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[dewveils]

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

࿐ ​layla ༄ she+her. twenties. mdni. ageless blogs will be blocked.

instagram - dewveils

writing tag (work in progress) masterlist (work in progress) ao3

requests are open!

recent works: provider series (ongoing) | firelord!zuko arranged marriage au matcha soft serve | firelord!zuko e-girl (ongoing) | nerdjo x streamer!reader

[dewveils]

i say we throw a jersey on jungkook and give him the ball

[kaoruartsss]

[f-tality0]

Bad posture Yuji

[lacquerheadd]

show me your teeth

[dewveils]

princess | yuuji x reader

there is a very specific, very strong emotion yuuji feels whenever you come home with your nails long. he admires the craft, of course. showers you with compliments about the design and the art, oohs and ahs at all the extra chrome and gems. his favorite times, however, are when you get them done after not having them for a while. that clumsy phase where you have to relearn how to pick up coins, undo your bra, hold your pens.

that's where he comes in.

he loves how helpless they make you, always cooing for him to come over, to be your helping hands. he brushes your hair, undoes the button of your jeans, fastens the tiny clasp of your necklace with careful fingers.

he loves watching you struggle, trying your hardest at whatever task is at hand and insisting you've got it. he lets you play it out, never straying too far from you for when you eventually call out for him, which you always do. he's grinning before he even rounds the corner.

it's never because he thinks you're incapable. if anything, he knows exactly how capable you are. he knows you'll get used to them in a few days. you'll stop dropping things, stop fumbling with buttons, stop reaching for him without thinking.

that's why he cherishes the in-between.

the fleeting little window of time where your first instinct is "yuuji, can you help me?" your outstretched hand, that needy look in your eyes, the slight pout of defeat on your lip. every task becomes something strangely intimate in his care, transformed from ordinary routine into quiet devotion.

[dewveils]

i see nonchalant sukuna and i get it but that man is a certified crashout and lifelong hater with way too much free time. he’s airing the place out if he so much as catches another man pass you a napkin like are you kidding

[6x-x9]

ಇ.word count: 3.8k ಇ.art by: @!narutoss.ramen on X

ಇ.pairing: Nerd!Satoru x Nerd!Reader

ಇ.content & warnings: ꒰non canon au ⋮⋮ crack! ⋮⋮ reader & satoru are heavily inexperienced ⋮⋮ dry humping ⋮⋮ bathroom stall handjob ⋮⋮ prem-ejaculation ⋮⋮ fingering ⋮⋮ multi-orgasms ⋮⋮ kissing꒱

Satoru Gojo is fucking gorgeous, which is so deeply unfair that you’re still kind of processing it as he pays for your movie ticket with trembling fingers. His white hair is slightly tousled, soft against his ears, and his glasses are tilted just a bit on the bridge of his nose. He keeps pushing them up like he’s stalling, trying not to meet your eyes too long because every time he does, he gets flustered. His face goes pink and he laughs too loud. You bite your lip every time he does that.

You’re no better. Your hands are clammy inside the sleeves of your hoodie, because you thought this was going to be a safe little date. Nerdy. Harmless. You met at a fucking Doraemon expo for god’s sake, where he gave you a Doraemon-shaped candy and then looked like he wanted to die from shyness.

And now you’re sitting in a too-dark movie theatre with his knee brushing yours.

You think you’re gonna die too. Because there’s heat pooling between your legs, and you're pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties, and this was supposed to be your first normal date. Not a panty-ruining, thigh-clenching disaster where you keep imagining his stupid hot fingers pulling your hoodie up and touching you like you're not both trembling virgins about to combust from one misplaced touch.

Satoru’s voice cracks in the dark.

“You, uh— are you okay?”

You look at him, wide-eyed. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”

He fidgets. “You’re breathing kinda fast.”

You are. Shit.

“I’m just…” you squirm, thighs pressed tight together. “The seats are uncomfortable.”

He makes a strangled little laugh, eyes darting to the screen and then back to your mouth. You don’t know who moves first, but a second later, your hands are brushing in the popcorn bag and boom— your bodies are pressed together like magnets.

The movie is completely forgotten. You’re both leaning toward each other, breathing the same hot air, and it’s dizzying how close he is. His scent is soft and clean, like soap and sugar and some light cologne that makes your thighs ache. Your lips almost brush before he pulls back, cheeks pink.

“I-I gotta pee,” he blurts. Then winces. “Fuck. Not like— fuck, I didn’t mean it like—”

You stare at him, lips parted.

“…Me too,” you whisper. “Bathroom. I mean.”

So of course, of course, ten minutes later, you’re both in the tiny single-stall bathroom behind the snack bar, the door locked, and you’re pressed against the wall with Satoru’s hands hovering an inch from your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you.

You’re panting.

So is he.

And there’s the faintest bulge pressing against his pants.

“You’re hard,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru turns bright red. “I didn’t mean to be! I swear I wasn’t thinking anything— well I was thinking but not like— well yes like that but I didn’t expect you to—”

“I’m wet.”

That shuts him up.

He blinks. “Wha— You, wait really?”

You nod furiously. “Soaked. I thought I was dying. You’re, l-like— you’re so hot and tall and your hands are big and I thought—”

He sways toward you like he’s being pulled by gravity.

“You think I’m hot?” he breathes, shocked.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re like—the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

“…But I’m a virgin.”

You blink. “You’re a virgin?”

He freezes. “You didn’t know?”

You shake your head. “You’re too confident. And tall. And your voice, like— you talk like you’ve seen shit.”

“I haven’t! I’ve literally never seen anything. I still sleep with a body pillow.”

“Oh my god.”

You both start laughing, but it’s too breathy, too nervous. You’re looking at his lips again.

“I thought you weren’t a virgin,” he admits, voice low now, almost in awe. “You look like— like—”

He waves helplessly at your body. “You’re so pretty. So hot. You look like you’d ruin me.”

