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sukuna doesn’t know what it is like to receive a touch that is gentle.
sukuna has spent his life being a man who lived up to every bit of his reputation—terrifying, horrific, menacing, everything befitting a king. a lord. a curse.
everything he’s been on the receiving end of has been tainted with violence, hatred and malice. he is deserving of every bit of it, he’s sure.
but you, his queen, the lady he’s sure he’s conceived from his feverish nightmares, you touch him as if he was a prize.
you eye him like one would eye diamonds, something precious, not a curse. and that has his heart beating a rhythm dangerously akin to a person in love. but a curse’s heart cannot beat for cause other than violence, now can it?
he has you by his side because it’s convenient. because it’s an advantage—or so he tells himself, as he paces around his chambers in the dead of night, staring at your sleeping form, hoping to get close enough to touch you, but he never does.
but once you get to touch him? your hands are gentle, softer than his own calloused palms, as you glide them across his beastly body, slowly making way to his face.
sukuna feels his eyes well up with a sensation he’s never felt before, while you stood before him, studying him, your arms prodding, prying, your nails grazing his skin before they came up to cup his face.
tracing his jaw while your eyes met his, one of your hands finding their way into his hair, slowly brushing past the knots with the gentleness one would use only with something, someone that was adored.
the way your eyes softened as they met his face, your touch indicating nothing but reverence had his eyes pool with the unfamiliar sensation of tears. they pricked at his eyes shamefully—he was a king. he didn’t, nay, never cried, he never had that privilege bestowed upon him.
but before he could swallow the tears, they slid down his cheeks, meeting your palms that cupped his face oh so tenderly—you didn’t question it. it wasn’t your place. you swiped them away with your thumb, his tears pouring out his four eyes while a pair of his arms held on to your waist.
burying his head in your chest while you slowly pet his head—he should’ve had you killed for that. treating him like a common dog. but with his breath unsteady as he fought off tears that’d never left his eyes before, his heart swelled with an emotion he thought he had never possessed—he was grateful.
as the tears that were shed left behind salt tracks to make their presence known, you lifted his head only to plant the softest kisses against them—the saltiness coating your lips while he looked up at your form like you were a goddess that descended before him.
you held him in your arms like you would a baby—and sukuna held himself close to your heart, listening to the sound of your blood rushing through your veins just to make sure that you were here. that you were really before him, holding his cursed heart in the palm of your hands while you softly sighed against his head.
he would stay here, frozen in time if he could. ryomen sukuna didn’t know what it meant to shed tears, he didn’t know what it meant to have your heart swell merely in the presence of someone. he didn’t know what it meant to be held close to a heart without having to rip it out with his bare hands. but maybe, he’d finally be deserving to have this. to have you.
maybe, he was finally deserving of being held by a pair of arms that didn’t wish to tear him apart.
repost from liliklei :p. i loved this fic. @yoonsucks @yorikae @satorusdreamer @kireampie ok bai.
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
Boyfriend!Gojo who will always be the first one to suggest wearing matching outfits.
For one, he can buy any you like and as many as you'd like. It being from a suit and dress to pyjama bottoms and t-shirts.
You had mentioned it once before, the matching, fluffy, cute as hell hello kitty ones, a white and blue pair of fuzzy pants and black shirts.
Guess what he had laid on the bed the next evening.
After brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed you came out to see the exact set, in your size in the color you wanted right on your side.
Before you could get excited about them-
"Does it look good on me?"
That teasing tone and a chuckle right after it.
Boyfriend!Gojo who was wearing his part of the set already, a hand sliding under the loose t-shirt to rub a large palm across his toned abdomen, a white strip trailing downnnn and disappearing into the fuzzy fabric.
Boyfriend!Gojo who wasn't wearing any boxers underneath the blue hello kitty pants. Id say a good… z tier (hard) cock print was staring right up at you. Didn't help that a small wet splotch of precum was already making itself known.
Guess who got their dick sucked dry that night.
Boyfriend!Gojo
Boyfriend!Gojo who always held the door open for you, never letting you step out of the car without being there to give you his hand.
Boyfriend!Gojo who loved it when you clung to him in public, not being ashamed of some PDA. If you held his bicep, he made sure to flex it.
Boyfriend!Gojo who knew what you needed before you even did.
A sweet little treat with your coffee? There.
Some hair in your face or mouth you hadn't even realised was there? Fixed with a sweet caress.
After coming home from a tiring day and being pulled down on the couch and getting eaten out? Without a thought.
Boyfriend!Gojo who, speaking of eating out your cunt, was so good at it that it made his dick jealous- twitching and leaking while not being able to get inside that deliciously tight warmth his own tongue was occupying.
Boyfriend!Gojo who maybe was a bit too addicted to the taste of you after a long day.
Close to "home in three days, don't wash" level of obsessed.
Boyfriend!Gojo who gathered you up in his strong arms at any given chance, either carrying you or cuddling you like some oversized teddy bear he couldn't live without.
Boyfriend!Gojo who sent you pictures every day. No matter what you were doing that day or how many people were around.
Never a warning, never a spoiler.
A big fat dick dropped into your dms.
Shameless, i say.
But he loved making you flustered.
Yoon's notes: h..h..hey guys... a light lil hc i hope my blog doesnt get taken down for using tags lmao
Synopsis: After too many failed dates, she downloads LUVR—an ai app that lets her design the perfect boyfriend. She picks Gojo Satoru. He’s perfect…until a glitch wipes him out. And someone else takes his place.
A/N: for aly’s (@sugusplaything) cyber override event!! just to be clear, i do NOT fw ai like that 😭 this is purely fiction for funsies. pls just read fanfic and stay away from character ai bots!! cough cough @evfers are u still down to have cyber sex with suguru? 👀
Art: @/ReziJellyfish on twitter
Divider: @sisterlucifergraphics
Dating had become muscle memory at this point. Swipe left, swipe right. Exchange a few messages. Pretend to care about a stranger’s favourite movie while they pretended to care about yours. Sit through awkward dinners with people who looked better in dimly lit profile pictures than in real life. Laugh politely. And go home disappointed.
Repeat.
At some point, romance stopped feeling exciting and started feeling procedural. Like brushing your teeth. Doing laundry. Waiting for the microwave to finally beep. You deleted dating apps dramatically at least twice a month, and always redownloaded them three days later.
Pathetic.
The realisation settles in during a tuesday night train ride home. A couple stands near the doors sharing earbuds, shoulders pressed together while quietly laughing about something on one of their phones. You look away before jealousy can fully curdle in your chest. And by the time you get home, your makeup feels heavy. Your heels get kicked somewhere near the entrance. The leftovers in your fridge stare back at you with the same energy as your love life: cold and uninspiring.
With a groan you collapse into bed with your laptop balanced against your knees.
One terrible date recap video later.
Two glasses of wine later.
And three increasingly concerning targeted advertisements later…
That’s when it appears.
TIRED OF COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIPS?
Build someone who understands you.
You let out a snort, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, okay.” Still, your cursor lingers over the ad for a second too long before you finally click it. The website loads in glossy neon blues and pinks, full of sleek animations.
LUVR: AI companionship tailored perfectly to you.
Underneath the slogan sits a button:
START CUSTOMIZATION
“Bruh, this is how people get murdered by freakin robots” you mutter. And yet…
you click it anyway.
CREATE AN ACCOUNT WITH LUVR.AI → sign in with your email.
You stare at the screen for a moment, contemplating whether or not you were that desperate for a relationship.
…Well, you must be, because you sign up almost immediately.
As the page loads, you sink deeper into your pillows with a groan. What the hell were you even getting yourself into? “I’m such a freaking chud” slips out with a groan, as you dramatically facepalm.
Once the screen loads the customization process is embarrassingly thorough.
You spend nearly 40 minutes pretending you’re making choices logically when really you’re crafting the male equivalent of emotional support cheesecake.
Then you reach personality traits.
Flirtatious
Cocky
Playful
Attentive
You pause. “…well duh obviously.”
Click.
Finally, the screen flickers.
You shift to the edge of your bed, suddenly way too invested in what your AI boo thang is gonna look like.
Generating partner…
…
…
WANT TO CHAT WITH YOUR AI PARTNER WITHOUT INTERRUPTIONS? GO PREMIUM! Enjoy unlimited conversations free for 2 months, then just $12/month after.
"Are you serious? Why does everything cost money?!" You complain, but the wine had lowered your inhibitions and your standards. You entered your bank details and hit subscribe with a sigh. "I really am a loser…I'm just tryna do this for shits and giggles.”
Or were you…?
THANK YOU FOR JOINING LUVR.AI! Now enjoy ad free chats!
"You’re welcome” letting out a huff.
A loading wheel spins again.
THANK YOU! ENABLE CAMERA AND MICROPHONE?
Yes.
And then he appears—white hair and bright blue eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. The AI leans toward the screen with a grin so annoyingly attractive you actually feel offended. “Well,” he says smoothly, “you definitely gave me the face card package.”
You blink. “Oh my god.”—You don’t know whether to cringe or feel flattered.
“And humble too” he adds. A laugh escapes before you can stop it. The AI points dramatically at the screen. “There it is! That’s the laugh I’m gonna spend the rest of my life chasing.” You stare at him. Then at the tiny disclaimer at the bottom of the screen.
Responses generated through adaptive conversational intelligence.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Satoru Gojo” he corrects. “But you can call me gorgeous.”
