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౨ৎ yeah, yeah, pornstar!gojo, and all... but what about pornstar!reader, and fan!gojo?

gojo is obsessed with everything you put out there. notifications blare, ensuring he is the first to see every post. his phone is always glued to his hand, your channel is his goddamn religion.

he ditches anyone, ducks into bathrooms, alleys, wherever to catch a glimpse of that sweet pussy. he even contemplates risking getting caught jerking off on a public tram, his strained pants a testament to his desperation. a crowded tram, mind you. he doesn't even care.

and, that michelin-star dinner? kicked out. again. because he can’t keep his hands off his phone, and his volume down. the head waiter gives him a look that could kill, and gojo just shrugs, already halfway through his next video.

he really is your biggest hype-man, and also your richest one. his tips? a goddamn tidal wave in the chat. every moan you make, every twitch of your hips, fuels his own private show. and, well, you've got to make it up to him somehow, right?

in return, you let him control your toys. you take it so well, he thinks, the highest setting of your lovense. that remote control? a shitty substitute for his own hands, really.

if a vibrator does this to you… he strokes himself, mimicking your rhythm, a frustrated, aching pulse, the image of your slick heat filling his mind. he wants to feel it, wants to hear you scream his name. you're gripping the sheets of the bed, head thrown back.

if just a little vibrator is doing this to you, he can't imagine how you'd react to his cock.

gojo's hand slides up and down his hard length, throbbing with arousal as he watches you moan.

"oh, fuck," you cry, "i— i'm gonna cum!" and, cum you do, as your hips buck, body tensing, and fluttering hole gushes liquid. he times his own release just seconds after, and it feels like the closest he'll ever get to you.

you've wrecked him, completely. he can't even have a girlfriend anymore, because he's always groaning your name during sex with them. it's the only way he can get off, now.

pictures and videos, that is. exclusive content, little bits and pieces of you — anything he can get, he'll have. you're the only thing he thinks about, you've turned him into a porn addict.

sleep is a war zone, gojo's brain replaying your every move until he is jerking off into his own hand, the sheets sticky and smelling faintly of his seed.

he fantasizes, raw and dirty, about burying his face between your legs, about the slick heat of your cunt, about the way you’d scream when he finally comes.

he wants to fill you, wants to hear you beg. gojo lies awake at night, his mind a whirlwind of your images, replaying old videos, memorizing every curve, every sound.

(and yeah, he has a fan account. pathetic? maybe. but he doesn't give a fuck. he has to spread the word, has to make sure everyone knows just how amazing you are. plus, he likes reading the comments. it makes him feel proud of you.)

gojo strokes his leaky dick at night, submitting into his fantasies of shoving your head into a pillow and dragging his sensitive tip across your slit, getting to release his load into your soaked walls.

but, at some point, god must finally be on his side, because ten minutes after your latest livestream, he is met with a dm from you — "how would u like to 2 mess with those controls in person <33"

after all those enormous tips he's sent your way, isn't it time for you to give him something extra?

smooch

splaying out on getous lap very dramatically and sighing until he pets my face and asks me whats wrong

When you’re in bed together, Satoru always has to be touching you in some way. Actually, in most situations, he has to - his fingers naturally find yours during walks, locking together without a second thought. When you rest your head on his shoulder during train rides, he absentmindedly twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. Right before your stop, he gives a slight tug to wake you up, teasing you about the little bit of drool at the corner of your lips. Don’t worry - he’ll kiss it away.

Satoru always pulls you close. He doesn’t mind the heat in the summer; even if you complain about it, he’ll still find a way to touch you, even if it’s just pinching the hem of the oversized shirt you stole from him. He gets it - Japanese summers in traditional houses are no joke. He teases that if you’re good, maybe Santa will bring you an AC this year. You respond by brushing your leg against his, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. And if your legs happen to be a little prickly, he just laughs, pulling you in by the back of your neck. “My little cactus,” he murmurs, his blue eyes soft with affection.

Winter, though - that’s his favorite. He likes being the big spoon, tucking you under his chin, wrapping his arms around you until you’re practically buried against him. It’s hard to tell if he’s keeping you warm or just smothering you. He loves feeling your warmth against him, listening to your soft breathing, your little snores. He prefers winter because you always come to him, searching for his warmth. His only complaint? Your cold hands. And when you press your freezing feet against his back just to mess with him, you instantly regret it. Because, really, why are you running? He just wants to hold you (and maybe bite you - fair payback, and your cheeks are too tempting).