“I’ve never even kissed anyone,” you whisper.

“Me either,” he says.

There’s a beat of silent realization.

Then— tentatively— his hands touch your waist. He’s shaking.

“Can I…”

You nod. “Yeah. Please.”

The kiss is terrible. Teeth clashing, noses bumping, your mouths slipping messily before you both pull away with startled laughter. But his face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and your thighs are pressed tight together because the way he’s looking at you is not innocent anymore.

“We’re so bad at this,” you whisper.

“I’m gonna die,” he mumbles, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m so wet I think my panties are ruined,” you say, like a confession.

He groans. “That’s so hot, please don’t say things like that unless you want me to cum in my pants.”

You both snort, but neither of you moves away.

“Can I… touch you?” he whispers, barely audible.

Your eyes widen, breath catching.

“…Yes. But I don’t— I don’t really know how.”

“Me either,” he whispers. “Let’s be awkward together.”

You reach for his belt, and he lifts your hoodie just enough to see the swell of your tits in your bra. And then you both freeze, panting, staring— because holy fuck this is actually happening.

Two very horny, very confused virgins. In a bathroom. At the movies.

Grinding desperately like you’re learning each other’s bodies in braille.

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer. Your fingers tremble at his zipper. And you swear— you swear— when your pussy brushes against his bulge through your panties and tights, he nearly whimpers.

You're both gonna combust.

You’re still half-laughing, half-gasping into his neck, your panties damp and sticking to you like sin, and Satoru’s hard dick is pressed against your inner thigh through his jeans like it hurts. He keeps doing these little shaky inhales, fingers digging into your hoodie at the waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll float off the planet.

His glasses are fogged. His cheeks are pink. And when you drag your nose along his jaw just to feel him shiver, he makes the softest noise you’ve ever heard. A tiny, broken sigh— like the kind of sound you might make when someone pets your hair just right.

You feel like you’re on fire.

“You’re really… hard,” you whisper, a little dreamy, dragging your hand down the front of his jeans like you’re curious more than anything else. Because you are. You can feel the length of him, thick and hot under the denim, twitching at just the barest touch of your fingers. “Like… all the way.”

“I know,” he whines, quietly. “It’s been like that since the popcorn scene.”

You giggle. “We didn’t have a popcorn scene.”

“You were licking butter off your fingers.”

“…Oh. Yeah okay, fair.”

You’re still staring at the bulge in his jeans. It’s insane. It’s… kind of intimidating, honestly. But you’re so curious, and he looks like he might actually die from the idea of you wanting to see him like this.

“Can I see it?” you whisper.

His breath catches. His whole body freezes.

“You— my… dick?”

You nod shyly, face burning. “Just once. I just— I wanna know what it looks like.”

He stares at you like you’re a mythical creature. “You really want to see it?”

“…Yeah.”

His fingers are shaking as he fumbles with his zipper.

You don’t look away— not even when he shoves his boxers down and his cock bounces free, flushed and heavy and dripping. You make a noise, something halfway between shock and awe, because holy shit he’s big. Not just big— long, curved a little toward his stomach, thick enough that your mouth goes dry. The tip is glossy and wet, a pretty pink color— a clear bead clinging to the slit like he’s leaking from just grinding on you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, stunned.

Satoru makes a noise that’s not human. “D-don’t look at it like that.”

“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “It’s pretty.”

His brain shuts down.

“Pretty?” he croaks.

You nod dumbly, staring. “It’s like… glossy. And pink. And it’s twitching.”

He groans. “Don’t say twitching—”

“But it is! It’s like it’s waving at me or something. It looks so needy.”

He grabs the wall behind your head like he might collapse.

“You’re so cute,” you whisper. “You’re really hard just from kissing me.”

“You’re soaking,” he counters, voice hoarse. “You’ve been wet for an hour.”

You whimper a little. “I didn’t even know I could get this wet.”

Satoru groans again and cups himself like it’ll stop him from cumming just from talking to you.

You reach out— slowly— and wrap your fingers around the base.

He jolts, hips stuttering forward into your hand like it’s instinct. His eyes flutter shut and his whole body shudders, like he’s never felt anything like this.

“…You’re so warm,” you whisper. “And thick.”

“I’m gonna cum,” he blurts.

You pause. “Wait, already?”

“I told you,” he gasps, pressing his face into your neck. “It’s your voice— fuck, the way you’re touching me—”

You slide your hand up and watch his cock twitch, leaking over your fingers.

He sobs a little. “Angel, please—”

That makes you freeze.

“…Angel?”

He peeks up at you, embarrassed. “It slipped out.”

You bite your lip, then smile, stroking him again. “I like it.”

“You’re so soft,” he moans. “And your hand’s so small, it doesn’t even fit—”

You squeeze a little tighter. He gasps.

“Tell me when,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I don’t wanna waste it. You’ve been hard for so long.”

“‘When’?” he pants.

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching. “I want to see what your cum looks like too.”

He shatters.

Just like that— hot, thick ropes spill out across your fingers, your hoodie, his shirt. You watch with wide, fascinated eyes as his whole body curls toward yours, hips stuttering, voice cracked and pleading into your shoulder. His cock throbs in your hand like it’s losing its mind. He sounds so helpless, so high and soft when he whimpers your name.

You stare at the mess.

“…Whoa.”

He’s panting against your cheek, totally limp. “That was so embarrassing.”

“It was awesome,” you breathe. “I made you cum.”

“I exploded in ten seconds.”

You stroke his hair. “I think you’re perfect.”

He melts a little into your chest.

“…You wanna see me next?” you whisper.

His head jerks up like a prairie dog.

Satoru’s still shaking.

