suicidollz

[suicidollz]

黒 | MDI

Bsf!Choso who suggests dry humping for fun.

You should’ve said no. You should’ve kicked him in the shin and told him to take his dumb stoner fantasies elsewhere. Instead, two minutes later, you were straddling his lap, both of you fully clothed, trying not to laugh— and failing.

“This is already the dumbest thing we’ve ever done,” you muttered, even though your palms were already pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat through his t-shirt.

“That’s not true. Remember the tequila night when we almost joined that cult?”

“Fair point.”

You both started moving at the same time— jerky, hesitant, like you were testing the waters— until his hands slid down and locked on your hips, big and warm, guiding you into a slow, deliberate grind. The denim of his jeans was rough against the thin fabric of your shorts, and every shift of your hips made the friction sharper, hotter.

“This is so stupid,” you said, fighting the twitch of your mouth.

“Yup,” he replied, voice steady but pitched lower now, like he couldn’t help it. “Totally not hot at all.”

It wasn’t supposed to be. Except then… yeah. Something very obvious was pressing up against you, thick and hard under the denim, right where you were settling your weight. You froze for half a second, heat crawling up your neck, pulse skipping— and that was all it took for him to smirk.

“Yo, stop,” you blurted, instantly defensive even though you hadn’t actually moved away.

“You’re getting horny,” he said casually, thumbs digging into your hips.

“Bitch, you are.”

“Yeah, and?”

You shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. He leaned back into the headboard, looking infuriatingly relaxed while still holding you in place. Then he rolled his hips up once— slow, controlled— and the pressure hit you dead-on.

“Relax. We’re not about to start making out,” he said, but his eyes dropped to your mouth anyway. “I just… didn’t expect my dick to get bullied into action.”

“Cho, that is the most disgusting sentence you’ve ever said to me.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Working on it,” he said, grinding up into you again, harder this time. The heat between you spiked, the drag of denim against you suddenly almost unbearable.

Your hands slid to his shoulders like you were going to shove him away, but instead your fingers curled, nails digging lightly into him as you moved with him. His grip shifted lower, big hands sliding over the curve of your ass, squeezing once before dragging you forward to meet another sharp push of his hips.

“We’re never talking about this again,” you said, voice breaking a little on the end.

“Bet,” he murmured, but didn’t stop. His hands roamed, one slipping under the hem of your shirt, hot against your bare skin, the other holding you down exactly where he wanted you.

“There is no next time,” you managed, but your hips were still moving, chasing that pressure like you couldn’t help it.

He tilted his head, smirk widening. “Right,” he said softly— and then pulled you tighter against him, making sure you felt every inch.

[suicidollz]

cw very suggestive, lap dance, sexual tension SERIES

"is that so?" choso blurs out when you refuse to accept Gojo's challenge. 

the room is filled with laughter echoing off the walls, bodies pressed together in a loose circle. a half-empty bottle spins in the middle— classic game, dangerous game. and, of course, gojo had to run his mouth and throw out the filthiest dare he could think of : a full thirty-second, no break French kiss between you and choso.

you scoff, shaking your head. "look, I don't think you'd be comfortable with it, and if anything, I'm not kissing anyone in front of an audience."

choso lifts a brow, a lazy hand resting on his crossed legs. he tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes flick to yours. and then, voice smooth, challenging—cocky— he says “I think you're just scared to come over here and kiss me.”

Gojo practically explodes with excitement, "well well well," he drawls, grinning wide, "no need to fight. what about a lap dance, then?" his smirk deepens. "Choso's the one givin' it"

you almost choke on your drink. 

Choso? giving you a lap dance? the same choso who barely speaks? the same choso who turns red anytime a girl so much as flirts with him? the same choso who needs to be dragged out of the house by his friends so he doesn't spend the night watching some wolf documentaries ?

"ain't no way," you mumble under your breath.

"deal." 

your jaw drops as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you up with no hesitation— giving you no time to process what the hell is happening. shoko, who was sitting beside you, is already on it, grabbing a chair and placing it in the center of the room not without muttering "oh, this is about to be so good". 

“sit.” his voice is low, edged with something you don't recognize— something deep, something dark, something dripping with control. you look up at him with wide eyes as his fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head up.

“choso, what are you—”

“don't make me repeat myself." his eyes lock onto yours. "put your ass on the chair.”

and you do—so fast that gojo whistles in approval. 

“satoru," choso doesn't even turn around when he speaks. "put some music." his lips twitch up at the corner. "let the show begin.”

gojo was practically kicking his feet now, fingers flying to his phone to pick a song. and when the heavy bass drops, choso reaches for the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in one slow, deliberate motion.

your mouth runs dry.

sleeper build. choso has a fucking sleeper build.

his toned stomach is a sight to fucking behold— a carved torso, taut muscles shifting with every small movement, the shadow of his happy trail leading into his low-slung sweatpants. his tattoos flew as he tosses the shirt aside, inked hands coming to rest on your knees. he spreads them apart, just enough for his hips to slip between your thighs.

and it's hard to ignore the thick, heavy boner pressing right against your core, even through the fabric of his sweats. your breath stutters, thighs twitching.

he starts slow, rolling his hips— fluidly and effortlessly, body moving in sync with the beat. his hands grip your waist, his thumbs drawing lazy circles just above the waistband of your skirt. his cock grinds against you, his body so fucking warm— the friction so good that a whimper nearly escapes your lips.

and he notices it. "feel that?" choso's voice is deep, slurred. "s' just a lap dance, and you're already squeezing your thighs around me."

the room erupts—whooping, cheering, voices overlapping—

"THAT'S MY BOY!!!" "SHOW HER, CHOOO!" "OH, SHE'S DONE FOR!!"

but you don't hear any of it.

not when choso's big hand suddenly trails down, slipping under your skirt—completely hidden by the way your bodies are pressed together, the broad stretch of his thighs shielding every filthy thing he's doing from prying eyes.

his fingertips ghost over the damp fabric clinging to your folds. his breath is hot against your ear, voice lower now, a quiet rasp of something dark and needy. "damn, baby, you're makin' a mess down here." pressing a single, featherlight stroke along your slit, just enough to make you shudder. "bet if i really touched you, everyone would hear how good i make you feel," he chuckles, fingers still toying with your puffy pussy lips. "you gonna let 'em, pretty? gonna let 'em hear how bad you need it?"

your hips jerk instinctively as he drags his fingers up your slit through the soaked fabric— just once, slow enough to make you whimper— before slipping them out from under your skirt. and instead of wiping them off, he lifted them to his lips, sucking the slick off with a lazy swipe of his tongue.

"fuck," he groaned, gaze heavy-lidded as he let his fingers slip from his mouth with a soft pop. "tastes even better than I thought." it takes everything in him not to drop to his knees, lift your skirt up and devour your sweet pussy right then and there. in front of everyone.

you cannot fucking breathe and choso just keeps going.

one of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you up with no effort at all. a second later, he was sitting on the chair, legs spread wide, and you were suddenly on top of him, straddling his lap like you belonged there.

"here," he murmured, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. "better." your heart pounds and pounds and pounds.

he gently took your wrists, placing your palms flat against his chest. your fingers twitch against warm, solid muscle, but before you could even process that, your gaze drops.

piercings.

your breath itched—pupils dilated. you couldn't look away from the shiny barbells decorating his tits, glinting under the low light, the metal contrasting against the ink of his tattoos. your fingers moved on their own, tracing over the jewelry, brushing curiously. the moment your fingertips grazed the metal, choso jerked. a deep, guttural groan rumbled from his throat, his grip on your hips tightening.

you gasps as his hips rolls up into you, harder than before, his clothed length grinding perfectly against your clit. the friction of the fabrics sent sharp jolts of pleasure up your spine, and your hands—fuck, your hands were still playing with his piercings.

"c-choso," you whined, eyes fluttering. your gaze flicked up to his face— and god. some of his hair had fallen loose, strands sticking to his forehead, sweat beading along his brow. his lips were parted, his breathing was wrecked, thick with want. his eyes dark and wild, like he was barely hanging on.