After moments of intimacy, he prefers lying on his back, with you sprawled over his chest, one leg lazily draped over his waist. Your skin warm and dewy against his, breaths still a little uneven as they start to slow. Your fingertips absentmindedly trace the scars scattered across his ivory skin, a soft, familiar touch that makes him sigh in contentment.

He cups your face, tilting it up so he can kiss you, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. It’s slow, tender - one of those kisses that lingers, that you both sink into without realizing how much time is passing. He smiles against your lips, unable to help himself. And then, because he can never resist, those slow kisses turn playful. He starts peppering your entire face with pecks, laughter bubbling up as his fingers sneak to your sides, tickling just enough to make you squirm.

Even though he’s someone who always needs touch, who thrives on it, more than anything, he just feels lucky - to have you, to hold you, to love you.

satoru gojo made a point to come home with at least some cuts and bruises. sure, he had his reversed curse technique, but he was also selfish. a little bit, at least.

nothing crazy, nothing enough to kill him. he’d just lower his infinity for a moment, long enough for another to get a lick on him. it was like he collected them. shiny badge of... your attention?

obviously, if anything, he’d have to try to get hurt. which did, in fact, make this a little harder. he’d have to be careful to get hurt just enough.

and, you? well, you were never the wiser.

everyday night, he’d come come with 'battle wounds', and you’d rush to his side, making sure he was okay. you’d stress about it, even though it was something akin to a paper cut.

you didn’t know about his ‘self-healing’, no, why would you?

he feels a little bad, when your brows knit together, and a frown graces your face. but, when your hands are on him, gently tending — soothing — the guilt seems to wash away.

“‘toru,” you coo, gently applying the anti-septic. he doesn’t hiss at the sting, he’s gotten used to you applying it. he barely hums back, opting to lovingly gaze at you.

“does it hurt anywhere?” you ask.

“no— wait, yeah.” he taps on his temple, and you press a kiss there. he hated the headache his six-eyes gave him, but this seemed like one of the times it was worth it.

“and here,” satoru continues, a spot on his cheekbone. it’s a newly forming bruise, but it doesn’t hurt at all. he’ll use his technique when you’re asleep, wounds — if you can even call them that — disappearing.

funny thing was, you just assumed he was a quick healer.

you press a kiss, there, too. a grin grows on his lips, one he doesn’t bother to suppress. it’s signature of his. there’s a glint of mischief in satoru’s eyes, but if you’re being honest, there always seems to be.

“right here,” he says, pointing to his lips, pouting slightly. “really bad.”

“aw,” you giggle, “poor baby.” despite that, you kiss him anyways. soft and warm, just how he likes it.

but, then again, he’d like anything you gave him.

so, yeah, satoru may be the strongest, but when it comes to you?

he’s the weakest.

literally.

pornstar!satoru who just so happens to live in the apartment next to yours. sharing a wall means you don't get to be blissfully ignorant about his profession, because he just has to be a workaholic... or sex addict if you look at it in a different light. some nights you get no sleep because of the banging of a headboard against the wall and the long drawn out moans that sound a little too real for porn. if satoru wasn't such a good neighbor (or so attractive) you'd make a noise complaint by now.

but of course you get curious one night when one of the 'co-stars' he has over is crying joyous climax. surely he's not that good, right? you don't even register your actions as you open up your laptop and search up his name.

of course you click the first link that comes up. and of course you hold your breath as the first video loads up and you find out he's a whole lot bigger than you had imagined he was. then, of course, you scold yourself for thinking about his dick size in the first place as you dip your fingers beneath the waistband of your pyjama pants to touch yourself in time to the thrusts of his cock into someone else.

you have him on full view in the video in front of you, and the sounds of him fucking some girl into her third or fourth orgasm of the night just beyond the thin walls of your apartment. but the video in front of you ends and so you click on his profile and press play on the first thing that comes up because you're horny and in need of visual stimulation.

but you realize once the video starts up that it isn't a recorded porn video, it's a livestream: a cam show. you're watching your neighbor fuck some girl stupid while you're on the other side of the decorated wall in his background fucking yourself dumb on your fingers wishing it was him.

hundreds of people are watching, too, but none of them are hearing it in real time. feeling the walls vibrate each time the headboard hits it. none of them are going to wake up in the morning and bump into him in the hallway. he'll tell you good morning and get that sheepish look on his face because he knows he's loud when he cums and you look too tired to have slept through his orgasm.

you time your climax with his. release all over your sticky fingers when he cums deep in the girl he's got pinned into a mating press beneath him. you then realize, of course, that you'll never be able to look your neighbor in the eyes ever again now that you've watched him drain his balls into someone else, and you close your laptop lid to sleep.

you swear it will never happen again.

until it does.