You can feel it— his breath hot and unsteady on your neck, his heartbeat punching against your ribs where your bodies press together. Satoru Gojo just came all over your hand like some desperate teenager, having a wet dream, and you’re still standing in a movie theater bathroom, soaked to the skin and so turned on it’s getting hard to breathe.

His cum is sticky on your fingers. Warm, it smells faintly like salt and sugar, and he’s still leaning against you like he’s not sure how to stand on his own.

And then—

Your voice, soft and daring, nearly a whisper:

“…You wanna see me next?”

Satoru blinks. Eyes blown wide. Mouth parted, in disbelief.

“…Are you serious?”

You nod.

He looks stunned. “Like… your pussy?”

Your whole face burns.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, suddenly nervous. “If you want. I mean— I know it’s— kind of a lot, and maybe messy, but I just… I’ve never… shown anyone." You're looking down at the floor before you finish the rest of that sentence... then your eyes are darting back up to his face, blue eyes stargazed in disbelief. “And I want you to see.”

He’s speechless, Satoru is utterly speechless.

You fidget, heart thudding, tugging your hoodie down like it can hide the way your thighs are trembling, how wet you still are under your panties.

“I just thought… since I saw yours…”

His hand flies up, quick. Cupping your face, both of you look into each other's eyes.

“I want to,” he blurts. “I want to so bad I think I’m gonna die.”

You smile, shy and giddy. “Okay. Then… can you take my panties off?”

He gasps.

Like, actually gasps. Clutches his chest. Staggers backward like you hit him with a spell.

“Say that again,” he whispers.

You reach under your hoodie, slowly rolling your leggings down to your thighs, revealing just a sliver of your pale pink cotton panties, soaked straight through. There’s a wet patch over your pussy— obvious, shiny, and dark.

“Take them off,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Please?”

He looks like he might cry.

“Oh my god,” he chokes. “You’re so wet you soaked through. That’s from me? From just— grinding on me?”

You nod, cheeks flushed. “You made me so wet I couldn’t focus on the movie.”

His hands are on your thighs now, huge and hot, trembling a little as he sinks to his knees in front of you like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. His glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them up, eyes fixed on your panties like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he whispers, “but I wanna learn so bad.”

You’re breathing so fast your legs are shaking.

His fingers slide under the sides of your panties. He hesitates.

“Ready?” he asks, voice so soft.

You nod, in eager anticipation, like when you know you're about to rip a band-aid off. But... in this case, it's your soaked sticky ruined panties.

And he pulls them down.

Slow, slow, slow

The cotton clings to your cunt, like they're almost glued to you, but he gets them off with a firmer tug.

Your cunt glosses in the light.

Dripping. Swollen. Slick as fuck and twitching under his gaze. You clench a little just from the air, the tension, the way he’s looking at you like he just saw an angel squirt holy water.

He moans. Moans.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “Holy shit, you’re soaked. I didn’t know it could do that.”

You giggle nervously. “It doesn’t usually. I think it’s a you thing.”

He gulps, audibly.

His eyes don’t leave your pussy, even as he leans forward, nose almost brushing your thigh.

“Can I… touch you?”

You feel your knees threaten to buckle.

“Yes.” You say with too much enthusiasm than you meant.

His fingers twitch. “I don’t know how.”

You grab his wrist and guide it...

His middle finger barely grazes your folds and you gasp, clenching, hips jumping forward.

“Oh fuck,” he moans. “That was barely anything. You’re shaking.”

“You touched my clit,” you pant. “It’s sensitive.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Oh my god. I love that you know what it’s called.”

You’re breathless, laughing a little. “I’ve read fanfiction. Have you not?”

“I have, but in those they just say ‘your little pearl’ and shit.”

You groan. “That’s not even close.”

He’s looking again, hand hovering like he’s terrified to mess it up.

“Okay, so… this is your clit,” he murmurs, grazing it again, watching how your whole body twitches. “It’s so tiny. But you sound like I electrocuted you when I touched it.”

You whimper, cause he's teasing... He's curious as well and doesn't fucking know how much him petting your clit actually affects you.

“You like that?” he whispers, a bit entranced. Crystalline blue eyes focusing on the sticky strands of your slick connected to his fingertips as they stretch when he rubs and pulls them off your glued pussylips.

“Y-yeah.”

He touches again, a little firmer... slower, really working your clit, the soft squelches audible, he really wants to taste it, the creamy thing webbing his fingers, the thought pounding in his head.. Would you be grossed out if he just shoved his fingers in his mouth right now and got a taste of that sappy cream?

You whimper louder, snapping his attention back from his lewd thoughts.

His voice is shaking. “Can you c-cum like this? Just from me touching you?”

You nod furiously. “If you keep going, Fuck. Please keep going.”

His thumb brushes you now, a bit more confidently.

“You’re dripping,” he mumbles. “It’s getting on my wrist, angel”

Your thighs snap shut, embarrassed.

But you’re so close and he’s still rubbing in slow, shaky circles and whispering your name and watching you like he’s studying for a test he’s gonna fail with honors. Your clit feels like it’s throbbing. You can’t stop shaking. Can’t stop whining.

And then—

“Cum for me,” he whispers, awed. “Please, please pretty girl, I wanna see.”

That makes your cunt clench, his voice the thing that makes you break instantly.

You clam up around nothing, crying out as your pussy gushes over his hand, wet and twitchy, making a fucking mess on his hoodie sleeve. Your knees give out. He catches you instantly, still on his knees, arms full of shaking, panting girl.

You’re sobbing in relief, thighs sticky, pussy still fluttering, and his hands are holding you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“You’re so amazing,” he breathes. “I can’t believe I made you cum.”

You whimper. “You’re so good. I didn’t think it would feel like that.”

He kisses your thigh.

Then your stomach, and makes his way up and then your lips, just to feel you.

Soft and careful, with utmost devotion and care.

And you melt against him, fucked out and flushed, pressed to his chest.

“…We should do this again,” he mumbles.

