you so fixated on this?"

"Because I want to know if I should be preparing."

"Preparing for what?"

"For you." He leaned forward, voice dropping low. "For the look on your face when I make you come. For the sounds you'll make. For the way you'll say my name when I make sure you forget how to think."

Your face burned. "We’re in public, you shameless bastard."

"What can I say… I’m a bit of an exhibitionist."

"I'm going to leave."

"No you won't."

"I'm literally going to stand up and walk away right now."

"So stand up."

And then, slowly, you stood up. He pouted playfully, tilting his head. “Didn’t think you actually would.”

"Text me later," you said, rolling your eyes at him. He was so unbelievably unserious it was frustrating. But you didn’t mind. You’d gotten used to it.

"Already planning to."

"Don't be weird."

"You like when I’m weird."

You walked away, but you could feel his eyes on you the entire time.

When you got back to your dorm, your phone buzzed.

glassesoff: I meant what I said. about not being a secret.

You: I know.

glassesoff: so when you're ready, I'm here. but don't take too long. I'm not patient.

You: I thought you said you'd give me time.

glassesoff: I'm giving you time. I'm just saying I'm not patient.

You: that's literally a contradiction.

glassesoff: I'm a complicated guy.

You: you are indeed

glassesoff: and you love it.

You: I partially tolerate it.

glassesoff: sure you do.

You: stop being smug.

glassesoff: can't help it. I've got you half-way to saying you like me.

You: I've never said that.

glassesoff: you didn't have to. your face earlier said everything.

You: maybe I do like you. a little.

glassesoff: a little?

You: don't push it.

glassesoff: wouldn't dream of it.

You stared at the screen. Your heart was pounding. Your face was warm. And for the first time, it didn’t totally suck. You didn't know what this was. You didn't know where it was going. But you’d figure it out… eventually.

mb for half assing this chapter the way reader was half assing her conversation w satoru next chapter is a GOOODDDD one trust

In the meantime, here are some of the songs that have been soundtracking this final stretch 😙

Fall semester with satoru gojo♡

Reader x nerd gojo satoru!

REMINDER THIS IS JJK COLLEGE AU SO THERE IS NO CONNECTION TO JKK ONLY CHARACTERS!!! AND THEIR PERSONALITY!

There is around 1,000 to 2,000

(I put it in counter once, so idk if I'm right!! Woops!🤨)

(Woman reader)

The first day of the fall semester you where running late you spent the whole morning getting ready to look cute because you had a big crush on satoru gojo. He was a first year just like you, you both shared the same art class and you thought how cute he was how sometime when he was to focus his classes would slowly slide down his nose so he would try to slide them back up but sometimes paint on his long pale hands would smudge across his face, you just found it so cute when he was focused. Last semester you where really focus on his and how you where gonna shoot ur shot, you where on the more popular side a gojo was not really he had some popular friends like shoko and kinda geto and some others too, and luckily you where close friends with shoko so that was a plus

❝ HATE MOOTS ❞ 呪術廻戦. 18+

CHAPTER 2 ⇢ PREV - NEXT

# NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ 18+ MDNI | SMUT AHEAD ⋆ mean/popular fem!reader ⋆ secretly mutuals ⋆ satoru & reader make softporn on twt ⋆ university au ⋆ no use of y/n but reader’s alias is ‘love’ ⋆ fake dating ⋆ academic rivalry & animosity ⋆ satoru and reader hate each other ⋆ reader briefly cheats on her bf… sorry… ⋆ art by @to00fu & dividers by #omni.resources

The test results dropped on Tuesday morning.

You’re in the library atrium pretending to study when your phone explodes. Top of the list: Satoru Gojo. Again. Your name is right under his, separated by four measly points like the universe is personally trolling you. Three years of this shit. Three years since you publicly embarrassed him in front of the entire freshman clique and he decided the best revenge was becoming an academic imp who lives to make your life harder.

You slam your laptop shut a little too loud without meaning to. The girl at the next table gives you a look.

Later, in the hallway after the follow-up lecture where Professor Hayashi basically sucked Gojo off for his answer on ethical frameworks, you corner him. Or he corners you. It’s hard to tell with the way you two orbit each other like pissed-off magnets.

“Congrats on the participation trophy,” you say, voice dripping with fake sweetness as you lean against the wall. You can feel the pride in his eyes. The way he looks at you like he knows just seeing him rubs it in your face in all the ways he doesn’t have to say. “Must feel good finally beating someone who actually has a social life.”

Satoru gives you that slow, infuriating smirk you’ve gotten so used to seeing. White hair falling into his eyes, glasses sliding down his nose just enough to make him look… not horrible. “Participation trophy? Cute. Almost as cute as you pretending you’re not seething right now.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re literally going red.”

“Fuck off, Gojo.”

“I’m sure you’d love that.” He steps closer, towering over you in that stupid hoodie that smells faintly like it’s just been washed along with whatever expensive cologne he pretends he doesn’t wear because he’s definitely the kind of guy that thinks he’s above materialism. “Three years and you still can’t handle me being better at something. Pathetic.”