⋆.˚ FAT, JUCIY, & WET⭑.ᐟ⸻ Nerdjo.

THAT GOOD KITTY-KITTY, GOOD KITTY-KITTY. MAKE IT MY PET. ᯓ★ When you got involved with Gojo Satoru, you thought—'oh great.' Who knew how great things were about to get for him.

pairings ᯓ★ Nerd Gojo Satoru x reader

a/n: find 3-aem's art used in the header here, and have funnnn, lol. this is nerd (me) on nerd (Nerdjo) crime.

It was fucked up as it is you have to suddenly work with some new partner now; first train him, and build a rapport with him. The fact that it has to be a complete lost cause loser, who can't hold his liquor, was just the shit on top of your already fungus ridden cake.

“I don't even know the first thing about women!!! How am I supposed to charm them and get information out of them!!??” A very drunk and very sad Gojo cried with the left side of his face squished on the table.

Sitting across from him, getting the front row seat of the nonchalant Gojo Satoru, the intelligence and strategy team wiz, having a meltdown, was great. If only it did not come at the cost of your own job and sanity. Life was good working as a solo spy, where your coworkers in the same division were paired off, you never had to pretend with a colleague. Most of your work involved; breaking in, charming men, sometimes beating up people, if the situation required—get them into bed. 

It never really went too far, but you have definitely done some stuff to complete the task. And you wish your job was not as hands on as it was, if only you were Gojo Satoru. Who was having fun being a behind the scenes guy. But there are only so many people working under such a secretive department under the government. Especially spies, they are very limited.

Which leads us to the matter at hand, the whole department drinking and having fun, with the excuse that Gojo got a promotion. Gojo himself would contradict to say this felt more like a demotion. Sure, he got a raise. But who cares about money when your life rides on your sex appeal and you are a pathetic virgin, who'd rather find every single detail about some president by breaking into all his digital devices and every record of his existence. Instead of wooing his secretary for that information.

He does not like the long way around things. He would rather take what he needs the easiest way possible. And preferably behind a screen.

“I AM LITERALLY A VIRGIN! WHAT WAS THE BOSS THINKING!??” 

“fucccckkk, yeah—right there. harder. deeper, c’mon baby, don’t be shy. put y'er whole weight into it.”

“jesus fucking christ, could you two keep it down?” gojo groaned, dramatically pressing a pillow over his face as yet another loud, guttural moan echoed through the walls. megumi, sitting cross-legged on the couch, shot him a disgusted glance. “can you not involve jesus in this?”

"yeah, it’s already bad enough we can hear it, don’t make it worse with religious guilt," nobara added, stuffing popcorn into her mouth. yuuji, however, looked oddly concerned. “but… doesn’t he sound like he’s in pain?”

a particularly loud moan rattled the walls.

megumi pinched the bridge of his nose. “i hate that you’re making me say this, but maybe that’s how he likes it.”

gojo shot up from his seat. “that’s it! i’m putting an end to this.”

“sensei, for the love of god, don’t—”

but gojo was already marching toward the room, righteous fury in his steps. he didn’t just suffer through one interrupted scene of legally blonde—oh no, this had been going on for the entire movie, and he was at his limit.

with zero hesitation, he slammed open the door.

“okay, first of all—what the actual fu—”

his words died in his throat. because instead of whatever soul-scarring image he had prepared himself for, he found you walking on toji’s back.

literally.

you had one foot pressing into his shoulder blade, the other digging into his lower spine, your arms outstretched for balance.

toji, lying face down on the futon, groaned as you applied more pressure. “ah—fuck, yeaahhhh, right there.”

gojo blinked once.

twice.

thrice.

“...what the hell am i looking at.”

you turned your head lazily. “a deep tissue massage?”

toji, still lying flat on his stomach, grunts. “the fuck d'ya want?”

gojo raises a shaky hand. “i—i don’t know what’s worse. the fact that i thought you were getting absolutely railed into next week, or the fact that i thought you were the one getting railed into next week.”

your eye twitches. “i’m giving him a massage.”

