❝ HOW TO BA(N)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS ❞ .ᐟ ‘ 呪術廻戦 .
゛★ nerd ! satoru gojo is your best friend’s older brother.
# NERDJO AU ⋆ 14k words ⋆ 3 years younger!reader ⋆ not your typical nerdjo ⋆ toru has nipple piercings ⋆ smut, p in v the whole shtick ⋆ reader is a HORNDOG ⋆ side character: lia, gojo’s sister & reader’s best friend ⋆ uni setting ⋆ skip to day 9 if ur just here for the smut you perv ⋆ 18+ MDNI NSFW . art by zeilorene0
HOW TO BA(N)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS
(or: your completely unhinged, totally foolproof plan to make Satoru Gojo fall in love with you and hopefully rail you into next semester)
You’re not proud of yourself.
Okay, that’s a filthy lie. You’re extremely proud of yourself. The kind of proud that has you smirking at your own reflection in the spoon like a gremlin who just discovered the cheat code to the hottest man alive.
Because you’ve just cooked up the single greatest idea of your horny little life.
It started with a text from Lia—your roommate, your ride-or-die (who you’ve known for less than a year), and the biological sister of the man who has been living rent-free in your ovaries for three straight months.
Lia: do you want to come over this weekend? my brother’s gonna be home and he’s making his famous carbonara. i swear to god it’ll change your life
Your thumbs betrayed you instantly.
You: i’ll be there with bells on
Lia: please don’t actually wear bells i live in an apartment
You sat there, chopsticks frozen halfway to your mouth, and the realization hit you like a freight train made of pure, throbbing lust.
Fourth-year genetics god. Certified nerd. Unholy levels of hot.
The man who wears wire-rimmed glasses while buried in textbooks but also has fucking nipple piercings. You know this because you’d accidentally walked in on him shirtless that one time and your brain blue-screened so hard you saw the pearly gates. Silver bars through both pink nipples, perfect lean muscle, that stupidly narrow waist, and a happy trail that made your mouth water like a Pavlovian whore.
He’d just looked at you with those glowing blue eyes, raised one eyebrow, and said, “Wrong room, kid.”
He called you kid while you were having a religious experience over his pierced tits. Rude. And devastatingly… attractive.
You’d immediately fled, texted Lia YOUR BROTHER IS JACKED AND HAS HIS NIPPLES PIERCED WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!?!?!? and she’d replied lol yeah he works out. it’s the autism.
To which you’d replied ??? and she’d elaborated with: he’s not actually autistic he’s just psychotic about his routines. anyway don’t be weird about it
Too late. You were very weird about it. You’d spent the rest of the night with your hand between your thighs imagining what those pierced nipples would feel like against your tongue.
So here you are at 2 AM, eating sad instant ramen, and you’ve finally accepted the truth: Satoru Gojo is not a normal man. He’s a nerd. And normal flirting bounces right off his beautiful, dense skull.
You need a plan. A filthy, calculated, 10-day siege on that man’s self-control.
You snatch your phone and start hammering into your notes app like a woman possessed (a very horny possession.)
HOW TO BA(n)G A NERD IN 10 DAYS
• Find out every single one of his nerdy interests
• Learn what makes his brain (and hopefully his dick) tick
• Memorize his schedule so i can “accidentally” keep appearing in his line of sight
• Become a permanent fixture at Lia’s apartment
• Force him to notice me in increasingly slutty outfits
• Make it impossible for him to ignore the horny roommate-shaped problem in his house
• Talk to him about genetics like i give a fuck (i don’t, i just want to watch his mouth move)
• Drop strategic nerdy compliments that slowly transition into “I want you to bend me over your genetics textbook”
• Deploy feminine wiles at maximum power (respectfully. kinda?)
• Confess (horribly so. who the fuck’s good at confessions??)
• Let him destroy you in every position known to man (and maybe a few new ones he can genetically engineer)
• Profit (multiple orgasms)
You lean back, cackling quietly to yourself in the dark kitchen like a madwoman. This was an inexplicably terrible plan.
Ten days. That’s all you need. Ten days to turn Satoru Gojo from “Lia’s hot jacked nerd brother with nipple piercings” to “the man who folds you in half and calls you a good girl while those pierced nipples drag across your skin.”
You swipe out of notes and into messages, fingers already typing out a message to Lia.
You: what time should i come over on saturday
Lia: are you okay ?? since when do you need a timeframe
You: i've never been better. i need one today. now. what time
Lia: idk like 6?? he usually starts cooking around then
Lia: you're going to be weird around my brother again aren't you
You: i'm never weird around your brother
Lia: you literally stood in our kitchen staring at him for 10 minutes last week while he was making a sandwich
You: i was admiring his sandwich making technique
Lia: i don’t think you blinked once
You: that's just how i show respect
Lia: you're going to marry my brother aren't you
You: i'm going to do a lot more than marry him
Lia: ew shut up, i'm telling mom.
Lia: i’m afraid she’d love you actually
You: i know. it’s perfect for when she’s watching us walk down the aisle
Lia: you’re insane. like actually crazy
You throw your phone on the bed and grin at the ceiling.
Saturday can't come soon enough.
You’re conducting reconnaissance. Big difference. Stalking is creepy. Reconnaissance is strategic, horny, and completely justified when the target has arms like that.
So when you “casually” plant yourself at the library on Thursday afternoon—perfectly positioned with a direct line of sight to the returns desk—it’s not because you memorized his genetics lab schedule (2-4 PM) and know he always swings by here afterward. No, you’re simply a dedicated scholar who loves knowledge.
And penguins. Apparently.
You’ve been pretending to read an article on penguin mating habits for thirty minutes when he finally shows up. Gray henley stretched across that stupidly broad chest, white hair looking like it was styled by sex itself, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose while he carries a textbook that probably weighs more than you do.
Your cunt clenches so hard you nearly drop your phone.
Get it together, you thirsty gremlin.
He returns his books, flashes that devastating smile at the elderly librarian (who actually blushes—same, grandma), and starts to leave. Then he pauses like he’s trying to look for somewhere to sit.
His eyes find you. Mission successful.
And he walks straight over.
“You’re Lia’s friend, right?” His voice is low and smooth, like warm sin sliding down your spine. You want it whispering filthy things against your neck while he’s—jesus, stop.
“Yep… that’s me,” you manage.
“Lia talks about you constantly.” He nods at the empty chair across from you. “Mind if I sit? Got a break before my next class. Need to review some stuff.”
Your brain short-circuits. Your ovaries throw a full-on rave. The logical part of you that still exists is screaming say yes, you idiot.
“Sure,” you squeak. That was not cool. That was the opposite of cool. “Go ahead.”
He doesn’t seem to notice (thank fuck) as he drops into the seat and you catch a hit of his cologne—clean, masculine, expensive. It makes you want to crawl across the table and bury your face in his neck.
“You’re reading about penguins?” he asks, glancing at your book. The one you forgot you even had opened. Penguins pale terribly in comparison to the specimen who just sat across you.
“Uh, yeah. Just… curious.” You’re not even pretending to be normal anymore.
He nods seriously, completely unaware he’s two seconds away from being mentally undressed. Two seconds passed. “Emperor penguins are fascinating. The males can hold their breath for up to twenty minutes underwater. Females lay one egg, then the males incubate it for two months while the females hunt. They huddle together for warmth, rotating positions so no one freezes. It’s actually pretty efficient.”
You’re nodding like you give a damn about penguins when all you can think about is how those long fingers would feel stretching you open, how that deep voice would sound groaning your name while he fucks you slow and deep.
“That’s really sweet,” you say.
He shrugs. “It’s evolutionary. Not about being sweet—it’s mostly just survival.”
He looks at you then, like he’s studying you, and something flickers behind those ridiculous blue eyes. You wonder if he can tell you’re soaking through your panties just from listening to him talk about bird foreplay. Ugh, you’re pathetically horny.
The conversation shifts easily after that. You tell him your major is undeclared (true) but you’re leaning toward psychology (also true, specifically the psychology of why you want this man to ruin you). He talks about genetics like it’s the hottest thing on earth, and honestly? The passion in his voice is doing more for you than most guys’ entire bodies.
By the time he checks the clock and sighs, you’ve collected vital intelligence:
Favorite color is a very specific sky blue (you’re already planning outfits).
Morning person (disgusting, but you’d wake up at 5 AM if it meant getting him to screw you eventually).
Thinks The Expanse is the best show ever (you’re downloading it tonight).
Has a rigid morning routine and gets genuinely cranky if it’s disrupted (noted—do not fuck with his routine until he’s addicted to waking up next to you).