"less cocky than minutes ago," he tempts, pretending like he isn't just as desperate; like he is not leaking so much precum into his sweats that he was convinced it could pass as actual cum. his face dipped into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep—floral, with a hint of strawberries. fuck, he wanted to drown in it. wanted to bury himself in you until you couldn't breathe. until he couldn't think. he lingers his lips over your pulse, teasing, barely-there. you bite your lips, fighting back a moan. "tell me, pretty girl," he whispers.

you were about to answer—about to plead out something, anything—

"GET A ROOM!"

geto. of course.

your entire body froze. another comment follows right after "she didn't want to kiss him," gojo clacked, holding in his laughter, "but she was surely about to fuck him right here."

your eyes went wide. choso went still.

then, in one swift motion, your scrambled off his lap, thighs trembling, heart still hammering in your chest. your entire body felt hot, your soaked underwear sticking uncomfortably to your skin, embarrassment starting to creep up on you.

"shut up," choso snapped, warning the boys. he barely even looked at them—his gaze looked onto you.

his cock throbbed, aching for more— the sweats doing little to contain him, leaving no space for how thick and heavy he'd grown. his fingers twitching at his sides. his lips were still slightly parted, his breath still uneven, his body still thrumming with heat.

"i was the one all over her." his eyes flickered down your thighs, watching the way they squeezed together, watching the way you squirmed under his look.

yeah.. choso wanted more.

(,,>﹏<,,)

[suicidollz]

you gotta win if you wanna cum ྀི

“keep playing” gojo murmurs barely audible, almost embarrassed to say it—but his fingers are already slipping under your shorts like he's done this in his head a hundred time. “i-i wanna see if… my good girl can win…like this.” his fingers slid past the hem of your shorts. 

It was supposed to be just another quiet night. you, your switch, and your nerdy boyfriend with messy hair and a half-finished soda on the table. you were in his lap, like always, thighs straddling his left one, back against his chest. His glasses were crocked because of your head resting on the side of his face. his hands had been resting, harmlessly, mid-thigh.

but tonight it seems like they had a mind of their own. his palms slided up, awkward at first, like he was working up the nerve. and once he brushed your inner thigh and felt how warm you were—how you were already grinding a little without realizing, he sucked in a shaky breath.

“y-you’re, um…" he chuckled nervously, “you're kinda…really…wet already. that's-uh- that's cute.” you can feel how red his ears are. can hear the shaky exhale he lets out as he presses two fingers against the damp fabric of your panties.

you tried to focus on the screen, but his fingers pushed beneath your panties, hesitant but hungry, dragging along your slit with a low groan. his voice was uneven when he spoke again—like he was trying to sound teasing but couldn't hide how wrecked he was.

“wh-what kind of gamer gets this needy holding a controller?” he stammered.

you jolted, hips twitching into his touch, and he gasped softly against your neck—his cock straining against his sweats, and he bit down on a shaky moan.

“i—fuck, wait—don’t cum yet,” he breathed out quickly, as if panicked by how close you already felt. “you—you can’t. not unless you beat the level. that’s the rule.”

you whimpered, legs trembling, gripping the controller tighter as his fingers toyed with your clit in little circles. It was almost clumsy but somehow that made it worse. and the nerdy tone he used—the one when explaining game stats or why a manga panel made him cry—being used, now, to deny your orgasm was really hot.

“i just—it's stupid, but i get turned on seeing you so focused,” he admitted, voice breaking with a shy laugh. “you always look so serious when you play, and i just—kinda wanna mess that up…” when you buck forward, your hips grinding down onto the firm flex of his thigh, he gasps like he’s the one being touched.

“you’re—ngh—you’re seriously doing that on my leg?” His voice cracks in disbelief, cock twitching in his pants. “d-didn’t know you l-liked that…”

his hand creeps up under your shirt with all the subtlety of a boy who’s fantasized about this a thousand times. he palms your breast awkwardly at first, afraid he’ll mess it up, but once his fingers find your nipple—he’s not shy anymore.

he groans, deep and sharp, twisting the sensitive bud between two fingers. “f-fuck, that's so soft,” he breathes. “you're not allowed to b-be this soft when i'm trying…when i'm trying to be m-mean.”

your hands are trembling, buttons mashed half-heartedly as he toys with you like you're his favorite collectible. the pleasure clouds everything. your character on screen stumbles, gets hit, and before you can react—

game over. you freeze, the screen flashes in cruel pixelated defeat.

gojo blinks, “you lost?” his voice is unfortunately too high to be cocky, too breathless to be smug.."c-c'mon you're supposed to be my elite little gamer." you squirm in his lap, frustration boiling in your cheeks—not just from the lost, but also from the aching throb between your legs. “you k-kept distracting me!”

he hums, almost pathetic. then he presses two fingers against your clit, “close doesn't count,” he whispers as he pinches, a sharp flick to your swollen bud. the arm around your chest tightens, his thumb rolling your nipple like it's a fidget toy.

you whine, your head drop on his shoulder, “i w-will win.”

“that's ma girl,” he kisses your temple before licking a stripe behind your ear. “b-but until then…” he presses his thigh up, grinding it into your core while teasing your nipple between sharp tugs. “you're m-mine to play with.”

your fingers tighten around the controller, eyes locked on the screen. and every time you press a button, he mirrors it with a flick or a pinch or a firm grind of his thigh into your pulsing heat.

“shit—satoru,” you breathe, trying to keep your avatar alive.

“keep g-going, you're doing just r-right." he mutters, voice shaky. his glasses are fogged, his hands aren't steady, and his cock is rock-hard beneath you, straining uselessly against his sweats as your soaked core grinds down, again and again, onto his tense thigh.

“you wanna cum?” he asks as he licks the shell of your ear—shaky and wrecked. “t-then win… be my good gamer girl. beat the boss f'me, please...” he presses down harder, rubs the letters W-I-N in slow motion on your sensitive bundle. the pressure is maddening—never enough, always just shy of what you need—and it drags you into the haze of overstimulation.

the motion causes your character to stumble, again, and the screen flashes—again. 

gojo groans, high-pitched. “babyyy—c'mon, you can do better,” he pants, cock twitching. “th-that's a little pathetic, don't make me beg f'you to win…”

you try to grind against his hand, desperate and needy to soothe the ach between your legs. “p-please—satoruu, just let me,”

he chokes out a laugh—breathless and delirious—his grip on your nipple tightens, making you whimper. “s-sowwyyy,” he mumbles, but it sounds more like an apology from someone completely gone. “rules are—ah!—rules, i gotta stick to 'em, right?”

but you lose. again and again.

and by the fourth try, you're barely able to see straight. your legs are trembling, pussy drooling over his pants, leaving an enormous wet patch on his thigh.

he buries his face against your neck, glasses slipping sideways, voice a ragged mess of broken need. “we’ll keep playing,” he groans, like it physically pains him, “until my perfect gamer girl learns to beat the boss while g-getting ruined so bad she forgets her own name.” you moan uncontrollably at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

his nose nudges your temple, “you sound so pretty when you whine like that.” his voice is so soft. “you feel even better.” your grinding gets slower, deeper, and gojo's hands go from gripping your breasts to fumbling—desperately—with the waistband of your shorts. 

“he-he, wait—" his sentence breaks off in a cracked moan as his thumb drives back to your panties, finding your clit, drawing unfocused circles like he's forgotten what rhythm even is. his face is flushed, so desperate it's almost pitiful—fingers slipping and smearing your slick everywhere, breathing out broken pleas between every twitch. “y-you're so wet, i can't—fuck—i can't—t-this is so fucked up, i can't think—”

gojo groans through his teeth, his whole frame trembling. “fuuuuuck, y-you gotta stop, i'm-i’m…gonna…” he's desperately trying to keep it together but failing spectaculary. his cock jerking under you with every buck. “s-shouldn't feel this good—fucking h-hell, i'm gonna cum—gonna cum in m-my pants…OHSHITOHSHITFUCKSHITFUUUCK”

his whole body jerks, sudden and absolutely out of his control. an embarrassed moan bursts his lips as he ruts up against your ass—cumming hard, painting the inside of his sweats in sticky heat. his cock twitches helplessly, completely untouched. he whimpers your name into your shoulder like it's a confession. his glasses slip right off, forgotten, as his head lolls against you.

gojo still tries to move his fingers on your stimulated clit, as his mouth leaves open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder. he draggs his hand up back to your hardened tits—palming your breasts, rubbing, squeezing, thumbing your nipples with pure, overwhelmed need.

“we're not done,” he groans, like it's hurting him that you're not cumming. “you're dripping all o-over m'thigh, i c-came like a loser—please, win already, pretty.” he whines, “i-i'll help, i swear, just—fuck—win!”

his hand never stills. slippery fingers flick your clit in desperate, uneven motions, his other hand clutching your tits like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. you’re drooling against his neck now, wrecked and teetering on the edge, and gojo’s crying out every time you shift your weight.