“is that what you kids are calling it nowadays?”

“oh my god—”

“so you admit this is weird,” gojo snaps, pointing aggressively. “like, i came here to tell you to shut the fuck up, ‘cause i can’t hear reese witherspoon’s iconic ‘what, like it’s hard?’ line over your sex noises—”

“not sex noises,” you interrupt.

“—and what do i find? you stepping all over toji like a goddamn cockroach. i don’t know if i should be relieved or more disturbed.”

“ever had a slipped disc before, six eyes? feels like god’s punishing you for every bad thing you’ve ever done,” toji grumbled, his voice muffled against the futon. “this is the closest i’ve gotten to enlightenment.”

you pressed your heel into a particularly stiff knot. toji let out an obscene moan.

gojo recoiled like he’d been physically struck.

“nope. nope.” he turned on his heel, immediately exiting the room. “i don’t know if this is better or worse than what i thought i’d see, but i’m not sticking around to find out. i think i’d rather have walked in on you two fucking.”

yuuji, megumi, and nobara watched as he returned to the couch, sat down in complete silence, and resumed watching legally blonde.

“…so?” nobara asked, nudging him.

gojo simply popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth and said, deadpan, “megumi was right. he likes it rough.”

NerdSatoru! Is just so obsessed with eating your pussy

You could be in the damn near empty library and he'll just slip under the desk and paw at your cute and chubby thighs with that pleading face of his.

"Baby please? Need to taste you so bad" he'll murmur into your inner thigh.

So, of course, being the amazing girlfriend you are, you let NerdSatoru! eat your already soaking cunt in the library. Because, well, who are you to deny your needy boy?

NerdSatoru! Is a messy eater, too. Not only is your essence on his entire face, but it is also covering the entirety of your inner thighs. He's messily dragging his tongue across your clit and hole, but also sucking on your cute and puffy clit like a fucking lollipop.

NerdSatoru! even adds his fingers to the mix. He'll use two lanky fingers to push inside your tight hole while using the other hand's thumb to pull up the hood of your clit and lick like a madman.

Eventually, you'll start to feel your orgasm rounding the corner, so you'll beg and plead NerdSatoru! To let you cum. He knows your limits, and once he's for sure you're about to cum, he'll stop.

NerdSatoru! Will pull his fingers out from you while looking into your eyes and say with that damn smirk in his face

"I wanna finish at the dorms. I don't wanna get banned from the library for you screaming"

THINGS THEY DO THAT MAKE YOU SECOUND-GUESS YOUR 'FRIENDSHIP'

→ pairings: gojo satoru, geto suguru, kento nanami, ryomen sukuna, toji fushiguro.

→ a/n: finally had the time to write something!! school has been keeping me busy!! implied female reader for toji’s part.

GOJO - being touchy.

you’re used to gojo’s touch.

the way he drapes himself over your shoulders like a human scarf, pulling you into his side without a second thought. the way his hand finds the small of your back when he guides you through a crowd, his palm pressing firm against you, like he’s staking a silent claim. you’ve grown accustomed to the way he plays with your fingers absentmindedly—twisting your rings, tracing circles over your knuckles—while he rambles about something completely unrelated.

it’s always been like this.

"HE WANT LIPSTICK, LIP GLOSS, HICKEYS TOO!"

───✦ NERD! GOJO X READER

♡ wc: 4.4k

♡ content warnings: fem! reader, nerd! tutor! gojo, teasing, drinking games (spin the bottle), pining, acting clueless (brief), sqúirting, p in v, spítting, overstim, mentions of recreational drugs (marijuana), protected, not really, big dick gojo, spanking, creampíes, praise.

♡ a/n: my mind and timeline are full of nerd!gojo.

Usually on Fridays, you spend your time at a party getting drunk out of your mind or retail therapy at the mall 10 minutes away. However this Friday you had better plans.

You could feel the heat of him so close, his breath warm against your skin. He smelled like clean laundry and something subtly sweet, and it was impossible to focus on anything but him.

His voice broke through your thoughts, steady and smooth. “Almost. You forgot to convert this.” He tapped the number lightly, his fingers brushing yours in the process.

Your breath hitched just for a second but he didn't seem to notice.

“See?” He corrected the mistake with ease before handing the pen back to you, his usual lopsided grin in place.

You swallowed, nodding. “Thanks.”

