Satoru loves when you sweet talk him after a mission
ᥫ᭡
You were sat in bed patiently waiting for him to get back from a mission your ears perk up once you hear the front door click and satorus heavy footsteps leading to your shared bedroom door.
He sighs heavily opening the door not bothering to shut it behind him, taking off his sorcerer jacket tossing it somewhere on the floor then changing out of his entire uniform just leaving himself in his boxers.
“How was your mission?” you ask, eyes watching him climb into bed. He doesn’t respond for a moment still trying to get somewhat comfortable in bed, he shifts onto his back arm going above his head to prop it up a little bit more.
he lets out a soft sigh once he was comfortable, free arm coming out tugging you into his warm side.
“it was fine, im just happy to be back home with my sweet girl,” his fingers drawing shapes on the soft skin of your hip.
Your hand goes up to his face gently pulling down his blindfold, slightly dull eyes looking down at yours. You could tell he went a bit overboard just by that look and that one look alone made your heart clench.
your finger goes to the bridge of his nose trailing down to the tip of it, satorus eyes flutter shut as your finger continues to trace his facial feature. Nose, lips, to his white eyebrows.
“you’re so beautiful,” you whisper softly, finger trailing down to his cheek gently tracing the soft skin. He only him softly at yours words - white eyelashes flutter softly his body reacting to your tender touch and sweet words.
“you’re so resilient, doing everything for everyone all the time. working so hard everyday when you never asked to be the one to burden all of it.” satorus lips part once your words register in his sensitive brain his eyes flutter open looking down at you.
“what’s got my sweet girl all lovey dovey tonight?” he teases trying to hide how much your words effected him, yet his voice was soft you could tell how much it did. his eyes zeroed in on yours taking in every facial feature of yours as he feels your soft finger pad tracing his jawline.
“just wanna let you know how much i adore you,” Satoru heart clench’s his hand on your hip leading up cupping the side of your face.
“yea?” his lips turning into a small smile, you nod your head, finger pad trailing back to his lips tracing the soft curve of his top soft lip. Satoru lets out a small sigh through his nose - thumb caressing the side of your cheek.
“well then-,” he shifts, his arm going out behind his head laying his head back down on the pillow getting comfortable. He pulls you closer letting you snuggle into his chest.
“how about my sweet girl tells me more about how resilient i am.” he says with that same small smile on his lips, his eyes flutter back shut - large hands rubbing up and down your back acting as a method to lull you to sleep.
And of course you did.
For the next couple minutes you go on whispering loving praises to him. All about how resilient, adoring, caring and selfless he is your voice alone lulling him to sleep first. His breath evening out as his large hands stall on the middle part of your back. you press a kiss under his jaw before snuggling your face back into his neck - eyes flutter shut letting out a soft sigh.
“love you, sweet face.” you whisper against his neck, the sound of his breathing lulling you to sleep.
Once again like promised, he was back home after some demanding mission with the other thing left on him was his brain being overwhelmed from his technique which would cost you him whining about how much his head hurt while you cooked chocolate chip pancakes for his sensitive brain.
A shy chuckle came from behind and you turned towards the familiar face.
"Oh my god," came out with a laugh, while looking at your university boyfriend, whom you've been dating for one year. Just before meeting your fiancé. "What are you doing here?"
You gave him a hug, feeling lean arms closing around yours.
You didn't expect to see him in a local supermarket, around the area you've just moved to a month ago, but the world was truly such a small place.
It was nice to see a familiar face, even though he was your ex. You've never held a grudge, and your relationship started the same as it ended – without any fireworks. It was nice, fun, but never anything more than that. When you decided to end things, he took it as well as you thought he would, and both of you moved on.
And a few days after the break-up, you've met this handsome, arrogant, loud, playful, perverted, cocky man, who happened to stay with you for the next four years and call himself your fiancé.
The same one, who you could hear from two alleys away, running your way with another stupid thing you wouldn't agree to buy.
"Baby, my sweet baby, can we buy–" but before Gojo could finish, he noticed another man standing next to you. Too close.
His demeanour? Changed. As if touched by a magic wand.
Face turned serious, muscular back strengthened, as he walked your way slowly, predatory, with one hand gripping the bag of XXL marshmallows and the other curling around your waist.
"Hello," he mumbled, looking at the stranger from above as, of course, no one in this supermarket was as tall as him.
And also as funny, handsome, strong, smart, with the biggest di–
"Satoru, meet Ino. He was my first boyfriend at the university," you giggled and Gojo tightened his grip on your waist.