“win,” he sobs, high and broken. “win, baby, please—i’ll cum again too, I will, I’m so close again, y-you feel sogood—“

And the boss’s health bar drops. One last combo. You slam the button.

Victory!!!!

you’re shaking, grinding down with abandon, the game forgotten for just one second—because it’s too much. he’s still whispering praise like he’s praying, hips jerking like he might cum in any second just from the way you clench around nothing. you scream, messy and guttural, because you need it—need him—and it’s all spilling over.

“'t-toru, i win—please, w-wanna cum—please ‘toru—pleaseee,” tears streak down your cheeks as you sob into his neck, twitching with every stroke, every messy rub of his soaked fingers. “c-can’t—’toru, i can’t—too much, ‘s too much—“

he’s not stopping. he whimpers your name, glassy eyes locked on your face memorizing every broken cry that falls from your lips. “you won, y-you get to cum now—I have to make you cum—” he sounds just as wrecked as you, maybe worse. his fingers finally slip inside—two of them, thick and long—he curls them immediately, searching that spongy spot, desperate to please you.

your walls clamp around him so tight he nearly cums again. bullet of sweats are dropping down his neck as he wines, “y-you're squeezing me reallyy good—shit” his breath stutters against your neck, sobbing out broken, pathetic moans as his fingers drag over that spot again and again.

“Let go for me,” he begs. “Please, please, I need you to—need to feel you cum, please, baby—" you're a mess in his lap, crying and convulsing, thighs slick and shaking—his fingers keep pistoning you as he babbles some uncoherent praise and filth against your hot skin.

“g-gonna make you cum so hard,” he pants, sounding half-feral. “gonna feel you soak m-my fingers, fuck—wan’ it messy, baby, wan’ it loud—”

and when you do, when your body snaps and you wail into his shoulder, soaking his hand in a gush of warmth—he lets out the filthiest, most broken moan you’ve ever heard as he cums a second time.

 Unprompted. Pathetically. Just from feeling your cunt pulse around his fingers.

[suicidollz]

⊹₊。꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ you wanna try on me, nerd? ˖ 𑣲 comments and reblogs are always appreciated ma girliiies <333

SERIES

virgin!nerdjo, ever the diligent student, stumbles upon tutorial on nipple sucking—so what does he do? he goes to the nearest pharmacy and buy a baby bottle to practice on. he got a baddie to please, after all. one who's already let him come inside her by the way and in record time. but also one who's experienced. and he's…well, him.

virgin!nerdjo frowns at the taste the moment he tries it, straight-up plastic. but still, he follows the video instructions step by step, phone in one hand, bottle nipple in his mouth, trying his best to mimic the motions—rewinding it over and over determined to get it right.

but of course, he's super bad at hiding stuff :( so the next time you're in his room you spot it on his desk, half-hidden behind his clutter of notebooks and cables. it's sightly chewed at the tip. and it definitely got your attention. “satoru…is this…yours?”

virgin!nerdjo goes red in seconds—like a cartoon character caught with porn.  “w-what? n-no…” he tries, voice already cracking. you look at him, eyebrows lifted, tilting your head in amusement as a smirk tugs at your lips like you knowevery single embarrassing thought he's ever had. 

he groans in defeat, “yes…it is.” his eyes are glued to the floor, cheeks blazing. he feels like if the ground could just swallow him whole right now, that'd be great. but for some reasons, his mouth had other plans, seems like it can't just shut up for his own good, “there was this video. a bunch of them, actually. about,um…nipple technique.” he stammers, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, eyes still avoiding yours “y'know like…oral stuff. and one of the top comments said it helps to practice on biberon because…it's kind of squishy? and it has resistance…” 

you just stare at virgin!nerdjo, blank and expressionless. he feels so so dump. even dumper than when he cum in two seconds top-chrono in you. “i wanted to do it right!” he blurts, tugging his collar, desperately trying to get himself out of this. “last time i—uh—i lasted like one second. inside you. and you were so nice about it, but i wanna be better. I wanna make you feel good, not just…blow in my pants and cry.”

you walk slowly to him, eyes soft, voice lower. “so you practiced. on a baby bottle.” he nods, mortified. “and did it help?”

“no…it tasted like a melted barbie leg. i almost threw up.”

the next thing virgin!nerdjo knows, you're pushing him onto the bed as you pull off your top—he freezes in place, mouth open, glasses fogging like he's in the middle of a hentai scene he never thought he'd survive. and from where you stand between his thighs, you can see the bulge tenting his pants. poor baby probably got hard just thinking about this moment :(

virgin!nerdjo has his big hands clutching your ass, as your fingers tighten in his white soft hair—pushing his face to one of your nipple. “c'mon, nerd, show me what you've learned.” 

virgin!nerdjo starts so awkwardly. there's too much tongue, too wet and sloppy—his teeth scrape a little too hard and you flinch. “ah—! ‘toru…gentle, you’re not chewing gum.” he recoils instantly, looking like he just failed a final exam. “shit! i'm sorry—i didn't mean to—fuck, i'm such an idiot, i—”

“heyy, baby," you coo, cupping his cheek, brushing his hair from his eyes. "it's okay. try again, would you?” he nods quickly at your words, blinking hard. you swear there are tears building in those pretty blue eyes but you don't have time to think about it as this time he goes slower, sucking tentatively, trying to remember the tutorial steps : tongue flat, lips soft, light suction—add it progressively. he's shaking with focus, sweat dotting his brow as if he's taking an exam worth his entire GPA.

but it seems to work because your whimpers grow louder, virgin!nerdjo's tongue turns messy, fast. he's drooling and panting as his hand clutch to your ass like he might float off the bed. every gasp you make goes straight to his cock. he grinds on your lap helplessly, every moan from you like a five-star rating on his progress. he groans, mouthing at your other nipple, “you taste so much better,” he muffle, tongue flicking on the neglected nipple.

virgin!nerdjo is leaking through his boxers, one hand going to the nipple covered in spit—massaging with his thumb, watching it shine. the other hand drops to your upper thigh, where he humps like a dog in heat.

“you're doing so good, such a good boy, aren't you?” virgin!nerdjo moans your name like a prayer, sucking harder, hips stuttering against your thigh—he's leaking all over himself, so desperate and clumsy.

your sweet virgin nerd couldn't help himself. he had to make a sticky mess in his boxer :(

✩*:.⸝⸝>o<⸝⸝.:*✩

[suicidollz]

ushijima does not understand the concept of a one night stand -- while you're waking up the next morning to an empty bed and thinking 'yeah guess it was wild to think that a world class volleyball player would actually be interested in me' ushijima is outside calling tendou to ask how to casually mention marriage on date two

[suicidollz]

okay but permanently frustrated older roommate aizawa who won't fuck you because he thinks you're too innocent, he should know better, blah blah blah, but he caves the second you tell him no one's ever made you cum - and then he's patting his thigh and cupping your pussy through your underwear when you straddle him, biting a mark into your throat and fingering the edges of your panties, the heartbeat of your fluttering hole beating against the pads of his fingers. "this is only so you'll know what it feels like," he says, more to himself than you, because the second he feels the inside of your cunt and sees your eyes roll up in pleasure, he knows he's fucking fucked

[suicidollz]

How about edging nerdjo for a change with restraints like the dog he is pwease 🗣️🗣️

“i have to tell you something,” your boyfriend starts. “i, uhm, was talking with suguru and—” he lets his face buries in between your breasts, as though hiding his face deeper will erase the redness creeping up his pale skin. he's truly gathering all his will-power not to sound dumb and express what he wants.

“tell me more,” you chuckle slightly, letting your hands wander on his white fluffy hair, tugging a bit so his head lift and his blue piercent eyes meet yours. 

nerd!gojo chew his inside cheek, glasses sliding down slighting from his nose, arms thightly closing around your waist where he lays in between your legs. “first you gotta promise you won't make fun..”

“i promise” you murmur.

“you say that now, but you always laugh when i—ugh, this is stupid.”

“it's not stupid if it's important to you,” you soothe, tugging again forcing his gaze to lock on you—letting him see you're honest. 

he stares for a long second, then blurts in one breath, “suguru asked me if i was into—into, uh.. edging. with a… collar. and i said i didn't know. i've never tried anything like that before, because—because, you know, you're my first and i don't know what i like yet, but i think maybe,” he pouts oh so slightly and cutely, the tip of his ears completely tomato colored now. “i might like it.. with you.” the words tumble out, clumsy and quick.

your brows lift, lips curving wickedly. you did not expect your sweety nerd to propose you something like that. he was more on the side of proposing you a cute date at a coffee shop where he got to study and hold your hand delicately—and maybe steal some kisses there and here when he was sure no one was looking. 