Looks even better up close. Unfairly so. The kind of hot that makes you want to climb him in public.
“I should head out,” he says, gathering his stuff. “But it was nice talking to you. You’re not nearly as annoying as Lia described.”
He’s grinning. Teasing. That smile should be illegal.
“I’m telling her you said that,” you shoot back.
“Please don’t. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Too late. Phone’s already out.”
“Damn.” He laughs, low and warm, and your brain immediately files it under sounds to masturbate to later.
He stands up and you let yourself stare as he walks away—those long legs, that perfect ass, the way his shoulders fill out the henley. You want to sink your teeth into his back while he fucks you from behind. You want to watch those pierced nipples tighten when you ride him. You want him to lose that calm, nerdy composure and absolutely wreck you.
So fucking deep it’s embarrassing.
You’re lying on Lia’s floor in her childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling and trying (and failing) not to think about the fact that Satoru Gojo is sleeping just down the hall.
It’s Friday night. You’d texted Lia I’m bored, come over and she’d hit you with I’m at my parents’ house? so you’d immediately replied cool I’ll come there like a completely normal, non-desperate person. Now here you are, in the Gojo family home, wearing tiny sleep shorts and a thin tank top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide how your nipples are already perked up just from knowing he’s nearby.
Lia is sprawled on her bed, scrolling on her phone. “So,” she says without looking up, “you gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you?”
“Bullshit. You’ve been extra unhinged all week.”
“Weirder than usual. You got all slutted up to go to the library yesterday. You hate the library.”
“I was expanding my horizons.”
“You were stalking my brother.”
You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on her bed frame. “I was not stalking him.”
“Uh-huh.” She gives you a flat look. “So you just happened to be at the exact table with the perfect view of the returns desk where he always goes?”
“It’s a public library. Lots of people study there.”
“And you just happened to be wearing lip gloss and a low-cut top?”
You deflate. “Fine. Maybe I was strategically positioning myself. It’s not stalking, it’s… tactical thirst.”
“Tactical thirst,” Lia repeats, deadpan. “Jesus Christ.”
You shrug. “I want him to notice me, okay?”
Lia puts her phone down. “Why? Because you want to bang him?”
“I don’t just want to bang him,” you protest.
“Oh? So you want to date him? Marry him? Have his kids?”
Your brain immediately supplies a vivid image of Satoru behind you, big hands gripping your hips, those long fingers digging in while he fucks you deep and growls about breeding you. You squeeze your thighs together.
“…Maybe eventually,” you mutter.
Lia starts laughing so hard she nearly rolls off the bed. “Oh my god. You’re actually down bad. You want to date my brother.”
“Yes! He’s the biggest nerd on planet Earth. He has a beaker collection. He watches hour-long documentaries for fun. He once spent an entire dinner arguing with Dad about the ethics of gene editing.”
“That sounds hot, actually.”
“I have a crush. Big difference.”
Lia sits up, suddenly serious. “Look, I love him, but he’s… a lot. He hyperfixates. He forgets to eat when he’s in research mode. He’s obsessive about his routines. He’s not exactly easy boyfriend material.”
“Maybe not for most people.” You grin. “But I like the weird. I like how passionate he gets when he talks. I like that he’s smart as hell. And I really like that he’s jacked.”
“Okay, that part is fair,” Lia admits. “He’s got an insane body. I hate saying it because he’s my brother, but yeah… he works out like a maniac.”
Lia’s eyes widen. “Have you seen him shirtless?”
“It was an accident! I opened the wrong door in the dorms when i was trying to get to yours and he was changing. Shirt off. Just… standing there.”
You bite your lip. “I saw them… the piercings.”
Lia loses it again, cackling like a hyena. “You saw his nip piercings and now you’re feral. That explains everything. No wonder you’re trying to move in.”
“I’m not obsessed—” you start, but she cuts you off.
“Name three reasons you want him that aren’t the piercings.”
You pause. “He’s smart. He’s really tall. And he has huge hands. Like… long fingers. You know what those could do—”
“OKAY STOP!” Lia slaps her hands over her ears. “I get it. You want to bang my brother. Congratulations, you’re the first girl who’s ever shown genuine interest after realizing how weird he is.”
“Seriously. A couple girls have tried, but they bail when they realize he’d rather talk DNA than make out.”
“Their loss,” you say, already imagining pushing him against a wall and shutting him up with your mouth on his.
Lia sighs. “If you’re really doing this, you’re gonna need my help. He’s dense as hell when it comes to flirting. You’re going to have to be obvious. Like, ‘I like you please marry me ’ obvious.”
“You’re going to be so weird about this, aren’t you?”
She groans but smiles. “Fine. I’m in. Let’s make a plan before you embarrass both of us.”
You launch yourself onto her bed and tackle her in a hug. “You’re the best.”
“I know. Now stop fantasizing about my brother while you’re in my room, you whore.”
Too late. You already are.
Hours pass and you can’t sleep.
Lia passed out an hour ago, snoring softly with her phone still glowing on her chest. But you’re wide awake, mind racing with dirty strategies and the knowledge that Satoru is sleeping just down the hall. Shirtless, probably. Maybe in nothing but those ridiculous novelty boxers he seems to own.
Your throat is dry. Your brain is horny. So you slip out of Lia’s room in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts that could double as underwear because of how little they hide anything, tiptoeing toward the kitchen like a woman on a mission for water… and maybe a glimpse of the nerd who’s been ruining your sleep.
The house is dark except for the soft glow of the fridge light when you round the corner.
Satoru Gojo, standing in front of the open refrigerator in low-slung gray sweatpants and no shirt, the silver bars through his nipples catching the light like a fucking invitation to grope him. His hair is messy from sleep, glasses nowhere in sight, and the way those sweatpants hang on his hips shouldn’t even be allowed.
He’s reaching for something on the top shelf, back muscles flexing, that narrow waist tapering into the most biteable ass you’ve ever seen.
Your brain short-circuits so violently you make a small, embarrassing noise that was supposed to be you clearing your throat.
He turns, blue eyes landing on you instantly.
“Oh. Hey,” he says, voice rough with sleep. It goes straight between your legs. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
You try to play it cool. You really do. But your eyes keep dropping to his pierced nipples, then lower, following the faint happy trail disappearing into those sweatpants. You can see the outline of his dick through the fabric and your mouth actually waters.
“Water,” you croak. “Just… needed water.”
He steps aside, gesturing lazily at the fridge. “Help yourself.”
You move past him, hyper-aware of how close he is. His body heat. That clean, masculine scent. The way his arm brushes yours when you reach for a bottle.
You turn around too fast and suddenly you’re chest-to-chest with him. Well, chest-to-stomach. He’s so fucking tall.
“Sorry—” you start, but the word dies when you look up and realize he’s staring down at you.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” he says quietly.
You glance down. The oversized tee has some faded genetics pun on it. You stole it from Lia’s laundry pile earlier without realizing.
“Shit. I didn’t— I can change—”
“Looks better on you,” he murmurs, and the low timbre of his voice makes your nipples tighten against the fabric.
Your brain supplies a very vivid image of him bending you over the kitchen island, yanking your shorts down, and fucking you until you can’t remember your own name. Those big hands gripping your hips. Those pierced nipples dragging against your back while he rails you from behind.
He leans in just a fraction, eyes dark. For one electric second you think he might kiss you.
Then he straightens up, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
No no no no don’t go… you were having such a good time just staring at him.
“I have a name, you know,” you blurt out and you’re not sure where that came from.
He pauses, turns to face you with that subtle smile on his face—the one that does terrible things to you.
He walks out, sweatpants riding low enough that you get a perfect view of the dimples at the base of his spine.
You stand there clutching your water bottle like a lifeline, thighs pressed together, heart hammering.
This sleepover is definitely a sleepover. And you are so screwed.
You wake up stupidly early—barely past 6 AM—because your bladder has no respect for your sleepover plans. The house is dead quiet. Lia is still snoring softly on the bed. You slip out from under the blanket in your shorts and his shirt, hair messy, eyes half-closed, and shuffle down the hall toward the bathroom.
You push the door open without knocking (big mistake) and freeze.
Satoru is already in there.
A towel slung dangerously low around his hips, water still dripping down his bare chest. Those silver nipple piercings catch the light like fucking bait. His white hair is wet and pushed back, glasses off, and the steam in the air makes everything feel way too intimate.
Your brain short-circuits so hard you can hear the dial-up tone.