“Next time,” you pant, smiling, “I wanna see if you can make me squirt.”

He chokes, on what little air he's breathing.

But you’re still trembling.

Your panties are hanging off one ankle, his cum is drying on your sleeve, and your pussy is throbbing— still fluttering every now and then like your body can’t believe you actually came. You’re slumped against Satoru’s chest, half-limp, while he rubs soft little circles on your lower back like he’s trying to soothe an overstimulated kitten.

Time is passing and neither of you has said anything in the last full minute.

Except him whispering “holy fuck” under his breath every ten seconds like a mantra.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he finally says, voice all hushed reverence. “You came.”

You nod, agreeing lazily. Dazed, and still reeling in the high. “Like… a lot.”

“You squirted.”

“I did not.”

“There was liquid. Splash zone level.”

You slap his chest, giggling, but your thighs twitch. You’re so sensitive you could cry, your clit aches in that perfect, pulsing way that means it wants no more and yet… you’re still soaking wet.

And you feel it. That ache deeper inside you now. Heavy and throbbing. Unused.

Unsatisfied.

You shift against him, face buried in the soft cotton of his shirt, and whisper:

“…Satoru?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to put your fingers in me.”

You feel him freeze. Every muscle goes stiff. His hands still on your back. You feel his dick— hard again— press against your thigh like it heard you first.

“Wha— what.”

You look up at him, breath shaky. “You made me cum from the outside. But I’ve never been touched inside.”

His ears go red.

“I— I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“You won’t.” You take his wrist, place his hand gently against your mound. “I trust you.”

He swallows hard. You begin to guide his fingers between your thighs again, letting him feel how wet you still are. You gasp a little just from the contact— still sensitive, still twitchy.

His voice comes out hoarse. “You’re soaked.”

“Just go slow,” you whisper. “I wanna know what it feels like.”

He moves down again and actually takes his jacket off and spreads it over the tiles beneath you. He's kneeling like it’s instinct now, reverent and worshipful. Like he belongs on the floor for you. He kisses your inner thigh once, sweet and shaky, then stares between your legs like he’s seeing magic.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says.

You nod, open for him by parting your thighs, trembling ever so slightly.

His fingers sliding along your sappy folds, middle finger inching closer to your hole's opening, more slick gathers and pools as it tries to worm its way in.

You gasp at the feeling.. a bit in fear and uncertainty, but he's so gentle, holding you tighter against him.

His finger begins to push in, your tiny hole fighting him, the intrusion. It's nothing like you've ever felt.

Satoru’s breathing stops entirely.

“You’re tight,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re— fuck, you’re so warm, I can feel your pulse.”

You whimper. “Go slow. Just the tip.”

He pushes a little, and you clench involuntarily, sucking him in just a bit.

He moans. Actually moans. Like you’re the one touching him.

“Angel, you’re gripping me.”

You bury your face in your sleeve, whining. “It’s not fair. Your fingers are big.”

He curls his finger just slightly— experimenting— and your entire body jolts.

“Oh— oh fuck!” you cry out.

His eyes go wide. “Was that— was that good?”

“D-do it again,” you pant.

He does. Gentler, carefully pressing just right, and your walls flutter around him so tightly it’s like your body doesn’t know how to handle it.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles. “You’re sucking me in.”

You grab his wrist. “Try two.”

He stares. “Are you sure?”

“Please, Satoru.”

You’re breathless, begging.

He shivers like it physically affects him.

He slides another finger in— and your pussy stretches around him, tighter than he expected. Your mouth drops open. Your thighs twitch.

“Oh my god,” you gasp.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me— I can’t move,” he moans.

You rock your hips, helping him, whining through your teeth.

It’s deep. It’s thick. He curls again— and you sob, eyes fluttering back.

“There— oh my god there, right there—”

His fingers are hooked now, rubbing that spongey spot deep inside that makes your eyes cross. His thumb finds your clit on instinct, and suddenly you’re wailing, your whole body shaking, your pussy clenching so hard around his fingers he can barely move.

You cum again, messier and needy. Your velvet walls constricting his fingers in waves.

And he watches, awed, wrecked. His other hand supporting you as your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

He doesn’t even pull out.

He just whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you cum.”

And you start crying.

Happy tears. Dumb overwhelmed tears. Because no one’s ever touched you like this, seen you like this, loved your body with nothing but his hands and awe.

He kisses your forehead.

You sniffle. “I want you inside me someday.”

He nods. “Me too.”

“…But I might have to train for it.”

He laughs, breathless. “Me too. My heart can’t take this.”

You null away on his chest for a minute. Exhausted by everything your body's endured tonight, your panties still on the floor, his arms still secured tight around you and he press soft kisses to the top of your head.

Eventually when he slowly eases his fingers out of you, you're relaxed, no longer holding them hostage, it slides out with a flurry of slick gushing out, all what's been welling up and stuffed inside your cunt for the entire time.

He rubs it up and down your pussylips then into your clit one last time before he's bringing his fingers to his lips, and moaning as your flavour hits his tongue. Finally, getting a taste of you and he couldn't be more pleased at the tangy-sweetness of it.

Satoru licks his fingers clean, savouring it and after he's the one reaching for your panties, tugging them back up along with your leggings as he tells you softly to, "Raise your hips for me please, angel. Good girl, just like that." You do, and he secures them back in place, cunt still pulsing. Fresh slick soaking your panties again.

Satoru stands first, all long limbs and easy grace and he reaches down for you next. His hands are warm as he pulls you up from the bathroom floor. His jacket lies there still, a dark wet patch blooming where your cunt had soaked through.

Heat floods your cheeks, you're quick to mumble an apology, eyes glassy with leftover pleasure and sudden shyness.

He just chuckles softly. Bends to snatch the jacket up like it’s nothing. He balls it in one hand and tucks it under his arm.

“Shh, angel. It’s fine.”

