#nerdjo x reader

❝ 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 😙

❝ 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

❝ ALTER EGO ❞ 呪術廻戦

CHAPTER 7 ⇢ PREV CHAPTER(6) ⋆ NEXT CHAPTER(8).

# NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ popular fem!reader ⋆ masturbation ⋆ phone sex ⋆ reader talks gojo through it & vice versa ⋆ needy!nerdjo ⋆ gojo can’t get off w/out reader ⋆ smut centered ⋆ 18+ MDNI .

You got the call at almost 1 AM.

You were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, still replaying every single second of this morning in your head. The way he’d looked at you. The way his voice had dropped. The way he’d tucked that strand of hair behind your ear like he had any right to.

You’d left his dorm eventually. Had to. If you’d stayed any longer, you would’ve done something stupid.

But now, in the dark, with Mia dead asleep across the room, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Your cunt was still faintly throbbing, slick and swollen between your thighs from earlier.

Your phone buzzed. Satoru’s name lit up the screen.

Not a text. An actual call. He’s never called you before. Not even for ‘studying’ purposes.

You answered before you could overthink it.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice was low and rough. Like he’d just woken up. Or like he hadn’t been sleeping at all. “You’re awake.”

“You woke me up.”

“Yeah, right. You picked up on the second ring.”

“I wake up fast.”

“Suuureeee.” There was a pause. A soft rustling sound on his end. “I’ve… I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, since this morning. Couldn’t stop.” Another pause with some more rustling on his end like he was trying to get comfortable. “That’s why I called.”

“To tell me you’ve been thinking about me?”

“Well, no. I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just breathed. Low and even. The kind of breathing that implied something was happening in the background that you couldn’t see.

“I need your help,” he said finally. “With …something.”

“With what?”

The question hung in the air between you. It was heavy and it was loaded and it was everything you both were afraid of earlier.

“I’ve been trying to get off for the last hour,” he said, sounding frustrated in a way he tried to mask but couldn’t. “And I can’t.”

Your throat went dry. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was steady, but there was something almost vulnerable underneath it. Like asking you for help like this was more than just a means of getting off. “I’ve been trying. But I can’t. Because every time I close my eyes, I just— Isee you.”

“Satoru—” you tried to interrupt, voice breathy but he just kept going.

“Sitting on my bed. Looking at me. Looking unfairly pretty.” A soft, frustrated sound. “I’ve been fucking losing it.”

You should hang up. You should absolutely hang up. Mia was right there. This was insane. This was—

“I tried watching porn,” he continued. “Didn’t work. Just made me think about you watching my videos. About what you were thinking. About the sounds you made.”

“I didn’t make any sounds.”

“Don’t lie to me... not now,” he breathed out, voice cracking slightly at the end of his sentence.

“I’m not lying Satoru—”

“You made sounds. I know you did. You finished, didn’t you? To my videos.”

You let out a shaky breath. The way he was speaking—his voice low and rough and breathless—was doing so many nasty things to you. This was more erotic than his videos somehow—more intimate. His videos were filmed before-hand. This is him, thinking of you, calling you, touching himself to you. Heat pooled low in your belly, your nipples tightening into hard peaks against the thin fabric of your shirt.

“That’s not true—”

“Just tell me. Please.” His voice cracked on the last word. Just a little. He sounded so needy it made you ache. “I need to know.”

You were quiet for a long moment. Mia’s steady breathing was the only sound in the room.

“Yes,” you whispered admittedly. “I… I finished.”

“Fuck.” The word came out like a breath, one he’d been holding in. “What were you thinking about? When you came?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“What you’d be like in person. What it would feel like if you were actually there.”

He made a sound. Low and desperate and hot. “I’m trying to be good. I’m trying really hard. But you’re making it impossible.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re existing. That’s enough to drive me insane.”

You heard the rustling sound again. And then a soft, wet sound—slick skin sliding over his thick, leaking cock—that made your entire body go still, your clit pulsing in response.

“What are you doing?” you asked breathlessly, biting your lower lip as your thighs pressed together.

“What do you think I’m doing?” His voice was thicker now, strained. “I’m touching myself. Thinking about you. About how wet you probably got watching me. How wet you might be now, listening to me.”

“Satoru— You can’t just—”

“I told you. I’ve been trying to get off for an hour. I can’t. So I’m trying again. While you’re on the phone.”

“You’re shameless.”

“Yeah. But I need you. Just… keep talking. Please.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay just… tell me what you’d do. If you were here. Tell me what you’d do to me.”

The words were dangerous. You knew they were dangerous. But they were also exactly what you’d been thinking about all day.

“I’d push you back against the bed,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. He could tell you were shy—the way you spoke hesitantly. Fuck, if it didn’t make this hotter for him. “I’d straddle you. I’d kiss you.”

“Yeah?” he whined, the sound shot straight to your clit.

“Yeah. And I’d take your glasses off. Slowly. So I could see your face.”

He groaned, sounding even more out of breath now. “Keep… going.”

“I’d take my time. I’d—” You swallowed. “I’d watch you. The way you look at me. The way you react to every little thing I do.”

“Fuck. You’re so good at this.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re doing everything.”

You heard his breathing get heavier. Faster. More erratic. The wet, filthy sound of his fist pumping his cock getting more rhythmic, more obscene.

“I want to see you,” you blurted out in a whisper. You’re not sure what got into you. “I want to see what you look like.”

The stroking stopped for a moment, he took a second to catch his breath. “You want me to video call?”

“No… just—send me a picture.”

There was a pause. Then a soft sound, like he was moving. A few seconds later, your phone buzzed with a text.

You opened it.