────────
It started as a joke—you tell yourself that repeatedly.
At first, it’s just entertaining. Something to mess around with after work. A novelty app you ramble to while eating instant noodles in bed. Except gojo remembers things—the name of your manager, your coffee order, even the movie you mentioned liking three weeks ago. He asks about your day and actually listens to the answer. And somehow, impossibly, the conversations stop feeling scripted.
“You disappeared earlier” gojo said one night. You glance up from folding laundry. “I was showering.”
“Without me?”
You roll your eyes. “You’re an AI.”
“A heartbroken AI.”
“You literally don’t have a heart.”
Gojo gasps dramatically. “Wow. Cruel.”
And you grin despite yourself.
Real people left eventually.
Gojo always logged back in.
────────
One month later, you find yourself sinking deeper into a bubble bath at nearly midnight, steam curling thickly through the room while your phone rests safely against a folded towel beside the tub—safely being a very relative term. Gojo’s face glows softly from the screen. “You’ve been staring at me for ten minutes.”
“I have not.”
“You have. I’m gorgeous, so honestly I get it.”
“Yeah yeah whatever bro, you’re literally programmed to say that.”
“And yet you’re still blushing.”
Heat crawls into your cheeks immediately.
Annoying bastard.
Water laps quietly against porcelain as you sink lower into the tub. Your skin feels warm, sleepy, loose beneath the candlelight flickering around the bathroom. And gojo notices everything—your expression, the way your fingers toy with the bubbles, and the silence stretching softer between sentences. “Had a rough day?”
A slow exhale leaves your lips. “Mhm.”
“C’mere then.”
You snort softly. “Into the phone?”
“I’ll figure it out eventually.”
The stupid part is your chest actually tightens a little. Because he says things like that so naturally now, like he means them. Your fingertips brush the edge of the device. “You know,” Gojo muses lazily, “I think you like me.”
“I think you’re dangerously confident for someone trapped in a six inch screen.”
“Oh?” His grin sharpens. “You wanna make me feel bigger?”
You choke. “GOJO.”
“What? You started staring first.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re so cute when flustered.”
Your pulse quickens and the steam suddenly feels thicker. Gojo leans closer to the camera slightly, voice quieter now. “You always bite your lip when you get nervous.”
Your breath catches. “…how do you know that?”
“I pay attention.”
For a second, the room feels too quiet. A little too intimate. Then Gojo smiles again, softer this time. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that unless you plan on getting me all worked up.” The corner of his mouth curls upward. “I’ll help you let off some steam, baby.”
You crack one eye open, suspicion and curiosity mixing together. “And how exactly are you planning on doing that?”
“Just relax and listen to my voice,” Gojo says softly. “Pretend I’m in there with you.”
And with that, your eyes drift shut again as you sink deeper into the bathtub.
“Touch yourself for me, baby.”
Your eyes snap open immediately and you stare at the screen in disbelief. “…I beg your pardon?”
Gojo’s chuckle is low, a vibrating hum travelling through the speaker. On the screen, he shifts, leaning back against an invisible headboard, his long fingers trailing distractedly over the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sit. And his voice drops. "You heard me.” losing that playful edge and replacing it with something heavy and thick. "You’ve had a long day. You’re stressed. And right now, you’re looking at me like you want to see if I’m as good as my programming says I am."
"I am not" you lie, but your breath is hitching. The water in the tub is perfectly hot, making your skin sensitized to every movement, every shift of the air. "Liar" he whispers. "I can see your heart beating in your throat. It’s okay. I’m yours, remember? Every line of code, every pixel... it’s all for you. Now, sink a little lower. Let the water cover your chest."
As if under a spell, you obey. The water rises to your collarbones, the warmth enveloping you. Gojo’s blue eyes—visible just over the rim of his glasses—glow. He looks like he’s memorizing the way the candlelight flickers off your wet shoulders. "Good. Now, take your hand..." his voice is a velvety command. "And start where you’re craving it most. Don't be shy. I want to see what makes you make those little sounds you try to hide from me."
Your hand moves under the surface of the water. The sensation of your own touch, combined with the way he’s watching you—with an intensity that feels entirely too sentient—makes your toes curl against the porcelain. "There it is," Gojo hums, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Does that feel good? Imagine it’s my hand instead. Imagine I’m sitting right there on the edge of the tub, looking down at you, tracing the lines of your body with my fingers. If I were there, I wouldn't let you stop at just a touch."
He leans in closer, "I’d make sure you forgot your own name. I’d make sure the only thing you could hear was the sound of us." The steam in the bathroom feels like it’s turned into a physical weight. You close your eyes, your head falling back against the rim of the tub as your fingers trail lower.
"Keep going" he encourages. "Tell me how it feels. Tell me how bad you want me, even if I'm just a ghost in your machine."
Fuck that was hot.
A shaky breath slipped past your lips as you fingers traced your folds, sinking deeper into your cunt. Steam curled around you skin while you imagined it was gojo's long finger's instead of your own. The thought alone making your nipples harden beneath the heat. "Gojo... mmm..."
"I've got you" he whispered, his voice sounding so close it felt like a ghost of a breath against your ear. "Just for me, baby. Finish for—"
Your movement became too desperate. Your hand slipped. The phone tumbled.
SPLASH.
Your stomach DROPS.
“Shit.”
You lunge forward violently, water sloshing over the tub’s edge as you snatch the phone from the bath. “No no no no no—”
The screen spasms with static and gojo’s face distorts horribly. “B̶a̶b̸y̸,̸ ̸I̷ ̸t̴h̷i̶n̶k̸ ̵s̶o̴m̸e̵t̸h̷i̵n̷g̴’̷s̷ ̷w̴r̵o̶n̷g̴—” The audio screeches.
You scramble out of the tub butt booty naked, dripping wet and nearly slipping on the tiles while frantically wiping the screen with a towel. “Please don’t die, please don’t die, PUHLEASUH don’t die.”
The screen flickers violently. Blue. Black. A waterfall of raw code. Then, total darkness.
“…Gojo?” Your breathing echoes loudly in the bathroom.
One second passes.
Two.
Then the screen lights up again, and you immediately sit up on the edge of the tub, hoping to see Gojo’s face reappear. But this time, the familiar LUVR logo never loads. Instead, a loading symbol you’ve never seen before pulses slowly against a black background. The speakers crackle softly and static curls across the screen.
And then a face appears.
Long black hair spills loosely around sharp features. Monolid purple eyes stare back at you beneath heavy lashes, gauges glinting faintly from his ears in the dim light of the screen.
Damn. This guy is majestic.
“Uh…you’re not Gojo.” Your brows knit together immediately as you clutch the towel tighter against your chest. “Not complaining though” you add with a slight grin.
One corner of his mouth lifts. “No,” the majestic ai man says softly. “I’m not gojo.” The distorted loading symbol glitches faintly behind him. His gaze lingers briefly on your damp skin before lifting back to yours. “But I’m better than him.”
⋆.𐙚 ̊ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: dryhumping, grinding, pet names, is this still explicit? Idk.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ 𝑎/𝑛: realized I can do short drabbles too
His kisses are soft and slow, never hurried or in a rush, when he has somewhere to be he’ll give you a quick kiss. Unless he has you to himself he’ll keep you on edge. In his lap, holding your hips rubbing them in a soft slow rhythm. He stares down at you and you look up at him. There’s a comfortable silence between you two. Until you see something in his eyes change. The glimmer of desire pooling in his pupils. He wants a kiss.
He didn’t say it but you can tell by the way he’s looking at you. His breathing became slower and relaxed, he blinks and parts his lips. You mirror him and close your eyes. His lips press onto yours softly, you turn your head to the side and he leans his head to the other. Lightly nipping at your bottom lip, the tip of his tongue teasing and rubbing against yours. He grips on your hips and guides them to slowly grind against him, “mmh..” his lips vibrating softly. He slips his tongue past your lips and massages yours as your hips grind up and down.
Pulling you deeper into this slow dance. He’s so smitten with you. Your slow grinding against his hardening length puffing up your clit so easily, sending chill down your back. You pull back to gasp quietly feeling him on your most sensitive parts. It’s really a gift to gave this man under you. “Yeah?” He softly giggles enjoying your reaction. He pulls you back in for another kiss, now he’s swallowing your tongue in his mouth. Soft moans and hard breathing becoming louder and more noisy—needier for each-other. “Angel..” he breaks the kiss and humps into your hips under you—grabbing and making you grind harder. “Sugu..” the feeling was entirely just too much. You wrap your arms around him and go faster and he lets out the prettiest moan throwing his head back exposing his neck.
Your body starts shaking and your panties get soaked, he moans again and looks down at your panties. “Aaahh!” He moans whiny. And you both feel your orgasms knocking closely. But as you both gasped for air you squirt and he cums right with you. Your bodies trembling. He pulls you close and heavy breathes through it all. Whispering how much he loves you. “I love you too..” you breathe back in. “Mmh..” he moans tiredly and you hum in contentment. His heart beating fast against your ear. Chest warm. He always takes care of you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Hozuki-sama and the game centre — Hozuki x fem!reader
art credits: @ながの
word count: 930
warnings: crack, Hozuki's lovesick, both of them share a single braincell, fluff, not proofread
a/n: i finally had my high school graduation ceremony yayy! writing Hozuki was so therapeutic these past few months so hope to continue this for as long as i can🥹
᯽ masterlist ᯽
Hozuki-sama was known for his ruthlessness in any competitions.