He cups your face, thumbs brushing your flushed skin. Then he kisses you slow and deep, tasting like sin and sweetness. “One wash and it’ll be brand new. Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t tell you he plans to keep it exactly like this. A filthy little souvenir, from tonight.

His fingers lace with yours as he leads you out of the stall. The movie is long forgotten. He keeps you tucked close against his side the whole way through the emptying theater. The night air hits cool when you step outside.

In the car he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. Possessive and gentle.

Later that night you lie in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your phone glows in the dark. Heart hammering, you type the silly questions anyway.

you 🩷 so… are we... dating? omg omg am i your girlfriend now?!

His reply comes instantly.

toru 🩵 i knew we were soulmates when you asked to see my dick aaaand called it "pretty" ilysm angel omg

You giggle into your pillow, face burning. Your chest feels too full. Tonight was crazy. Wild and messy and perfect.

But now one, no two orgasms later and Satoru Gojo is yours. Officially. The nerd from the Doraemon expo.

You fall asleep smiling stupidly into your pillow, already wondering when you’ll feel his hands on you again.

[dewveils]

e-girl | nerdjo x reader

[summary] gojo has a less than appropriate crush on his favorite streamer

[content warnings] male masturbation, sexual fantasies, some serious parasocial behavior, yearning but make it sad and desperate

⋆

bamb111_ is online!

a sharp ding from gojo's phone has him groaning, long limbs swiping over the expanse of his ruffled sheets in a lazy search for the device. fuck, what time is it? the blackout curtains make it hard to tell, but judging by the high sunrays that peak through the edges, he can assume it's already well into the day. with half his face still pressed into the plush of his pillow, he forces one slow eye open, scanning the screen.

one look at the top notification is all it takes.

he flips the covers off with lightening speed, nearly tripping over the empty cans of monster and takeout boxes that litter the floor of his dorm as he scrambles to his PC, keyboard clicking up a storm in a desperate attempt to log before the green dot beside your name disappears. the monitor flickers to life, bathing the shadows of his room with a cool neon glow as his heart kicks into something embarrassingly close to a sprint.

"c'mon, c'mon, c'mon."

the loading screen lags — because of course it does, it had to be today of all days that his internet decides to act up — and he hisses under his breath, leg tapping impatiently beneath his desk. he sifts through the clutter on the table until he finds his glasses, shoving them onto his face just as the webpage comes into view. he makes a mental note to clean over the weekend.

welcome to joyixa, the #1 place to watch and interact with your favorite streamers, gamers, and more! please enter your login information or create a new account.

gojo types in his username with a speed that borders on frantic. it's muscle memory, automatic at this point. he's lost count of the amount of times he's put himself through this exact routine, he could probably do it blindfolded. he glances at his phone, heart dropping when he sees you've already been online for a whopping 5 minutes and he still hasn't made it past the front page of the site.

then, the unthinkable happens.

oops!

your password has expired and must be changed. please enter your email address to start the password restart process. you may —

"are you fucking kidding me, again?" gojo sighs so hard he thinks his lungs flatten, one shaky finger pushing up the center of his glasses as the others continue to do their best to get this grueling task over with as fast as possible.

even in his haste, he still has half a mind to wonder what you're doing. he always is. he wonders what cosplay you've got on. if your hair is still in those pretty little pigtails like they were last week. if you've opted to go for coffin or square nails (he voted in chat for coffin). he wonders what music you're listening to so he can swiftly add them to the playlist he's made of every song you've ever had playing in the background.

when the reset link hits his inbox, he clicks it so fast he nearly misses, hands just unsteady enough to be annoying. new password. confirm password. something secure, something he won’t forget — no, something he can’t forget.

done. enter. load. load. load.

"i swear to god, if this — "

the page refreshes and he doesn't breathe until he's back in, cursor speeding to his favorites tab and obediently clicking on the only profile on the list. yours. always yours.

when he sees that you're still on, he finally lets the air in. but the feeling doesn't last long. the second his pale blue eyes land on your webcam, it's like the wind's been knocked clean out of him, pupils blown wide.

you're sitting in your signature baby pink chair, one leg bent up for comfort, and a pair of soft kitten ears resting on top of your head. he leans in, taking in every detail like he expects you to vanish if he looks away too long. your top is decorated with intricate lace and shining silk, puffed sleeves, and printed cat paws resting on your chest, practically taunting him. you've got a wig on this time, a rare sight nowadays, with soft curls flowing gracefully down your shoulders and framing your face like art. if he was a complete creep, he'd take some screenshots.

he only takes one.

gojo shoves his headphones on just in time to catch you let out a gentle laugh at someone in chat. something selfish in his chest twists. tuh. can't be that funny. chat's moving fast. too fast. the message box blinks up at him, waiting.

say something. anything. don't overthink it. just...be cool. yeah. be cool.

certified_6ixeyes: joyixa tried to lock me out again.

the second he hits send, he wishes he hadn't, a sharp wave of regret washing over every cell in his body. wow. real fucking smooth there, satoru. couldn't think of anything better to say? a stressed hand runs through his already disheveled white hair, mussed from a rough night sleep he can only discern is caused by his endless, persistent thoughts of you. part of him hopes you respond or at least see it in passing so he knows his awkward admission earned a moment of your attention. the other part of him hopes it gets lost in the sea of other chatters. you'd look beautiful doing either, he's sure.

he watches you take a sip of your drink, glossy pink lips wrapping gently around the plastic straw in a way that makes his breath catch, a small tent growing beneath the cotton fabric of his sweatpants. he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a little guilty about all this. but he can't help it. from the moment he first wandered into your stream, he was hooked.

you were playing one of his favorite games of all time, making the same comments he would be making, raged at the same moments where he felt like he was losing his shit, shed tears at the same cutscenes that had him blubbering like a baby. you were completely engrossed in the gameplay and the story. so much so that he felt like he was right there with you.

all those years of sitting alone at lunch with a nintendo switch being his only source of companionship. being picked last for the team games during gym because he was too tall and lanky. standing against the wall during prom in his too-expensive rented tux and watching every other guy in his class slow dance with their dates. the hours upon hours spent cooped up in the darkness of his bedroom playing that very same game for the nth time in a row.

for the first time in his life, satoru felt seen.

and see him you did.