You shove his chest lightly—mostly because you need him to back up before you do something mental like notice how warm he is. You don’t even like warmth. You hate warmth. “Keep telling yourself that. One day the curve is gonna humble you and I’ll be there to watch you weep.”

He laughs under his breath, that low sound that always hits you somewhere you don’t want even want to think about because if you do you might puke. “Keep coping. See you in the next class where I remind you why you hate me so much.”

He walks away and you flip him off behind his back like a totally mature adult. Your blood is boiling. Your face is hot. You hate how the boy you once humiliated is practically walking all over your academic efforts. You hate him.

Later that night you’re back in your room, boyfriend on the couch beside you scrolling TikTok while some mindless sitcom plays on the TV. His arm is slung around your shoulders, heavy and familiar in a way that feels more like furniture than affection at this point. You’re physically here—head on his shoulder, laughing whenever you think you should—but your brain is somewhere else entirely. Totally and utterly mentally checked out.

Your phone is in your lap. Notifications from Twitter keep lighting up the corner of the screen. You have them muted but you’re occasionally checking for a certain someone’s notification.

limitless posted a new video!

You bite your lip, lower the volume entirely, and angle the phone away from your boyfriend’s line of sight because you’re a glutton who can’t help herself. The video is short—ten seconds. Toru’s hand wrapped around his cock, slow strokes, thumb teasing the head while the rest of him stays cropped out in that perfectly teasing way that leaves you wanting more. Lighting low and moody as always because to him this was a form of art, veins standing out on his forearm. Abs clenching lightly. Caption: “jerking off after a long day feels so fucking good.”

You like it instantly. Then you reply because you’re weak and this random guy online makes heat pool in your belly faster than any other guy.

lovesick: dude your hand deserves an award at this point. the things i’d let it do to me.

limitless: told you it pays taxes lol. what about you, love? rough day?

lovesick: you have no idea. some asshole topped the leaderboard again even after i studied my ass off. i want to scream

limitless: sounds like you need better stress relief than screaming. i got ideas if you’re horny and free

Your boyfriend laughs at something on his phone and squeezes your shoulder. You snap back to the reality you’re living with an internal sigh you fought hard to hold back. You smile at him automatically, the way you’ve trained yourself to do, but your thumbs keep moving.

lovesick: ideas huh? ominous, toru

limitless: only the good kind. send me something pretty and i’ll return the favor

You don’t send anything. Not while your actual boyfriend is right there. That line feels too blurry even for you. Instead you just keep chatting—stupid, flirty, surface-level shit that still makes your stomach flip. Your boyfriend mentions some dumb brainrot meme. You laugh and pretend you get the joke (you don’t, but it’s easier than having him mansplain it to you like you’re some idiot). It’s easy. It’s safe. It’s boring. It’s nothing like the knife-edge conversations you have with the real Satoru in the daylight. The constant bickering. The whole ‘being at each other’s throats’ shtick.

Your boyfriend eventually yawns and says he’s heading out. You walk him to the door, kiss him goodnight like it’s habit, and the second the door clicks shut you’re back on your bed with a long and drawn out sigh, your hand already sliding under your waistband.

Toru sent another video while you were saying goodbye. You watch it twice. Fingers moving faster, breath catching as his hand does that twisting thing that always wrecks you. You come hard with his alias on your lips and zero guilt about the guy who just left your apartment.

Across campus, Satoru is in his dorm doing the exact same thing.

He’s sprawled on his bed, laptop open to your latest post—a soft, slow video of your fingers between your thighs, thighs trembling just a little at the end. Caption: “needed this after today lol.” He’s been stroking himself to it for the last ten minutes, slow and lazy because he wants to drag it out. On the bottom of his screen, your DMs from earlier are still open and he keeps rereading your texts like a total loser. Imagining what it would be like to have this mysterious girl say all those things to him while he fucks her.

The girl in his ethics class would never say shit like that. The girl who publicly rejected him three years ago would rather die than call him “toru” in that way you do online. But “love”… love says whatever the fuck she wants and it makes his dick twitch every time.

He’s close—really close—when a new text from you pops up.

lovesick: i’m back, bf just left

Satoru’s hand stills. The orgasm that was right there fizzles out as something ugly twists in his chest. Boyfriend. Of course you have a boyfriend. Why wouldn’t you. Probably popular, probably hot, probably some frat guy who posts gym selfies and calls everyone “bro.” The kind of guy who never gets publicly humiliated on day one of uni.

He stares at the message for longer than he should. Then types back before he can overthink it.

limitless: does he know about the account?

lovesick: fuck no. i could never tell him

limitless: huh. bold

lovesick: what, you jealous toru?

limitless: nah. just surprised miss love has secrets... and a bf. guess we all do lol

He doesn’t feel jealous. He refuses to feel jealous. It’s just… weird. He has no idea the same girl who’s been ruining his mood in every shared class for three years is out here calling him toru and sending him shit that makes him come harder than he has in months. He has no idea she’s got a boyfriend who doesn’t even know this version of her exists.