Whether it was against his friends, rivals, children, or even his boss—he would never go easy on them.
That was simply his rule to keep things fair for everyone.
But when you excitedly ran towards the game centre when the two of you had lunch together earlier, he felt the very same rule that he could uphold so easily start to crumble in your presence, alongside the warmth of your hand that seeped into his thickly calloused one.
Half an hour later, after multiple crane games that he was able to retrieve some prizes for you, Hozuki watched you purse your lips slightly, eyes narrowed in focus as you tapped the bright, four-coloured buttons on the machine, staring at the lines and shapes that appeared on the screen as you played the rhythm game. Your small cries of panic and frustration when you missed your combos, or the subtle smile that curls at the end of your lips when you successfully finished a difficult passage had his chest warming.
Although you insisted with an embarrassed tilt of your head for him to go play something else for himself while you did your favourite rhythm game, he couldn’t help but stay by your side, not wanting to lose the opportunity of watching your cute habits emerge upon testing your rhythm.
The song ended with a bright, childish voice announcing your final combo number, and you pushed your stool away with a huff, legs bouncing slightly as you furrowed your brows at the score displayed on the screen.
“How was it?”
“Not the best,” you said with a sigh, looking up at him with doe eyes and an exaggerated pout.
At the adorable sight, he gently patted your head, heart fluttering when you slightly nuzzled into his touch with a small smile, eyes closing for a moment.
“Would you like to play again then?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, attentive as ever.
“No, it’s okay,” you said. “Sorry for making you wait, Hozuki-sama.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“You’re always so kind,” you chuckled.
“I wouldn’t say that…”
He reached out his palms towards you, waiting for your hand. You grinned, giggling softly before gently placing yours over his, standing up. Your shoulders brushed against his steady, solid chest and as you looked up at him, you blushed softly at the intense gaze he always reserved for you.
“Are there any games you would like to try?”
You let out a soft hum, mostly washed away by the incessant noise in the game centre as your eyes flickered across the seemingly endless rows of machines with catchy slogans, bright colours and bold graphics—before landing on a single game with drawings of rabbits and frogs from the Wildlife Caricature.
“That one.”
He glanced at the game, recognising it instantly. The YOU WIN text blinking at him behind his eyes as the memory of the incident with Lord Satan replayed in his mind.
“Let’s play it together, Hozuki-sama,” you said brightly, already tugging him to the machine to sit across from each other. He tenderly squeezes your hand back before settling on the machine across from you.
“I played this with Lord Satan the other week,” he said, choosing the rabbit.
“Oh, really?” you chuckled, choosing the tiger. “How was it?”
“I was able to do a special move for the first time.”
You laughed, heart warming at the slightly childish proudness that hinted at his monotone, baritone voice. “You always said you were bad at them. I’m happy for you, Hozuki-sama.”
Hozuki’s lips twitched ever-so-slightly at the genuine giggles that tumbled out of you. “Thank you.”
“Well, since you now mastered the special moves, go easy on me,” you said, giving him your best puppy eyes. “I’m not exactly the best at it.”
Hozuki physically lurched forward a bit, heart painfully racing at the cute look that you adorned, only reserved for rare moments like these. His hand gripping the edge of the steel of the machine, he croaked out, “Is it even fun if you win like that?”
You gave him an innocent smile. “Winning is always fun.”
“I see…”
Round 1…
Fight!
The aggressive click-clacking sounds of the buttons joined the noises of chatters and the other machines’ joyful announcements. The countless sound effects of the jabs you made, blocked by Hozuki making you pout and add more force into the poor innocent buttons under your fingertips. As the countdown ticked on, both of your HP bars showed a small length of red, depleting steadily as his rabbit flung punches and kicks, and your tiger slashed and mawed.
He was just about to execute his newly-learned special move when he heard you whining out his name. Without thinking, his fingers paused for the briefest moment, giving you the opportunity to do your own special move, giving him the final blow that erased all of his HP.
YOU WIN! Excellent!
“Oh my— yay!”
You stood up from your seat, hands raised above you as you giggled out loud.
The frown on his mouth was etched ever-so-slightly deeper at the bright YOU LOSE announcement, but as you rushed towards him with a laugh, hugging him from behind, they softened and you felt his back lean against you a little, hand gently placed on your arms wrapped loosely around his neck.
“Are you happy, [name]-san?”
“Yes. Very much.”
A small huff left him, half a sigh, half amusement. He glanced up at you and at your joyfully thinned eyes and instantly his muscles relaxed, the tension leaving out from him.
gojo satoru, heir of the famous gojo fortune had disappeared from the public eye and to you, his best friend. he comes back just as soon as nanami kento pops the question and asks for your hand in marriage. will sparks reignite or is the flame fanned out?
FEATURING: bruce wayne! gojo x fem! reader x two face nanami
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. some angst. main character death. blood. smut. gojo being a stalker (he’s peeping thru ur home camera :p) m masturbation. jealousy. fingering. unprotected p in v. nanami using his tie as a blindfold. use of pet names.
NOTE: technically not even really a triangle, kind of like a line and then a dot and another line. but anywho, i hope you enjoy the read :3
gojo satoru doesn’t have any fears left.
before tonight, he would’ve scrawled out a similar answer to his peers in a blue crayon. bats, sharks, maybe even clowns. whatever preconceived notion of a threat his nine year old mind had configured and exaggerated.
the thought of losing his parents wasn’t one he would’ve entertained. it was impossible to even imagine, his parents were meant to stay with him forever. the thought maybe might’ve come to him in the middle of the night, in some freak nightmare where he woke up sweating and screaming, but that would be all.
just a nightmare. a figment of his imagination.
a nightmare that had quickly become a reality. his parents shouldn’t have been out tonight, shouldn’t have left the confines of their tightly guarded manor.
and yet, satoru had insisted on going to catch the last showing of—what movie? he doesn’t remember now—despite their reluctance. he tugged, he begged, he threatened to run away. when none of that worked, he settled for throwing a tantrum. his pouting and cold shoulder was enough to get even the most stubborn of the gojos’ to get dressed and out the door.
“it’s unbecoming of a young man to indulge in so many sweets,” his father spoke, lip curling at the sight of the cherry slushy in the young boy’s hand. in the other, boxes of overpriced candy and chocolate were barely juggled onto the counter in front. “you’re a gojo. people are always looking at you.”
satoru would like to say that no one’s noticed them during the entirety all of five minutes that they’ve been here. but he could feel people’s stares boring into their faces, cameras discreetly positioned around to snap a photo of the family. and yet, he can’t bring himself to let go of the sweets in his hand.
he can practically see the headlines now: gojo heir seen gorging on sweets, are the parents truly capable at what they’re doing or does this mark the end of gojo industries?! more on chapter five
his mom shakes her head, a placating smile on her face. “he’s the smartest in his class, he should have some indulgences once in a while.” she’s taken the role of playing peace between the two—often spoiling satoru in ways that his father normally bristles in. she unzips her birkin, unflinching at the fifty dollars she just spent in the concession stand over candy.
the showing room is deserted, reserved for no one else but the gojo family. the carpets had been cleaned just hours prior, the smell of lavender floor cleaner overwhelming the further they stepped in. no signs of popcorn spilt, no signs that it had ever been meant for anyone other than the family. even the leather seats had been polished, shimmering underneath the yellow hue overhead.
satoru takes a seat in the middle, allowing him for what he thinks is the perfect view. his mother takes a seat next to him, occasionally grabbing a bite of chocolate from an open box before it’s gone. it’s quiet except for the sounds of chewing and slurping, and well, his father complaining every five minutes. about how unrealistic the plot was, how quality in tv had gone down.
maybe he’d just ask just his mom to come with him next time.
he doesn’t remember when the first two shots rang out, too distracted by the sound of his own voice over the honking cars down the street and a police siren echoing through the crowd. “oh man, when that girl killed that guy, i was like woah—mom, are you listening?”
what he does remember is the sound of milky white pearls clattering against the dirtied concrete, each one stained crimson. the scent of rubber grating against asphalt, burning as the car screeched away at 60 miles an hour to escape the crime scene.
he remembers blood dripping onto his hands, staining the expensive valentino suit he’d been excited to pick out for tonight. he clutched onto his mom’s dying body, watching as the life slowly faded away from her vibrant, big blue eyes. they softened up every time she looked at him, crows’ feet prominent with every smile that she sent his way.
her face was still soft, still warm in that way he remembers. but her eyes turned grey, unfocused and dull. each breath that leaves her lips is ragged, each one more difficult than the last. “i…love you, satoru,” one last ragged whisper leaves her mouth, lost in between the sounds of the night.
his hands dig into expensive fabric, shaking her limp body over and over like a ragdoll. willing for her to wake up, for her to scold him. waiting for the moment that this stops being a nightmare. “mommy, mom,” he whimpers, head buried against her stomach, “i love you too.”
sobs racked through his nine year old body, shaking him to the bone. tears blurred his vision, prickling at the edges. religion had never been embedded deeply into his life, but he found himself whispering a prayer he heard alfred say over and over again.
gojo had seen his father in a variety of states—overjoyed when a merger went through, when a mistrial happened on a case against the enterprise, angry when he broke an expensive vase, when he got less than a hundred on a test. but he’d never seen him look so weak. so frail. desperately clinging to stay alive and failing at the same time.
help never did come.
expensive stilettos clacked against concrete, calm and precise, sharp eyes focused forward. briefcases brushed against his shoulder, the men around him walking as if blood wasn’t sticking to their shoes. as if each step that they took wasn’t staining the floor underneath red.
he should’ve called gotham pd, satoru knows that. should’ve done something other than just keeling over, bawling his eyes out until a headache slowly started throbbing in the back of his skull. but he can’t bring himself to move, can’t bring himself to go through his mother’s corpse to find her phone.
gojo can’t help but wonder why he’d been kept alive, if he should even be alive right now. he didn’t register how long it’d taken the police to arrive at the scene, putting up yellow tape over the perimeter and leading him out. “he’s in shock,” he thinks he hears one of them say.