Why was this pathetic man making you laugh?
"Ino, please meet my–"
"Husband."
You glanced up, seeing a completly serious, almost stony expression on Satoru's face.
"Oh, I didn't know you were married!" Ino said, gripping Satoru's extended hand.
His face twisted in a slight grimace, feeling the definitely too strong grip of your... husband?
"Yes, I also didn't know," you mumbled to yourself, quiet enough to not let them hear you.
"Gojo Satoru, nice to meet you," his voice was polite, but hand still clutched on poor Ino's palm.
You jabbed him with an elbow because taking your ex-boyfriend to an ER with broken fingers was the last thing you wanted to do on a Saturday evening.
Ino cracked an awkward laugh, massaging his fingers.
"Gojo as in–"
"Gojo Corporations. Yes, the biggest media outlet in Japan."
Oh my fucking god.
"That's really nice," Ino cracked an awkward laugh, looking back your way. "Well, maybe we'll see each other more often. I've noticed this neighbourhood is full of young married couples with children, so–"
"We have two."
Both you and Ino shuddered. You, because your fucking fiancé was getting ahead of himself, Ino, because he honestly started to feel threatened. Well, it was true that you were trying for a baby (started exactly a week ago), but you weren't mad enough to already have two at the age of twenty-eight.
"Satoru, what are you–"
Before you could finish, Gojo's hand moved down your belly. "Third on a way."
Oh, he must've been joking.
You looked pleadingly, prayerfully at Ino, trying to say please just go already, but he just tilted his head, eyes moving over your body.
"Oh three that's... already quite a lot–"
"Yeah, but you know how it is," Satoru's ocean eyes dropped down to your fuming, absolutely furious face, before he cracked a grin. "I just can't keep her off my di–"
"Well, Ino, thank you for saying hi," you quickly interrupted, jabbing his abs with an elbow once again. But this time, making sure it would leave a nasty bruise. "I'm sure we can catch up another day."
He nodded politely, glancing up at Satoru's painfully twisted face.
"My wife and I just moved in, so I'm sure she'll be more than happy to make some friends," Ino said, scratching the back of his head. "Actually, she's also pregnant, so maybe you could, well, give her some tips. It's our first child, and we're both pretty stressed."
You slowly glanced back at Satoru, and he shuddered at the murderous gaze you washed him with. "Yes, sure, as a mother of three, I may have some advice."
And on the same evening, Gojo was pounding you. Pounding, in every raw, maddening, nasty meaning of this word, with knees welded to your chest and his cock thrusting all the way up to your womb.
He had you folded in half, ass up, saliva dripping down your chin, his cocky grin never leaving your feverish cheeks.
"Oh fuuuuck, baby, you're gripping me so tight, ahhh–" a deep groan rolled from his throat, hips moving in synch with your shallow breaths.
Nothing but squelch, squelch, squelch of your drenched cunt and sweet, slippery moans filled the foggy bedroom.
"Swallowing me like a slut, milking fucking dry," he chortled, one hand going down to your puffy folds and spreading them nicely with two fingers. He smiled, looking at your fluttering cunt swallowing his girthy cock, with a creamy ring forming around the cherry-flushed hole, and a sweet clit trembling under his thumb. "My sweet baby, love to see you stuffed full. Fuck, can't wait to fill you up, breed you like a good fucking slut, my wifey hehe–"
"Nghh s-shut up! You've embarrassed me today so much! You– ahhhh," words stuck in your throat, when he rolled your clit between his fingers. "Fuckfuckfuck, Satoru, fuck, so good, mghmmm."
"Mmm, good, right? You feel sooo goood, baby, getting fucked by my cock, being bred by my cum," he started to thrust faster, deeper, ravaging your pulsing walls, pushing his shaft till its head nuzzled warmly against your cervix. "Fuck, can't wait to see you fat and pregnant. My sweet mama jumping on my cock, fucking hell," he shuddered.
"S-stop treating me like I'm fucking breeding cow," you cried, feeling an orgasm slowly building up in your jammed lower belly.
His thumb rolled your clit, cock pushed deeper and harsher than ever, as if he wanted to make sure that the next burst would go straight into your womb. And after it, he would lift your hips for at least five minutes, making sure that not even a drop would leak out from your creamy cunt.
"What do you mean? I don't see any of my calves running around. But give me time and we'll gonna fill a fucking barn."