He turns his head, blue eyes meeting yours in the mirror. For a second he looks surprised, then that lazy, amused smirk slides onto his face.
“Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep. “Didn’t know I had company this early.”
You’re standing there like an idiot, thighs pressed together, suddenly very aware that your nipples are visible through your thin shirt and your shorts are barely covering anything. Your gaze keeps betraying you—dropping to the defined lines of his abs, the sharp V disappearing under the towel, the way the fabric clings to his hips.
You want to drop to your knees right here on the bathroom tile and see what’s under that towel. You want to tug on those pierced nipples with your teeth while he fucks your throat. You want him to bend you over the sink and make you watch in the mirror while he ruins you.
Instead you squeak out, “Sorry— I didn’t— I’ll just—”
You start backing up but he chuckles, low and warm, and reaches for his toothbrush like this is completely normal.
“You’re fine. I’m almost done.” He glances at you again, eyes flicking down your body for half a second before returning to the mirror. “Sleep well?”
Your face is burning. Your down there is throbbing. “Yeah. Great. Perfect. You?”
“Same.” He starts brushing his teeth, completely unbothered by the fact that he’s mostly naked and you’re two feet away looking like you want to devour him. “You sticking around today?”
“Uh-huh.” You can’t stop staring at the water droplet sliding down his chest, right toward one of those fucking piercings. “Dinner. Carbonara.”
He rinses his mouth, turns around fully, and now you’re getting the full frontal view—broad shoulders, lean muscle, happy trail, and that towel that looks like it’s one deep breath away from falling.
“Good,” he says simply. “See you then.”
He steps past you in the doorway, close enough that his bare arm brushes yours and you catch the clean scent of his body wash. Your knees nearly give out.
He disappears down the hall toward his room, leaving you standing there like a horny statue.
You close the bathroom door behind you, lock it, and immediately lean against it, pressing your thighs together.
You’re never going to survive ten days if every morning starts like this.
Later that morning, after you’ve (barely) recovered and Lia has woken up, the two of you are sprawled across her bed with snacks, turning this into full war council mode.
You and Lia spend most of Saturday morning working on what you’re calling “Operation Bag and Bang the Nerd.”
“Well, first we need to figure out what he likes,” Lia says, scrolling through her phone. “He’s got a lot of interests.”
“I already know some of them. Genetics, The Expanse, the gym…”
“Okay, but you need specifics. What kind of genetics? Favorite episode? Gym routine?”
“Exactly. Research time.” She pulls up a document titled Satoru Intel like the unhinged best friend she is. “I’ve been collecting this for years. It’s a little creepy but extremely useful. I do it for my parents too.”
“I’m the best. Okay—population genetics, especially the genetics of blue eyes for his thesis. Favorite He’s a big fan of those self help books, has a bunch. Gym at 6 AM sharp every day.”
“Right? But it means he crashes early. Evenings are prime territory for you.”
“Can I just… come over whenever?”
“Obviously. But you need to make him want you around. He’s not exactly Mr. Social.”
“So I make him want to spend time with me.”
“Pretend to be interested in his research.”
“I am interested. I want him to explain it while I sit on his lap.”
Lia snorts. “Then ask him about his thesis. Let him nerd out. That’s the fastest way to his heart.”
You grin. “And his dick?”
She smacks your shoulder and you giggle shamelessly, “gross, woman!”
“Also, get physically close. He’s oblivious as hell. Touch his arm. Sit right next to him. Brush against him. Wear something slutty.”
“Obviously. He’s dense but he’s not blind. Weaponize the tits.”
“Already planning on it.”
“And be patient,” she warns. “He’s not going to fold overnight.”
“Ten days,” you say, dead serious. “I’m getting him in ten days.”
Lia raises an eyebrow. “Ambitious.”
She laughs and holds out her hand. “Ten days. Starting now.”
You shake it. “Oh, I’m on day four already.”
“What?!—“ she blurts out, confused as hell. “You think you can do this in six days?”
“Just trust me, okay. I have my ways.”
Lia shrugs and lets out a chuckle, “alright then. If it doesn’t work you owe me coffee every day for a whole month.”
“You were so confident a second ago?”
“One day you’re gonna get that ego checked.”
You’re already mentally picking out your outfit for dinner—something tight, low-cut, and guaranteed to make those blue eyes linger.
After this morning’s bathroom encounter, you have a feeling he’s at the very least noticed your sexual appeal. You just need to keep pushing.
You spend an embarrassing amount of time getting ready.
Four outfit changes, two complete hair redos, and so much makeup reapplication that you’re starting to look like a different person which you start to hate and then remove entirely and settle on mascara and lipgloss. You settle on pants that make your ass look great and a tight black top with a plunging neckline (per Lia’s very helpful suggestion).
Your phone buzzes as you’re leaving the dorm.
Lia: are you coming or what
Lia: good bc satoru is already cooking and if you miss his carbonara i will personally end you
You: you’d fight me for missing pasta??
The second you step into the Gojo house the smell of carbonara hits you like heaven. Creamy, garlicky, sinful. Lia lets you in with a wicked little grin.
“He’s in a good mood,” she whispers. “Thesis breakthrough. He’s feeling generous.”
“Just… don’t be too obvious. He gets weird about it.”
“You’ve never been subtle in your life.”
“I’ll be my version of subtle.”
“That’s what terrifies me.”
You walk into the kitchen and there he is—Satoru Gojo in a “Kiss the Cook” apron, looking unfairly domestic and hot as hell. The apron strings are tied around that stupidly narrow waist, and you immediately picture untying them with your teeth.
“Hey, Lia’s friend,” he says.
“Hey, Lia’s brother,” you fire back.
He glances up with a smirk. “Satoru. You can call me Satoru.”
“You know my name and you still call me Lia’s friend.”
“Good point.” He stirs the pasta, muscles flexing under the apron. “Staying for dinner?”
“Good. I made enough for a small army. Lia always invites strays.”
“I do not,” Lia protests.
“You literally just did.”
The carbonara is obscene—rich, silky, perfectly cheesy. You moan around your first bite and don’t even care how it sounds. Satoru’s eyes flick to your mouth for a second.
“Holy shit,” you say. “This is better than sex.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “High praise.”
You spend the rest of dinner complimenting him shamelessly and then steering the conversation to his thesis. The second you ask about the genetics of blue eyes, his whole face lights up. He launches into a passionate ramble about OCA2, HERC2, melanin production, and ancient mutations while his hands gesture wildly.
You don’t understand half of it, but you’re riveted anyway—mostly because watching him get excited makes you want to climb him like a tree and ride him while he keeps talking nerd shit in your ear.
“Most people zone out when I talk about this,” he admits at the end, looking almost shy.
“Nope. I could listen to you talk about genetics all night.”
He blinks, then gives you a real, soft smile. “You’re weird.”
Lia watches the whole exchange like a proud mother.
After dinner she claps her hands. “Movie time. The Expanse. Season one, episode one. No skipping.”
Satoru perks up immediately. “You haven’t seen it?” he asks you.
“We’re fixing that right now.”
The carbonara plates are cleared and dropped into the sink, compliments thoroughly given, and the three of you migrate to the living room. Satoru takes his usual spot on the big sectional couch while Lia claims the armchair so you two can sit together. You deliberately sit right next to him instead of leaving a polite gap—close enough that your thigh almost brushes his.
He doesn’t comment on it. Just queues up The Expanse and starts explaining the premise, talking with his hands the way he always does when he’s excited. You watch him more than the screen.
Lia lasts about twenty minutes before she fakes the world’s most obvious yawn.
“God, I’m wiped. All that science talk drained me. You two keep going—I’m tapping out early.” She shoots you a quick little smirk behind Satoru’s back and vanishes down the hallway before either of you can protest.
Now it’s just the two of you.
The episode plays on, but you’re barely paying attention to the plot. You’re too busy watching Satoru’s face light up every time something interesting happens on screen. He keeps pausing to explain details—Belter culture, the physics of space travel, the political tensions—and you find yourself actually leaning in, not just because you want his hands on you, but because the way he gets lost in it is weirdly endearing. Cute, even. This giant, jacked nerd with nip piercings rambling about fictional solar system politics like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
It’s hot. And sort of adorable.
You shift closer under the pretense of getting comfortable, letting your shoulder press against his. He doesn’t move away. If anything, he relaxes a little, arm stretching along the back of the couch behind you.
“So the Belters,” you say, genuinely curious, “they’re basically space miners who got screwed by Earth and Mars, right? That whole ‘we were born in space, you were born with gravity’ thing?”