Satoru closes the app, runs a hand through his hair, and tells himself it doesn’t matter. It’s just online. It’s just stress relief. Just getting off. It’s not like you two are exclusive or anything. Not like you have any idea who he is. Not like you ever will. And certainly not like you’d ever date him even if given the chance… probably.

Except… something about that last post of yours keeps nagging at him. The background. A specific paper on the wall behind your bed, partially visible in the corner of the frame. He brushed it off earlier, too busy jerking off and eyeballing your pretty boobs instead. But now with the post-nut clarity of it all… he’s seen that paper before. In the library during registration week. In the study rooms. In one of the buildings you both have classes in. In his own dorm on the clipboard. It’s not the exact same—but it’s definitely familiar enough to raise suspicions.

He zooms in. Heart rate picking up for a completely different reason now.

No. No fucking way.

That paper is your schedule. Your university schedule. The one with all the classes you’re taking that he just so happens to be taking as well. He can’t believe he’s only just noticed it now.

He opens another tab. Pulls up the portal and manages to find your schedule because he’s just that tech-y. Cross-references the classes in the paper on your video with the one on the portal. Checks the rooms of each one on the portal screen versus the one on your wall. He needed to be sure. He can’t just make assumptions on a whim—especially not ones as big as this one.

The pieces click together like a lock he didn’t even know he was picking.

Satoru sits up slowly, phone still in his hand, staring at your account like it just grew teeth.

“…Holy shit.”

He doesn’t message you back. He just sits there in the dark, the glow of the screen lighting up his face, a look of disbelief paints across it as the hatred and the want and the sheer fucking absurdity of it all mash together in his head.

Three years.

And the girl he’s been hating since day one has been getting off to him this whole time… and pathetically enough, he the same.

a/n: ouu shii someone’s in troubleee 👀

tag list: @sillystarv @miyahluvsjjk @neotoru @zhonglibestie @winniethepoohjusttookapooh @ayvaxoava @onyuns @lucidoll @nerdsatoru @funsized-lyz @ariniip @indiesleazeluvr07 @chosoprettygirl @yong-yong-ma-boi @rosie-2cool @kenorie @clarkkentfavorite @drearyyangel @heartz4linny @affinityblues @spidergrotto @scarletreigns @satorussolace @thiccthed @remoirses @kittykats444 @liahcharms @mixnitup @hiimjulie @ilovemasturbaiting @bangtannnnn @lexisoooawesome @rean13 @lesyeuxdeginana @pinkypants @rikiswifeyyy @cridtiins @p3talswayingindesun @azizxxxah @gyllenhaalsz @satorusdreamer @snowstriper101 @charlotterosea13 @babykuna @ignominiousgirl @thewr3ck3d @purplehairedfairyxx @lovesghoste @tchmiya @kristionary @sistersofthemoon15 @kun4ril

⋆˚જ⁀➴ ♡ cw: stalking, obsessive behaviors, mentions of somno, college au

mdni

.☘︎ ݁˖ a/n: omg been so long since i’ve written for nerdjo (˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

nerdjo! speaks to printed out photos of you when you’re away, full conversations responding the same way he would if you were there with him physically.

nerdjo! keeps physical evidence of your existence with him at all times, he doesn’t have much preference at all really.

maybe that chewed up gum you spat out into the campus trash can that one wednesday,

or maybe the cute pink pair of socks you wore for two days in a row on accident forgetting to grab new ones.

or maybe even the excess hair you pulled out from your hairbrush the other day. he doesn’t care, as long as the item has traces of you on it he’s adding it towards his long collection.

nerdjo! loves watching your sleeping form, it’s his favorite pass time, as nerds like him rarely sleep. he loves hovering over you and watching his long slender digits drag in and out of your cute cunt slowly

he loves watching the way your smaller body tries to accommodate him even in your sleep.

he doesn’t miss how your pussy self -lubricates from his intrusion all on her own, the sweet sounds of her, the way every time he pushes in a lewd squelch! blesses his ears. he makes sure to snap a video for suguru later.

nerdjo! loves “tutoring” his favorite girl so much! he knows he’ll end up doing the material for you anyways but it’s so amusing to him to watch your cute little brain try so hard to understand what’s in front of you.

he would purposely make the material way too advanced for you just to watch you struggle, toru was a patient man after all.

every question you got wrong earned you a smack! across your pretty face, every time you’d yelp out a cute “sorry toru” and he’d kiss the sting out your cheek for you and have you suck him off under the table instead.

nerdjo! who has his fellow nerd friends spy and keep tabs on you when he’s busy with important projects or pitches. their payment being candid “upskirts” he’s taken of you.

nerdjo! who loves when you spend his money, he prefers when you spend large amounts short periods. Toru loves the entire process of it, the way you come around extra sweetly towards him, the way you bounce over and sit on his lap;

he knows you only want money at the moment but fuck does it get him hard when you gaze up at him and bat those pretty lashes at him “toruu don’t you love me s’much?”

his hands reach around to pull you closer to him

“i do love you yes baby” he says with a small boyish grin