Oh, he was so disgustingly, obnoxiously filthy, with this arrogant grin, muscular shoulder and smooth skin swirling with droplets. You clamped on his cock, and he hissed, throwing his head back.
"Fuck I'm gonna be such a good daddy. I promise, fuckfuckfuck," his thrusts became messier, sloppier, cock brusing your cervix with mean, sticky precum. "You gonna call me daddy? Hm? I can be your daddy too, you know?"
"S-shut up and make me–nghhh–cum!"
And a second later – he finally stilled. A low groan rolled from the deepest parts of his lungs, hands pressed your thighs even meaner, till your ass fully lifted off the bed and stuck to his heavy balls. He was pumping you like a fucking animal, with thick, heavy ropes filling your womb, sticking like a spider's net and glueing your hole shut.
You shuddered, spasmed, came all over his abdomen and cock, drenching the freshly changed sheets of your bedding.
Oh he's gonna be the one to change them again!
He breathed heavily, still stuffing you full, although his cock started to slowly soften.
There was a moment of silence, before you've noticed another stupid idea coiling in his mind.
"I've heard the better the orgasm, the higher the chance of getting pregnant."
You scoffed, nevertheless going for the second round, and third, and fourth, till your belly overflowed with a cum, and Satoru finally lay down on your chest with a satisfied hum.
for someone who doesn’t want to be a mother I tend to write a lot of breeding kink fics…….
the first thing you notice when you wake up is that satoru is not in bed.
which is suspicious, because your husband treats sleep like a sacred ritual.
you blink at the sunlight pushing through the curtains, reach for your phone — 7:12 a.m. — and frown.
it is his day off, so it is too early for him to be alive on purpose.
but then you hear it. whispering from down the hall. dramatic whispering that belongs to cartoon thieves or satoru trying to be subtle.
you drag yourself out of bed and follow the sound to your daughter’s room. the door is half open. satoru is crouched beside her bed in wrinkled pajamas, his white hair wild and of course, his sunglasses on for absolutely no reason.
your five-year-old is already vibrating with excitement. “did she come? did she come?”
“of course she came,” satoru whispers, a bit offended. “do you think the tooth fairy would skip the bravest little sorcerer princess in tokyo?”
you lean on the doorframe. “why are you two already awake? and you,” you point at satoru, “yes, you. why are you wearing sunglasses inside at seven in the morning?”
he jumps. actually jumps.
he turns his head around slowly. “my head hurts. and it’s tooth fairy day!”
“mama! mama look! she left something!”
she lifts the pillow with both hands.
there is a thick stack of bills underneath it, clipped together neatly with a shiny silver paper clip.
not coins. not a folded note with glitter.
cash.
you step forward slowly and slide one bill free.
there were at least five hundred dollars.
you turn your head toward him, terrifying calm. “what is this.”
he presses a finger to his lips. “shh.”
“satoru.”
“shh,” he repeats, more urgently. “don’t say anything. you do not want her to know that the tooth fairy does not exist, do you?” he whispers in your ear while you watch your daughter still jumping on her bed from the excitement.
you grab his sleeve and drag him into the hallway, closing the door while your daughter happily counts like a tiny accountant.
“she is five years old,” you whisper-hiss. “you cannot give her five hundred dollars for losing one tooth. she will become spoiled.”
he leans against the wall, unfazed. “first of all, relax. second — babe, hear me out, please. it is her first tooth.”
“normal people give five dollars. maybe ten.”
“normal people are boring. that is why we are not normal.”
“normal people are responsible.”
“i am responsible,” he says. “responsibly generous.”
you stare at him dead in the eyes.
he sighs. “baby, look at me. i am satoru gojo, i am rich. why should i not spoil my daughter? she is the best baby girl ever. she deserves to be spoiled.”
“satoru, she is going to expect five hundred dollars every time now.”
“great,” he says. “that is long-term motivation for dental care.”
“that is not how psychology works.”
he bends closer, his voice softer now. “did you see her face when she checked under the pillow?”
you hesitate — because you did. pure disbelief. wonder so big it almost hurt to watch.
he smiles gently. “she treated that tooth like treasure. she brushed it twice. wrapped it in tissue. wrote a note and redrew the heart three times because it was not symmetrical. she said she was way too excited for the tooth fairy. baby, i just could not give her a sad five-dollar bill like a parking refund.”
you really try to stay annoyed, but the edge is gone.
he notices immediately and moves in, his arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. he was so pleased with himself.
oh, you hate him.
“also,” he adds, “i left fairy glitter.”
your eyes widen.