His eyes flick to you, surprised you actually seem into this. “Yeah. Exactly. It’s this whole class and resource struggle layered on top of incredible sci-fi worldbuilding. Most shows would make it black and white, but this one actually shows how everyone’s kind of right and kind of wrong at the same time.”
You nod, letting your knee rest against his thigh now—body slightly tilted towards his on the couch. “That’s cool. I like when stories don’t treat the audience like idiots.”
He turns his head to look at you properly. Those ridiculous blue eyes are softer in the dim TV light. “Most people just nod and wait for me to shut up when I start explaining stuff like this.”
“I’d like to think I’m not most people.” You tilt your head, letting your shoulder settle more firmly against his chest—he stiffens for a second before relaxing, letting out a soft breath he thought you wouldn’t notice. “Keep going. What happens after that scene?”
He launches back into it, voice dropping into that low, enthusiastic register that does terrible things to your insides. You listen, asking real questions, but your mind keeps wandering to filthier places—imagining that mouth against your neck while he explains genetics, those long fingers sliding under your top, pinning you down while he rambles about melanin between thrusts.
At one point he laughs at something on screen and the sound vibrates through his chest into your shoulder. You have to press your thighs together.
“You’re actually paying attention,” he says after a while, sounding almost impressed. There’s a flirty little edge to his voice now, playful. It’s so hot and so distracting. “Most girls pretend to be interested for about five minutes before they start checking their phones.”
“I am interested,” you say honestly. “It’s well-written. And I like how passionate you get about it. It’s… cute.”
The second the word leaves your mouth his eyebrows shoot up. “Cute?”
“Shut up. You heard me.” You nudge his side with your elbow, but you don’t pull away. If anything you sink in closer, letting your head tilt toward his shoulder. “Don’t let it go to your head, nerd.”
He chuckles, low and warm. “I’ll think about it.” His arm shifts slightly behind you—not quite around you, but close enough that his fingers could brush your arm if he wanted. “You’re weird, you know that?”
You look up at him through your lashes. “You’ve mentioned, but weird how?”
“You listen. Ask surprisingly good questions. Wear tops like that.” His gaze drops to your cleavage for half a second before flicking back to your face, a little guilty, a little heated. SCORE!! He noticed your tits this is going beautifully. “And you smell really good. It’s distracting.”
Your pulse spikes. Heat pools low in your stomach. You want to straddle him right here on the couch and see how fast that nerdy composure cracks. Instead you smirk.
“Good. I like distracting you.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind those eyes. Then he turns back to the TV, but his arm settles more deliberately along the back of the couch, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.
The episode keeps playing. You keep leaning into him. And for the first time, it feels like he’s actually seeing you—not just as Lia’s friend, but as something a lot more interesting.
You’re still going to fuck his brains out the second you get the chance.
But damn if the nerdy rambling isn’t growing on you too.
You wake up at 5:30 in the morning like a masochist.
Your phone alarm is blaring. Your body is begging for mercy. But you drag yourself out of bed anyway because the mission demands it.
Satoru Gojo works out at 6 AM sharp every single day. And today, you’re going to “coincidentally” be there too.
You spend way too long picking an outfit: black leggings that hug your ass, a matching padded sports bra that gives excellent lift and cleavage, and a loose tank top that keeps slipping off one shoulder. Your ponytail is artfully messy. You look like the kind of girl who lives at the gym.
In reality, the last time you ran was to catch the bus in high-school.
You walk into the gym at 5:55 AM and immediately spot him.
Holy fuck. You might be here every day from now on if it means getting front row seats to him in all of his glory.
Sweat is already glistening across his broad chest and down those ridiculous abs. His arms flex with every rep, veins popping out, and those silver nipple piercings catch the harsh lights like they’re kindly asking you to stare. You nearly walk straight into a weight rack.
He racks the bar and sits up, towel around his neck, catching sight of you.
“You?” He blinks, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
You try to sound casual. “Working out. New fitness journey and all that.”
“Since when?” He wipes sweat from his forehead, muscles shifting in a way that should be illegal before breakfast.
“Uh… since recently. I’m turning over a new leaf. Becoming a morning person.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused by your new goal. “You told me two days ago you hate mornings.”
“I’m evolving,” you deadpan. “It’s a process but hey, I managed to get out of bed and come here. Good progress.”
He nods, studying you for a second, eyes drifting down your body—leggings, sports bra, the way your tank top clings to your skin—before flicking back to your face. “Alright. Treadmills are over there if you’re running. Good view of the TVs.”
You climb onto a treadmill and start at a light jog, trying not to look like a complete and utter fraud. Your heart is already racing and it has nothing to do with the speed—okay it has some to do with the speed.
A couple minutes later he appears beside your machine, still beautifully shirtless, towel slung over one shoulder.
“Your form’s off,” he says without preamble.
“You’re heel-striking. It’s gonna wreck your knees long-term.” He steps onto the side rail of the treadmill. “Can I fix it?”
“Please.” You slow the treadmill to a stop and stand there with your heart beating against your chest as he reaches down and taps your ankle, guiding your foot placement. His fingers are warm and firm against your skin through the thin legging material. You clench involuntarily.
“Land on the ball of your foot,” he instructs, voice low. “Like this.”
Then his hands move to your hips, adjusting your posture with gentle pressure. He’s so close you can smell his sweat mixed with that clean cologne, feel the heat radiating off his bare chest. Your brain floods with vivid images: those big hands gripping your hips harder while he fucks you from behind, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. Maybe those biceps putting you in a chokehold. You have to snap yourself out of it before you forget where you are.
“Lean forward just a little,” he murmurs, right next to your ear. “Not too much. There… yeah. That’s it.”
Fuck, you’re pretty sure you’re soaking through your leggings.
“Better?” he asks, stepping back but not far.
“Much better,” you manage, voice a little breathless. “Thanks, Satoru.”
“No problem.” He gives you that crooked, flirty smirk. “Always happy to help pretty girls with their form.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “Pretty girls?”
He shrugs, casual, but there’s a spark in those blue eyes. “What? You look good. The outfit works. Just… don’t push too hard if you’re new to this. I don’t want you sore tomorrow.”
Too late, pretty boy. I’m already sore in all the right places.
“I can handle it,” you say, turning up the speed a notch. “But if I die, you’re carrying me home.”
He laughs—low, warm, genuine—and the sound shoots straight down in between your legs. “Deal. I’ll spot you on the weights after if you want.”
You spend the rest of your (very short) workout stealing glances at him. Watching him load plates onto the bar, muscles bulging, sweat dripping down that perfect V-line into his shorts. You want to lick the sweat off his chest. You want to see how sensitive those nips are. You want him to pin you against the mirror and fuck the “morning person” energy right out of you. Or into you. Whatever, potato potahto.
But underneath all the raging lust, you’re also weirdly into how focused and disciplined he is. The way he tracks his reps, the quiet intensity on his face—it’s hot. And impressive.
When you finally step off the treadmill on shaky legs, he wanders over again, handing you a spare towel.
“Not bad for a new morning person,” he teases.
“You watching? High praise from the 6 AM regular.”
He lingers for a second, eyes flicking over you again. “Making sure you don’t fall over and hurt yourself. You coming back tomorrow?”
“Maybe. If my legs don’t fall off.”
“I’ll be here.” He gives you one last slow smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”
“Hard to when I’m basically a resident at Lia’s.”
You watch him chuckle and walk back to the weights, that glorious back and shoulders on full display, and feel a rush of triumph mixed with pure, aching want.
Day six is a huge success. You’re sweaty, exhausted, and hornier than ever. But he noticed you. He touched you. God you’ll be thinking about that all day.
You’re at the Gojo family home again. At this point you basically live here. Lia has started making jokes about charging you rent, and you’re starting to worry she’s only half-kidding.
You’re sprawled on the couch with her, pretending to watch some trashy reality show while mostly scrolling on your phone, when Satoru walks in from the hallway looking annoyingly good in just a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats.
“I’m making coffee,” he announces casually. “Anyone want some?”
“I’ll take one,” Lia says lazily.
“I’m good, thanks,” you reply.
He nods and disappears into the kitchen. A few minutes later he returns with two mugs. He hands one to Lia, then turns to you and holds out the second.
You blink. “I said I was good.”
“I know.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “But it’s got hazelnut creamer. You mentioned you like it that one time.”
He remembered. Not just that you drink coffee, but the specific creamer you like. From a passing comment days ago.
You take the mug, fingers brushing his, and feel a stupid little flutter in your chest. “Thanks. That’s… pretty thoughtful.”