“a collar?” you echo, savoring the way he instantly ducks his face back down against your chest. “like you'd be my pretty little pet?”

he shakes his head weakly. ”y-you said you wouldn't—"

“i didn't laugh, did i?” you interrupt, letting your nails trail down slowly to the back of his neck. “i'm just askin'. don't you think it'd be cute? you on your knees, whining while i tug on that collar…”

a broken noise escapes him. his arms tighten around you and his hips buck.

you garb his chin and tilt his face up, “oh, you do like that,” you whisper, dragging your thumb over his lower lip. “you like the idea of me pulling on a leash while you're falling apart. god, you're filthy satoru.”

“is it—” his breath catches in his throat as your thumb insists firmly against his lower lip. “is it a bad thing? i just… wanna try it… with you.”

you use your hips to culbute his body—so you can straddle his hips. his wrists are firmly pushed against the bed by your hands. “my good boy,” you coo, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “you'll beg so pretty for me when we do. but unfortunately," you let your mouth wander on his neck, taking his Adam's apple in your lips, sucking delicately. “i don't have a collar, so next t—”

“the drawer.”

“mh?” you stop momentarily your succion, and if you're honest with yourself you're a bit dazed by his scent, his skin, his boner pressing against your core deliciously. 

“the drawer, i—” his nostrils flare as he fights to inhale some air into his system. “mgh, a collar.. in the drawer.”

“you put a collar in your drawer?” you ask mockingly and with a hint of disbelief as you extend an arm to reach the promising drawer.

“that's—” he gulps audibely as your mouth form an O to the sight of the said collar. his cheeks warm up and he prompts on his elbows before continuing. “i bought one after i talked with suguru.”

“oh, my sweet sweet boy,” you settle your weight on his lower abdomen, knees on each part of his side, fingertips tracing the collar. you let it dangles from your fingers, swaying just above his throat, and you watch his eyes track it—the vibrate sky blue color of his eyes eaten up by his dark pupils.

“i think you want this more than you want to breathe, don't you?”

his lips part, words fumbling. “I—I just—”

“no excuses. beg.”

the command slices through him. his cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson, his throat boobs once again before finally letting out a small, cracked whine. “please. please put it on me.”

“oh, my god.” you laugh as his cock throbs uncontrollably against your ass, twitching with every syllable you say. “you're so so pathetic, satoru. pathetic and perfect. that i must admit.”

he squeezes his eyes shut as you lean down, expecting your lips to meet his... But his body arches up as you straddle him harder, grinding down against his erection and the tip of your tongue traces his earlobe. his glasses slide precariously to the tip of his nose, and you can feel the frantic rise of his chest beneath you. 

“shhh, don't get too excited.” you snap the collar around his throat in one motion, letting the silver ring rest against the hollow there. you tug lightly, “there. my good pretty boy, all collared and ready.”

you roll your hips once, as a result a strangled whimper fills the silence. he trashes under you, but you keep it firm, holding his wrists together with his cravat that was discharged on the bed earlier. “all tied up, hm?” 

you lift your hips enough to stop the pressure on his length. immediately, instinctively, he bucks up hard to chase your heat, whining when he can't reach.  

“pathetic,” you purr, pressing your palm to his chest to pin him flat again. “so needy you can't even think straight. so what should i start with?”

his answer is only another broken whine, his body straining—his large hands closing and opening on the fabric binding his wrists, tears already pricking at the corner of his eyes.

you drag the fat of your thumb slowly over his flushed cheek, and the smallest squeak tumbles out of his generous mouth before he can swallow it down. 

“squeaking already?” you mock, lips curling into a pout that quickly twists into a grin. “my pitiful little genius can’t even handle a collar? and i haven’t even tugged on this magnificent chain yet.”

his whole body jerks at the word chain. his head shakes frantically, white hair a wild halo, glasses hanging crooked. “n-no! i can—”

“you can, what?” the thin layers of clothing between you do nothing to dull the heat of your slick core dragging against his cock; he’s rock-hard, twitching, leaking, and you know he feels every pulse of it.

“i want to—ahh—” his voice cracks humiliatingly high—veins standing out on his forearms with how tightly he’s pulling against his own cravat. 

his whimper is guttural, strangled in his throat, and the collar ring clinks faintly as his body trembles beneath you. you seize it between your fingers and give it a sharp tug, enough to have his head tilt back, baring his flushed throat. his breath stutters, chest rising high, lips parting in a shocked gasp.

“you can't even keep your eyes open when i pull,” you tease, your free hand sliding down from his throat, past his frantic chest, over his twitching stomach and you stop at his happy trail. letting your nails graze over the skin. your fingers plays with the white curls under his navel—his whole body tighten, anticipation written in every nerve of him. 

your palm hovers over the bulge in his pants, the fabric straining so hard you think it might actually crack. “sweetheart,” you croon, brushing your knuckles over him lazily. he bucks up instantly, desperate, and you pull your hand away, leaving him to grind against nothing. “all that brainpower, and this is what short-circuits you? a collar and my hand almost touching your cock?”

satoru finds struggle to focus on your pretty face. all he sees is a blurry figure, the tears not helping to see you. and his eyes rolling back each time you pull on the chain isn't helping either. 

“my clever little genius, too shy to admit he wanted to be collared like a pet. tell me, when you ordered it, did you imagine me snapping it on you like this? did you imagine me all rough and yanking you around by your pretty throat?”

his answer dissolves into stuttering, incoherent noises as you tug again. the sound he makes is somewhere between a whine and a moan, high-pitched. 

“you did,” you breathe, grinning as you watch the panic and arousal wage war in his expression. “you’re disgusting. you probably touched yourself to the thought of me chaining you up, didn’t you? that's what you saw in your stupid hentai too, didn't you?”

“th-that’s not—!” his voice breaks off into a groan when you roll your hips suddenly, grinding your heat over the outline of his cock. his glasses slip again, barely clinging to the bridge of his nose.

you lean down, voice dropping to a sweet intoxicating melody. “that's okay, ‘toru. you don’t have to lie to me. i'm excited too. you feel the wetness between my thighs, right?” you smirk almost like a psychopath as your much smaller hand pull your panties to the side so your bare pussy could hit direcly and drip over his pants. 

he lets out a choked cry when you remove yourself once again, not letting him enjoy fully your hot core. “n—no please—”

and his protest dies in his throat when your palm dives into his boxer. soft hand cupping the roughness of his dick. he starts bucking up desperately but you stay still—forcing him to grind against your unmoving palm. his whimpers are loud now, unashamed and filling his room.

“that's it. rub yourself against my hand like a dog in heat,” you coo, tugging sharply on the collar until his back arches off the bed. and surprisingly—with a weird angle of his hips—he got your fingertips grazing his leaking tip and a sight of relief leaves his mouth. 

“you look so stupid like this.. there's even drool on the corner of your mouth,” you tilt your head, your tongue darting out to lick it clean. “my brillant little satoru. the oh-so-brillant-sciences-college-nerd reduced to whine for me to touch his cock.”

“please—please, am i good? ain't i good? please—mghn—wanna c-cum so—so bad—ahhhh”

you cut him off sweetly by squeezing him and his strangled noise feels like the greatest reward you could ever receive.

[suicidollz]

⊹₊。꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ tongue tongue tongue tongue ˖ 𑣲 comments and reblogs are always appreciated ma girliiies <333

SERIES

virgin!nerdjo was one second away from cummin' in his stupid pokémon boxer. 

because not only was his baddie of a girlfriend grinding down on him, but you were also peppering his neck with kisses—lipstick smeared across his throat, jaw, cheeks. everywhere but his lips. 

virgin!nerdjo's hands were clenching sooo hard on his bedsheet they could rip. his breathing was ragged while your hands framed his flushed face and your mouth wander. he was pathetically whimpering from the wet sounds your mouth was making and your full weight curshing down on top of his thighs.

when you finally pulled back, just inches away, his watery blue eyes blinked up at you. his cheeks burned pink, the tips of his ears glowing just as hot.

“can i kiss you?” you whisper. the corner of your mouth curved upward as he nods fast enough to cause him whiplash—his knuckles had gone bone-white from gripping the sheets.