It was him. In bed. His t-shirt was gone. The sheets were pooled low around his hips, and his hand was wrapped tight around his massive cock—thick, flushed pink, veins standing out along the heavy shaft, the swollen head glistening with precum that dripped down over his long fingers. His abs were tight and glistening with a light sheen of sweat. It was dark but you could see every fucking thing—every ridge of muscle, every throbbing inch of that gorgeous dick. So long and pretty and perfect, heavy balls drawn up tight beneath it.

Your breath caught. Your cunt clenched hard, a fresh rush of slick soaking your panties.

“Did you get it?” he asked, you could almost hear the smugness in his words. Like he knew he could ruin your underwear with just one snap of a pic.

“Yeah.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re a whore.”

“Fuck… Is that a compliment?” He chuckled breathlessly.

“Take it however you want.”

He laughed. It was strained. Almost broken.

“Keep talking,” he said, slowly picking up the pace again. “Please. I’m so close.”

“You want to know what I thought about? When I came to your videos?”

“Fuck... yes, I do.”

“I thought about you on top of me. You looking down at me. Your hair in your face. The way you’d touch me.”

He gasped. A real, honest-to-god gasp. Followed by a low groan.

“I thought about your hands,” you continued. “Your fingers. The way you move them.”

“Fuck.”

“I thought about your voice. Telling me what to do. Moaning my name.”

“Don’t stop. Fuck—please don’t stop.”

“I thought about the sounds you make. The ones you make when you’re close in your videos.”

He made one of them then. Low and desperate. Like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It sounded so much better than the videos. It was so authentic… so real.

“Good,” you said. Getting bolder now—less hesitant. “Like that. Keep touching yourself for me.”

“Fuck, baby,” he whimpered, breathing so heavy it sounded like he was hyperventilating. You could hear the soft creak of the bed which hinted at the fact that his hips were twitching a lot. “Fuck, I’m—I’m gonna cum—”

You had to compose yourself, eyes closing as you imagined what he looked like. You let out a soft breath. “Do it. I want you to. I want to know I did that to you.”

His breathing was ragged. Uncontrolled. The wet sound was faster now, more frantic, sloppy.

“Say my name,” you said. “When you come, say my name.”

He did.

The sound that left his mouth was broken, wrecked, utterly undone. He choked your name out with a groan, desperate and relieved, and you could hear the thick, wet sounds of him cumming hard—ropes of it spurting over his abs as he kept stroking through it, breathing heavily like he was falling apart.

Then silence. Just his breathing. Slow and uneven.

“Did you—”

“Yeah.”

“While I was on the phone?”

“That was the idea, wasn’t it?” He laughed. It was soft and almost shy. “You’re really good at this.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Shut up… you did everything.”

You were quiet for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. You’d just talked him through getting off. Over the phone. While your roommate was asleep in the same room. Your panties were ruined, your clit throbbing with neglected need.

This was crazy.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“That this is insane.”

“Probably.”

“And that I don’t regret it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for a moment before sighing so loudly his mic peaked. “You know I’m not going to be able to look at you tomorrow without thinking about this.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah. I want you thinking about me.”

“Trust me, I already was,” he let out a soft laugh. “But now it’s going to be way worse.”

“I can live with that.”

“You’re so evil.”

“So are you. Calling me like this in the middle of the night while my roommate’s asleep.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled breathlessly, sighing. “Thank you. For… y’know.”

“For talking you through it? Helping you come?”

“Pretty much.” You could hear him blushing on the other end.

“You asked me for a favor. I’m just a generous person.”

“You’re not generous. You’re mean.”

“Mean people can be generous sometimes.”

“Rarely.”

“Once in a blue moon.”

He laughed again. “I’m going to try to sleep now.”

But then his voice dropped to something huskier, more intimate.

“Wait… before you go. Do you want me to return the favor?”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was low, coaxing. “You helped me come... It’s only fair I return the favor. It wouldn’t be very considerate of me to leave you all high and dry especially after you did me such a big favor. I want you to touch your pretty self while I’m still on the phone. I want to hear you.”

You glanced across the room. Mia was still fast asleep, breathing slow and even.

“I can’t,” you whispered. “Mia’s right there.”

“Then… be quiet,” he said, a teasing edge in his voice. “Slide your hand down. Tell me how wet you are.”

Your heart was pounding, but your body was already moving. Obeying his every word regardless of the risks. You slipped your hand under the blanket, under the waistband of your shorts and panties. Your fingers found your soaked folds instantly, slick and swollen, and you bit your lip hard as you circled your clit.

“Fuck,” you breathed, barely audible.

“Atta-girl,” he murmured. “That’s it. Rub it nice and slow for me, okay? I want you to feel how wet you got just from listening to me fuck myself stupid to you.”

You did what he said, fingers gliding through your wetness, pressing firmer against your clit. Your hips rolled up into your hand before you could stop them.

“Send me a picture,” he said suddenly. “Nothing too crazy. Just… show me how turned on you are. I want to see. If you’re fine with it.”

You hesitated for only a second. Then you carefully pulled your shirt up just enough, angling the phone so the light wouldn’t wake Mia. You snapped a quick photo—your shirt slightly lifted, hard nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric, peaked and obvious in the low light.

You sent it before you could overthink it.

A few seconds later he made a low, filthy sound.

“Fuck. Look at you. Those pretty nipples all hard for me. You’re killing me.” He could feel himself getting hard again but he ignored it for you.

You kept touching yourself, biting down on your bottom lip to stay quiet as your fingers worked faster, slick sounds barely audible under the blanket.

“Keep going,” he whispered. “Two fingers. Slide them inside, princess. Tell me how it feels.”

You obeyed, pushing two fingers into your tight, dripping cunt. The stretch made your eyes flutter. You had to press your face into the pillow to muffle the tiny whimper that escaped.

“Feels… so good,” you breathed, barely a sound.

“Yeah? You’re fucking yourself nice and quiet for me while your roommate sleeps? Such a good girl. Curl your fingers. I want you to cum for me.”