“It’s just coffee,” he says, but there’s a small, pleased smirk playing on his lips.
“It’s not just coffee. It’s thoughtful coffee.”
He leans against the doorway, studying you with those oh so pretty blue eyes. “I pay attention to things. Especially people. I like figuring out what makes them tick.”
Your pulse kicks up. You take a sip to hide how much that affects you. The hazelnut is perfect.
“And what makes me tick?” you ask, trying to sound casual.
He holds your gaze for a long moment. “Still working on that one. But I’m getting there.”
Then he pushes off the doorframe and heads back toward his room, leaving you staring after him like an idiot.
The second he’s out of earshot, Lia whips around on the couch, eyes wide.
“He’s not. He was just… being nice.”
Lia snorts so hard she nearly chokes on her coffee. “Nice? My brother doesn’t do ‘nice’ like that. He forgot my birthday three years in a row. He barely remembers to make himself coffee most days. But he made you one with your favorite creamer? Unprompted?”
You look down at the mug in your hands, the steam still curling up sweetly. “Maybe he’s just trying to be a good host.”
“Please. He doesn’t give a shit about being a good host. Half the time he ignores people who come over. But he remembered your creamer preference and brought it to you anyway?” She pokes your arm. “That’s practically a confession for him.”
You laugh, but your face feels hot. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m right. And the way he looked at you when he said he’s ‘figuring you out’? That was flirty as hell.”
You shift on the couch, thighs pressing together as your mind immediately goes to images of him figuring you out in much more hands-on ways—those long fingers between your legs while he murmurs nerdy observations about what makes you tick.
“He does have a habit of paying attention to details,” you admit.
“Exactly. And right now all his attention is on you.” Lia grins excitedly. “Operation Bag and Bang is working. My brother wants you.”
You take another sip of the perfect hazelnut coffee, warmth spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the drink.
Maybe he really is starting to like you back.
And maybe, just maybe, you’re not only in this for the filthy fantasies anymore. The way he listens when you talk, the way he remembers little things, the look he gets in his eyes when he looks at you… it’s doing something stupid to you. Makes your heart flutter, makes you blush like a lovesick girl.
Doesn’t mean you aren’t going to still absolutely fuck him senseless the second you get the chance, though.
You’re sitting cross-legged on his bed, physics notes, textbooks, and crumpled practice problems scattered everywhere. He’s leaning against the headboard looking unfairly hot in a loose black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, glasses perched on his nose as he flips through your messy notes.
You’d asked him yesterday to help you study because you’re genuinely shit at physics and the test is in two days and you’re sure you’re going to flunk. He’d agreed immediately, telling you to bring everything over. You told Lia and she encouraged you and said she’ll leave the house so you two can be alone (best wingwoman and best friend ever btw) Now here you are—surrounded by his nerd clutter of books, beakers, and posters—trying (and horribly failing) to focus while the sexual tension threatens to burn the room down.
“Alright, pay attention,” he says, voice casual but firm as he taps your paper. “This free body diagram is still fucked. You keep forgetting the normal force direction. If you do this on the test you’re gonna lose a ton of points.”
You nod, but your eyes keep drifting to the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest, the faint outline of those nipple piercings visible through the fabric. You want to push him back on this bed and ride him until he forgets every equation he’s ever learned. Maybe you’ll make him solve some while he’s buried inside you just to see him struggle. God you’re getting horny just thinking about it. That’s until he rudely interrupts your fantasies.
“Hey.” He snaps his fingers lightly in front of your face, smirking. “Focus. This test actually matters. I’m not letting you bomb it because you’re too busy staring at me.”
“Sorry,” you say, not sorry at all. “You’re distracting.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it. We’re staying here until you can do these problems without thinking.” He scoots closer, large muscular thigh pressing firmly against yours as he leans in to redraw the diagram. His arm brushes your chest and you have to bite your lip. “See? The force arrow goes this way. Not that way. Mess this up on the real test and you’re pretty much screwed.”
You try again. He checks your work, nodding when it’s better but immediately pointing out the next mistake.
“Better, but still not perfect. Come on, you’re smarter than this. I know you are.” His tone is light, but there’s real concern underneath it. And fuck if that doesn’t turn you on because what the hell’s hotter than a dude actually caring? “I don’t want you stressing out the night before because you half-assed it. Let’s do the next one.”
The tension is unbearable. Every time he leans in to correct something, his knee stays glued to yours. Every explanation comes with casual touches—his fingers brushing your hand when he passes the pen, his shoulder pressed against yours, his breath warm against your ear as he talks through equilibrium problems. You swear he’s doing it on purpose just to torture you.
You keep getting distracted by your uncontrollable filthy thoughts—his hands gripping your hips, that deep voice in your ear explaining exactly how he wants you to move while he fucks you.
“Focus,” he says again, gently flicking your forehead. “I’m serious. This shit builds on itself. If you don’t get the fundamentals now you’re gonna be fucked for the rest of the semester.”
“You’re really invested in my grade, huh?” you tease, shifting so your thigh slides more firmly against his.
“Yeah, I am.” He looks at you directly. “I like when people actually learn stuff. Especially you. So stop looking at my tits and solve the damn problem.”
You laugh but actually try this time. When you get it right he gives you a pleased little smirk and ruffles your hair.
“There we go. See? You’ve got this. Just need to stop getting distracted by how hot your tutor is.”
“Impossible,” you mutter.
He chuckles, low and warm, but immediately dives back into the next concept. “Torque next. This one trips a lot of people up. Pay attention— I’m not explaining it three times.”
You spend the next couple hours like that: bodies pressed close on his bed, heavy tension crackling between every word, while he stays surprisingly focused on making sure you actually understand the material. He’s casual and flirty, throwing in teasing comments and lingering touches, but he never lets you derail the session for too long.
“Last set,” he says eventually, handing you more practice problems. “Nail these and I’ll be impressed. And maybe… reward you somehow.” His eyes drag slowly down your body before flicking back up, heated. Holy shit. Is he implying what you think he’s implying? “But only if you actually get a decent grade. Deal?”
You swallow, already thinking about everything. “Deal.”
He leans back against the headboard, arm stretched behind you, fingers idly playing with the hem of your shirt while you work. The concern for your success is weirdly attractive—mixed with all that casual confidence and the constant undercurrent of want.
You’re definitely passing this test.
And you’re definitely going to fuck your tutor senseless the second it’s over.
(except it’s actually day eleven because the last two days were just non-stop tutoring and you finally crushed that physics test)
You don’t mean to confess.
It’s late. The house is quiet. Lia passed out on the couch an hour ago, and Satoru suggested the two of you keep watching The Expanse in the living room. Now you’re alone with him on the big sectional, sitting so close your thighs are pressed together and your shoulders keep brushing.
The show is on, but neither of you is really watching anymore.
Your heart is hammering. His hand rests on the cushion between you, fingers twitching like they want to close the last inch of space between yours and his. The tension has been building for days—those long study sessions where he’d scold you to focus while his eyes lingered on your mouth and legs.
“So,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “I got my physics grade back today.”
He turns his head, blue eyes sparkling with interest. “And?”
You smirk. “A solid B+. Would’ve been an A if someone hadn’t kept distracting me with his hands and voice the whole time.”
Satoru lets out a low laugh, but there’s heat in it. “Told you to focus. I take my tutoring duties seriously.”
“You also promised me a reward if I did well.” You shift closer, letting your hand rest on his thigh. “I did well, Satoru.”
His breath catches. The tension snaps tighter. He looks down at your hand, then back up at your face, eyes darker now.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” His voice is rougher. “What kind of reward were you thinking?”
You lean in until your lips are inches from his. “I think you know exactly what kind I want. I think you’ve known for a while now. Unless you’re just… super dense. Which Lia told me you are, but I think you’re smarter than that.”
He swallows hard. The air between you feels electric. “You’re really not subtle anymore, huh?”
“Nope. I’ve been trying to be subtle for a while now.” Your fingers trace slow circles on his thigh, teasingly high. “So… about that reward.”
He exhales sharply, hand finally moving to cover yours, squeezing. “You’re killing me here.”
“Good.” You tilt your head, lips brushing his jaw. “Because I’ve been dying for days. Sitting in your room, letting you play teacher while all I could think about was climbing onto your lap and shutting you up with my mouth.”
His grip on your hand tightens. “Fuck.”
He turns fully toward you, free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. The show is completely forgotten. “You really want this?”
“I’ve wanted this since I walked in on you shirtless that first time.” Your voice drops and you bite your lip. “Since I saw those piercings. You’re gonna need to tell me the story behind those someday. Preferably after I’ve had them in my mouth.”