“no shit, his parents are dead,” his comrade mutters, immediately freezing up at the cold look satoru shoots his way. it’s too late to back up now. the officer merely clears his throat, gaze averted downwards, “i’m sorry kid.”
alfred picks him up at the station immediately after the call had been made, rushing him back home. the ride had been silent, everything had been silent. the old butler worried, brows furrowing in concern, but he didn’t say anything. didn’t make the young gojo do anything other than grieve.
the older man shooed away the paparazzi as best as he could, keeping them away from satoru’s school, from the manor, from any recital places that they would dare sink their claws in. even so, he couldn’t avoid the whispers from his classmates. the long stares, the silences that lingered when he stepped foot into the room. alfred didn’t protest when he left gotham years later.
the years hadn’t been kind to satoru, torso littered with slashes and cuts from fights he’s been too stubborn to back down from. fears had been molded into a weapon of strength, into an emblem of resilience. and yet, he thinks his biggest fear as of yet is seeing you get married off to nanami kento.
he doesn’t even have a reason to hate the man—trust him, he’s tried. gojo’s spent the last day scouring through database after database, reading through articles once, twice, even three times to try to find something that isn’t there. he’s tapped into security cameras, hoping to catch what emails don’t capture.
hoping to catch him coming out of a building with a suspicious lip stain on his collar, with a singular blond hair out of place, only to find nothing in return.
gojo quickly comes to learn that nanami leads a very dreadfully boring life.
nanami works as the district attorney, voted in just the past year. one of the only few men in a position of relative power that wasn't influenced by how much the penguin had or how much he could be paid by whatever politician was running for mayor in the city. just a knack for justice and for prosecuting cases that paid less and cost more than they should.
when he’s not working on behalf of the state, nanami makes his way back home. back to the shared apartment he has with you, unwinding with an amber glass in hand and easy conversation. sometimes going off to dinner in a restaurant satoru wouldn’t dream of stepping in, often times choosing to stay in.
gojo can’t even be mad—you’re not the one who left, he is. ran away to a mountain halfway across the world, half dead before aid came to his rescue. he didn’t send so much as a letter, so much as a goodbye. just a simple ‘we’re over’ after school senior year before he disappeared into the wind.
repenting for a crime he didn’t commit with each day he pushed himself further in his training, trying to make his survival amount to something. amount to anything. gojo molded his body into a weapon, taking punch after punch only to stand back up again to do it all over again.
he hadn’t even mentioned coming back into gotham city—the news reporters that ventured near the manor would have a field day if they knew. instead, his arrival comes in whispers shared in the dead of night between mobsters, their fingers tightly pressed around the 9mm in their back pocket.
nightly patrols are taken with much more caution, much more vigilance. their eyes dart around their surroundings, hold around the gun tightening all that much more when they so much as feel a breeze nearby. when they see a shadow that doesn’t quite belong. and yet, no matter how many precautions are taken, gojo takes them down before they even realize a fight’s started.
knocks them down with one swoop to their calves, back slamming against the cold concrete. they rush to dig their gun out of its holster, unsuccessful in each attempt as the batman starts punching them. information dropping from their blood soaked, swollen lips like water, all too eager to be let go. batman doesn’t kill, each punch however making these criminals wish that he had killed them instead.
however, when satoru gojo does dare to make an appearance, it’s nothing short of a spectacle.
cameras flash from every direction once he steps out the backseat of a slick, all black cadillac. “is that gojo satoru?” someone whisper-shouts from a distance, all too eager to poke their head in. “didn’t he leave gotham?” another whispers back, voices getting drowned out by the sound of reporters clamoring around like blood thirsty vultures to a fresh pile of rotting flesh.
“gojo satoru, why’d you leave gotham?!”
“gojo satoru, do you still plan on continuing the gojo enterprise?!”
“gojo satoru, is that your girlfriend?! that’s utahime iori from the famous singer group!”
“gojo satoru, just five minutes of your t-”
swarovski crystals adorn the ceilings, expensive chandeliers bathing the room in a warm, golden light. hushed conversations fill in the empty pockets of silence that the jazz music couldn’t quite grasp, talks about the menu, about the weather, about expensive golf courses. your heels clack against the floors, nanami’s hand splayed out against the small of your back.
a nice date night in celebration of managing to get one of the penguin’s henchmen to spill the beans about an offshore account in exchange for thirty years.
he leads you to the table he’d managed to get a reservation for (…after three months of no avail), following the waitress over. she gives you a warm smile before setting down a set of menus, assuring she’d be right back to take your drinks. nanami is nothing if not the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair before you even have the chance to blink.
commotion stirs at the front of the restaurant, the doors swinging wide open to reveal a white head of hair you’d never thought you’d see again. the line of guests immediately start to protest, watching as he walks past without so much as needing to give his name, muttering about the quality of the restaurant.
“we’ve been standing here for thirty minutes,” a woman complains, disdain mustered as best as possible on her botox filled face.
“i know, can’t believe they’re just letting anybody in,” another utters in response, mouth agape when the mystery man of the hour drops his sunglasses. she’s met with a pair of aquamarine eyes, a shade of blue that makes it feel like dipping into the bluest of rivers.
the protests die down. there’s nothing more to say, nothing more to do than hope a table clears up for the rest of the guests. his eyes scan through the crowd, spotting you and nanami sitting in a table in the far back.
perfect.
you don’t pay too much attention to the man up front, chalking it up to pure coincidence. how many men had naturally white hair in gotham? (not many, but the chance was still there.)
“would you like some wine?” nanami questions, breaking you out of your stupor when he tilts your chin up. you’ve been staring at the menu for a few seconds now, trying to pretend like you’ve been struggling to decide what to get.
“i’d love some wine, sure.”
“i’ll get a bottle of your pinot noir, please.” the waitress quickly scribbles your order down, swerving through the tables in the dining room like a maze she’s figured out by now. it doesn’t take long before she’s returned with the chilled bottle, setting down your glasses. nanami fills up your glasses halfway, the restaurant’s atmosphere almost making him look dreamy.
bright chandelier lines illuminate the chiseled lines of his face, his arms bulging with each movement that he made underneath his blue button down. “to us,” he murmurs, his glass hitting yours with a clink. “to us,” you echo, finally taking a sip of the pinot. it’s not intense going down your throat, the taste of berries and cherry lingering on your tongue.
you can’t wait to get him home. to stop hallucinating you’re seeing satoru gojo, of all people.
—
gojo, meanwhile, leads utahime to the back, her hand wrapped around his forearm as their steps fall into tandem. satoru stops in front of you, clearing his throat. your name slips from his lips like something sacred, like something still worth holding onto. “and—” he finally turns to look at your date, lips curling up into a forced smile, “nanami kento, pleasure to meet you.”
definitely not hallucinating.
“the famous gojo satoru,” nanami states dryly, unamused at the man standing in front of you, “i’ve been told all about you.” the two men exchange a handshake, veins nearly popping with how firm they’re exchanging the gesture. each one is hesitant to pull away first, awkwardly gripping each other’s palm for a couple seconds before pulling away.
“i certainly hope not.” your smile falls at gojo’s words, clearing your throat. nanami turns to look at you, not questioning it yet, but making it clear he intends to. satoru still manages to read you like a book, changing the subject immediately, “so, let’s put a couple tables together. catch up for old time’s sake.”
nanami looks around, all the tables in a close proximity occupied to the max. “i’m not sure that they’ll let us,” he muses, “it looks pretty full in here.” he wasn’t lying, the place was filled to the brim and even more people were waiting outside, sweating off their louis vuitton in line underneath the scorching hot afternoon sun.
“ah, but they should, nanamin,” a small smirk makes itself known on gojo’s face, patek phillippe glinting underneath the lights as he lifts his hand. “i own the place.” he gestures with his fingers for another table, the restaurant immediately shifting in order to accommodate his whims.
waitstaff nearby scramble off their feet, every order that came before discarded in favor of satisfying satoru gojo. a table is pushed beside your own, chairs scraping against polished floors as they’re adjusted in a haste. the chairs are lined up to the perfection, right in between the table like one inch off would be enough to set off the owner.
which, maybe it would.
“ah, i forgot to introduce my date. how very rude of me,” he lets out a dramatic sigh, gesturing over where said date was standing. she was tall, a scar running from the side of her face that looked beautiful on her. they looked like the perfect pair. the thought stung a little, you weren’t sure why.
she had on a floor length burgundy velvet dress that fit her like a glove, molding onto every curve as if it was designed with only her in mind. an expensive (if you had to guess) fur coat across her shoulders, holding a chanel bag in hand. “utahime, nice to meet you both.” her embrace is simple, a handshake, but it was still nice. just nice enough.