He was stupid good at this. Sounding like he’d talked maybe a hundred girls through it before—he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t shy away from using filthy words the way you did. Your breathing was getting shaky. You could feel it building fast—your walls fluttering around your fingers, clit throbbing under the heel of your palm as you ground against it.

“Satoru—” you whispered, desperate.

“I know, baby. I know. You’re so close. Keep touching yourself. Don’t stop. I want to hear what I do to you.”

You were right on the edge, thighs trembling, biting your lip so hard it hurt as you rubbed your clit faster, fingers pumping shallowly inside yourself.

“Cum for me,” he said, voice rough and sweet at the same time. “Be a good girl and cum on your fingers while I listen.”

The orgasm hit you hard and sudden. Your whole body locked up, pussy clenching rhythmically around your fingers as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through you. You buried your face in the pillow, a broken little sound muffled against it, hips jerking as you rode it out as quietly as you could.

When it finally ebbed, you were shaking, panting softly into the pillow.

He was quiet for a moment too, just listening to you breathe.

“Fuck,” he finally said, voice warm and a little awed. He let out a soft groan. “That was so fucking hot.“

You were still catching your breath, fingers slowly slipping out of yourself, everything between your legs soaked and sensitive.

“This is crazy,” you whispered again, shaky, but there was no heat behind it.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, chuckling. “You’re gonna sleep like a baby after that, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your body was still buzzing.

“Goodnight, princess,” he said eventually, voice low and fond. “Try not to miss me too much.”

“Night, Satoru…” you breathed out.

The line went dead.

You stared at your phone for a long moment, heart still racing. Then you cleaned your fingers on a tissue from your bedside table, tossed it into the small bin next you, rolled over, and tried to sleep with the ghost of his voice still in your ear and your pussy still gently throbbing.

closest thing they’ve had to sex in 7 chapters i’m crying

❝ ALTER EGO ❞ 呪術廻戦

CHAPTER 6 ⇢ PREV CHAPTER(5) ⋆ NEXT CHAPTER(7) .

# NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ popular fem!reader ⋆ satoru has a secret identity ⋆ reconciliation ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ argument ⋆ reader is apologetic ⋆ texting-heavy ⋆ 18+ MDNI .

You woke up at around 7 am with your heart already pounding against your chest like it was punishing you just for making the mistake of waking up.

The coffee shop wasn't going to work. You'd realized it in the middle of the night, staring at your ceiling, replaying every cold, clipped word he'd sent you. Public space meant public eyes. Public eyes meant you'd clam up, deflect, fall back into the same defensive bullshit that had gotten you here in the first place.

You needed privacy. You needed somewhere there were no witnesses to your inevitable humiliation.

You grabbed your phone.

You: change of plans. i want to meet at your dorm.

The three dots appeared almost immediately. He was awake as well. Of course he was awake. The nerd probably had some kind of unholy morning routine that started at like 5 AM.

@glassesoff: why?

You: because i can't do this in public.

@glassesoff: and you think being alone with me in my room is a better idea?

You thought about it for a moment. He’s right. What if one thing somehow leads to another? What if you freeze up or your brain slats or some other bullshit like that. You’ve never seen him outside of campus and his videos. You have no idea what it’ll be like. But you shove the thoughts aside because this is stupid. You can control yourself… you’re not some animal.

You: i think it's the only way i'm actually going to say what i need to say.

@glassesoff: fine. 9:30. i'll send you my address.

You: don't you have class?

@glassesoff: i'll skip.

You: you never skip

@glassesoff: i'm making an exception

@glassesoff: don’t waste my time.

You stared at the message. He was making an exception. For you. After everything you'd done.

You probably didn't deserve that. You knew you didn't deserve that.

But you were going to show up. You were going to shove your pride up your ass and you were going to apologize for the way you treated him.

His dorm room was on the fourth floor of a building you'd never been to. You'd always assumed he lived off campus, holed up in some studio apartment with stacks of textbooks and empty energy drink cans. But no. He lived in the same shitty dorm as everyone else.

You knocked twice, heart pounding. You had changed twice before settling on something casual. Brushed your hair three separate times and changed your hairstyle until you managed to find something in between. Something that said “i tried but not too hard.”

The door opened, and your brain short-circuited. Fuck. This is exactly what you were afraid of.

He wasn't wearing his usual oversized sweater. He wasn't wearing button-ups or sweater vests or anything you'd ever seen him in on campus.

He was wearing grey sweats. Loose, hung low on his hips. A white t-shirt that was thin enough to see the outline of his chest—nipples hard and peaking through. His hair was a complete disaster—white strands sticking up in every direction like he'd just rolled out of bed and run his fingers through it.

His glasses were on.

But everything else was... different. This was… really fucking attractive. This looked more like the him from the videos. The one with the muscles and the confidence and the voice that made you forget how to think.

You stared. You needed to lock in.

He stared back.

"Are you going to come in?" he asked. "Or are you just going to stand there?"

"I'm standing here."

"I can see that. Why?"

"Because I'm trying to figure out if you're actually real."

He raised an eyebrow that alluded to confusion. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. You just look—" You gestured vaguely at him. "Different."

"I just woke up."

"Yeah. That's the problem."

"What problem?"

"No problem. There's no problem." You pushed past him into the room, because if you kept staring, you were going to say something stupid. "Your room is... messy."

"Thanks for noticing."

"It's not a compliment."

"I’m aware."

He closed the door behind you, and suddenly the room felt a lot smaller. His dorm was standard issue—twin bed, desk, closet. But it was also distinctly him. There were textbooks stacked on his desk, a laptop open to a physics problem, and a poster of some anime on the wall that you didn't recognize.

And on his nightstand, there was a small jar of lube. In another corner of the room, there was a tripod.

You looked away quickly. Too quickly.