His eyes flare and he chuckles nervously—breathlessly. The tension is so thick it’s suffocating in the best way. He’s breathing harder now, thumb stroking your neck.
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he mutters. “Trying to make sure you actually passed that test instead of just thinking about bending you over my desk every time you leaned over your notes.”
You grin against his mouth. “And now?”
“Now?” He leans in, lips hovering just above yours. “Now I’m thinking about collecting on that reward too.”
You close the distance first.
The kiss starts hungry—three months of built-up tension exploding all at once. His mouth is hot and demanding, tongue sliding against yours as he pulls you closer. You moan into it, and he swallows the sound greedily, hand sliding into your hair.
When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard.
“Well,” he says, voice hoarse, “that was a long time coming.”
“Too long.” You nip at his bottom lip. “And we’re nowhere near done. I still want my full reward, tutor.”
He laughs, low and filthy, forehead resting against yours. “Greedy.”
He kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, hands roaming your sides like he’s been dying to touch you. The living room feels too small, too public, but neither of you cares enough to stop.
Satoru pulls back from the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. “We can’t do this here,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “Parents are upstairs. Lia’s literally passed out on the couch. If anyone hears—”
“Then take me to your room,” you whisper against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip. “Now, please.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up, grabs your hand, and practically drags you down the hallway, both of you moving as quietly as possible. The second his bedroom door clicks shut behind you, he pushes you up against it, kissing you hard again. This time there’s no hesitation—his hands roam down your sides, gripping your ass as he grinds against you.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he groans quietly against your neck. “You have no idea how many times I had to stop myself from bending you over my desk during those study sessions.”
You laugh breathlessly, hands already sliding under his shirt like you’ve imagined a thousand times over the course of the past ten days. “Then stop stalling and show me, nerd.”
He tugs your shirt off first, then his own, and there they are—those perfect, lean pecs with the silver bars through both pink nipples, already hard from the cool air and the tension. You stare like a woman starved.
“God, I’ve been so fucking obsessed with these,” you admit, running your palms over his chest, thumbs brushing right over the piercings.
Satoru hisses sharply, hips jerking against you while his abs clench abruptly. “Sensitive— fuck— they’ve been extra sensitive since I got them done.”
“That’s to my advantage.” You push him back toward the bed, watching him sit on the edge as you climb onto his lap. “I’ve honestly wanted to play with them for months.”
You lean down and drag your tongue over one pierced nipple, flicking the bar lightly. Satoru’s head falls back with a choked groan, one hand flying up to cover his mouth, teeth digging into his fingers.
“Shit— easy,” he hisses, voice strained. “Parents are right upstairs. You’re gonna get us caught.”
You smirk and suck the other nipple into your mouth, tugging gently on the piercing with your teeth. His cock twitches hard against your thigh through his sweatpants.
“Fuck, you’re so evil,” he pants, trying to sound cocky but sounding wrecked instead. “I’m trying to be all cool and collected here and you’re— ah— sucking on my tits like you’re trying to milk me.”
“I wish i could,” you murmur, switching sides and rolling the other bar between your fingers while you lick and suck. His chest is flushed, nipples puffy and oversensitive from the attention. Every tug and flick makes him shudder underneath you. “They’re so pretty. Look at how they get all hard for me.”
“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he groans, chest heaving, biting his fist to stay quiet. His face is so red he’s hard to recognize. You’ve never seen him lose his composure this hard but damn if you’re not getting off on it. “I’m supposed to be the one ruining you, not the other way around.”
You grind down on the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants, still lavishing attention on his chest. “Who says we can’t do both?”
He finally snaps, flipping you onto your back on the bed with surprising strength. He hovers over you, sweat dripping down his chest, hair messy. “My turn. Shorts off, baby… please.”
You obey, shimmying out of your shorts and panties while he kicks off his sweatpants. His cock springs free—long, thick, and already leaking. You gasp—audibly so—at the sheer size of him. You knew he was big because you’d seen him in those sinful grey sweats but you never could picture it in your head. But now it’s right here… fuck, you’re soaking. You reach for it but he catches your wrist.
“Not yet,” he says, voice cocky but with that nervous edge underneath. “I’ve spent too many nights jerking off thinking about this. I’m not rushing it.”
He kisses down your body, mouth hot and eager, but you pull him back up by his hair. “You’ve jerked off to me?” You ask breathlessly, a little cocky smile on your lips. “I’m flattered.”
He chuckles and rolls his eyes right at you, licking his lips. “Don’t act like you haven’t done the same, pervert.”
“Never acted like anything.”
“Good.” He’s about to go down on you, his lips finding your neck and then gradually moving lower but you can’t help but want to toy with his nips again. Your fingers gently coax him up to your face again by his hair and he groans. “C’mon…gimme’ a chance to make you feel good.”
“No. I want these again.” You cup his chest, thumbs circling his swollen nipples. “They’re so fucking sensitive. Look at you—shaking just from me playing with them.”
Satoru buries his face in your neck to muffle a moan as you pinch and tug on the bars. “You’re— fuck— such a brat. I’m trying to be a good tutor-turned-lover here and you’re using my piercings against me.”
You laugh softly and lick over one again, sucking harder while your hand strokes his cock slowly. “They’re pretty much mine now. I’ve earned them after all that studying.”
He shudders, hips bucking into your fist. “Yeah? Then keep earning them. Just— quiet, baby. I swear if my mom hears us I’m so dead.”
You keep teasing his chest relentlessly—licking, sucking, tugging on the piercings while your hand works his cock in long, slow strokes. He’s panting into your shoulder, trying so hard to stay quiet, occasionally letting out these choked little whimpers whenever you twist the bars just right or squeeze him a little tighter on the upstroke.
“God, you’re so hard,” you whisper. “All this from me playing with your tits?”
“Shut up,” he groans, embarrassed but clearly loving it. “They’ve always been sensitive but you’re making it so much worse. Or better. Fuck, I don’t know anymore.”
You push him onto his back again and straddle him, rubbing your soaked pussy along his length while you continue lavishing attention on his chest. He grips your hips hard, biting his lip bloody trying to stay silent.
“You gonna fuck me now, sir?” you tease, grinding down. “Or do I need to keep playing with these until you beg?”
He lets out a shaky laugh. “Don’t—don’t call me that, it does things to me,” he groans, cock twitching against you. “Come here— I need to be inside you before I lose my mind.”
He reaches over to his nightstand, grabs a condom with trembling hands (still nerdy enough to be prepared), and rolls it on. Then he pulls you down onto him in one slow, deep thrust.
Both of you moan—his muffled against your shoulder, yours against his neck.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “So tight. Been thinking about this for days.”
“Try three months,” you groaned into his neck, breathing heavily. You start riding him slowly, still playing with his oversensitive nipples, tugging and rolling the bars while you bounce on his cock. Every time you pinch them he thrusts up harder, trying desperately to stay quiet.
“Quiet, Satoru,” you tease breathlessly, echoing his earlier words. “Wouldn’t want your parents knowing their genius son is getting his pierced nips played with while he fucks his sister’s best friend.”
He groans, hips snapping up. “You’re evil. Absolutely evil. I’m never— shit— gonna recover from this.”
You don’t let him recover. You keep the pace torturously slow and deep, spoiling his chest with attention while the pleasure builds and builds for both of you. His cock fills you perfectly, stretching you with every downward grind. The room is thick with the sound of skin on skin and muffled breathing and held back moans.
Satoru’s hands slide up your waist and cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples with deliberate pressure. He’s not gentle about it—pinching and rolling them between his fingers while he thrusts up to meet you.
“Fuck, these are perfect,” he mutters, voice low and rough. His eyes are dark, needy, but there’s that cocky edge as he watches your face. “Been wanting to get my hands on them since you kept leaning over my notes in that tank top.”
You moan softly and he immediately covers your mouth with one hand, the other still tugging on your nipple.
“Shh,” he whispers, a little smirk playing on his lips even as his hips snap up harder. “Parents are literally right upstairs. You want to get caught, hmm?”
You shake your head, but the way he’s playing with your tits makes it hard to stay quiet. You lean down and take one of his pierced nipples into your mouth again, sucking hard while you roll your hips.
He groans into your hair, the sound needy and broken. “God— you’re like an addict.”
You pull off with a wet pop, still riding him slow and deep. “Why’d you get them pierced?” you ask breathlessly, fingers tracing the silver bars. “They’re so sensitive. Was it for pleasure purposes?”