“and a note in curly handwriting.”
“you practiced fairy handwriting.”
“for forty minutes,” he says proudly. “cramped my hand but definitely worth it. i never noticed how my handwriting sucks before.”
you hated how much of a good dad he was.
you press your lips together to keep from laughing, failing anyway. he squeezes you tighter in victory.
“okay, i will leave it alone this time.” you point your finger at his chest. “but you are not doing this for every tooth.”
he looks down at your finger like it personally offended him, then back up at you, one of his eyebrows lifting above the rim of his sunglasses.
“satoru. i’m serious.”
“okay, okay.” he catches your wrist gently, thumb warm where it rests against your pulse. “i hear you.”
“do you? really?”
“no,” he answers honestly. “but i enjoy the performance.”
you try to pull your hand back; he does not let go. instead he leans in.
“counteroffer,” he whispers. “we pretend i agreed and future me handles future crimes.”
“that is not how agreements work.”
“it is how marriage works.”
you exhale through your nose. he grins — victory again, stupidly pretty and fully aware of it.
you shake your head. “you are impossible.”
“and yet,” he says, tapping your pointed finger back toward your own chest, “you picked me.”
he finally releases your wrist but only to slide his hand into yours instead, squeezing once before heading back toward the room.
you follow, already knowing this is a battle you definitely did not win.
you walk back into the room together. your daughter is stacking the bills into uneven towers, already planning to buy a castle, a spaceship and ‘at least twelve dogs.’
satoru kneels beside her, hyping every idea like it is genius.
ridiculous man.
over-the-top father.
but the way he looks at her — like she hung the stars herself — makes the whole insane five-hundred-dollar tooth feel, somehow, exactly right.
this is actually inspired by zayn talking about his daughter!! here.
husband!gojo who peers into the kitchen like a cat just hoping to snatch the baked goods you make off the baking tray.
husband!gojo who pouts whenever you swat his hand away from the delicious treats resting on the cooling rack.
husband!gojo who loves to bake with you because it means he gets to lick the cookie dough or icing off of a spatula.
husband!gojo whose nose scrunches in concentration every time you give him a cupcake or a layer of cake to cover in a thin coat of your lemon buttercream frosting. he takes a strange amount of time to pipe delicate details onto the cake, purely because he likes your praise.
husband!gojo who loves to make heart shaped cookies just because you find it sweet.
husband!gojo whose social media feed is filled with pastry chefs teaching their audience how to make desserts or how to elevate certain dishes, he secretly saves them hoping to make something for you.
husband!gojo who loves it whenever you make any kind of cultural desserts you have.
husband!gojo who gets frustrated with his egg whites not reaching the optimum level of fluffiness like yours do.
husband!gojo who surprises you with cool gadgets to make your baking process a lot smoother.
husband!gojo who only gets the freshest and most expensive ingredients to fuel his mild (strong) sugar addiction.
husband!gojo who squeals like a school girl whenever you pack a snack into his bento box, and practically combusts when he sees the cute note you write him.
husband!gojo who loves taking you on trips and especially loves going food tasting outings with you.
husband!gojo who makes a private Instagram account just for the two of you to post your food reviews or silly time lapses of both of you navigating a new recipe.
husband!gojo who looks fondly at the poor attempt of the ‘blind, mute, deaf” challenge video the two of you made for fun.
husband!gojo who got you matching hello kitty aprons.
husband!gojo who never ever lets you do the dishes because after all you did spend nearly a day making the perfect eclairs for him to suck up like a vacuum.
You shouldn’t fall asleep around a man who treats temptation like permission.
Synopsis : Your mom marries rich. Now you're stuck living in a mansion with the most insufferable man you've ever met. A spoiled, arrogant asshole who looks at you like you're something he scraped off his shoe. The feeling is mutual. Until....
Content warning : explicit content • stepcest • step sibling • somnophilia • non-con/dubcon • power imbalance • heavy tit play • groping • humping • cum play • degradation • arrogant prick gojo • filthy smut • strong language • 18+ • mdni.
A/n : hey loves, I've clearly tagged this fic. so please don't cry in my comments about it being exactly what it says on the tin. enjoy!!
You weren’t supposed to end up here.
Not in some massive house with chandeliers that look like they could pay your college tuition. But your mom somehow managed to marry a man with more money than most people knew what to do with. You don’t know how she pulled it off, and honestly, you don’t want to.
Now you live here, stuck between pretending to belong and trying not to breathe too loud in case the marble floors echo judgment.