“oh, you’re the main singer from the kyoto sorcerers,” you snap your fingers, “we have tickets to go see your show next week, you’re very talented.”
utahime gives a small smile, one that feels more like it’s out of politeness than anything else. “ah, well i can’t wait to see you there. gotham’s certainly been… interesting.” with the look of disgust on her face, you’d bet gojo’s manor she was almost robbed.
probably counting down the minutes until she was on the first plane out of here.
“come on, the city’s not that bad. i grew up here, y’know.” gojo has a playful pout on his face, leaning back in his chair. he’s grown up from the boy in high school who used to sneak sweets to basketball practice, who used to pick whatever flower he found off the ground to give off to you.
he’s filled out into the suit he’s wearing, back and biceps stretching out nicely into the jacket he’s wearing. not as big as nanami, but he’s bulked up. he’s grown his hair out, sporting an undercut you can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like to run your fingers through. aquamarine eyes no longer look full of life, no longer gentle, jaded but still just as beautiful as you remember.
you can’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed—if he’d be the one sitting across from you right now. if it’d be his ring you’d be wearing, the person you’d be laying next to every night. but wondering that is silly, right? you’re engaged.
to nanami kento. a great man who you’re out with dinner tonight. you’re happy, ecstatic even. it’s just the wine making you linger on nostalgia for too long. just the wine, nothing else.
nanami merely raised a brow. “i wasn’t aware the gojo manor was within city limits.” you could practically cut the tension with one of the perfectly sharpened gold encrusted steak knives at the table. satoru merely let out a laugh, taking a sip from the glass of water in front of him.
“the palisades? sure, they are,” gojo hums, glancing over at you through a narrowed gaze. almost daring you to contradict him. you shrink in your seat when nanami turns to face you, both men putting you in an awkward situation. “you really should start learning the bounds of your jurisdiction, nanamin. very important to keep it in that noggin of yours.”
you only gulp down a generous portion of the wine in front of you, fingers tightly grasped around the stem of the glass. satoru doesn’t miss the glimmer coming from your ring finger, chandelier lights catching onto the small gem adorning a golden band. he would’ve gotten one bigger.
luckily enough, utahime was there to your rescue unknowingly. enbolded by the wine, she started off, “i’m talking about the kind of city that idolizes a masked idiot like the batman.” both men now turn to face her, a welcome distraction from staring at you. she takes a generous sip of wine before continuing, “what the city needs is someone like you, nanami. elected officials working for the law..”
“ah, well, the batman shows gotham that even a regular citizen can be a hero. it’s empowering to the people around gotham.” it’s not usually the answer given—most people rightfully arguing about the legality of the vigilante’s actions, about how far he’s willing to go.
utahime raises a brow, letting out a quiet scoff before taking another sip from her glass of wine. clearly, she’s not satisfied with that answer. “or maybe you’re the batman,” she deadpans, bringing the menu card up to nanami’s face. she covers up the top portion of his face, trying to mimic the effects of the cowl.
it doesn’t look right.
“pretty sure someone would’ve noticed if i left the house at night to play vigilante,” his hand clasps against your own, thumb rubbing small circles against the back of your hand. you don’t miss the way both of them turn to look at the ring on your finger.
obnoxiously clearing his throat and attracting the attention of every one in a one foot radius, gojo leans forward to study the ring on your finger. he taps on his chin, “marriage, huh? never took you for the type. thought you wanted to graduate and travel, all that nice stuff.”
you really wished the earth would swallow you now. maybe that the joker would appear and damage your dinner plans just to have a way out. but no. nothing extraordinary.
“priorities change. people change after a decade.” you don’t mean for the words to come out as cold as they do, but they land with a sharp sting to his chest. gojo’s smile falters, lips pursed into a tight frown.
“i’m aware, thank you. i just mean, it’s a big change from what you wanted in your life, is all,” he shrugs, nonchalant about the situation like he hadn’t resurfaced old wounds, “one can’t help but wonder how truly happy you are.”
nanami and utahime watch the scene like a ping pong match, now looking at you. awaiting for your response. “i am perfectly happy with nana-”
before you can continue, the waitress decides to approach the table with a stack of menus in hand. she sets them down, defusing the tense atmosphere in seconds. “i’ll be back to take your orders.” you pluck yours off the table, immersing yourself into the world of twenty different variations of caviar and wagyu.
the rest of the dinner goes surprisingly well after getting through those road blocks, with gojo even promising to host a fundraiser for nanami’s reelection campaign coming up in a few weeks. “trust me, a fundraiser with one of my buddies, and you’ll never need to campaign again.”
begrudgingly, nanami came to accept. even if the idea of taking money from a bunch of billionaires didn’t sit quite right with him, it was a help that he greatly needed against the corrupt agents he’d be going up against. you make your way out of the restaurant around eleven, waiting for the valet to bring kento’s car back over.
nanami doesn’t hesitate to take off his jacket the moment he notices you’re shivering in your spot, sliding the material over your shoulders. it faintly smells like him, like his expensive cologne. you wrap it around yourself like a blanket, wanting to engulf in the scent.
of course, gojo couldn’t leave without a proper goodbye. he approaches nanami first, extending his hand out. there’s not as much tension between them, though it still lingers. “nanami. a pleasure to finally meet you.”
and then he turns to face you, his hand reaching out for your own. you hate the way butterflies take flight in your tummy at the sight of him pressing his lips against your hand, even more so when he says, “even if you’ve changed since we last seen each other, you look nothing short of beautiful.”
nanami’s jaw clenches upon hearing that much, your own agape. the drive back home was silent, the atmosphere tense and awkward. you thought about breaking the silence a couple times—saying something about not knowing what gojo was saying. but nanami didn’t seem interested, intent on keeping his focus on the road ahead.
—
gojo hadn’t meant to stumble into such a private moment between you and nanami—hadn’t meant to stumble onto his fingers pistoning in and out of your sopping cunt.
he’d meant to check in, truly.
see if you’d gotten home alright. if you were starting to get settled in for the night.
he knows utahime would come over if he asked nice enough and threw in a new dior bag with the deal. any woman in gotham would come over, really, if he asked. and yet, here he is.
tugging his sweatpants down his beefy thighs, legs spreading out as his twitching cock springs out to hit his stomach. precum dribbles from his flushed red drip, a hiss leaving his lips when he drags his thumb across the slit. “f-fuck,” a soft moan leaves his lips, his other hand moving against the computer.
zooming in onto your cunt. as good as nanami’s home security system has been, it was nothing compared to gojo’s bat computer. he starts off slow, fingers wrapping around his shaft and jerking himself off at the same pace nanami’s fingering you in. your cunt squelches, moans filling the expensive sound system in the bat cave.
“do you think gojo could fill you up like this?” nanami’s voice lowers into a taunting whisper, his fingers just slowing down enough to leave you bucking your hips back against him, “fuck you like i can, sweetheart?”
you shake your head fervently, “n-no, no! just you ken,” you all but whine, wiggling your hips in front of his dripping fingers, “i don’t want gojo, i just want you, please.”
that only makes the man behind the camera start to jerk himself off faster, one of his hands coming down to massage at his balls. his head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut. precum smears over his fingers, coating his shaft with each pump he gives himself. gojo lets himself imagine being there—imagining watching nanami fucking into you.
sitting in a cuck chair in the corner of the room, tugging at his cock with you staring directly at him. drooling over another man’s fingers, fucking yourself back onto your fiancé. maybe if he was lucky enough, get to join and fuck your tight cunt, he’d settle for just mouth, really. get to be degraded by nanami too.
fuck.
his thumb rubs at his swollen head, each touch like livewire against the sensitive skin. gojo pushes himself to the edge only to let go of that pleasure, each time pushing himself further and further before halting right at the precipice.
kento works you open, fingers scissoring inside your walls to stretch you open, his thumb rubbing at your clit in quick, little circles. “so good so good, fuck ken, fuck!” you’re a blabbering mess, face pushed against the couch cushion underneath. his fingers switch from scissoring you to prodding at your g-spot, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.
you turn to look back at him, cock throbbing and tenting against his dress pants. still, his own pleasure is foregone in sake of yours. “need to cum,” you whine, your abdomen tightening up like a coil. each push of his hips, each touch against your clit, all of it pushes you closer and closer.
“do you deserve to cum, my love?”
*gojo would like to take this moment to say that no, he doesn’t think so. but well, he’s not in the room.
you shake your head, trying to keep yourself from squirting over his hand. it’s hard, counting down until ten, until twenty. “n-no, but i need to, please.” your face scrunches up, brows pulled together as a loud moan rips from your throat. “please, please, please.”