Satoru’s hands tighten on your hips, guiding you faster for a few strokes before he forces himself to slow down again. Dominant and needy all at once. “Got them after I lost a bet in second year. Didn’t realize how fucking sensitive they’d make me.” He thrusts up sharply, making you gasp. “Now every time you touch them it’s like they’re wired to my dick. It’s torture. I fucking love it.”
You clench around him at that, riding him a little harder. “What about your cock?” you tease, voice low. “Ever think about getting that pierced too?”
He laughs, the sound shaky and turned on. One hand leaves your hip to slap your ass lightly—playful, teasing—before gripping it again and pulling you down with a soft whine. “Thought about it. A lot, actually. Prince Albert maybe. But I chickened out. Figured I’d rather have someone else decide if they want to decorate it.” His eyes lock on yours, needy but cocky. “You offering to help pick one out?”
You moan at the image, grinding down harder. “Maybe.”
His hands are back on your tits, squeezing and playing while he fucks up into you with controlled, deep thrusts. He’s the perfect switch—letting you ride and tease him one second, then taking over the pace the next, pulling you down onto his cock like he owns your pussy.
“What about you?” he asks, voice husky as he pinches both your nipples at once causing you to moan. “You ever think about getting these pierced?”
You arch into his touch, riding him faster now. “Thought about it. Especially after I saw yours. Thought it’d be hot to have you play with them the way I play with yours.”
Satoru groans, the sound muffled against your shoulder as he buries his face there. “Fuck, don’t say shit like that while I’m inside you. I’m trying not to lose it.” He flips you suddenly—smooth, easy—putting you on your back without pulling out. He hooks your legs over his arms and starts fucking you deep and steady, eyes locked on yours.
“I’d love it,” he admits, voice rough and needy again as he leans down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. “Love watching you get all sensitive and shaky for me. Love marking you up.” He bites gently, then soothes it with his tongue. “We could match.”
You’re close—both of you are—but he keeps the pace deliberate, drawing it out. His mouth moves between your tits while he fucks you, occasionally lifting his head to kiss you hard, swallowing your moans.
“You feel so good,” he pants against your lips. “This is insane… I’m so into you.”
You tug on his nipple piercings again and he shudders, stomach clenching and hips stuttering. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna come,” he warns, but he doesn’t stop you. He just fucks you harder, switching between needy groans and cocky little comments.
“Yeah? Gonna come from me playing with your tits while I ride your cock?” you whisper.
“Shut up, you brat,” he laughs breathlessly as he pins your wrists above your head with one hand and keeps pounding into you. “You’re gonna come first. That’s an order from your tutor.”
He keeps you right on the edge—slowing down when you get too close, speeding up when you beg, all while his mouth and hands stay on your tits and his cock stays buried deep inside you. Every thrust drags his cock against that perfect spot inside you, but he’s not letting you race to the finish. He’s controlling the pace—slow and grinding one moment, sharp and punishing the next.
His mouth is on your tits again, sucking one nipple while his fingers pinch and tug the other. You’re arching up into him, one hand fisted in his white hair, the other still toying with his nipples.
“Fuck— pull harder,” he groans against your chest, voice muffled but needy. “Yeah, like that. God, you’re gonna make me lose it.”
You yank on his hair and he moans, hips stuttering. At the same time you scratch your nails down his back—hard enough to leave marks. He shudders violently, a full-body reaction that makes his cock twitch inside you.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, doing it again. “You like that? You little masochist.”
He lifts his head, eyes glassy but still cocky. “Yeah. I like it when you mark me up. Pull my hair, scratch me, bite me— fuck, I’m into all of it.”
You laugh softly and bite his shoulder, then suck a mark right next to it. “So the nerd’s a little pain slut, huh?”
“Shut up,” he laughs breathlessly, thrusting harder to shut you up. “You’re the one obsessed with my chest. I’ve been edging you for ten minutes and you’re still playing with my nips.”
He suddenly pulls out completely. You whine at the loss and he smirks, kneeling between your spread thighs. He takes his cock in one hand and slaps it against your soaked pussy—wet, obscene sounds filling the room as the head smacks your clit, your folds, dragging through your slick.
“Look at this mess,” he murmurs, voice low and dominant again. “Dripping all over my cock. You were so cocky earlier about your reward. Where’s that energy now?”
You reach down and spread yourself open for him. “Still cocky. Just desperate. Put it back in.”
He slaps his cock against your clit again, harder this time, then rubs the head up and down your slit without pushing inside. “Ask nicely.”
He pushes just the tip in, then pulls out again, teasing. “Nuh-uh. Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”
You glare up at him, pouting. “I want you to stop being a tease and fuck me properly. Or I’m gonna flip us and ride you with my hands on your tits until you’re the one begging.”
He chuckles, low and filthy, and finally sinks back into you in one smooth thrust. “There she is, atta-girl.”
He fucks you harder now, one hand braced by your head, the other sliding between your bodies to rub your clit in tight circles.
“Been thinking about this every night after tutoring,” he admits between thrusts, voice rough. “You leaning over my desk in those shorts, asking me about torque while I was imagining bending you over it. You have no idea how many times I had to adjust myself because you kept playing with your hair and biting your lip.”
You moan and pull his hair again, making him curse. “I knew. Why do you think I kept doing it?”
“So mean,” he pants, but he’s grinning. He pulls out again, flips you onto your stomach, and yanks your hips up. Doggy this time—deeper, rougher, nastier and so fucking hot. One hand grips your hip while the other reaches around to play with your pussy, two fingers rubbing your clit while his cock slides back in. He lifts one arm and pulls you upward so his chest’s pressing right up against your back. He puts you in a chokehold, bicep against your jaw as he leans in to nibble on your ears.
“Touch your tits for me,” he orders, voice strained. “Play with them while I fuck you. I wanna hear you.”
You do as he says, pinching your own nipples while he pounds into you from behind. Every time you clench around him he groans and fucks harder. When you start getting too close—thighs shaking, moans getting louder—he slows down dramatically, almost stopping, just grinding deep and circling your clit lazily.
“Not yet,” he whispers against your ear, chest pressed to your back. “I’m not done with you. I edged myself for hours thinking about you. Turnabout’s fair play.”
You whimper into his arm, hands coming up to grab onto it for support while he fucks you so torturously slow from behind. “Satoru, please—”
He bites the back of your shoulder, then soothes it with his tongue. “Please what? Use your words, pretty.”
“Please let me come. I’ll be good. I’ll stop teasing your nipples— for five minutes.”
He laughs, the sound warm and wrecked, and starts fucking you properly again. “Five whole minutes? That’s generous of you.”
He keeps you right on the edge for what feels like forever—changing angles, pulling out to slap his cock against your cunt again, fingering you open while you’re empty, then slamming back in. Every time you get close he eases off, kissing your spine, murmuring filthy praise.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he says, voice husky. “All desperate and dripping. My smart girl who aced her test and now can’t even form sentences because my cock’s inside her.”
You reach back and scratch down his thigh, then up to his ass. “And you’re the one who gets hard from having your hair pulled and your back scratched.”
“That makes us a perfect match,” he agrees, flipping you onto your back again so he can see your face. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, fucking you deep and slow while his thumb circles your clit.
“Come for me,” he finally says, voice cracking with need. “I’ve got you, baby. Come for this nerd.”
You do—hard. so hard it’s life changing—clenching around him with a muffled cry into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck and fingers tightening in his hair. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he comes with a low, broken groan followed by a few shorter ones. Your insides grow warm with the weight of his load-filled condom.
For a long moment neither of you moves, just breathing hard, sweat-slick and tangled.
Satoru lifts his head, hair messy, lips swollen, looking thoroughly fucked out but still smug.
“So,” he chuckles breathlessly, voice hoarse. “Same time tomorrow for round two? I still have more physics notes to go over.”
You laugh weakly and tug his hair one more time. “Only if you let me play with your tits again.”
“Deal,” he murmurs, kissing you slow and sweet. “Brat.”
He grins against your mouth. “Sure, but I’m your pain whore.”
You wake up tangled around Satoru like you’re trying to fuse with him.
Legs hooked around his waist. One arm slung across his chest. Face buried in the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in—skin, faint sweat, that clean scent that still makes your brain lag. Your other hand rests on his narrow waist, thumb brushing the sharp cut of his hip bone, resisting the urge to slip underneath his pants and squeeze that gorgeous ass.
Holy fuck. You actually fucked Satoru.
