CHAPTER 2 ⇢ PREV CHAPTER(1) ⋆ NEXT CHAPTER(3) .
# NSFW TWT ! NERDJO AU ⋆ popular fem!reader ⋆ satoru has a secret identity ⋆ light smut ⋆ satoru makes porn on twitter ⋆ video of him masturbating ⋆ reader blackmails satoru ⋆ texting ⋆ 18+ MDNI . art by @/to00fu
The notification came at exactly 11:47 PM. Like he was playing some sick joke on you since when you’d followed him, it was at exactly 11:47 PM.
You knew because you'd been staring at your phone for the last forty-seven minutes, pretending to study for your psych test while your thumb hovered over Twitter like you were some junkie waiting on a fix. Pathetic. You were being pathetic. This was Satoru. The guy who once accidentally called you "ma'am" when you asked him for a pencil. The guy who wore sweater vests unironically. The guy you'd been practically bullying into doing your homework for three years without a single flicker of resistance.
Before you saw the way his bicep flexed when he gripped the edge of his desk in that one video. Before you heard the low, breathy sound he made when he—okay, stop. You needed to stop.
@glassesoff: posted a video.
Your heart did something stupid. You told it to shut up and stop being stupid. It didn't listen. The damn stubborn thing.
You opened the app with the kind of urgency usually reserved for checking exam results or seeing if your crush liked your Instagram story. The video loaded, and for a moment, you just stared at the thumbnail.
A low angle shot of his torso, the shadows carving out every ridge of muscle like a Renaissance sculpture. He was shirtless—obviously—and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his chest that caught the warm, amber light of what looked like his bedroom lamp. Like he’d maybe worked out right before this. Because that’s what nerds do. Work-out. Right.
And then your eyes drifted to the caption.
“Thinking about someone.”
Three words. That was it.
You felt your throat go dry. Someone. He was thinking about someone. And he'd told you to watch this. He'd specifically said it was for you. Which meant—no. You weren't going to let yourself spiral. This was a tactic. A power play. He was trying to get in your head, to flip the script, to make you forget that you were the one in control here.
With your heart lodged in your throat and your fingers shaky—just a little bit. You pressed play.
The video opened with a slow pan up his body. His thighs—god, his thighs… more muscular than they ever looked in those loose trousers he wore to class—were spread slightly, the camera positioned between them like you were kneeling in front of him. His hand rested on his stomach, fingers splayed, tracing idle patterns across his skin. He wasn't rushing. That was the thing about his stuff. It was never frantic or desperate like most other dudes jerking the hell out of their cocks and busting their load in less than two minutes. It was measured. So fucking deliberate.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how long it would take to make you lose your mind.
His hand drifted lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of his gray sweatpants. He pulled them down just enough to let his cock spring free, and you sucked in a breath despite yourself. You'd seen it before. You'd… well, you’d watched the videos. But seeing it in this context—knowing he'd made this specifically with you in mind—hit different. Different in a way that made heat pool low in your stomach embarrassingly fast and ridiculously hot.
He wrapped his hand around himself, slow and almost lazy, and you watched his stomach tighten with the movement. His head was tilted back, out of frame, and you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. The unmistakable damp white strands of hair clinging to his neck. He was teasing himself. Teasing you. His strokes were agonizingly slow, his hips twitching up into his hand like he was fighting the urge to go faster.
And then he did something he'd rarely done in the videos you’ve seen. Not… not that you’ve seen all of them. Just a few. Like… five. Okay, maybe more than that—but that’s not the point. That doesn’t matter.
What matters is he spoke.
His voice was low, rough, barely above a whisper. "You have no idea what you do to me."
Your entire body went still. The heat from before? Juice leaking down your thighs at this point. You were so soaked you weren’t sure if maybe somewhere along the way you came without noticing.
He wasn't loud. This wasn't theatrical. No, it was way worse. It was honest. Intimate. Like he was confessing something he didn't quite mean to say out loud.
His hand moved faster, and you could hear the wet sound of his palm sliding over his length. A sound that was doing mean things to you. His breathing was getting heavier, his abs clenching with every stroke. The camera angle shifted slightly like he was struggling to hold it up, catching the way his hips bucked up into his grip, the way his thighs tensed.
"Fuck," he breathed. "I can't stop thinking about you."
You were frozen. Your phone was in your hand, your earbuds were in, and you were fairly certain you'd stopped breathing. This wasn't just just some sad sack jerking off in his room and posting it for thousands to see. This was a message. A direct, unambiguous message meant for you and you alone.
His strokes were faster now, more erratic. The sounds he was making—low, broken, desperate, whimper-y and so fucking hot—were doing something to you. Something that made your thighs press together involuntarily and your fingers slip under your pajama shorts without your realization. Something that made your skin prickle with heat.
"Bet you'd look so good," he panted, "on your knees for me."
A sharp gasp escaped your lips. You slapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs. This was insane. This was absolutely, completely fucking insane.