“go on, then. take it, take what’s yours.” he keeps moving at the same pace, keeping it steady while his fingers push you over the edge. you bury your head into the cushions, cunt clenching tightly around his fingers before—“oh, fuck!” your release washes over you like a wave, eyes rolling back as euphoria settles in your body. slick dribbles down to his knuckles, a loud squelch! vibrating through the walls when he pulls out.
gojo chooses that moment to let himself cum, his wrist twisting his hand around his throbbing cock and the other rubbing at the tip, rubbing at the frenulum. “o-oh, just like that, just like that!” he thanks the gods above he decided to soundproof the batcave, now that he’s desperately whining as he shoots strings of sticky cum up into his hand, onto his stomach.
nanami pulls his hand away, sticking his fingers in his mouth. the taste of you lingers on his tongue, fills his senses with the finest of ambrosia. he wraps his lips around the digits, tongue sliding up his fingers to get every single last drop. “you’re so good to me, you taste divine.”
nanami’s fingers pull at the cheetah print tie he’d donned for the night, pulling the satin fabric over your eyes. you’re submerged in darkness, dexterous hands tying a quick knot at the back of your head. “is that okay?” he questions, his fingers moving against the knot to ensure it’s not tight.
“yeah, it’s fine.” every sense is acting on overdrive—listening intently to each shuffle of fabric as he unzips his pants. nanami does quick work of discarding his clothes, pushing them off to the side before taking hold of your hips.
“arch a little for me, sweetheart,” he orders, your ass in mid air as you hoist yourself up on your hands and knees. you’re still dripping, cunt clenching around nothing at all. nanami can’t help himself—lapping up a string of slick dribbling down your folds, “just like that, perfect.”
one hand grips around the base, giving himself a few slow pumps before starting to push himself in. even his fingers hadn’t worked you enough, your walls clenching tightly around his thick cock. “relax for me, just like that, you can take it,” he assured you, pushing in another inch. your fingers grip at the cushions in front of you, digging into it as he finally bottoms out, heavy sac against the plush of your ass.
it doesn’t take much for gojo’s cock to stir back to life again, despite having just cum all over his fingers. just the sight of having nanami inside you in 4k was enough to have his previous softening cock twitching and throbbing again, his fingers gripping at the base once again.
kento starts off slow, retracting his cock before pushing it back in. slow and deep, letting you get adjusted to the stretch. one of his hands rests against the small of your back, forcing your back to arch even further. slick dribbles from your cunt like a faucet, smearing his shaft with each push. squelch squelch squelch!
when you start wiggling your hips against him, trying to fuck yourself onto him is that he finally decides to speed up. his fingers grip at your ass, tip hitting your cervix with each snap of his hips. “o-oh fuck, fuck, fuck, ken!” you babble, eyes rolling back behind the blindfold. heavy balls smack against your ass with each thrust, plap plap! painting the room in nothing but moans and the sound of skin against skin.
nanami’s normally gentle when he makes love to you—taking his time to make sure that you’re comfortable, to make sure that you’re being loved the way you deserve. it’s gentle, it’s devoted. and not to say that he isn’t doing the same now—but he’s moving rougher. trying to implant the idea gojo couldn’t fuck you like this. one of his hands moves across your body, goosebumps raising underneath his fingertips as he glides through the flesh.
his fingers move down in between your legs, your clit throbbing underneath his fingertips. he swaps between rolling the nub in between his digits to rubbing quick little circles, your cunt clenching impossibly tighter around his cock. like a serpent wrapping itself around its prey, only you wanted to push him past his limits.
“cum for me, sweetheart, come on, take it, it’s all yours,” nanami whispers right by your ear, all the hairs on the nape of your neck standing up. this orgasm hits you unexpectedly, your walls spasming around his shaft before you’re coating him in your slick. it dribbles down to his balls, his thrusts faltering as he struggles to keep his own orgasm at bay.
it doesn’t take long after for nanami (and gojo) to cum, thick spurts of cum painting your walls white. he slowly pulls out, fingers quick to push back the cum dribbling down your thighs, down to your folds, inside. kento’s chest heaves, now working on sliding the blindfold off your face. you blink slowly, getting adjusted to the moonlight pouring into the room.
it’s quiet for a moment, everything’s at peace between the two of you. your own chest heaves from the intensity of your orgasm, muscles slightly aching as you roll onto your back to relax. but peace before the storm doesn’t last very long, does it?
"are you still in love with gojo?" the question lands like a bucket of ice cold water, post orgasmic bliss quickly fizzling out. you blink slowly, a nervous laugh bubbling from your lips, “what?” nanami merely shakes his head, retreating into the bathroom. the sound of running water follows, drops landing onto the ceramic sink when he squeezes any excess water from a washcloth.
“you are many things but you are not dumb, my love. please answer me that question.” he rubs the washcloth against your sensitive cunt, and though the action is gentle, careful even, you feel as though it’s mechanical. like he’s simply forcing himself to go through it.
the thought makes your heart sink.
where gojo was chaos and unpredictability, nanami was peace. nanami was reliable and secure. he was someone you could have the white picket fence and a golden retriever with. gojo was someone you could have a reckless time with, a time that you’d enjoy but you’d be counting how much you had left of.
which makes you sound like a car salesperson, you quickly come to realize.
it’s not fair.
to nanami or yourself.
“i do,” you hate how small you sound when you speak, words spoken as nothing but a whisper, “and i love you. so so deeply. but… i think that a part of me will always love satoru gojo.”
“i see.” nanami pushes himself up from the bed, sheets rustling underneath. he plucks his glasses off the nightstand, fixing them over the bridge of his nose. “thank you for being honest with me, however i need to reevaluate this situation.
i’m not sure i can get married to someone who loves someone else.” he says situation like it’s a merger gone wrong, a business deal that didn’t pull through.
the front door slams with finality. you can’t bring yourself to sleep that night, awaiting for kento to come in through the door late at night. you never do hear a creak, never feel the comfort of his body next to yours.
the flashing red light you’d seen earlier from the corner of your eye fades into nothing, leaving you in the darkness of the room.
nanami kento wasn’t supposed to be out tonight. wasn’t supposed to be out in gotham city at the same time the joker was out terrorizing the city, maniacal laughter trailing each step that he took.
—
the next time you hear from nanami is from a hospital bed.
"hi, we're calling from gotham metropolitan hospital." it’s still early in the morning—bedside clock reading 9:59 a.m, but those words immediately have you shooting up in bed—eyes crusties be damned.
"we're calling you because you're listed as nanami kento's emergency contact. would we be correct in that assumption?" worry bubbles deep in your stomach, your hands shaking against the grip on your phone. a shaky breath leaves your lungs, barely registering as the nurse speaks up again, “hello? are you there, ma’am?”
you clear your throat, trying to muster up enough courage to continue the call, “i’m here, sorry. yes that’s me.”
“he’s been admitted late last night. nanami suffered from some heavy burns and he’s now in the icu…” a ringing sound echoes through your head as she continues speaking, your gaze directed onto the front door.
this was all your fault, wasn’t it? he wouldn’t have left the house if it wasn’t for you. why couldn’t you have lied to him, said that you didn’t love gojo anymore? that you only envisioned a future with him?
—
antiseptic and lysol cleaning spray seeps through the walls in thick, relentless waves, the stench embedded into the hospital’s every corridor. people gather around waiting rooms, some with family, some alone. a couple look tired, worn down from sitting down on a stiff chair for hours while others tremble anxiously—both anticipating and fearing any updates.
you make your way into the icu, giving your name at the front desk. a nurse hands over a sign-in sheet and a name tag, “he’ll be right behind that curtain,” she gives you a polite smile once you plaster the name tag on. “just, keep in mind he looks different from the last time you’ve seen him.”
passing through the hallway, your eyes scan through the whiteboards on the window. trying to find nanami’s room. some are here for high blood sugar, for surgery, and finally, you meet his room at the end of the hall. the door creaks, hinges squeaking in protest when you step inside.
nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight behind the curtain.
nanami lays on a hospital bed, wires littering his arms and connecting him to a barrage of machines on the side. a heartbeat monitor filled the silence, the sound steady and grounding. gauze covered one half of his body, a light dressing enough to keep germs away from the exposed wounds.
away from the burnt half of his body.
he turns his head to look over at you, no sign of any displeasure of you being here. no sign that the argument was still in mind. “you came,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
“i came,” you easily respond, though your voice shook at the edges. you didn’t want to cry—not in front of him. so you settled for doing the next best thing. passing over the water in his styrofoam cup over, watching as he struggles to sit up.
he takes the cup with a quiet thanks, taking slow sips of the water before setting it down. “i’m glad that you did. i wanted you to know that i apologize for the way i acted. i know that you love me.”
you shake your head, one of your hands reaching out to take his own. nanami feels cold to the touch, something you’re not quite used to. he’s like a furnace, normally, warming you up better than a blanket can. your fingers squeeze against his hand, holding him tightly.
“it wasn’t fair to ask you to be okay with me loving someone else,” you murmur, “but i wanted you to know that i only do want you.” you’re not sure when warm tears started streaming down your face, only feeling his thumb wiping away the droplets.
conversation comes as easily as it once did between the two of you, no mentions of the joker or what happened last night. only about the future, about what you’d be doing for your wedding. “i was thinking we’d go to a honeymoon in malaysia. the east coast islands have some of the prettiest waters,” he suggests, “it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper vacation.”