"oh no! hey, um...certified six eyes, is that how you say it? i'm sorry to hear that, that totally blows," you pout into the mic, and for a second, gojo can't believe what he's hearing. did she just...no. no way. no fucking way. he leans back in his chair, arms raising to grip the hair on his head in disbelief, jaw nearly dragging across the floor.

"holy shit, she's talking to me," he gawks in pure awe, absolutely glowing. "sh-she's really talking to...to me! why the — "

"i hate when that happens, and it's always, like, at the worst times, too!" your voice tilts, light and sympathetic to his very real, very serious struggle, "did you get back in okay?" his stomach flips, snapping himself out of his daze and throwing his hands back on the keyboard to respond before your attention gets yanked elsewhere.

certified_6ixeyes: barely. almost died.

what the hell does that even mean? almost died, seriously? she's gonna think you're such a loser —

but then you laugh. actually laugh. and he's watched you long enough to know when it's out of pity or actually something you find funny. the sound spills through his headphones, warm and easy.

"almost died?" you repeat, smiling now, eyes sparkling. "a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

gojo doesn't realize he's smiling too until his cheeks start to ache. he takes a deep breath.

certified_6ixeyes: you wouldn't get it.

it's a bit of a risk if it doesn't read well, he knows. testy. but you've got him feeling bolder.

your brow lifts at the message, all other chatters forgotten. he watches your lips part ever so slightly, like you're about to say something. you lean closer to the mic, tone dipping just enough to make it feel like a secret, shared just between the two of you.

"oh yeah?" you whisper. "try me."

his pulse spikes, hot and needy. is this real life? what the fuck is going on? the chat explodes, simps flocking in droves, trying their luck at garnering the same reaction out of you. but you're looking right at the camera, like you're waiting for him specifically to respond.

like no one else is there.

he shifts in his seat, a hand coming up to scratch at the bare skin of his neck, suddenly too warm, too aware of himself. his bare torso radiates a heat he knows all too well. it's the same feeling he gets when he's laying in bed after a long day of nonsensical lectures of bullshit he already knows, phone clutched in his right hand as his thumb combs through your instagram, the left palming himself through his thin boxers.

certified_6ixeyes: if i missed, you, yeah. kinda life or death.

certified_6ixeyes: but don't let it get to your head.

"i dunno..." you tease, voice almost sing-song now. "kinda already has."

your stream carries on as usual, but gojo can't seem to focus no matter how hard he tries, head still spinning from the rush of your interaction earlier as you curse at a player that's been spawn camping for the better part of an hour. deep down, he knows you'll probably forget it ever happened at all by the time you shut off your webcam. if he were a normal person, that feeling should settle him, ground him in the nature of what your relationship actually is — a creator and a viewer.

but every so often, he sees you look back at chat. and every time you do, his eyes lock. like there's a chance you're looking for his username again.

ridiculous. completely and utterly delusional.

he picks up on a catchy melody playing distantly in the background, instructively running it through a song detector and adding it to his collection. but when you respond to some random, his jaw tightens. even worse, they manage to get a giggle out of you with some stupid joke.

of course she's not waiting for you, dumbass. he scoffs under his breath, leaning back in his chair as if creating physical distance between himself and the screen would make it hurt less.

"get a grip, dude." he mutters, pinning his lip between his teeth when you laugh again.

then, like you can hear him, your gaze flicks back up.

"chat's a little brave today," you hum knowingly. "i don't know if i should be encouraging this behavior."

he takes this as an opening.

certified_6ixeyes: that depends.

"oh?" you respond almost too quickly. gojo fights with everything in him to not type 'so what are we?' you go on. "depends on what, six eyes?"

something about having your full and undivided attention again has him feeling dangerous. like he could get away with anything; rob the louvre, hijack a plane, dine and dash (the latter is probably more his speed). still, he bites the bullet.

certified_6ixeyes: only if you can handle it.

"handle it?" a look of mischief flashes over your face. he thinks he even sees the ghost of a smirk. "huh."

there's a beat of silence. then another. had he overstepped? gone a step too far? gojo bites his fist, teeth digging into the skin.

"you're kinda feisty, six eyes," you murmur. his stomach drops.

"i might have to keep an eye on you."

⋆

you're offline for a few days, longer than normal. it's not alarming, but it does have gojo checking his phone like an anxious boyfriend waiting for a text back. he should be fully immersed in the DND campaign playing out before him, breaking down the story arc that's been building over the past few weeks. but the anticipation of your name potentially lighting up his lock screen is enough to keep him half here, half somewhere else entirely.

" — and that's when you hear the door behind you slam shut," geto proclaims, fingers steepled over the table. "something moves within the walls of the — "

"wait," gojo cuts in. two pairs of eyes snap towards him.

a scoff. "you've said 'wait' like six times now," shoko mutters, flipping over her character sheet. "either make a move or die, satoru."

"i will, i will, just..." he trails off, phone already vise-gripped in one hand, thumb flicking down the screen yet again to refresh your page.

no updates.

"if you check your dry ass phone one more time," geto slows. "i'm killing you myself. in this reality."

"alright, fine. i, uh...attack."

"with what?" shoko questions flatly.