“you gotta put your hands on me, pretty boy.” you coo the words, guiding his larger hands up your thighs until his long fingers brushed the swell of your ass. 

virgin!nerdjo is only good at breathing shakily, screwing his eyes shut, lips pressed together.

and as you lean in to press a gentle kiss on his soft lip he instantly moans. at first, you keep it soft, testing. then, as his grip on your hips tighten, you tilt your head and catch his bottom lip between yours.

your tongue dart out, slicking across the fullness of his mouth—

and he jolts back.

virgin!nerdjo hiccuped, lashes fluttering open. you tilt your head at him, brows lifting.

“i—i didn’t…” his voice cracked, ragged with nerves. “i wasn’t—! i wasn't ready for.. for tongue! i mean, i’ve never—”

his words broke off when your thumb brushed his bottom lip, easing his mouth open. you pushed your body flush against his, your chest pressed to his throat, and his breath hitched audibly.

“that's fine, just follow me. ‘kay?” you breathed, not giving him a chance to answer. your fingers slid into his fresh undercut, tugging and angling his head just right for you to crash against his sweet mouth—eager to taste more of him on your tongue.

he gasps right into the kiss, the sound high and shaky. his lips move clumsily under yours, uncoordinated—but fuck, was it good.

when you slipped your tongue past his parted lips, he let our the most pathetic little mmph! and squirmed, thighs twitching beneath you. his hands, still on your ass, flexed nervously.

you yanked him closer by his hair, tongue sweeping deeper, tasting all of him. his lips were smooth, spit slick between you, and every time you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth he gave this tiny squeak that shot straight to your core.

“nnh—ah, w-wait—” he tried to pull back again, white lashes fluttering widely. 

but you just murmured against his lips, “shhh, you're doing so good, 'toru.” and the nickname made him shiver, his cock twitching violently against his pants.

he was wrecked.

lips swollen and glistening with spit, eyes helpless totally at your mercy.

you smirked, brushing your thumb across the damp curve of his bottom lip again—smearing your lipstick all over. “kiss me back like that, pretty boy.”

he swallowed hard, throat bobbing against your chest. then, mustering every drop of courage, he leaned forward and kissed you—messy, so sloppy, but eager.

you couldn’t help but laugh against his mouth, half-melted by how bad but sweet virgin!nerdjo was at it.

♡*´꒳`* 🏷️ @ethereal-moonlit @idkidk32 @nanamisss @arletteluna @imjusttryingman @k3ytoheav3n @melancholicreaper @luvvmae @smultronsalle @captaineelliee @sultrycarrie @arminsbbymami (to be added : comment here !)

[suicidollz]

꒰১ 𓊆ྀི mini series 𓊇ྀི ໒꒱ nerd!gojo 。。。 ‎꒰ part 01 ꒱ ♪

satoru is genuinely the sweetest man you've ever met. yes, he's shy and awkward around you — though you just find that endearing. and he turns into the colour of a cherry when you so much as lightly graze your fingers along his.

but if you say that he isn't the cutest and sweetest man ever, you'd be lying.

he treats and spoils you like a princess — taking you out only to the best restaurants in town and letting you use his card to buy whatever you desire. this man is loaded and he doesn't shy away from flaunting that money. only for you though.

he is also so much more romantic than you would have imagined. he buys you flowers every two weeks or when he sees that the ones he bought you earlier are now wilting away. he leaves little notes in your bag before class, saying how pretty you look today or how you're wearing the perfume he bought you the other day. he just loves seeing you smile and he'll do anything to see it.

he doesn't even expect much in return — he just needs you. and that makes him content. but he did fall for you tenfold when you would listen to him ramble on and on about his interests. he thought he was boring you but then you said in that sweet voice of yours, "no, keep talking. you're so cute like this." he genuinely felt his heart skip a beat.

and when you began to ask about digimon? oh, he just couldn't contain himself. you'd asked about 'digivolution' and he went on for hours about what it was and even pulled up videos to show you how it all worked. while truthfully you didn't understand too much of it, you just thought how adorable he looked getting so excited about this.

while you two are the opposites of one another — you being a sweet girly girl and one who's friends with just about everyone; and him who is sort of an antisocial guy with the nerdiest of interests — you both just mesh so well with another that it's a wonder how you didn't get together sooner ♡ !

[suicidollz]

hockey player x ice skater but the ice skater is the male character and reader is the hockey player

[suicidollz]

"this is hardly professional, we're on the clock." ☆

your coworker nanami has always been a little more than a coworker to you. even before you started meeting after work to drink and fuck, he's served as some great office-eye-candy since your first day on the job.

something about men in tight-fitting slacks.

and getting them alone in their offices to ride them on their desk chair.

"hardly professional, or unprofessionally hard?" you wiggle your eyebrows up and down, making nanami roll his eyes. he can't fault you, though—he is unprofessionally hard. "come on, that was good."

"it was not," he tsks, though simultaneously hikes you up a little higher on his lap, reaching a new depth inside of you that makes the both of you groan. "you're a bad influence."

you bite a moan down to run your thumb over his bottom lip, grinning. "a bad influence, or influentially—"

"with all the respect i can manage, please shut up and be grateful i've allowed this."

your grin only widens at his words, even as his hands tighten around your hips. "allowed?" you roll your hips against him, drawing a sharp inhale from the tense man despite his best effort to stay composed. "you act like you didn't call me in here and ask me to lock the door."

"precautionary," his jaw clicks. "i had confidential paperwork for you to sign."

you press your palms to his chest, curling your fingers into the creaseless white button-up you rarely see beneath his blazer. you lean down to whisper against the shell of his ear, “sure. just like keeping condoms in your desk is precautionary.”

that earns you a smack to the ass. it's sharp and knocks the air from your lungs, but kicks you miles closer to orgasm. you wonder if anyone on the floor heard. kento's office has thick walls, but not entirely sound-proof ones.

"you talk too much," nanami grits, thrusting up into you with such desperation that the wheels on his chair move, pushing the two of you further from his desk and closer to the wide-open windows that overlook the city. "always... so eager to run your mouth at work. if anyone heard those things you say..."

"they'd be very jealous of you," you smile, tightening around his twitching cock. "might even ask you to give them a turn. would you, mr nanami?"

his brow furrows at your words, lips pressing into that tight line you know so well. he gets the same look on his face when you file his papers wrong. like he wants to scold you for saying something so stupid.

"absolutely not," his hips buck up the best they can on the desk chair. he's fucking you so hard that you're sure the glass panes are rattling.

"so selfish. don't want to share with the class? i don't know, maybe they could give you a run for your money..."

that does it. suddenly, the chair is screeching backwards and you're being hauled up in two very strong arms. your back hits the top of his desk, papers and files alike spread beneath you, and nanami stays seated balls-deep inside of you.

"i hate this job," he growls, leaning forward so that his tie dangles over your face. "i'd have left a long time ago if i wasn't so interested in you. so i am not above leaving the door open a crack next time and letting every single last one of those idiots know that you're spoken for."

his words are enough to stall the breath in your lungs and, taking your silence as an opportunity, his palms pin your thighs wide against the polished wood.

your hands scramble for purchase, sending pens and folders straight to the floor as nanami pulls almost completely out of you, and then slams his hips forward to fuck you meaner than he ever has before.

"fuck, kento," your eyes roll back as one of his hands comes down to toy with your clit. his pace remains relentless, the both of you racing to climax like it's a fucking promotion. "didn't—shit—didn't take you as the jealous type?"

"no?" he snaps his hips. "i'm not, but you test me. i'm all yours, you got me wrapped around your finger, and still try to provoke me."

"you love it," you manage, lifting your hips to allow his cock to kiss even deeper inside of you. "you'd be bored without it."

and though his lips part, nanami still manages a smile. you like the sight. "true," he concedes. "and you'd be unfulfilled without me."

"unfulfilled, or unfilled?" you quip, though any further attempts at humour die as soon as nanami snaps his hips forward in something bruising and you feel his cock pulsing inside of you.

he practically folds on top of you as he cums, right into the latex that a part of you wishes wasn't there. to be full of him in every sense of the word... the imagery is enough to give you that final push, and you tighten up with your orgasm, milking your overstrung coworker for all he can give you and more.

you have to blink a few times to set your vision straight, and nanami doesn't seem to be in much better a state than you, as he loosens and discards his tie completely to catch a better breath.

and despite having just been fucked like it was personal, you laugh.

"what?" nanami looks down at you, a faint smile gracing his own lips.