His hand was moving frantically now, his hips rocking up to meet each stroke. The camera caught the way his cock glistened with pre-cum, the way his knuckles were white from gripping himself so hard.
"Wanna see you come," he groaned, voice shaky and breathless. "Wanna watch you fall apart because of me."
The sound that left his throat was almost broken. A desperate, wrecked noise that sent a bolt of heat straight to your core that confirmed your suspicions that your panties are beyond bleached now. His body arched off the bed, every muscle in his abdomen rippling as he tipped over the edge. You watched him come undone—watched his hand work him through it, watched the mess spill over his fingers and onto his stomach.
And then, after a long, shuddering exhale, followed by a broken laugh that shook you to your core, he said one more thing.
You sat there in the darkness of your room, phone clutched in your hands, breathing like you'd just run a marathon. Your body was on fire. Every nerve ending was screaming at you. You were supposed to be the one in control. You were the one with the leverage. You were the one who'd cornered him and forced him into submission.
But right now, all you could think about was the way his voice sounded when he finished. The way he'd called you princess like it was some shared secret between you two. The way he'd made an entire video—a video that thousands of people would see—just to tell you he was thinking about you.
No. No, no and fuck no. That was exactly what he wanted. He wanted you to react, to crack, to admit that he'd gotten under your skin. You weren't going to give him that satisfaction.
You were going to sit here, calm and composed, and pretend that video didn't absolutely obliterate any remaining self-control you had.
You lasted approximately thirty seconds.
You: you're actually insane. you know that?
The three-dot bubble appeared immediately. Like he'd been waiting for you.
@glassesoff: did you like it?
You: i'm not answering that.
@glassesoff: your silence is telling me everything i need to know.
You stared at the screen. Make me. That was a challenge. A flirtatious and bold, fucking challenge. And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that you wanted to take it. You wanted to march over to his apartment and show him exactly who was in charge here.
But that would mean admitting he'd won.
You: you said you were thinking about someone. who?
You regretted it the second you hit send. It was too obvious. Too …desperate. You were basically handing him a knife and asking him to stab you with it.
@glassesoff: you know who.
You: no i don't. tell me.
@glassesoff: playing dumb doesn’t suit you, princess.
@glassesoff: but fine, if you insist on playing the role of a clueless bunny i’ll humor you.
@glassesoff: you. i was thinking about you.
The word hung there on your screen, simple and devastating. One word. That was all it took to undo you completely.
@glassesoff: because i've been thinking about you since the library. since you cornered me. since you looked at me like you actually saw me for the first time.
You: i blackmailed you, gojo. that's not exactly a meet-cute.
@glassesoff: maybe not. but it's the most interesting thing that's happened to me in years. you're the only person who's ever bothered to look past the glasses.
Ironic, given his username.
You: i looked past them because i found your twitter, not because i was trying to get to know you.
@glassesoff: and yet here you are. talking to me. at midnight. after watching a video i made for you.
He had a point. A really annoying, really accurate point.
You: fine. maybe the video was... good.
@glassesoff: you came, didn't you? or at the very least soaked your panties.
Your face burned. How did he know that? He couldn't possibly know that. You hadn't even touched yourself. You'd been too shocked by the whole thing to even think about—
Okay, that was a …lie. You'd thought about it. You were still thinking about it. About the way his voice sounded, the way his body moved, the way he'd said all those dirty and cortisol-spiking words.
You: that's none of your business.
@glassesoff: it's adorable when you pretend to be mad.
You: i'm not pretending. i'm genuinely annoyed.
@glassesoff: your annoyance is noted. now go to sleep. you have class tomorrow.
@glassesoff: no, you're not. you're a very grown woman who blackmailed a poor nerd into doing her homework. very mature behavior.
@glassesoff: not until you make me.
There it was again. The challenge. The invitation. The hidden confession that he wanted you in more ways than one.
@glassesoff: and yet you keep texting me.
You wanted to throw your phone across the room. You wanted to scream. You wanted to—god, you wanted to do a lot of things that you weren't ready to admit out loud.
You: fine. you win. goodnight, gojo.
@glassesoff: goodnight, princess. sweet dreams.
@glassesoff: too late. it's already stuck.
You didn't respond. You couldn't. Because if you kept talking to him, you'd probably say something you couldn't take back. Something that would give him even more power over you.
Instead, you closed the app, set your phone face-down on your nightstand, and stared at the ceiling for a long, long time.
You didn't sleep well that night.
When you woke up the next morning, there was a text waiting for you. Not on Twitter this time. On your regular messaging app. From a contact you'd saved as "nerd" for the past three years.
Satoru: calculus assignment is done. i'll bring it to the library at noon. try not to stare at my hands too much. i know it's distracting.
You wanted to be annoyed. You wanted to be furious.
Instead, you found yourself smiling. Smiling at his text like some lovestruck schoolgirl—honestly it was embarrassing. Humiliating.
No one can find out about this.
The roles were somehow reversed in this absolute clusterfuck of a situation and you lost track of who was blackmailing who at this point.
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