!nerdjo x reader | part 4
Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here!
By the time you arrived at Choso’s party, his house was already overflowing.
Bodies crowded every room, conversations blurred into laughter, red cups littered every available surface; and the air smelled like cheap perfume, vodka, and the unmistakable sweetness of someone smoking weed by the open door to the garden.
You'd already lost count after your second shot.
Shoko was talking to Choso beside you, animated as always, but the alcohol had turned her voice into little more than background noise.
Then the music shifted. The opening beat sent a ripple of cheers through the room. You barely noticed, until the lyrics started.
“I wanna watch you like a movie…”
Your fingers tightened around your cup. Not now.
“I wanna put you on the stage…”
You took another sip. Maybe the burn of the alcohol would be enough to keep that damn video from resurfacing every time the lyrics seemed determined to drag it back.
“I wanna know what you’d do to me…”
Apparently not. The universe had to be fucking with you.
“I wanna put you on the tape…”
The corner of your mouth twitched. Whoever had made the playlist had an awful sense of timing.
“Flashing red light, baby you’re a star…”
You lifted your cup for another drink, your eyes drifting absentmindedly across the room.
“Fuck me all night, show me who you are…”
Your eyes landed on a familiar face, and suddenly the music died.
“No fucking way” you whispered.
Satoru was leaning awkwardly against the far wall, towering over almost everyone around him, looking as though he’d somehow got lost on his way to the library.
A plain white T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, dark jeans hugging long legs that seemed unfairly endless. His white hair was still messy in that unintentionally perfect way, but something was different—
He wasn’t wearing his glasses.
You’d never seen him without them before.
Under the pulsing red and blue lights, his eyes looked impossibly bright, scanning the room with the same restless uncertainty he always seemed to carry outside the safety of a classroom.
The alcohol was making this so much worse.
He looked dangerously handsome.
And completely miserable.
Only then did you notice the blonde girl standing beside him, chatting easily with a small group of friends.
Satoru wasn’t saying much. His shoulders were stiff, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his smile polite but painfully strained. He looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin. Every few seconds his eyes drifted somewhere else, as though he were searching for an escape route.
The sight twisted something ugly inside your chest.
He definitely came here for her.
So why did he look like he wanted to be anywhere else?
“Oh… damn,” Shoko murmured, following your gaze “He cleans up nice.”
You didn’t answer. Instead, your eyes found Choso behind the kitchen counter, busy pouring another round of drinks.
“Choso” You called over the music, nodding toward the living room. “Do you know that guy? The really tall one with white hair?”
Choso glanced over, squinting through the crowd. “Oh, him? Not really” He shrugged “The blonde girl invited him—I think? They’re in the same class or something.”
Your chest tightened painfully. Of course. You’d known it before you’d even asked. He’d come because she invited him. That was why he was here, looking unfairly hot in a party setting he clearly didn’t belong in.
Jealousy burned hot and ugly in your stomach.
You reached for the nearest cup and downed it in one go. It tasted like fruit punch and regret, but it didn't matter.
Shoko raised an eyebrow “You good?”
An hour later, you were properly drunk. You’d lost Shoko what felt like an eternity ago, and the air downstairs had become too thick—heavy with perfume, sweat, and a bass that hammered relentlessly against your temples.
Your feet ached inside heels that had long since become instruments of torture, carrying you away from the madness. You drifted through the crowded house, weaving between strangers with half-empty cups in their hands. Laughter blurred into conversations you couldn't quite make out.
Your head felt pleasantly light.
As you climbed the stairs, the flashing lights faded behind you. The music that had swallowed the house only moments ago softened into a dull pulse, vibrating through the floorboards and echoing faintly against the walls.
The upstairs hallway was almost empty. A single lamp cast a warm glow over the wooden floor, leaving the far end swallowed in shadow.
Letting your eyes adjust.
Satoru was standing at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall, half-swallowed by the darkness, his phone resting loosely in one hand. The pale glow of the screen washed over his face, tracing the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck.
Somehow, he looked even more beautiful than usual.
For a fleeting second, reality snapped back into focus. The precarious balance on your heels. The dull ache in the arches of your feet. The desperate need to stay upright.