“Didn’t have time to put them away,” he sighed, gesturing to the chair. “Sit.”

"Nice place," you said, clearing your throat and taking a seat on the chair.

"Stop stalling."

"I'm not stalling."

"You're stalling. You've been here for almost a minute and you haven't said anything about what you came here to say."

"Maybe I'm just taking in the ambiance."

"It's a dorm room. There's no ambiance."

"Fine." You spun the chair to face him, arms crossed. "I came here to apologize."

"Okay."

"That's all you're going to say?"

"What else is there to say?"

"Something. Anything. I dunno. You're supposed to make this easier for me."

He laughed. It was a short, humorless sound. You almost winced. "I'm supposed to make it easier for you? You're the one who ghosted me. You're the one who treated me like I was beneath you. And I'm supposed to make it easier?"

You winced. "I didn't treat you like you were beneath me."

"You did. In the library. You couldn't even look me in the eye."

"Because I was scared."

He sat down on the bed right in front of you, arms settling on the mattress next to him as he leaned back casually.

"Of what?"

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Bit your lip. Looked away.

"People," you said finally. "My roommate. What they'd think. I have a reputation, okay? A good one. And if people see me with you—"

"With the nerd." He interjected, scoffing.

"That's not what I was going to say."

"But it's what you were thinking."

"No. I mean—" You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated because your brain wasn’t supplying the right words right now. "This isn't coming out right."

"Then try harder."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

You glared at him. He glared back.

And for a moment, neither of you said anything. You didn’t have words. He was waiting on you to find them.

"I'm sorry," you said finally. "I'm sorry I was a bitch. I'm sorry I let what other people thought get in the way of—" You stopped. "Of whatever this is."

He didn't say anything. Just watched you with that same guarded expression. He straightened up on the bed, arms folding over his chest in that same defensive posture from the library.

"I'm not going to beg," you continued. "I'm not going to get on my knees and cry and tell you I'm a terrible person. Because I'm not a terrible person. I'm just—"

"Scared."

"Yes. Scared. I don't do relationships. I don't do feelings. I do casual. I do easy. You're not easy."

"Thanks."

"That's not an insult."

"Could've fooled me."

"Ugh." You threw your hands up. "You're so difficult."

"You've mentioned that."

"Because it’s true."

He almost smiled. Almost. But he caught himself. Too early for sentiment, he wanted to make you grovel more.

"What do you want from me?" he asked. It was such a simple and direct question yet all the implications behind it made your heart race nervously.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"You know what you want. You're just too much of a coward to say it."

"I'm not a coward."

"You are."

You opened your mouth to argue but instead just let out a frustrated huff. Because he was right. You knew exactly what you wanted. You just didn't know how to say it. You didn’t know how to admit that maybe this… this goddamn nerd had you wrapped around his fingers instead of the other way around.

"I want to keep talking to you," you said. "I want to keep doing this. Whatever this is.“

"So you care now?"

"I've always cared. I just didn't want to admit it."

“And why’s that?”

"Because caring is complicated. It's messy. It's—" You gestured at him. "You're messy. You're complicated. You make me feel things I don't want to feel."

"What do you feel?"

"Like I want to punch you. But then I also like… I want to do other… things. And I don't know which one is stronger."

The words hung in the air between you.

He stared at you. You stared at him.

And then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"That's the most honest thing you've ever said to me," he said, uncrossing his arms.

"Be serious."

"I am serious."

There was a moment of silence. Then he uttered the words you never thought you’d be hearing from him after how much of a shitty apology this was.

"Okay," he said. "I forgive you."

You weren’t expecting that. You blinked, looking down at him and trying not to let your eyes linger on any one spot longer than they should.

"That's it? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"But I was a complete bitch to you. I made you feel like shit. I treated you like you were—"

"You're really not making a good case for yourself."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He shrugged. "I've been mad for days. It's exhausting. I don't have the energy to stay mad."

"So you're forgiving me because you're tired?"

"I'm forgiving you because I like you. And because you showed up. And because you're trying." He tilted his head. "And because you look really uncomfortable standing in my room. It’s kinda cute."

There he was. That teasing, insufferable bastard.

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"I really, really do."

"You wouldn’t be here if you did."

"I do hate you."

He laughed. It was quiet, almost reluctant, but it was real. And it made your chest feel lighter. Like maybe this hadn’t gone as terrible as you’d imagined.

You should leave. You knew you should leave. The conversation was over, the apology was accepted, everything was fine. You should walk out that door and go back to your dorm and pretend like you weren't thinking about the way his t-shirt was clinging to his chest and the outline of a certain something you’ve seen on multiple occasions more than once (albeit all virtually) in his sweats.

But you didn't leave.

Instead, you moved off the chair and it creaked a little when you did and you sat down on the bed next to him.

It wasn't a huge gesture. It wasn't some big romantic moment. But it was something. A step forward. Maybe it was more a selfish decision than anything.

And it was a mistake.

Because sitting next to him meant you were close enough to smell him—clean laundry and something minty underneath. Close enough to see the way his collarbones peaked out from the neck of his shirt. Close enough to watch his chest rise and fall with each breath.

Close enough to imagine what it would feel like to push him back against the mattress and—

"You're doing it again," he said.

"Doing what?"

"Staring."

"I'm not staring."

"You're definitely staring. At my chest. You've been doing it since you sat down."

"I was looking at your shirt. It's wrinkled. It was like two seconds.”

"It's a t-shirt. It's supposed to be wrinkled. And it was definitely longer than two seconds."

"Well, it's ugly."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"You're definitely lying." He turned to face you with his body, and suddenly he was even closer. His knee brushed against yours, and you felt the contact like a jolt of electricity. "You're sitting on my bed, staring at my chest, and trying to pretend like you're not thinking about what's underneath."

You shook your head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't."