"nothing," you wrap your legs around his waist and lock your feet together at the small of his back. "it's just that you were right."

"as per usual. about what, though..?"

"we're on the clock," you muse. "we just got paid to fuck."

[suicidollz]

on your honeymoon, nanami would feel bolder than usual. the malaysian heat would probably make him melt, the first buttons of his damp shirt carelessly opened, his golden hair falling back on his forehead. he wouldn’t really like it - the sweat rolling over his warm skin - but the sight of you swaying to the rhythm of the marimba would bewitch him entirely that he would forget about it.

if his wife wanted to dance, he would certainly grab you by the waist, his feet a bit clumsy - he would definitely step on your feet once or twice, his hands too sweaty, he would have to wipe them on his linen pants - his cheekbones flushed, the tip of his ears pink, trying to match your steps, and making you sway like the lazy ocean hugging the shore.

keeping you close, he would hum the melody playing in the background into your ear, his deep voice rumbling through his chest, as your hips would move against his. his soft eyes would never leave your face - you would be his light in the middle of the night, and he would intend to cherish you for the rest of his life.

(i want to dance with him until my feet hurt ☹️)

[suicidollz]

Toji and Gojo

[ Jujutsu kaisen]

[suicidollz]

LOSER! rin itoshi — he absolutely has anime keychains on his backpack. denies it if anyone points it out, but refuses to take them off.

LOSER! rin itoshi — his water bottle? covered in stickers he bought at conventions. he tries to peel them off when you notice, but they're stuck forever.

LOSER! rin itoshi — he once stayed up all night grinding ranked in a video game, then fell asleep in class and drooled all over his notebook. he woke up, realized, and immediately shoved the soggy paper into his bag like nothing happened.

LOSER! rin itoshi — writes your name absentmindedly in the margins of his notes… then panics, scribbles it out so aggressively the paper tears.

LOSER! rin itoshi — googles "how to tell if someone likes you back" at 3 a.m. but then slams his laptop shut like the FBI is watching.

LOSER! rin itoshi — pretends he doesn't care if you talk to other people, but the way his pencil snaps in half when you laugh at someone else’s joke says otherwise.

LOSER! rin itoshi — he practices what he'll say to you in the mirror. Out loud. With hand gestures. Then immediately regrets existing.

LOSER! rin itoshi — once almost texted you "I like you". he threw his phone across the room and spent an hour on the floor recovering.

LOSER! rin itoshi — rin spends weeks psyching himself up, but every time he tries, it comes out wrong—like, "do you… uh… wanna… study…?" and then he panics.

LOSER! rin itoshi — practices in front of the mirror at night. he tries different tones: serious, casual, mysterious. ends up mumbling so fast it sounds like one word.

LOSER! rin itoshi — writes a whole "script" of how it should go in his notebook. accidentally leaves it out once and nearly dies when you almost see it.

LOSER! rin itoshi — tries to make it sound casual but overthinks every word. he'll be like, “so, uh… there’s this… event. a thing. not important. unless… you wanna… go. with me. or not. whatever.”

LOSER! rin itoshi — he's shocked when you raise an eyebrow and go: "you're lucky I like you, because that delivery was tragic. i'd love to go with you, rin."

LOSER! rin itoshi — he freezes. literally stops functioning for a good five seconds before stammering, "w-wait, seriously? don't—don't mess with me."

LOSER! rin itoshi — "yes, rin. i really mean it," you say, trying not to grin too hard at how adorably awkward he is.

LOSER! rin itoshi — he spends the entire morning double- and triple-checking his outfit, brushing his hair, adjusting his glasses… then re-adjusting them again five minutes before you arrive.

LOSER! rin itoshi — he fidgets with his napkin, adjusts his glasses, knocks over his spoon once, and mutters curses under his breath when he notices you watching. you can't resist teasing him: "careful, rin. you're gonna break the cuteness scale before dessert even arrives."

LOSER! rin itoshi — he opens doors, offers his jacket if you’re cold, and insists on carrying the check (even though it’s tiny). he's trying to act nonchalant but ends up stumbling slightly, cheeks burning, and whispers, "i'm not… not cool… i can do this."

LOSER! rin itoshi — after months of awkward, adorable dates, teasing, and overthinking, rin finally relaxes around you. he still trips over words sometimes, but now he does it with a little more confidence, knowing you'll laugh with him, not at him.

LOSER! rin itoshi — even though he's still socially awkward and nerdy as ever, you've become his safe space. he doesn't have to overthink every gesture, because he knows you like him just the way he is.

LOSER! rin itoshi — and as he fumbled with his glasses, muttered a dozen awkward compliments, and hid his face in his hands, you realized—this messy, nervous, hopelessly adorable nerd was yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

a/n : so ooc its crazy...

@ lveisagi, please do not copy, translate, or repost my work. all rights reserved.

[suicidollz]

₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: in the week following the hospital discharge, nanami's thrown into the married life. affection, routines, looking over photobooks - anything to help him remember. but will it ever be enough? part 2 to the memory loss!husband nanami fic (part 1 here) word count: 3.7k

this is what married life is, nanami learns.

sleeping next to his wife. he practices breathing deeply in bed, letting his body soften next to you as you squish your cheek against his chest, mumbling something incoherent at 3am.

he pulls the blanket over your shoulders when you pass out in front of the tv. sometimes he finds you folded over the cushions whilst waiting for him to come back from a grocery run. other times, when you've stumbled back home late from another midnight shift, grumbling quiet thank yous when he carries you bridal style back to the bed.

in the evenings, he does the dishes whilst you shower. dinners are homecooked, nutritious meals curated meticulously by nanami researching recipes and walking around various different grocery stores during the day.

sometimes, a recipe calls for something incredibly rare and difficult to find in store. but the hours of frustration and mild inconvenience wash away when he can see how your eyes light up upon tasting his cooking, feet kicking in delight under the table.

"it's perfect, nanami."

then in the mornings, he grinds your preferred brand of coffee beans to perfection - calculating the exact temperature and time needed to make your morning coffee the way you like it. he's pre-packed your lunch, ironed your coat, and checked the weather forecast for the day.

"bring an umbrella, love. it says it'll rain later on in the day."

it's strange, this married life of his. his wife knows him infinitely better than he does: all his little quirks and cravings, what he's thinking about, and what he might do.

whilst he's still learning as much as he can about you: puzzle pieces slowly being fit together over domestic routines and wine dinners.

"i think what you need right now is time off of work. and i mean real, genuine time off. slow days filled with routine. no curse chasing or late office nights." your tone was light, but it was laced with the kind of finality common amongst doctors that made it clear: this was not up for debate.

"if those are my doctor's orders." he'd quietly teased, fingers tapping against his teacup.

"they are."

"then it's done." he'd paused, before adding on. "and maybe, it'll help me remember."

"maybe." you'd admitted, weary optimism on your lips.

he'd placed a warm hand on top of yours, trying to give you his most reassuring smile.

"i know it'll happen. not a matter of if, but when."

that had been a week ago.

and on weekdays like today, nanami spends most of the day counting the hours until you return home.

at this point, he has a mental list of things to get done in the house. fulfilling each task carries a slither of hope that his past will suddenly jolt back to life, a familiar routine unlocking his brain.

but mostly, it feels like an odd guessing game of who he was before, what his marriage was like before the accident.

he waters the flowers by the windowsill (peace lilies and marigolds). he doesn't know if these were planted a month or three months ago. or if they were your idea's to get or his.

he washes, dries, irons, and folds the laundry. sometimes, when he's re-arranging the closet, nanami discovers a new piece of clothing that bears semblance to something important. just holding it in his hands elicits a strong emotion, though he can't exactly place what he's feeling or why.

he fluffs up the cushions on the couch, vacuums the oak wooden floors, and scrubs down the marble kitchen counter till it shines. he passes by polaroids stuck to fridge magnets and printed photos bookmarking half-read books, snapshots of a life he cannot remember.

his hand on your thigh on a sunny beach. your frozen laugh and his scowl at someone's birthday party (he guesses), with frosting caking half his face. a fluffy white cat snoozing on his chest in a sneaky photo clearly taken by you, as nanami's left arm covers his eyes in a midday nap.

as if on cue, a gentle meow interrupts his thoughts. yuki pouncing onto the kitchen table, her light blue eyes burning holes into his head.

"hello yuki." nanami mutters, setting down his cleaning products for the first time in hours. it's only then he realizes that he hasn't sat down since 9am, and he gladly collapses onto the nearest armchair.

yuki is watching the whole ordeal from the kitchen counter, her tail swishing as if she's deep in thought, her piercing blue eyes never leaving his figure.

nanami suddenly remembers your comment from earlier this morning.