"...my sword."

the lukewarm answer earns him a dull hum. "wow. such riveting gameplay."

he hates the way his brain insists on replaying that last conversation with you, if he can even call it that. like some endless loop. picking it apart, analyzing every word, sound, look. glance.

oh yeah? try me.

you're kinda feisty, six eyes.

i might have to keep an eye on you.

he refreshes your page again. nothing.

could it have all just been an act? a playful bit to cater to your male-dominated audience? some kind of sick joke to mess with his feelings? all very likely possibilities. he tells himself to face the facts. you were a highly regarded, highly successful, highly sought after streamer that made a living off of guys like him. you know it. he knows it. he'd be an idiot to believe for a second that he stood any kind of real chance with you, especially after what could only be described as a minute worth of dialogue exchange from a chat box.

"idiot," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. geto rolls his eyes so hard they hit bone.

"look, if you're gonna keep neglecting the party, we might as well just call it quits now and pick back up next — "

"good idea!" gojo chirps, too eager as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and pushes his chair in. "i'll see you guys next...whenever. i'm gonna — i gotta go check, uh...something. later."

he leaves a puff of smoke behind with the speed he leaves the table with, the doors of the student union swinging shut behind him. shoko pinches the bridge of her nose, a futile attempt to rub away the headache the nerd has so generously given her.

shoko sinks in her seat, palms pressing together in prayer. "please, lord. if you can hear me, give that man some pussy before i lose my mind."

⋆

gojo is very thankful to be one of the few students in his building to have a dorm without a roommate. not only for the luxury of peace and quiet whenever he pleases, but also for the ability to lock his door, strip himself naked, and work up a sweat in the comfort of his own bed with your clips playing on the speakers.

it's mostly for the relief. just something to take the edge off. because yes, your radio silence has been torturous. he can't focus. his sleep schedule's more fucked than it usually is. he can't even indulge in a good campaign without you pounding at the back of his mind. if he was a religious man, he'd think the epitome of hell would be the absence of your voice, your laugh, your teasing lilt that both soothes his nerves and sparks them up like fire. your presence, or lack thereof, has bled into the quiet corners of his life with ease.

he exhales slowly, head tipping back against the pillow when he hears you sigh out of frustration, an arm thrown over his eyes. he thinks of you looking up at him with that pretty smile, on your knees, a soft hand wrapped around his cock. he imagines the grip of his slick fist is the warm, wet suction of your mouth sliding up and down his length.

"ah, fuck...y-yes, baby, just like that," he begs to an empty room, eyes screwed shut, but he sees you in his mind clear as day. he's rock hard, almost solid from the rush of blood pulsing through his body, skin growing damp with want, with need. he rubs a shaking thumb over the angry, leaking tip, gathering the wetness and pretending it's the gloss of your lips. the mere thought has his hips bucking like an animal, wild thrusts into the curve of his hand.

"n-need you so bad right now, baby p-please." his breathing is rapid, gasping as he hurls himself towards the pleasure, desperate to soothe the ache. then, the mental image shifts.

he's flipped you over onto your stomach, folding up your little maid skirt and raising your hips until you bend at the knees. a clear, sticky tear drips down the inside of your thigh as you look back at him, doe-eyes glazed. "you want this cock in your little pussy? yeah? y-you need me to fill you up?" you nod in his dreams, ass swaying like you're some little puppy, wagging your tail just for him. "hah, i - oh, i think i like that."

in the real world, he grips himself tighter, almost violently, milking himself for all he's worth. the thought of being wrapped in your warmth, feeling the pulse of your walls growing tighter around him, the gasps and whines that escape your lips when he hits that sweet spongy spot inside over and over and over again.

he thinks of how you'd sound when you come undone. when he unravels you beneath him, body spent, pussy fluttering around him and holding him inside like a warm hug. that's all it takes for him to start gushing, thick white ropes shooting from his tip and onto his tense abs, a drop hitting the tip of his chin.

"oh my -ah, fuck! fuckfuckfuck. take it all. a-all for you, all for you," he chokes on his words, toned body coated in a wet sheen as he wills his heart to slow back down. your voice through the speakers and the distant sound of his breathing echo through the room. birds chirp outside his window. the muffled chatter of students walking down the hall. gojo sighs.

no matter how close to you he feels in his heart.

he's still just some nerdy college loser alone in his dorm room.

until his phone dings.

chest still heaving, he leans over to grab it from his bedside table, careful not to let the cum on his chest drip onto his sheets. at the sight of his face, the screen lights up.

and it's like the world stops spinning.

bamb111_ has followed you back!

[chromaticabrasions]

horny

[chromaticabrasions]

not horny anymore i want to be loved

[chromaticabrasions]

horny again

[misericordiia]

wound dressings and bandages are lingerie for the enlightened pervert

[jjungkkook]

Jungkook doing the Black Swan choreo - Las Vegas D2 (cr. anh.gcf)

[junk-thunder]

[deeply concerned] whose pussy is this?

[spaceboytoy]

Hello bisexual community

[spaceboytoy]

Begin killing

[tartrazeen]

[dewveils]

will there be a part two to your e-girl gojo fic? I love it sm 😭

yes !! there will be i’ve just been v lazy and haven’t edited the draft </3

[dewveils]

i wanna write abt period sex with choso u guys

[dewveils]

enrichment | husband!gojo x reader

gojo is so, so, so unbelievably fucked.

you can't be more than ten minutes away. ten minutes. and he knows this because you'd texted him when you left work — your first shift back in seven months — and now you're probably driving home, humming to yourself, thinking about what to make for dinner, thinking about the baby, completely unaware that your apartment has more or less turned into a crime scene.

gojo stands in the center of the living room, still. too still. like if he moves too fast, he'll miss something. a sound, a shift, a clue. something that explains where the hell the baby went.

"okay," he says out loud, voice thin and stretched with panic. "okay, okay, okay — "

he retraces. couch? no. playpen? all toys, no baby. crib? untouched since he took the little squirt out of it this morning.

his stomach sinks so violently it feels like his organs are trying to escape his body. lovely.