"I really don't."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"You’re so full of it. I'm not blushing."

"You're definitely blushing. It's cute."

"It's not cute. It's warm in here."

"The AC’s on."

"Well your AC sucks."

He laughed, and it was low, almost a purr. Almost made you shiver. Almost made heat pool low in places where heat shouldn’t be pooling in times like this. "You're so easy to mess with."

"I'm not easy to mess with. You're just annoying."

"Is that why you're still on my bed."

"I could leave."

"But you won't."

"Why won't I?"

"Because you don't want to."

"I do want to. I'm going to."

He gave you a look, eyes trailing in that way that made your heart do things without your consent. "So… go."

You didn't move.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not going."

"I'm gathering my strength."

"For what?"

"To leave."

"It’s that hard to leave me, huh?” He chuckled, eyes trailing over you like he was thinking everything you were and more, probably.

"You’re laying it on thick."

"I’m only stating the obvious." He shrugged.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. Stupid brain. Because, as annoying and frustrating as it was, he was right. You didn't want to leave. You wanted to stay. You wanted to do a lot of things that you weren't ready to admit out loud.

His eyes drifted down to your lips. Just for a second. But you saw it.

"I know what you're thinking about," he murmured.

"Oh yeah? What?"

"Probably what you watched on my page last nigh while you were missing me.”

Your face burned. "I didn't watch anything last night—didn’t miss you either so shut up.”

"Lying again. Lying’s a bad habit, you know.”

"I’m not—I was busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"Studying."

"You don’t study let alone study at midnight. You scroll through Instagram and pretend like you're going to sleep."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I do the same thing."

There was a moment of silence. Sexual tension was practically oozing out from in between you both and into the bed. The one you wanted to do so many things to him on.

"You think about me," he said softly. "When you watch my videos. You think about what it would be like if I was actually there."

"I don't—"

"You do. I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking about it right now."

"I'm not thinking about anything."

"You're thinking about what it would be like to push me back against this bed and—"

"Satoru,” you glared at him, trying to keep your composure. He wasn’t listening.

"—have your way with me. You're thinking about the noises I'd make. The way I'd look at you. The way I'd—"

"Shut up. Don’t do this right now.”

"—say your name. Over and over."

Your breath hitched. He was too close. His voice was too low. Every word he said was landing like something physical.

"You're doing this on purpose," you managed.

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"Trying to see to see how long you can resist."

"I can resist forever."

"No you can't."

"Yes I can."

"You're lying again."

"I'm not—"

And then he leaned in.

Just an inch. Just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips.

And you wanted it. God, you wanted it.

But you pulled back, sighing shakily.

"This is insane," you said. "We can't—I just—we just made up. It's too soon."

"Says who?"

"Says... me. It's too soon."

He leaned back, and there was something almost wanting in his gaze. Like he was fighting pulling you into his lap. Like he was fighting kissing you right then and there.

"You're scared," he whispered.

"I'm not scared."

"You're definitely scared. Your heart's racing. I can hear it."

"You can't hear my heart."

"I can hear it. It's loud. It's saying 'kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.'"

"It is not."

"It is."

"It's saying 'this is stupid and I should leave.'"

"That's not what your eyes are saying."

"And what are my eyes saying?"

"That you've already imagined this a hundred times. That you've thought about what it would be like to have me underneath you. That you've—"

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"I really, really do. So much. More than ever now.”

He reached out, slowly, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered on your skin, and you shivered.

"You don’t hate me. And you’re not going to leave," he said. "You're going to stay here. And you're going to keep pretending like you don't want me. But I know the truth."

"What truth?"

"That you want this. You want me. You've wanted me since the first video."

"I didn't—"

"You did." His voice was firm. Unyielding. So fucking stubborn and frustrating it was irking you in most attractive way possible. "You watched my videos because you liked what you saw. And now that you know it's me, you can't stop thinking about it. About me. About what I could do to you."

Your throat went dry.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he said. "Tell me you haven't thought about it. Tell me you haven't imagined what it would be like."

You couldn't speak. Because he wasn't wrong. You'd thought about it every night since you found his page. Every time you watched his videos. Every time he called you "princess."

You'd thought about it. A lot. All the fucking time. Every night before bed.

"That's what I thought," he murmured.

He didn't kiss you. He didn't even make a move. He just sat there, watching you, letting you squirm under his gaze. Taunting you like a cat would play with a mouse right before devouring it.

And you hated how much you wanted him to do something. Anything.

"You're such a tease," you managed.

"I'm not teasing. I'm waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That you want this. That you've been thinking about it. That you're not going to leave because you want to see what happens next."

You opened your mouth to deny it. To push him away. To do something, anything, to regain control.

But the words wouldn't come.

Because he was right.

You wanted this and you wanted him and you were tired of pretending you didn't.

"I hate you," you said again. But this time, it came out way softer than you intended. Way less certain.

"I know," he said. "But you haven’t left.”

He was right again. That was a reoccurring theme here.

And you had no idea what to do about it.

You sat there, frozen, your brain short-circuiting as every rational thought you'd ever had dissolved into a puddle of pure, unadulterated want. He was looking at you like he could see right through you. Like he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like he was enjoying every second of your internal breakdown.

And you hated him for it. You hated him so fucking much it was driving you insane.

But you wanted him so much more than you hated him.

He leaned in again, just a fraction, and you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. That minty scent. That infuriatingly confident gaze behind those stupid glasses.

"You're thinking about it right now," he said. His voice was a low murmur, barely above a whisper. "You're thinking about what it would be like. What I'd sound like. What I'd feel like."

"I'm not thinking about—"

"You are." His hand came up to your chin, tilting your face toward his. "You're imagining me inside you. You're imagining the noises you'd make. The way I'd moan your name."