"it's weird. it's like she recognizes you, but knows that you're not the same."

yuki meows again, extending one paw towards him, a tell that previous nanami would have understood instantly but one which puzzles him in the present. instinctively, his hand raises to pet the top of her head, his thumb carefully stroking the fur on top.

her spine tenses at first, eyes flickering in hesitation, before she suddenly melts in to his touch. rubbing her face closer to his calloused palm, she eventually climbs up his back and onto his shoulder. head nudging the crook of his neck, fur tickling his bare skin.

he attempts to finish up the rest of his cleaning with her on his shoulders, but she meows in protest every time he tries to resume cleaning - her tail nearly slapping him in the face with dissatisfaction.

"what now, yuki?" he wonders aloud, amused. the cat simply stares at him, then at the door of the home office, before looking back at him. "you want me to go there?"

she meows again, as if understanding every word he's saying. thinking maybe she's managed to lock one of her toys in the room, he slightly pushes the door open. to his surprise, she instantly bolts through the gap to curl up against the bottom drawer of his desk, a space he hadn't really bothered to look at given his break from work.

"what is it, you silly cat?" he mumbles to himself, crouching down. curiosity getting the better of him, with yuki watching him quietly from the corner of the room, he pulls open the drawer to find a heavy stack of leather books.

his breath hitches at the discovery.

they aren't just any books.

they're photo books.

hundreds of pages of dated photos pasted messily next to faded handwriting (yours and his), sandwiched between crinkled receipts and ripped out pages of travel brochures.

tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, he turns the first page.

he needs a pen and paper, he thinks.

=================

you're so tired when you close the door behind you that you don't immediately call out for your husband, your first priority being to shrug off your coat (hanging it messily by the front door) and toss your work bag onto the couch (to be dealt with later).

you frown when you turn the corner and don't see him in the kitchen. he's usually standing there when you've returned from the hospital, adding the final few garnishes to whatever dish he'd decided on cooking, sculpted face pulled in deep concentration.

stumbling into the shared bedroom, where he sometimes like to draw a bath for you, knees folded over the floor as his hands dip into the tub to check the temperature - you also find it empty, though perfectly cleaned and organized as always.

"uh... hello?" you question aloud, returning to the living room.

"in here, darling."

his voice comes out muffled from the last place you expect him to be: the spare room converted to an office. when you carefully creak open the door, hesitant eyes trying to find his, you find that his usual work files and binders have now been thrown onto the floor.

instead, his desk has been transformed to a glorious mess of half-opened photobooks and hurriedly scribbled notes. he murmurs a quiet hello, eyebrows furrowing in a deep concentration, the type that you know you can't easily break him out of. his shirt is slightly unbuttoned, cuffs rolled up past his elbow, and his cup of tea is no longer hot when you touch it to move it out of the way.

"what... are you doing, nami?" your question comes out as more of a whisper, shock minimizing your voice.

you think he's going to ignore you for a moment, as his gaze is unwavering from the pages and his hand continues to furiously scribble onto the notebook, until he suddenly slows down.

"if i can't remember, i figured..." his voice is hoarse, voice hollow as he continues to avoid your gaze. "i should learn."

your heart breaks at his confession.

because it's so like him to try and recall his marriage the way someone would memorize an equation or re-organize a budget.

analytical. studious. data driven.

the petname escapes your lips without you even realizing.

"oh, honey..."

your trembling hand touches his shoulder, squeezing his collarbone in a comforting manner. he's watching you nervously as you sit down onto his lap, his pen now long forgotten on the edge of the desk when his hands move on their own accord to touch your skin. left hand drawing circles onto your knee, right hand sneaking up to link fingers with yours.

the two of you stay like that for a few moments, your head finding its resting position against his chest, the only sounds in the room being the ceiling fan whirring above and the steady breathing of your joint bodies.

you feel him take in a deep, shaky breath, and look up in time to see him finally looking down at you. gaze burning, voice low when he speaks.

"i'm sorry i still don't remember."

you notice his hands are shaking as well, as you try and calm him down with your own touch, fingers curling around his.

"i-i thought maybe if we gave it time. if i did the domestic routines. if i, fuck, looked through the photos-"

his voice is so heavy with guilt and self-hatred that you can't stand it.

"don't blame yourself, kento." you cut him off, shifting around in his grasp to cup his face with your hands. "you've done nothing wrong. and i'm so appreciative of you even trying."

"still..." he trails off, unconvinced. his head finds its way to rest on your shoulder, pale eyelids slowly blinking. "i wish it was enough."

and just what are you supposed to say to that?

what can you say to that?

your broken husband, still trapped in the past?

ignoring the thundering in your own heart, you just smile, squeezing his hands again.

"you never know what might happen, okay? you just have to take it one step at a time."

nanami lets the optimistic comment hang in the air, appreciative of the comfort but letting out a deep sigh of frustration. your weak smile is confirmation that you empathize with him, your smaller hand now drawing circles onto his palm.

"it's a Friday." you offer. "let's just... sleep late and do whatever we want over the weekend."

he laughs at that - the melody short, but sweet. his eyes crinkles at the corners and his whole body reverberates when he does.

"sounds perfect. then would you like to pick the movie for tonight?"

you raise your eyebrows.

"i picked last time."

"mmm, and I'm letting you pick again this time."

dinner is thai takeout - both of you too drained to cook and wash up. you fall asleep with your head on his lap and yuki curled into your chest, whilst nanami's lost in his thoughts till 3 in the morning.

thinking.

pondering.

worrying.

====================

when you wake up the next morning - miraculously in bed, tucked in, and in your comfortable sleepwear - someone is knocking at your door, waking you up. rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, eyes bleary and still half-closed, you stumble over to the doorway and open it to find nanami.

he's impeccably dressed, hair slightly cut and styled, holding a large bouquet of flowers in his hands.

it's as if someone has suddenly dumped fifty gallons of ice water onto you. and you feel wide awake, blinking at him wordlessly, your tired brain taking extra long to make sense of the situation.

"i've been.... thinking." he starts off, slow and deliberate. you're still staring at him, dumbfounded, only being able to nod along.

"yes?"

"if i can't remember our past... i want to at least create our future together. now."

you raise your eyebrows, unsure of where this is going.

"okay..."

"how does a romantic day out sound?" he asks, offering you the bouquet of flowers in his hands. you look down at them and see it's from the flower shop you've always wanted to visit down the street, purple hyacinths intertwined with yellow daffodils and red roses.

you accept the flowers with a slightly opened mouth, sleep-fogged brain needing a few moments to grasp the weight of his words, before you're jolted to reality.

"nanami kento, are you asking me to go on a date with you?"

he flushes red at that, coughing nervously.

"i suppose i am."

you would tease him more, enjoying the way his muscles tense and his handsome face contorts in worry, but there's something so precious about your own husband asking if he can take you out on a date. so you swallow your remarks and grin like an idiot.

"sure. i mean yes, i'd love that."

he refuses to tell you much about what he's planned for the day, your biggest hint being to wear comfortable walking shoes. you chastise him for staring at you for too long when you touch up your makeup in the mirror, him raising his two hands in mock surrender, and you swear your heart might explode from how much you adore this man when he ties up your shoelaces for you in the hallway.

"ready?"

"ready."

his first choice is a bakery uptown. pastries and coffee, latte foam on his upper lip that you smear away with with your thumb. (and you don't miss how deeply he flushes red when you lick your thumb afterwards, him mumbling something that you don't quite catch but still makes you giggle nonetheless).

he asks you if he can hold your hand before he's leading you to a nearby park, cherry blossoms floating down from the sky, covering the ground in pink confetti.

"hold on."

his left hand doesn't drop yours as his right slides up to take a lone pink petal out of your hair, tossing it to the side and continuing to walk with you as if nothing happened. a small group of elderly woman "aw" out loud from the side and you look away, embarrassed, but nanami just smiles wide in a way that says he has no regrets.

next is a 30 minute train ride to an aquarium, his tall muscular physique sticking out amongst the hordes of schoolchildren on their school trips and exasperated parents running after their toddlers. you're too busy marveling at the fish, the endless blue water, the colorful corals - to realize that nanami's looking more at you than the tanks.

"woah, do you see how big that eel is?" you squeal out, pressing yourself against the glass.