Almost instinctively, your fingers found the hem of your skirt, tugging it down where it had ridden up against the back of your thighs—a clumsy, subconscious attempt to make yourself look at least a little more put together.
And yet… He was alone. The girl who’d barely left his side downstairs was nowhere to be seen.
Your eyes lingered on the broad shoulders hidden beneath the plain white T-shirt, then drifted to the long fingers loosely curled around his phone before settling on the nervous way he shifted his weight against the wall.
He looked exactly the same as he always did.
Quiet. Awkward. Completely unaware of how beautiful he was.
Your curiosity curled hot in your stomach.
The version of Satoru you knew in daylight and the one you’d watched through a screen felt like two different people.
You were dying to know which one would look back at you if you got close enough.
Before your brain had the chance to catch up, your feet were already moving across the hallway, the sharp click of your heels breaking the silence.
Satoru startled so badly he nearly dropped his phone.
He looked up, quickly locking the screen before slipping the phone into his pocket with practiced ease. The movement was almost too quick, too casual—the kind of I’m just standing here composure that would’ve been convincing if his ears hadn’t already started turning pink.
“Oh…” His eyebrows lifted. “Hi.”
You took another step toward him. The hallway suddenly felt much narrower.
“Didn’t expect to see you at a party.”
“Yeah, I…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t usually come to these.”
“But you came because she invited you.” you countered, the alcohol sharpening your edges
He blinked, visibly caught off guard by the accusation.
You didn’t let him answer.
Instead, you tilted your head, your gaze drifting over his face.
“You’re not wearing your glasses.”
You were close enough now to catch his scent—clean soap, something fresh and woody, and something underneath it that was unmistakably him.
His hand flew to his face almost on instinct.
“Oh. Yeah. I... I thought the contacts might be better for a party. Less likely to get knocked off or fogged up or… whatever.” He laughed nervously “I feel weird without them.”
You took another step. The height difference was staggering; he had to look down at you, and the way he did it—soft, shy—made your knees feel weak. You reached out, your fingers ghosting over his jaw, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone.
Satoru went completely still. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating until the icy blue was nearly swallowed by black.
“I like you better with the glasses,” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the place where your fingertips brushed his skin. “They make you look… smart. Cute.”
“You…” His voice cracked, a high, strained sound. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into your touch as if he were trying to memorize the feeling. “You're…” He hesitated, struggling to find his voice. “...really close.”
“Does it bother you?” you challenged, your hand moving to the back of his neck, your thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. “Or is it that you’d rather be with someone else?”
He shivered, a visible tremor running through his broad shoulders. He looked down at your lips, his own parting slightly.
You smiled, the expression a little tipsy and a whole lot dangerous. Your other hand came up, resting flat against his chest. The fabric of his shirt was soft, but the muscle beneath it was hard, and you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your palm. You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, savoring the warmth radiating from him.
“You’re too tall,” you murmured, the words slipping out with a hunger you didn't bother to hide. “Always towering over everyone.”
Satoru swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “I know. Sorry—I’m always in the way.” He tried for a light laugh, but it came out as a ragged exhale. His hands remained at his sides, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white, as if he were physically anchoring himself to the wall to keep from touching you. “You’re… you’re drunk, aren’t you?”
The question sounded like a desperate attempt to break whatever had settled between you, to remind himself of the boundaries that were rapidly dissolving.
You didn't answer. Instead, you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his collarbone as you inhaled deeply, letting his scent fill your lungs.
“You smell so good,” you whispered against his skin, almost drunk on it “God, why do you smell so good?”
You didn’t care anymore that you weren’t the girl he thought about when he recorded those videos. The alcohol had burned away every last bit of restraint.
“You’re so soft..” you breathed, dragging your lips slowly along the warm skin of his neck, savoring the feeling.
Without a second thought, you pressed a slow, lingering kiss right where his pulse was jumping wildly beneath your lips.
He let out a soft, broken sound—half whimper, half sigh. It was the exact sound you’d heard a dozen times through your headphones, but hearing it now, feeling it vibrate against your mouth, was a visceral, jolting experience. The hallway felt like it was closing in, and the muffled music from the party below felt miles away.