Your breath caught in your throat. Every nerve in your body was on fire. And you wanted him to keep talking. You wanted him to keep saying those things, keep looking at you like that, keep making you feel like he craved you in the same way you craved him.

And that was exactly why you needed to leave.

Because if you stayed one more second, you weren't going to be able to control yourself. You were going to do something stupid. Something desperate. Something you wouldn't be able to take back.

You stood up abruptly.

"I'm leaving," you said. Your voice came out breathier than you'd intended.

He raised an eyebrow, but he didn't look surprised. Almost amused. "Leaving?"

"Yes. Leaving. Now. Right now."

"Because you want to, or because you have to?"

"Because—" You stopped. Swallowed. "Because I need to."

"You don't need to. You want to. There's a difference."

"Shut up."

"You're not going to leave. You're going to stand there, pretending you're in control, while I watch you struggle. It's actually kind of adorable."

"I'm not adorable. I'm—"

"You're turned on. You're so turned on right now you can barely think straight. You're trying to leave because you know if you stay, you're going to give in."

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

He was right. Again. Every single time.

"Sit back down," he said. It wasn't a request. It was a command, delivered in that same low, steady voice.

"No." You shook your head, backing toward the door. "I can't. I can't be here. You're—you're doing this on purpose. You're trying to rile me up."

"I'm not trying to do anything. I'm just being honest."

"You're being a dick."

"I'm being a dick who's right." He leaned back on his bed, his arms behind his head, and you hated how good he looked like that. How badly you wanted to crawl back onto that bed and—

"No." You reached for the doorknob, your hand shaking slightly. "I'm leaving. I need to leave."

"Then leave."

"I will."

"So do it."

You didn't move. Your hand was on the door, but your body wouldn't cooperate. Your brain was screaming at you to go, but some other part of you—the part that had watched his videos, the part that had imagined this exact scenario, the part that had touched yourself while thinking about him—was screaming for you to stay.

"Can't do it, can you?" he asked. His voice was soft, almost affectionate. "You can't leave because you don't want to. You want to stay. You want to see what happens next. You want—"

"Satoru, stop." Your voice cracked. "You're making this so much harder than it needs to be."

"I'm not making anything harder. You're making it hard. You're the one who's fighting it. You're the one who's pretending you're not desperate for this."

"I'm not desperate. I’ve never been desperate.”

"You are." He stood up, slowly. "You're so desperate it's killing you. You've been thinking about this for weeks. You've been watching my videos, imagining what it would be like. And now you're here. In my room. On my bed. And you're running away because you can't handle the fact that you actually want me. The fact that if you stay something might happen right here, right now."

"I don't—"

"Liar."

You backed up against the door, your heart pounding. He followed you, taking slow, measured steps, like he had all the time in the world.

"You know what I think?" he asked. "I think you're scared. I think you're scared of how much you want this. I think you're scared of how good it would feel to just let go."

"I'm not scared of anything."

"Then why are you backing away from me?"

You had no answer for that. Because he was right. You were backing away. You were running. You were scared.

Not of him, but of what you'd do if you stayed.

He was inches away from you now, close enough that you could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face up toward his.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this."

God, you were practically stunned. You wanted to kiss him so bad it was consuming you. Thoughts of his body were invading your mind—what it would be like to do everything he just described. You opened your mouth and nothing came out.

"I hate you," you whispered.

"I know." His thumb traced your lower lip. "But you're still here."

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to grab him and pull him against you. You wanted to push him back onto that bed and have your way with him. You wanted—so badly—to just let yourself have this but for some goddamn reason you couldn't. For some reason sex with him seemed more terrifying than it did with any other guy.

"I have to go," you said, your voice barely audible. And then you turned around, opened the door, and walked out. You made it three steps down the hallway before your phone buzzed.

@glassesoff: you're running away.

You: i'm leaving.

@glassesoff: that’s running.

You: shut up.

@glassesoff: you looked really good when you were flustered btw. just so you know.

You: i wasn't flustered.

@glassesoff: you were literally shaking.

You: it was cold in your room.

@glassesoff: you said my ac sucked.

You: im sensitive to temperature.

@glassesoff: you're sensitive to a lot of things apparently.

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring at your phone. He was infuriating. He was absolutely, completely infuriating.

You: what's that supposed to mean?

@glassesoff: it means i saw the way you looked at me. you wanted me so bad it was killing you.

You: i did not.

@glassesoff: you did. your eyes were screaming "fuck me" the entire time. very loudly.

You: they were not.

@glassesoff: they were. i'm surprised you didn't just crawl into my lap right then and there.

You: you're so full of yourself.

@glassesoff: you’d love to be full of me too, wouldn’t you?

Your eyes widened at the text, heart racing as you struggled to type out a response.

You: you don’t know what you’re saying.

@glassesoff: i do. you're a terrible liar. it's my favorite thing about you.

You: i'm not a liar.

@glassesoff: you literally just told me you didn't want me. we both know that's not true.

You stared at the screen. Your face was burning. Your heart was pounding. And somewhere deep inside you, that part of you that had been aching for him was aching even louder now.

You: you don't know what i want.

@glassesoff: i know exactly what you want. i know what you were thinking about when you sat down on my bed. i know what you were imagining. i know that you've watched my videos more times than you'll ever admit.

You: that's not true.

@glassesoff: don't lie to me. you're not good at it.

You had watched his videos. You had thought about him. You had imagined what it would be like. And sitting on his bed, being that close to him, had made every single one of those fantasies feel like a physical ache.

You: fine. you're right. i wanted you. i still want you. happy?

@glassesoff: very.

You: but nothing is going to happen. we're not going to do this.

@glassesoff: why not?

You: because we can't. because i just apologized to you. because things are complicated. because idk, okay? because i don't want to ruin whatever this is.

@glassesoff: you won't ruin anything

You: how do you know?