"mmhmm." is his response, affirmative but his mind elsewhere. he's too busy committing to memory how full of wonder and joy you look - fingers tracing the cold glass, giggling at the sting ray passing by the glass roof, face glowing with happiness. his stomach full of warmth, skin buzzing with love.

lunch is quick and convenient - a bento box and green tea from 7/11, nanami happily sacrificing his chopsticks for you to use when you realize you've forgotten to get a pair. (it just gives him an excuse to have you feed him mouthfuls in between bites).

when the sun begins to set, he steals you away to an italian restaurant hidden between a bank and a local library.

ever the gentleman, nanami takes off your coat and pulls out the chair for you when the waiter confirms his reservation. and when you try to put down your handbag on the floor, he stops you. saying it'll get dirty, before hanging in on the coat rack beside his seat.

to strangers looking in, it looks like a first date. nanami's asking all kinds of questions about yourself - what's your favorite movie, what do you like to do during your time off, do you have any siblings - and his hand occasionally brush against yours resting on the table. lingering, but soft, the type of touch only two people truly comfortable with each other could do.

when the pasta comes, he lets you take as many photos as you want before he starts eating, offering you as many bites of his dish as you want. he refills your glass of water before you even have to ask for it, and his eyes never dip below to stare at his phone while you talk.

"god, you're brilliant." he suddenly says mid-conversation, voice soft with sincerity. you were half way through describing how you two had first met - him wheeled in by stretcher to the ER, a panicked gojo yelling for help in every direction with you the only available ER doctor working on christmas day.

his sudden compliment makes you hot with embarrassment, causing you to nervously twirl your fork in your pasta in an effort to suppress your shyness.

"what's with the sudden compliment, nanami?"

he shrugs, as if it's the easiest thing in the world.

"how could I not compliment my stunning wife?" he seems almost proud to make you embarrassed, a faint smirk on his lips.

you narrow your eyes at him in accusation.

"... you know, you were nowhere near this flirty on our first date."

"really? what was i like on our first date?"

"a little tense. you hit your knee on the table while pulling out the chair for me and then you apologised three times for mispronouncing prosciutto when you were ordering."

the tips of his ears flush red and he's quick to change the subject.

he asks about your first impression of him (bloodied but handsome), who said i love you first (him), whose idea it was to adopt yuki (yours). anything and everything, your answers slowly filling out the missing spots in his brain, anything to piece together his past.

the hours flow by quickly, the sun now fully set over the horizon, your smile brightened by the golden glow of the candlelight.

this is heaven, nanami thinks.

and when he's walking back home with you hand in hand after the dinner, sharing an ice cream cone that is quickly devoured and leaves a sheer strawberry gloss on your lips, his body actually itches with the urge to kiss you.

he hasn't dared yet, since he's woken up. the most he's done is hug you, hold your hand, and wrap his body around you in bed when you sleep (his favorite).

but he's wanted to, of course. god, has he wanted to so badly at points. when you'd woke up shaking from a nightmare, when you'd squish yuki in your arms and quiet her protests with soft kisses on her fur, the urge to kiss you nearly deadly when he found out gojo used to have the biggest crush on you before you two were married.

but he's been over rationalising to himself - he's only "known" you for 2 weeks. even if his body has this constant pull towards you, like the moon pulling the tides back from the oceans each night, he's been telling himself to take it slow.

the last thing he wants to do is overwhelm you, what in between the never ending hospital shifts and this situation.

"what's bothering you?" you ask, pausing mid-step, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"hm?"

your eyes survey his stoic expression, but something tells him you can read the truth beneath his micro-expressions and calm facade.

"your face is scrunching up in your 'i'm debating something seriously' face. is something wrong?" you joke, pushing his shoulder lightly.

nanami pauses, considering his options for responding.

fuck it, he thinks.

"yes, something is wrong."

your eyes widen, being genuinely taken back by his answer. but he doesn't leave you too long to guess.

"i want to kiss my date silly even though it's only my first date with her." he admits, hands dropping down to above your waist. still respectful, but daringly more intimate than any time before.

you smile so wide your face actually hurts.

"well, good thing you're already married to her." you retort, stepping closer.

he returns your smile - with that boyish, handsome smile that lifts the corner of his mouth and raises his dimples.

"you're damn right."

then in a flash, before you can even blink, his lips are on yours. the taste: a mix of strawberry and chocolate ice cream. his hands come up to cradle your face, and he's so gentle with how he moves your jaw, his fingertips brushing your skin so tenderly as if he's trying to kiss away every worry and sorrow you've felt for the past two weeks.

it's long-awaited.

it's desperate.

but above all, it's loving.

he's cradling you as if you're the most precious artifact in the world. and the way he's looking at you when he pulls away momentarily (dazed, bewitched, hungry), before kissing you again, makes you dizzy.

it feels like ten minutes have passed, when he finally pulls away, ending the kiss with swollen lips. his mouth remains hovering only a few inches away from yours, and your mind still feels hazy from the fireworks.

"i... i still wish i could remember." he chuckles, voice breaking. but this time, there's a certain lightness to his tone. "god, do i wish i'd remember what it was like for the past two years as your husband, instead of hearing about it or seeing pictures of it. but-"

he presses a kiss to your lips again, this time firmer and stronger, teeth grazing your bottom lip. you swear his eyes are golden now: bright, energetic, swirls of yellow reflecting from the streetlamps up ahead.

"but falling in love with you again... isn't so bad."

and you can't help but agree - pulling him down by his necktie for another kiss.

a/n: soooo i have a couple of announcements to make at the bottom of this fic.

(1) i will be posting a part 3 at some point which will be an alternate ending to part 1 (I won't say more than that bc I don't wanna spoil the surprise!!!). (2) there were so many ways i thought of taking this chapter and it took way longer than i anticipated to write/edit because I didn't want to post something I wasn't proud of. so thank you all for your patience and i hope this was servicable uwu. (3) finally, thank you for all your love on this (now) amnesiac husband nanami series! i cannot describe how overwhelmed with joy I've been for all the love it's received and for all the funny/heartfelt comments, reblogs and asks people have sent me. i hope to see you all for part 3 soon x

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[suicidollz]

satoru gojo finds it odd when your flowers go missing.

well, they don’t go missing per se—every bouquet he’s given you has spent its short lifetime brightening your vases… until they simply don’t. and each time, he compensates easily, never one to hesitate over “just because” flowers and gifts.

but what unsettles him is how he’s never seen them wilt. they don’t wither, don’t droop with time. one day they’re there, and the next they’re gone.

strangely enough, he never sees them in the trash either.

he tries not to overthink, but one evening it slips.

“baby,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder, “do you like the flowers i give you?”

“of course i do.” you shrug, light and easy.

“then… would you rather they not be real?”

you blink at him, caught off guard.

“i just mean—” his voice falters, unusually unsure, “i don’t want you to keep them up for a while and then throw them away. they’re yours, but… maybe you’d prefer something that lasts. something permanent.”

you catch the faint crease in his brow, the way he fidgets like the thought is heavier than he wants to admit.

“toru,” you whisper gently, “are you upset that the flowers don’t stay longer?”

he exhales, fingers brushing through his hair. “i don’t know. maybe i just—maybe it scares me that they vanish so soon. maybe i want something that says our love won’t fade.”

for a moment, the air stills. there’s a tenderness in his worry, but also a shadow of fear—because even the strongest sorcerer knows that things he loves don’t always last.

you stand, wordless, and reach for a notebook tucked into your shelf. flipping it open, you press it into his hands.

inside, layered between soft pages, are every flower he’s ever given you. pressed, preserved, petals fragile but enduring—each one a record of time, of memory, of love.

his eyes widen.

“no need for plastic flowers,” you smile, voice low but steady, “when i know how to keep the real ones. they’ll last, toru. maybe not forever in the world’s eyes, but… enough for me. enough for us.”

and in that moment, he considers that love might not just be the worst curse of all.

[suicidollz]

older bf shiu who breaks your tiny little dorm bedframe after months of not seeing you

older bf shiu who eats you out for almost an hour, preparing your pretty pussy for his cock

older bf shiu who rubs his tip all over your slick mound, teasing you

older bf shiu who smacks your clit with the tip of his cock as you whine for him

older bf shiu who has you in a mating press as he drills in and out of you, licking the tears off of your cheeks

older bf shiu who captures your lips in a messy kiss to keep you quiet (although it pains him)

older bf shiu who unloads into you multiple times that night as a gift for when he leaves in the morning

older bf shiu who cleans you up as you fall asleep in his arms