"oh my god," he breaths. "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."

this is it. the last of his days. you're going to kill him. not metaphorically, not lightly. literally end him.

"she's gonna kill me," he mutters, dragging his hands down him face. "she's gonna kill me so fucking hard — "

his brain does that thing it does. that awful, vivid sprint ahead of reality.

door. windows. did he lock them for sure? of course he did. he always does. he checked them twice. three times. he lunges for the front door anyways, and sure enough, it's locked. windows, also locked. sliding door to the balcony, also locked up tight.

so where the hell —

"heyyy," he calls, softer now. like maybe he's been approaching this wrong. like his volume is the issue. "c'mon, little man, this isn't funny. it's actually the complete opposite of funny..."

his voice cracks. that's new.

but gojo doesn't let himself think about it for too long. instead, he drops to his knees, then fully to the floor, flattening himself like a damn sniper as he shoves his head underneath the couch, cheek pressed to the hardwood and scans every inch of shadow.

nothing.

nothing.

more nothing.

then, his phone rings.

it startles him so much he smacks his head on the stiff underside of the couch. "ouch! fuck, oh my — "

your name lights up his screen. he's dead. so fucking dead. but against his better judgement, he answers anyway.

"honey!" he chirps, way too bright and way too fast, voice pitching up as he continues army-crawling across the floor.

"hi, baby," you, his beautiful-stunning-kind-sexy-very-forgiving-and-hopefully-merciful wife. but despite the lightness of it all, the words come out tired.

his stomach twists. "god, it was such a good day," you continue. "i feel like i spent half of it just showing everyone baby pictures and sitting around. i swear, they were treating me like i just popped him out." you giggle.

and he tries to match it, but expectedly, it comes out strained, weird, wrong. you notice.

"is everything alright?" you ask, slower now. "how is he?"

gojo freezes. don't panic. don't panic. don't —

"oh, he's so great! just great!" he says quickly, scrambling up and yanking back an elephant-patterned blanket like it's going to magically reveal your child. it doesn't.

it reveals a stupid stuffed plush of yuji, a gift (from yuji) at your baby shower.

"h-he's..." he swallows, hard. "just finished a bottle, actually, and i, uh, just set him down for a nap...the usual, y'know."

there's a pause. too long.

"are you sure?" you ask. "you sound a bit — "

"ah! wow!" gojo blurts, volume spiking as his brain short-circuits. "look at that! blown out diaper, gotta deal with it right now, i’llseeyouinabitloveyoubye — ” before you can respond, he ends the call, lowering it like a bomb that might go off.

he looks around the apartment again — the toys, the mats, the empty spaces where there should absolutely be a baby.

he claps his hands again, sharper this time.

“alright,” he says, forcing something like determination into his tone. “new plan.”

a beat.

"...what the fuck is the plan?" gojo straightens slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes sweeping the apartment again. toys everywhere. play mat. couch. blanket. kitchen —

kitchen.

his head snaps toward it. "...no," he mutters. "no way." but he moves anyway, steps quick, then faster, then borderline tripping over a plastic set of keys as he rounds the corner. the kitchen is quiet. too quiet.

his eyes narrow. “hey,” he calls, softer now. cautious. like he’s approaching a wild animal instead of his own elusive child. “hey, buddy…”

nothing.

then —

a faint sound. a tiny thump.

gojo freezes. another thump. quieter this time. followed by a soft, muffled noise that is very distinctly not silence.

the cabinet. the bottom cabinet.

the one he definitely closed.

the one that is now —

slightly.

open.

gojo stares at it. the cabinet stares back. he crouches slowly, like he’s defusing a bomb, fingers hovering over the handle for half a second before he yanks it open —

and there he is.

a baby. a wide-eyed, drool-covered, perfectly intact baby. sitting inside the cabinet like he pays rent there, surrounded by a tupperware lid, a wooden spoon, and what looks like a very enthusiastically chewed-on measuring cup.

he blinks up at gojo. then smiles. like this is the funniest thing that has ever happened in his life (it is).

“…you,” he says finally, voice hollow. “you have got to be kidding me.”

his son giggles. giggles. gojo exhales so hard his entire body practically deflates, forehead dropping forward until it taps gently against the cabinet frame.

“don’t laugh at me, you little punk,” gojo mutters, reaching in and scooping him up, checking him over in rapid, frantic passes. “you don’t get to laugh. i just saw my entire life flash before my eyes — "

the baby grabs his shirt collar, gumming it with his little mouth til the fabric turns dark.

“yeah, yeah, you’re cute, whatever” gojo sighs, pulling him close, pressing a quick kiss to his head. “you’re lucky you’re cute. otherwise i’d be fu — uh, in...a lot of trouble with mommy."

he moves fast now, grabbing the play mat, tossing toys back into vague, acceptable positions, kicking a stray pacifier under the couch (he’ll find it later, maybe), adjusting the blanket. he places him back in the pen strategically, like he's been there the entire time.

because he has! of course he has!

gojo points at him, then zips his fingers over his lips.

“not a word,” he warns.

the door unlocks just as he sets himself down on the foam-padded floor.

“hey, you two” you call, slipping your shoes off. “i’m home — ”

your husband smiles back instantly. “hey,” he says, like he didn’t just experience the worst ten minutes of his life. “feeling okay?”

you hum, stepping further inside, gaze flicking to the playpen. “he looks happy.”

“yeah,” gojo says lightly. “we had a great day. didn’t we?” the baby squeals. gojo nods once, like that confirms everything. smart kid.

“yep,” he adds. “super chill.” a beat.

then, you narrow your eyes slightly.

"baby," you tilt your head. “…why is there a measuring cup in the playpen?”

gojo doesn’t even hesitate.

“enrichment.”

[dewveils]

i’m shocked that this is one of my most popular posts bc i wrote it in like 10 min after watching a gojo edit to an eric clapton song