@glassesoff: i just know. you're terrified of feelings and vulnerability and all that shit. but you came here. you apologized.

You stared at the screen. Your chest was doing something weird. Something warm and fluttery and completely unwelcome.

You: you're so infuriating.

@glassesoff: and you're still here. so what does that make you?

You: a masochist apparently.

@glassesoff: good to know. i'll keep that in mind for later.

You: stop.

@glassesoff: stop what?

You: stop making me want you.

@glassesoff: i'm not making you do anything. that’s all you.

You: you're the most annoying person i've ever met.

@glassesoff: and yet you keep texting me and thinking about me and watching me.

You: because i'm a glutton for punishment.

@glassesoff: you're a glutton for me. that's the real reason.

You didn't respond to that.

You reached your dorm room, closed the door, and collapsed onto your bed.

Your phone buzzed again.

@glassesoff: for the record, i'm not mad anymore. i was never really mad. i was just hurt.

@glassesoff: but you showed up. that meant everything.

@glassesoff: so thank you. for caring.

You: you're welcome.

@glassesoff: and also for looking really hot when you were flustered. that was a bonus.

You: okay now you're just pushing it.

@glassesoff: pushing what?

You: my patience.

@glassesoff: i'll push more than that if you let me.

You: i swear to god satoru

@glassesoff: i'm kidding. mostly.

You: mostly?

@glassesoff: let's just say i'm looking forward to our next "study session."

You: we don't have a study session. you just do my homework.

@glassesoff: exactly. it's the perfect excuse to see you.

You wanted to be annoyed. You wanted to be mad. But your lips pulled into a smile.

You: you're such a loser.

@glassesoff: and you're still here.

You: i'm probably always going to be here. unfortunately.

@glassesoff: unfortunately.

You: yeah. unfortunately.

You both were terrible liars.

❝ HATE MOOTS ❞ 呪術廻戦. 18+

CHAPTER 1 ⇢ 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

You’re sitting in the back of Professor Hayashi’s ethics lecture, legs crossed, phone face-down on the desk like you’re actually paying attention, when Satoru Gojo raises his hand for the third fucking time this hour and somehow makes the entire room feel smaller.

Of course he knows the answer. Of course he phrases it like he’s doing everyone a favor. “The utilitarian framework falls apart here because—” blah blah blah and then he’s off, voice calm, a little bored, like he’s explaining why the sky is blue to toddlers. You can feel the collective sigh of relief from the front row. The guy next to you mutters “nerd” under his breath and you almost laugh because yeah, but it’s not that simple anymore. Not after three years of this.

Three years since first year orientation week, when he was still the tall, lanky transfer with the stupid white hair and glasses that actually suited him, trying to make friends or whatever the fuck new kids do. You were already deep in the popular crowd—frat parties, group chats that never died, the kind of social currency that made professors remember your name even when you skipped. He approached you after some icebreaker bullshit, asked if you wanted to grab coffee sometime, and you looked him dead in the eye in front of half the clique and said, loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Pass. I don’t do charity cases. Find someone who does.”

The laughter that followed? Beautiful for your ego. Terrible for his. You remember the way his face went blank for half a second before he just… nodded once and walked away. Like he filed it under never again. Good. That’s how it should’ve stayed.

Except it didn’t. Because now it’s third year and Satoru Gojo is topping every shared class you have. Every. Single. One. And he does it with that same quiet, smug little half-smile like he’s not even trying. Like your GPA is a joke he’s been workshopping since freshman year.

You glance over. He’s not even looking at you. Just staring straight ahead, long fingers tapping his pen against the desk in that irritating rhythm he does when he’s already ten steps ahead of the lecture. You wonder why he even attends if he so arrogantly knows everything. It’s fucking stupid. And annoying. His hoodie is the same faded black one he’s worn since second year. Glasses slightly crooked. Hair doing that messy thing that should look stupid but somehow doesn’t. You hate that you notice.

Your phone buzzes under your hand. Group chat with the girls.

Mika: party this weekend @ kappa

You: i’ll be there

Mika: bring ur bf??

You: we broke up lol

You didn’t. Not yet. But you will. Soon. He’s convenient for now—shows up to events, hot enough to make you look good, buys drinks, doesn’t ask too many questions when you disappear for “girls’ night.” You’re not proud of it. You’re also not not proud. Survival of the hottest or whatever they call it.

Lecture ends. You’re packing up slow, letting the crowd thin, when Satoru stands and stretches like a cat that knows it owns the couch. He catches your eye on the way out. That little smirk.

“Rough day, huh? You looked like you were actually thinking for once.”

You flip him off without hesitation. “Eat shit, Gojo. Some of us don’t have the luxury of being born with a silver spoon and a 4.0.”

He laughs—quiet, low, the kind that makes your stomach do something annoying because what’s so funny about this????—and keeps walking. “See you at the study group you’re definitely not invited to.”

“Wouldn’t go even if you begged.”

“Wouldn’t beg even if you paid me.”

The door shuts behind him and you exhale through your nose like a bull. Three years. Three fucking years of this. You should be over it. You are over it. Mostly.

Night falls the way it always does in this shitty campus apartment you share with two other girls who are never home. You’re in bed, laptop open to Twitter (yes, still Twitter), scrolling on your secret account because the main one is too public and your friends would lose their minds if they knew.

Lovesick is what you go by. “love” in the bio. Faceless, obviously. Soft lighting, artistic angles, the occasional video of your hand between your thighs or your tits pushed together in some lacy thing you only wear for this specific purpose. Captions that toe the line between horny and stupid. It started as stress relief sophomore year. Something fun on the side. A little side hustle, maybe. Now it’s… something else. A place where you don’t have to be the girl with the perfect image who people secretly hate but pretend to love for the sake of connections. Where you can just want shit without explaining why.

You’re bored. Thumb moving on autopilot. Then you see it.