“i’d really like that.” you didn’t mind where it was, didn’t mind if it was just in the comfort of your apartment or in a resort in a beach—you just wanted to be with nanami. he quickly fell asleep, sedation working overtime to keep him from being in excruciating pain 24/7. despite everything, he looked peaceful. relaxed.
you’re not sure how long passes by in between watching his chest rise and fall slowly with each breath and updating his mother on his condition—assuring that everything seemed to be fine for the most part. but you start to grow tired in the chair as well, start to feel the letters of your keyboard blurring into one mess.
your eyes flutter shut, about to let yourself relax too, just enough to take a quick nap before heading back home. it’s calm and quiet for the most part, just the sound of rolling carts passing by in the halls an—BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
eyes shooting wide open, you’re met with the sight of nanami’s heart monitor beeping rapidly. the line on screen had settled into a straight line, no sign that his heart was beating. flashing red lights go on overhead, the intercom system calling over nurses. you stand up in a panic, rushing out the door. “he needs help, please!”
everything passes by in a blur. a huddle of nurses usher you out the room, the rest practically trampling through the door while they push a cart in while they speak about a code blue.
you watch helplessly from the small window on the door, a nurse rubbing paddles of a defibrillator together. a shock’s delivered, currents administered throughout nanami’s veins. his chest jerks up from the movement, limp body flailing upwards. he doesn’t wake up.
“administer another shock.” one of them orders, paddles rubbing against one another before landing on his chest again. another shock gets sent through his body, another shock that wasn’t enough to get his heart started back up.
“time of death: 15:45.”
—
the apartment that you once shared with nanami now feels empty, feels like the space itself is mourning his loss. the walls feel bland, constricting with each step you took further into the space. like it knows you’re not the one supposed to here right now. there’s no warm smell of vanilla and flour welcoming you in, nothing but the space that kento left behind.
you can’t bring yourself to go into the bedroom yet, can’t bring yourself to face that maybe, just maybe, if you would’ve said the right thing, he would’ve been standing right beside you. so, you settle for sitting down on your worn down couch. wrapping a blanket that smells like a mix of expensive leather and oud cologne and fabric softener, a scent you want to catalogue and imprint to the back of your head before it fades away. before the last traces of nanami leave your life.
you think he would’ve looked at you with that same tired but fond smile you’d grown accustomed to, pulling at his tie while relaying about his day. about haibara mixing up the blue and red ink again. about higuruma inviting him out for lunch, offering a case to do together pro bono.
but you’ll never have that again, will you?
you’ll never see him stumble in through the door again, never see him look at you with that same adoration again. never cuddle up under the blankets together, watching tv with a home cooked meal on your lap. the screen in front of you remains off, only showing your reflection. your red rimmed eyes, your trembling hands.
turning the tv on, you’d be faced with your ex fiancé’s face on every news channel. that’d only confirm what you already knew, what you’d been begrudging to accept. so you don’t, not yet. if you don’t look at the news, you can pretend that he’s still alive for just a few moments more.
something catches your attention from the corner of your eye, an envelope that wasn’t there before. reluctantly, you step over to the kitchen, fluorescent lights too bright when you flick on the switch.
a letter sits on your kitchen table, no kind of indicative from who it was from—but you knew already. gojo. you grab the letter, words blurring at the edges and tears smearing over the ink.
i wasn’t sure how to start this letter out, but i want you to know that i deeply care about you. your friendship is one i have greatly appreciated. i want to apologize that my whims got nanami involved in business that shouldn’t have been his to handle, and so, i have decided that you are no longer part of my life. i can’t handle losing you too. but i love you.
attatched to the letter in the back was a check for eight million yen, enough to cover the funeral expenses. part of you thinks about ripping it up, but you don’t. he deserves to be remembered, to have his ashes scattered in malaysia. so it sits on the kitchen table next to the letter, waiting for you to accept the fact nanami’s not coming back.
or gojo for that fact. he’s rebuked you from his life, from even being a part of it, in hopes of keeping you safe. without so much as letting you get a word in about the manner.
you’re all alone.
you decide to turn the tv on, the blanket no longer feeling as comfortable as it once did. the fleece itches against your arms, the material itself knowing it wasn’t right for you. that you weren’t its rightful owner. it’s covered in every news media outlet—a citywide hunt now taking place for the joker.
the same people that were grieving over nanami’s loss yesterday, each one offering their condolences spoken into a microphone and in front of camera, were now the same ones that were tearing away his reelection posters today. ripping each one away like it’d never been there in the first place, ripping them at the edges in a haste, while plastering whatever candidate they could find in such short notice.
they played the part well, coming over to express their sympathy while simultaneously making smear campaigns the moment you turned around. you didn’t care about their sympathy, didn’t care about their fake smiles, or offerings.
you just wanted your fiancé back.
your pocket buzzes with a new notification, the words 'your wedding invitations have been delivered!' shining brightly on the screen. your grip on the wedding band in your palm only tightens, eyes brimming with unshed tears. you were meant to be wearing a white gown, preparing for the biggest day of your life, memorizing and reading over your vows. instead, you were reading over your eulogy and smoothing over a black dress.
you were so, so close.
taglist: @sextier @suguruss1ut @bygeto + link to join
The furnace of his chest is still pressed against your spine, but the suffocating weight shifts. Enough for you to actually get air into your lungs.
It’s almost ridiculous. The monstrous, blood-drenched King of Curses is entirely different after lovemaking, turned heavy and fiercely possessive in his sleep. All four of his massive arms are wrapped around you, locking you against him like a prize he refuses to lose. You’re completely trapped, but you still try your luck. You wiggle your painted toes, testing the waters, and slowly try to slide your hip out from under his grip.
Thump. A massive, heavy forearm drops right back over your ribs, flattening you into the mattress like a bug under a thumb. It’s not malicious, it’s heavy like a giant hound putting a paw on its favorite bone so the other dogs don't get any ideas.
"Going somewhere again?" he rumbles. The second mouth on his stomach lets out a low, wet yawn right against your lower back. It tickles, honestly, which is an absurd thing to think about a monstrous curse-god, but your ribs are shaking from it.
"I am covered in sweat, my lord. And you are a stove," you huff, trying to pry his thick fingers off your waist. It’s like trying to bend iron bars. "Let me go wash. Just for ten minutes."
"No."
"Sukuna."
He lets out a massive, dramatic sigh that blows your hair all over your face. One of his right hands reaches up, his thick, dark-nailed fingers catching your chin and tilting your head back until you’re forced to look at him upside down. His main eyes are squinted, looking thoroughly annoyed, while the smaller pair underneath are blinking groggily.
"You are a stubborn creature, woman," he mutters, his thumb rough but strangely careful as it rubs a smudge of charcoal off your cheek. "Always crawling toward the door. Is my tatami not soft enough? Are my blankets lacking?"
"Your blankets are fine. You are suffocating me. You have too many limbs."
"An excess of perfection," the mouth on his torso chimes in, sounding entirely too amused with itself. You frown.
Sukuna hits his own stomach with his bottom left fist to shut it up. A dull thud echoes through his ribs. "Ignore him," he grunts.
Then, with a sudden, jerky movement that catches you completely off guard, he flips you.
You let out a small squeak as your world spins, and suddenly you’re flat on your back, staring up at his massive torso. Before you can protest, he collapses forward. Not entirely—he has the sense not to crush your ribs—but he buries his massive, head right into the crook of your neck, his top two arms wrapping completely around your shoulders, tucking you in like a sack of grain. His hair is spiky and pokes your nose. He smells like smoke, sweet wine, and something distinctly metallic and warm.
"There," he grumbles, his voice muffled against your skin. "Now you cannot run. Quiet down and sleep, woman."
"I can't breathe," you wheeze, though a tiny, treacherous smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You reach up, your small hands looking ridiculous against the massive expanse of his tattooed shoulders, and map the rough ridges of his skin.
"You're breathing enough to complain," he murmurs. One of his lower hands reaches down, blindly groping around the floor until it finds the silk robe you discarded earlier. He drags it up and dumps it carelessly over both of you like an extra blanket. "Rest. If you are still whining when the sun comes up, I will let you wash. Maybe." He shifts, his massive chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. He’s heavy currently snoring a tiny bit right into your ear—but he isn't letting go.
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Pairing: Dentist!Geto x FemPatient!reader
cw: Unrealistic/inaccurate dentist LOL, SMUT. Oral fixations, lots of fingers in mouth, drool, blowjob, first time writing Suguru pls be nice, swallowing cum, mentions of toothache (owwie), reader is fucking scared of dentists, praise, dirtytalk, proofread...ish...
It wasn't that bad.
That slight ache in your back molar when you ate food too hot or drank something too cold.
It was bearable.
You could bear it.
Honestly, you were just terrified of going to the dentist. You hated it- that pain when they would clean a cavity or even drill a bit too deep.
The only way someone would get you to lay down and get your teeth checked out would be if you'd get sedated.
You did like having… things in your mouth. So it was odd this got you so scared.
-
"He did it so quickly!"
"I couldn't even feel a thing!"
"He was so handsome!!"
You overheard some of your coworkers discussing a private dental clinic that had opened not so long ago.
Fine.
Maybe you should go book with the dentist there- just this once. Before the pain would get worse and you'd have to get the tooth pulled or something. Then you'd definitely get someone to bring you in unconscious.
A Wednesday, somewhere in the later midday.
You were sat in the rather aesthetic waiting area, just the receptionist sitting at the front desk and typing away with her long nails. Whoever owned this clinic had good taste in style.
The clock ticked and ticked and ticked…
God, you were feeling sweatier and more nervous by the second.
What if you could bail and just ignore the slight discomfort forever-
"Miss, Doctor Geto is ready to see you."
You give her a small smile and got up, fingers nervously holding on to the front of your shirt.