And it was filthy. Perfect. The kind of night that ruins you for anyone else. The way he’d switched between pinning you down and letting you play with his oversensitive nips until he was shaking. The way he’d edged you for what felt like hours, cocky and needy at the same time. You’re sore in all the right places and already thinking about round… whatever number you’re on now.
You squeeze your thighs around him tighter, pressing your body closer. God, you’re obsessed with how he feels. All that lean muscle, the way his skin is stupidly soft over hard lines, the little shivers he gives when you accidentally brush his piercings.
Satoru stirs, letting out a low, sleepy groan. His arm tightens around your back, hand sliding down to palm your ass possessively.
“Morning, clingy,” he mumbles, voice rough from sleep. “You gonna let me breathe anytime soon?”
“No,” you answer without hesitation, lips brushing his neck. “I earned this. Ten days of plotting and I finally got the nerd in bed. I’m collecting my trophy.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. One hand comes up to scratch lazily at your scalp. “Trophy, huh? That what I am now?”
“Yep. Property of me.” You drag your nails lightly down his back, right over the very obvious scratches you left last night. “These marks are cute, by the way. Very ‘I got banged’ esque.”
Satoru hisses softly but presses into your touch. “You’re such a shit. I told you my back was sensitive and you still went crazy on it.”
“Ehh.. you liked it.” You nip at his neck, then soothe it with your tongue. “You liked it so much you almost came just from me tugging your hair and playing with your piercings.”
“Shut up,” he says, but there’s a grin in his voice. He shifts his hips, letting you feel that he’s already half-hard against your thigh. “You’re the one who couldn’t stop sucking on them. Thought you were gonna give me a hickey on my fucking nipple.”
You laugh quietly and flick one of the bars with your thumb, making him twitch. “They’re too pretty not to. I’ve been obsessed with these things since the first time I saw them. Still can’t believe you let some random person stab metal through them.”
“Regret nothing,” he says casually. His hand slides between your bodies, cupping one of your tits and lazily playing with your nipple. “Especially not after last night. You were real into it.”
You hum happily and press closer, face still tucked into his neck. “Best decision of my life. The sex was insane. You’re surprisingly flexible for a nerd.”
“Surprisingly?” He squeezes your ass. “Rude. I’ll have you know I’m very coordinated.”
“Yeah, yeah. Big talk from the guy who almost dropped me when we switched positions.”
He snorts. “That was your fault. You started playing with the piercings again and my brain shorted out.”
You smile against his skin, inhaling him again. The realization hits you somewhere deep in your chest when his fingers card through your hair—this isn’t just about how hot he is or how good the sex was. You actually like him. Him. The rambling, the routines, the way he remembers stupid little things, the way he looks at you like you’re entertaining as hell even when you’re being annoying.
You’re catching real feelings. You’re definitely going to marry this guy.
“Ten days,” you murmur. “Took me ten days to get you here.”
Satoru’s hand strokes down your spine. “Took me about three to realize I was screwed. You kept showing up everywhere looking like that and asking me questions about my thesis. You sure knew the way to my heart.”
You lift your head just enough to look at him. His hair is a mess, eyes half-lidded, that lazy smirk on his face. He looks stupidly good in the morning light.
“You’re not mad I basically stalked you into liking me?” you ask, half-teasing.
“Nah.” He leans in and kisses you, slow and easy. “Worked out pretty well for me.”
You settle back against his neck, legs still locked around him, arms holding him close. “Good. Because I’m not moving for at least another hour.”
“Fine by me,” he says, voice already drifting back toward sleep. His hand keeps stroking your back in lazy circles. “Just don’t fall asleep with your hand on my nipple again. Last night you almost twisted it off when you came.”
You giggle softly. “No promises.”
He squeezes your ass in warning, but he’s smiling.
You stay wrapped around him for a while longer, trading lazy kisses and occasional teasing touches, until your stomach starts growling loud enough for both of you to hear it.
Satoru huffs a laugh against your hair. “Hungry?”
“Starving,” you admit, finally untangling your legs from around his waist. “We did burn a lot of calories last night.”
He smirks, sitting up and stretching. The morning light hits the scratches you left down his back and the faint hickeys on his neck and chest. You didn’t exactly do a great job hiding them. Neither did he—there’s a very obvious bite mark on your shoulder and bruises on your hips that ache in a weirdly pleasuring way.
You both throw on clothes quickly—him in fresh sweatpants and a t-shirt, you in one of his hoodies that swallows you and a pair of his huge sweats you had to tie really tightly because they kept falling.
As you’re about to head out the door, you pause.
“So…” you say casually, leaning against his doorframe. “What are we doing here? Like, are we actually a thing now? Or do we just keep doing… whatever this is and see where it goes?”
Satoru turns, one eyebrow raised. He looks a little rumpled and stupidly hot. “I mean, I’m down to make it official. If you want. I’m not really into the casual thing if it’s with you.”
You nod, keeping it light. “Yeah. Same. Boyfriend, then?”
He grins, walking over to pull you in for a quick kiss. “Boyfriend. Sounds good.”
The conversation ends as easily as it started. Wow. It really is that easy huh.
You head downstairs together.
The second you step into the kitchen, it’s immediate. His mom is at the counter cutting fruit. His dad is scrolling on his phone at the table. Lia is already stuffing her face with toast.
All three of them look up at the exact same time.
The silence is deafening. Terribly so. You want to sink into the ground.
You’re pretty sure the bite mark on your neck is visible even with the hoodie. Satoru has fresh scratches peeking out from under his collar and his hair is doing that freshly-fucked thing. You both tried to look normal. You failed miserably.
Lia’s eyes flick between the two of you, then she smirks around her toast like she just won the lottery. She doesn’t say anything—just goes back to chewing with this shit-eating grin.
His mom raises an eyebrow. His dad just stares for a second before clearing his throat.
Satoru, cool as ever, walks straight to the coffee machine like nothing’s weird.
“Morning,” he says casually, grabbing two mugs. “Oh yeah, we’re dating now, by the way.”
He says it like he’s announcing the weather. Like he’s making small talk. Like he didn’t just announce a relationship.
You freeze mid-step, eyes wide. Wait—right now? Just like that? You were still processing the conversation upstairs and now he’s dropping it on his entire family like it’s no big deal. Your face heats up but… you don’t really mind though. It’s very… him.
Lia snorts so hard she has to set her toast down. His mom pauses mid-slice, then just nods slowly like she’s processing. His dad blinks twice.
“…Since when?” his mom finally asks, fighting a smile.
“Since last night,” Satoru answers, pouring coffee like this is the most normal conversation in the world. “Pass the hazelnut creamer?”
You stand there awkwardly for a second, still a little stunned he just launched it like that, before grabbing a piece of toast and sitting down quickly. You take a big bite to give yourself something to do.
His dad clears his throat again. “Congrats. Try to keep it down next time. The walls aren’t that thick.”
You nearly choke on your toast. You start coughing hard, face flushing bright red as you reach for water. The memories of last night—moaning into Satoru’s shoulder, him telling you to stay quiet, the headboard—flash through your head at full volume.
Satoru just smirks like that didn’t even fucking faze him at all, sliding the creamer your way like nothing happened. “Noted.”
Lia is openly grinning at you now, kicking your foot under the table. His mom is pretending to be very focused on the fruit again, but her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.
You’re mortified. His dad heard you?! THE WHOLE—
“Relax,” Satoru chuckles like it’s no biggie as he slides in next to you, arm resting on the back of your chair as he hands you your coffee.
“I told you be quiet,” he teases, whispering against your ear like he was sharing some sort of secret. Which technically he is—but now they all know so is it really a fucking secret????He lets out a low groan followed by a laugh when you jab at his side with your elbow, your mouth stuffed with said toast because you’ve been trying not to choke it down.
But despite it all, sitting here in his oversized hoodie, with your crush who’s now your boyfriend and having dinner with his family like he didn’t just fuck your brains out for hours last night, you can’t help but grin through the embarrassment.
This family is never going to let either of you live this down.
But… that’s not too bad, is it?
Because the plan worked and in the span of ten days (technically eleven but that’s not the point), you’ve managed to bang and bag the nerd you’ve been pining after for three months.
well that was fun and took ridiculously long to write this is my longest fic yet but yk what hell yeah. consider this a 1k special because i can’t get anything else out on time LMFAO. i will be continuing this as a mini series that isn’t really a series it’s just oneshots of this gojo x reader and some drabbles and shit idk anyway yeah i hope u guys enjoyed this !!! took me pretty much two days to write and i was writing like nonstop LOL <3 !! side note i had to do so much stupid ass research abt blue eyes and fucking genetics for this shit i am SICK
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