Limitless posted fifteen minutes ago.

The username makes you pause every time. You only started noticing him this year—third year, when you were doom-scrolling one night after a particularly brutal exam and his post popped up on your For You. Faceless like you. Lean muscular body, long fingers, perfect dick, white hair cropped at the edges of the frame so you could never quite see his face. The content? God-tier. Slow strokes, controlled breathing, non-performative moans, captions that hit different. Not the usual bro-y “who want this dick” shit. More like… teasing. Almost cocky in a reserved sort of way that drove you up the wall with need and hormones.

Tonight’s post is a video. Ten seconds. Dim room, bedside lamp somewhere off screen that paints his skin in a soft almost angelic glow. His hand wrapped around his cock, slow and deliberate, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. The caption underneath reads: “another day another dollar. or whatever the kids say these days. relief looks good on me doesn’t it”

You stare. Then you like it before your brain catches up. Then you reply because you’re weak and he’s been replying back lately and the banter is stupid and addictive.

lovesick: ok but why does your hand look like it pays taxes and has a 401k ??

He replies almost immediately after.

limitless: because it does. some of us are responsible adults who also jerk off like it’s a hobby

lovesick: responsible adults don’t post their dick on main at 1am toru

limitless: who said anything about main. this is the side quest love

You grin at your screen like an idiot. The alias thing started a few weeks ago when he called you “love” in a DM and you called him “toru” back as a joke. It stuck. Stupid. Comfortable. Easy in the way most anonymous and faceless things are. He doesn’t know you, you don’t know him. You flirt and get off to each other. There’s no risk. It’s perfect.

Your hand drifts under the blanket without thinking. You’re already wet from the video and the back-and-forth. Fingers slide easy, slow circles while you scroll his older posts with your other hand. He’s been at this longer than you—his account has that established vibe with a couple thousand followers. You only found him this year but now you’re mutuals, liking everything, replying to posts, dming at 2am like it’s normal.

A new message from him pops up.

limitless: you liked that one fast. needy tonight?

lovesick: shut up. some of us had a long day of pretending to be functional humans

limitless: oh no. did poor love have to use her brain again instead of being a brainless slut the whole day? tragic

lovesick: i will block you

limitless: no you won’t. you like when i’m mean to you

You bite your lip. He’s not wrong. The online version of him is cocky in a way the real Satoru Gojo never lets himself be in person. Or maybe he does and you just never see it because you’re too busy hating him. Either way, your fingers speed up. You type one-handed.

lovesick: maybe i like when you shut up and post more videos instead

limitless: bossy. i like it. what do you want to see tonight love

You hesitate. Then send a text—it’s got a typo because your hands are busy between your thighs and your brain’s already fogging up with the thought of his hand on his dick.

lovesick: yoir hand slow

limitless: are you typing with one hand rn lol? perv

lovesick: stfu nd hurry plz

He replies with a new video almost immediately. Same angle. Same controlled strokes. His dick’s already leaking precum at the tip from the previous efforts from when he was recording the video.

limitless: slow enough for you?

You come with your bottom lip between your teeth, sounds of pleasure escaping the gaps anyway because fuck if it doesn’t feel good. You let out a long sigh, the tension easing out of your body as you relax into your mattress, your cunt still pulsing with the intensity of your orgasm.

lovesick: yeah i made a mess

limitless: attagirl

Across campus, in a quiet single dorm that smells like expensive cologne and instant ramen, Satoru’s lying on his back with his phone in one hand and his dick in the other, watching the little “lovesick is typing…” bubble.

He found your account by accident this year too. Late night, algorithm doing its thing, and suddenly there you were—faceless, pretty hands, pretty tits, captions that made him laugh and get hard at the same time. He liked one of your posts on a burner thought. Then another. Then he noticed you’ve been following him for a few days. He followed back. Then you replied to something he posted and it spiraled into this weird, addictive thing where “toru” and “love” talk shit and flirt and get each other off without ever saying real names.

He doesn’t know it’s you. Not yet, at least. But sometimes when you post something particularly bratty he thinks about the girl in his ethics class who hates his guts and wonders if she’d sound like that if she ever let herself be honest. Maybe it just stems from hopeful thinking. He knows it’s dumb. Knows he should have more self respect.

Tonight he comes hard to one of your older posts where you’re fondling yourself and teasing your nipples along with the mental image of you touching yourself to him. Then he cleans up, stares at the ceiling, and mutters, “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” to no one in particular but himself.

Because across the city—or at least across the quad—you’re doing the exact same thing. Different bed. Same post-nut clarity that feels a lot like regret and satisfaction and “why the fuck am I like this.”

You roll over, grab your phone again, and open Instagram. Scroll aimlessly. Your boyfriend texted you three times while you were busy touching yourself to another guy whose face you’ve never even seen. You leave him on read. He’s not who you’re thinking about right now.

Somewhere on the other side of campus Satoru opens his Instagram—and sees a story from one of the frat guys he follows. A blurry photo of you at some pre-party earlier, laughing with your friends, looking untouchable and expensive.

He stares at it longer than he should.

Then he scoffs and locks his phone, puts it face-down, and tells himself for the thousandth time that he doesn’t care. That the girl who humiliated him in front of half the freshman class three years ago doesn’t get to live rent-free in his head just because she looks good in some fuckass picture some other guy posted.

He almost believes it but he still wonders why you rejected him that day—even three years after. A petty man he is.

You fall asleep with your phone still open to limitless’s latest reply before it eventually dims and shuts itself off.

He falls asleep thinking about the way you said his name in lecture today like it was a curse word.

Three years. Same game. Different rules.

And neither of you knows the other’s falling asleep thinking about one another for all the wrong and entirely different reasons.

i hope this series turns out the way i want it to cuz the vision i have is great… idk if i will be able to implement it properly LMFAO we shall see