He stretched his arms over his head, letting out a sigh, to your dismay he pulled his navy hoodie over his head revealing a black t-shirt. The loose clothes he wore did him no justice, you knew he worked out to some extent but this was not what you expected. His biceps flexed as he leaned onto the table watching you complete the rest of the problem pushing the frames of his glasses back up.

you let out a tired sigh as you flopped onto the couch, burying your face into a pillow. today had been long—too long. your entire body felt heavy, and all you wanted was to just exist without any responsibilities for a while.

gojo, of course, noticed immediately. he peeked at you from the kitchen, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “rough day, sweetheart?”

you mumbled something incoherent into the pillow.

in a second, he was on you—literally. he flopped down dramatically, half on top of you, half beside you, draping himself over you like some oversized weighted blanket.

“awww, my poor baby,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “did the big, bad world tire you out?”

“gojo,” you groaned, trying (and failing) to shove him off.

“mm-mm, no ‘gojo’ here,” he teased, tightening his hold around you. “just your sweet, devoted boyfriend here to take care of you. c’mon, say it—‘satoru, you’re the best boyfriend ever.’”

you huffed. “satoru, you’re the worst.”

he gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “wounded.”

you rolled your eyes, but the exhaustion was still weighing heavy on your body. sensing this, gojo softened, adjusting himself so he could tuck you into his chest. his fingers found their way into your hair, stroking gently.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “you worked hard today, huh?”

you sighed, relaxing against him. “yeah.”

“poor baby,” he hummed, continuing to play with your hair. “you want snacks? a massage? a forehead kiss?”

you chuckled lightly. “a forehead kiss isn’t exactly equal to snacks and a massage.”

“nah, but it’s my specialty.”

before you could respond, he tilted your chin up and pressed the softest kiss to your forehead, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. when he pulled back, he grinned, all soft and stupidly in love.

“see? instant healing,” he said smugly.

you smiled, warmth spreading in your chest. “yeah, yeah.”

“so,” he whispered, nuzzling into your hair, “forehead kisses and snacks, then?”

“…yeah.”

“good choice.” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple before getting up, already heading to grab your favorite snacks.

because if there was one thing about gojo, it was that he loved taking care of you. and nothing made him happier than spoiling you rotten.

fashion designer!Satoru Gojo goes through your closet and rips up every single piece that isn't made by him #dogmentality

Nerd Gojo!!!

★ — creep!nerd!jo can't help that he gets a raging boner every time you so much as glance his way. the way your glossy lips pull into a pout, just when you don't quite understand something, has him throbbing. you're always so pretty, too, all dolled up.

so, yeah, it really isn't his fault. if anything, it's yours. always parading around in that lacy skirt, teasing not just him, but everyone, he's sure. oh, and innocent little you doesn't even notice, do you?

no, you didn't notice. not how his cock strained against his pants, when he was tutoring you. how he leaned in a little closer, under the premise of helping you see what your mistake was. how his hand brushed against the soft flesh of your thigh, and your sickly sweet perfume never helped his case, either.

naively, you'd twirl your hair, and all he could think about was tugging it as he took you from behind. he's sure you would make such lovely noises, he has no doubt. god, the way your pink, charmed acrylics would leave marks on his back, too. or, how your bright lipstick would coat his pale skin.

and, really, it's funny how perverted his thoughts get — especially since he's a raging virgin.

that doesn't stop him, though. when he's stroking his leaky dick at night, submitting into his fantasies of shoving your head into a pillow and dragging his sensitive tip across your slit, getting to release his load into your soaked walls.

he comes over to tutor you, often, in your room. the two of you work through things you struggle with, and he stammers out answers to aid. sometimes, you'd leave to get snacks, trusting he wouldn't do anything. he seems like such a good guy, yeah?

for him, that's when the real fun began. he'd go through your drawers, collecting memorabilia for himself. from panties, to dusty old polaroids, he was never disappointed.

if he was feeling risky, he'd bury his face into your pillow, inhaling your scent, and pathetically humping the mattress. grinding his hips down, desperate for any friction. he'd never get to cum, though, you'd always walk in before.

he'd sit up, quickly, and throw a smile at you, pillow in lap. you'd return it, tossing him a bag of chips, and get back to work. and thus, you remained blissfully ignorant.

when you finally started to notice your things go missing, you'd told him, and he'd nodded in sympathy. as if he didn't use them to get off every night.

creep.