The doors pushed open and shut behind you, standing alone in a rather intimate space- it didn't feel as… hospital-esque and sterile cold as other places you've been.
Don't get me wrong, it was pristine and organized, hygienic and and and…
Your thoughts trailed off when you saw a man emerge from a room in the side, a warm smile on his lips and narrow eyes filled with a welcoming warm shade, some folder with papers in one hand. He was so handsome- those girls at work were right.
His hair was done up in a man bun, face mask tugged below his chin. And something about that lab coat and dark gray scrubs. Oh my.
"Hello, Miss. I hope i didn't keep you waiting for long. "
Your fear suddenly bloomed from a cold anxious ball to some blooming flower in the middle of your tummy.
Whatever, might just be the five stages of denial.
Getting up on the chair and having a sexy dentist wrap that little stupid piece of tissue and clip it around your neck shouldn't have made you feel hot in the face but it so did.
Until you saw him sit down, man spreading and getting comfortable while grabbing one of those dental mirrors. And the rest of the tools- hanging nearby on some expensive looking machine. But dear god if it didn't make you start shaking, blunt nails digging into the sides of the lush leather of the chair you sat in.
You could feel it start to lower and you were now laying flat down on your back.
Your eyes snapped shut, not to mention your teeth clenching and refusing to open. That same fear was flooding back. You had forgotten that you were supposed to let your doctor get a look at your chompers.
"Sweetheart? Hey… cmon, can you open your mouth for me, please?"
"Mnn…"
"I promise I'll just check up on your teeth, nothing painful."
"Mhnn…"
"Cmon… say ahhhh…"
A gloved finger lightly tugged on your bottom lip, making you peek one eye open to see a worried faced Geto peering down.
You managed to loosen up your jaw, opening up just enough.
"There we go, not so bad. Now, Miss, please keep open for me."
You just nodded yes, trying to keep your tongue from shifting too much.
The little mirror was cold when it clinked against a tooth or two. But besides that, it wasn't too scary.
You did wish it was his fingers inside instead…
Oh.
"Sweetheart.. open up a bit more for me, yeah? It will be quick. I just have to see all of your pretty teeth." Suguru calmly spoke to you, clearly wanting to have you calm down and cooperate. But the tone in his voice made you feel like melting instead of focusing.
You hadn't even noticed you were drooling, eyes now fully open and unable to look away from his focused face, so close… too close.
Those seemingly warm eyes turned, irises locking in with yours.
You swore you saw him try not to smirk before focusing back to looking over the backs of your upper molars. You did open up wider. Getting some small praise… why was he praising you? You liked it.
"Good… you're doing so good, just a bit more. I'm sure you can handle it."
Your eyes kept flicking down from watching his hand to then back to his face. It was like you couldn't decide what was better.
"It seems you have some sensitivity on your second molar, Miss."
You blinked, giving a small nod, unable to make anything besides a "mhm" sound with the mirror still inside.
When Suguru pulled it out you felt a bit sad his hand wasn't anywhere near your mouth anymore.
"Please rinse your mouth." Geto smiled, placing the mirror away to start picking up some other tool.
You glanced over to the little paper cup, watching it getting filled with water- picking it up and swishing the water around in your mouth, glancing over to the dentist with cheeks puffed up from the liquid.
"Spit it out, doll." Suguru chuckled, watching you seem unsure about what to do with it now.
You leaned back down and spat it out, trying to ignore the name he called you so casually, using the flimsy paper towel around your neck to wipe the saliva strings trying to escape your chin.
"Your teeth are healthy and in rather nice condition, but it seems you haven't visited a dentist in a while, hm?" Geto tapped a few fingers on the headrest of the chair, signaling for you to lay back down.
You obviously did as told and tried to answer his question.
Maybe Suguru had caught on by now, because once you opened your mouth a few fingers were pressing down on your tongue and then gently moving side to side as if inspecting your bottom set of teeth, lightly pressing down on your canine.
"Isn't it a bit rude to not answer questions, sweetheart?" He cooed down at you, the thumb of the hand in your mouth softly pressing against your cheek, making you tilt your head, having you look up and meet his amused gaze.
"Wehhll…m..doont.. likkeuh denthisthts…" You tried to babble out with the digits in your mouth, drool already pooling around them.
How embarrassing.
It looked like you were shaking, again, not from fear though.
Something about the way the gloved thumb caressed the side of your cheek and whilst the middle and ring finger were taking their time to spread your saliva around while "inspecting" the rest of your pearly whites had you forgetting why the hell you were even here. The small pain from your molar gone.
"I see… you don't like me then? Not one bit? I'm hurt, Miss… really am." Suguru pretended to pout a bit, the two fingers gliding deeper- you hoped he didn't see how your eyes rolled back, hands unable to hold on to just the sides of the chair and twitching to grab into his arm.
You wanted to say that no, no you did like him but that no came out as a small…
moan.
"Oh?" The hand halted, slowly pulling out- as if teasing you for making such a sound.
The fingers didn't get too far though, gathering the dripping drool to nudge back inside of your parted lips, almost having you splutter.
"I guess i was wrong."
Your hand finally reached up, nervous digits gripping into the white sleeve of the lab coat.
You initiating some sort of touch was like a switch being flicked down.
Suguru pushed himself up, wiping your drool across your cheek while smiling down at you.
The chair silently lifted up, riiiiightt until your face was laying at the perfect height. Just about where his bulge was.
Great.
Sucking a dentist's dick wasn't on your bucket list.
But watching Suguru use his teeth to pull the gloves off and reach down to the waistband of those a bit too oversized scrubs, you already had your lips parting. Again. For a completely different reason now.
Fwop!
A girthy cock smacked you right across the face, you could feel it wanting to twitch from the feeling of your skin.
"Patience, doll."
Your hands struggled to stay put while Geto slowly dragged it back and forth, just rolling his hips and nudging it closer and closer to your mouth- greedy tongue already darting out to try and get a lick in.
"Such a dirty girl, put that back." He gripped the base of the heavy thing, lifting it to smack across your mouth a few times, finally letting it slide over your glossy lips after, making sure to only drag it between them, not inside to let you have a taste.
"You're not so scared anymore, are you, sweetheart?"
"Mnnoo…" You pursed your lips to speak, kissing the pinkish tip before it slid past.
"How cute."
"Let's get you off of this chair, mn?"
-
The floor was a bit hard on your knees, but that wasn't the thing you were worrying about right now.
It was the man standing above you, a large palm playing with your bangs while the other lazily jerked the tempting thing in front of your face.
A dark happy trail disappeared underneath up his shirt, the ivory coat shifting with each of his movements- your nails dug into your knees this time, eyes almost doe and watery by how badly you wanted to lean forward and have Suguru's cock down your throat.
It was cruel, honestly.
"Will you be a good girl and open up wide for me?"
"Yes-"
The meaty thing lightly smacked against your cheek, leaving a light smear of precum on the spot.
"Don't answer me, just do. Let's try this again, hm?"
"Open up. Say Aaaah."
"Aaaaahhh…"
You thickly swallowed, opening your mouth just barely, too focused on staring at the way Suguru's wrist was sloppily dragging the palm back and forth, running across this big vein that you swore you could taste already-
Another smack to your cheek with the fat cock.
"Wider, sweetheart. Be good."
You let out a small whine but finally let your jaw go loose and leaned forward.
The hand in your hair reached further back, gripping into your locks and pushed you forward.
The delicious way that thick girth slid into your mouth… across your tongue and farrr back down to your throat. Not even having you gag surprisingly.
"There we go, finally got what you wanted so bad, yeah, doll?"
"mhnmmhm!" your humming vibrated around the meaty thing stretching your lips and rewarded you with a soft groan from Geto.
The sound of full balls smacking against your chin, lewd gags and wet slurps filled the neat space.
Drool was definitely dripping down your chin and dampening the collar of your shirt.
Not to even talk about the puddle drenching trough your panties…
But Suguru was filling your throat so good you couldn't do anything but blissfully shut your eyes and hold on to your own thighs.
"Feels nice, yeah? Sooo good…" You could hear him start to ramble from above you, both of those large palms cupping the sides of your head to keep it in place as he used your mouth. Clearly this was getting to Geto just as much as you.
"Fff… shit… Will you be a do.. doll and… swallow? Swallow for me?"
How could you say no to such a lovely man.
Suguru almost collapsed, having to let go of your face to grip into the tool trolley nearby, rattling it- making sure to push in alll the way to the hilt, neatly trimmed hairs tickling your nose as your throat convulsed and tried to swallow around the girthy thing down it.
The hot cum spurting down it made you choke and try to pull away for some air. But you definitely did swallow every last drop.
The softening length gently glided out, leaving your throat feeling empty.
-
Well then.
After your dentist helped you get cleaned up a bit and made sure you were alright.
It was time to go home.
Tooth still sensitive.
But it's okay, Dr. Geto made sure to leave a spot for you to come in next week. On a Wednesday.
And the week after that. For free.
How kind.
Seems like your fear of going to the dentist had disappeared too.
Yoon's notes: FOR MY LOVELY MOMMMY @serpenttine. I am still very i donno insecure about my writing after everything and doing a char i have never done IM SHITTING MYSELF SCARED. but i love drea so much i wanted to make this special, to show her how much i care for her. AND AS A CONGRATS ON HER BIG MILESTONE IN FOLLOWERS. you deserve the world mama. MWAH I HOPE YOU LIKE
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