“You shouldn’t… I mean, you’re drunk, and I—” He whispered the words. But even as he spoke, he betrayed himself by tilting his head slightly, giving you more access to his neck.
You welcomed the invitation.
Your lips trailed lower, moving to the ridge of his collarbone. You dragged your tongue slowly across the bone in one long, teasing lick. Satoru shuddered violently, a pretty, needy moan escaping his throat.
“Fuck—why are you...” His breath hitched “Ahh—why are you doing this to me?”
You could feel him hard against your hip when you pressed closer, the thick outline unmistakable. Yet his hands remained glued to his sides, fists clenched, shaking with restraint.
One of your hands slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his soft white hair. You pulled him down slightly, making the height difference even more obvious, and latched your mouth onto the side of his neck again.
This time you kissed him open-mouthed, sucking gently on his skin. Satoru whimpered, the sound breaking beautifully as you sucked harder, determined to leave a mark.
“Please—” he breathed. “I can’t—”
He still wouldn’t touch you back. His arms stayed rigid at his sides, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was fighting a war with his own instincts.
You pulled back just enough to look up at him.
Satoru’s eyes were half-lidded, lashes fluttering, his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink. It finally clicked in your hazy mind: he wasn’t touching you because he knew you were drunk. He was letting you use him however you wanted, but he refused to take advantage.
That realization might have been the hottest thing you had ever experienced in your life.
You leaned in slowly again, the height difference forcing you to stretch. Satoru’s eyes widened the moment your breath brushed his lips, impossibly surprised, almost disbelieving. He stared at you, pupils blown wide with shock and something much darker.
It started soft — just a gentle press of lips — but the second you felt the tiny, broken whimper vibrate against your mouth, something inside you snapped. You tilted your head and deepened the kiss, sliding your tongue along his bottom lip before pushing inside.
Satoru moaned into your mouth, the sound needy and desperate. His body trembled against yours, but his hands still stayed glued to his sides, shaking.
You kissed him harder, hungrier. Your tongue explored his mouth with lazy confidence, tasting him, teasing him, sucking on his tongue whenever he shyly tried to respond. Every little sound he made — those pretty, broken whimpers you had become addicted to — only made you more relentless.
One of your hands stayed at the back of his neck, fingers tangled in his soft white hair, while the other slowly slid down his chest. You felt every hard line of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, your palm gliding lower and lower until it stopped just above his belt.
You could feel how hard he was.
The thick, heavy length of his cock pressed insistently against your stomach, hot and unmistakable even through his pants. The same pretty cock you touched yourself to while watching him fall apart on camera. The realization made heat flood between your thighs.
The kiss turned wet and messy. Obscene sounds filled the quiet hallway as you devoured his mouth, biting his bottom lip gently before soothing it with your tongue. Satoru was shaking, breathing heavily through his nose, completely lost in the kiss but still refusing to touch you back.
God, he’s really not going to touch me.
He was letting you use his mouth, his body, his neck — whatever you wanted — while he held himself back because you were drunk.
It was infuriatingly respectful. And an absolute torture.
Just then, a voice echoed from downstairs.
Your heart jolted. You pulled back sharply, breathing hard, lips still tingling. For a second you just stared at him — at the mess you had made of him — and reality came crashing down like cold water.
Fuck. What did I just do?
Your hands were shaking. Your knees felt weak. The hallway suddenly felt too bright, too quiet. You took a shaky step back, almost losing your balance on your heels.
“I—” you whispered, voice cracking.
You couldn’t even finish the sentence.
You gave him one last frantic look — his messy white hair, swollen glossy lips, and the faint red marks you had left on his neck — before turning around. You walked away quickly, almost stumbling down the hallway, your heart hammering wildly in your chest.
Just as you disappeared down the stairs, Satoru’s head fell back against the wall with a quiet thud, eyes squeezed shut. A second later, his legs gave out and he slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, completely ruined.
He didn’t know what was more pathetic: his trembling hands, the frantic drum of his heart, or the warm, humiliating mess in his pants.
yep. i'm basically torturing everyone: reader, Satoru, you and me.
Reblogs are sooo appreciated ✨
part 5 coming soon !
masterlist
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The original taglist is full, but I'd be happy to add new requests to the overflow taglist (37/50) Thank you!! :)