It’s fine. You can handle pretending.
What you can’t handle is Gojo Satoru.
The youngest son of that man. The one who didn’t even show up to his father’s wedding because he had "better things to do.”
He’s tall, smug, stupidly attractive, and knows it. Walks like he owns the air in the room. Looks at you like you’re something that got delivered to the wrong address. Every interaction with him is an insult wrapped in silk.
“Didn’t know charity cases came with plus ones,” he’d said once when you and mom arrived with luggage that looked embarrassing next to his brand-name everything.
Or the morning you tried to make coffee in the kitchen and he walked in, hair a mess, yawning like he hadn’t slept in years. You froze for half a second—because, yeah, he’s a dick, but he’s also that good-looking. And he caught it. Of course, he did.
“You can look, sweetheart. I get it.” he’d said, lips twitching. “Not your fault, though—most people do.”
The sheer audacity of that sentence made your eye twitch. You told him to choke.
He laughed and actually said, “Sounds like you're the one who's eager for it.”
Since then, you avoid him as much as possible. You eat at different times, use the other staircase, and pretend he doesn’t exist when he walks by in sweatpants and zero shame.
It’s a delicate system. You stay out of each other’s way, and the house stays quiet.
Until tonight.
The others went out—your mom and her husband doing whatever rich people do when they say “business dinner.” The staff had gone home hours ago. House was dead silent, except for the hum of the AC and the faint noise of the TV upstairs.
You were sprawled on the couch, watching some random show, too lazy to go to your room. The glow from the screen flickered over the glass railing, throwing light on the expensive decor you still weren’t used to.
You weren’t thinking about him. You never try to think about him. He just shows up in your head like a song you hate but know every word to.
The guy’s too pretty for his own good. Snowy silk hair, those ridiculous blue eyes, the kind of confidence that makes you want to throw a punch. Still, you’ve caught yourself looking far more times than you’ll admit, but you always end up annoyed after. All that beauty wasted on a prick like him. Some people win the genetic lottery and still manage to act like jerks.
What a fuckin' shame.
The soft glow of the TV blurred at the edges as your eyes grew heavier and heavier. Couch was warm, the blanket softer than it looked, and before you realized, your phone slipped from your hand, screen dimming out. You were out cold.
And down the hall, Gojo’s door creaked open.
He stepped out, jacket slung over one shoulder, keys in hand, probably heading out to do whatever rich, bored boys do on a friday night.
He was halfway down the hallway when he saw you, making him stop dead in his tracks. He hadn’t expected you to be here.
You were sprawled on the leather couch, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. One arm dangled off the edge, fingers brushing the floor. The neck of your tshirt had ridden down, twisted just enough to bare your left breast completely. The nipple was stiff in the AC’s chill, the curve heavy and full against your ribcage.
He’d never seen you like this. Vulnerable and exposed, not the annoying girl he looked down for invading his space. His gaze locked on the swell of flesh, the way it spilled slightly under your arm.
He knew they were big, couldn’t miss it with those tight tops you wore, parading around him—but seeing it like this, offered up for him? His cock throbbed hard against his zipper, a hot, insistent ache. He took a step closer, the carpet muffling his movements.
Such a fuckin’ whore, aren’t you? the audacity of yours to be in his house, spread out on his couch, tits out like a desperate slut, hoping his pretty hands would end up all over you. Isn't that right?
As if he’d ever touch something as lowly as you.
His fngers twitched at his sides. He’d come over meaning to yank that shirt back up, hide the tempting swell of your tit before it drove him insane. But the hand had a mind of its own. It drifted forward instead, palm hovering just above your bare skin, close enough to feel the warmth rising off you.
Your chest rose and fell in soft, steady breaths, that pretty nipple tightening even more under the cool air.
Just gonna cover this bitch up, he told himself.
Bullshit. His little friend down there told another story. It was strained hard against his slacks, thick and throbbing, calling him a liar with every pulse.
His thumb brushed the soft underside first, feather-light and testing. It was warm. So fucking soft it made his mouth water. He swallowed thickly, the other hand gripping the armrest for control. Then he gave in, palming the full heavy weight of your tit, fingers spreading wide to claim it. A gentle squeeze made the soft flesh spill between them as his thumb dragged slow, deliberate circles around that stiff peak, teasing it harder.
A low groan escaped him when you shifted slightly in sleep, arching your back just enough to push your tit deeper into his hand.
He groaned low and pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it. It pebbled tighter, and he felt his own pulse hammering in his throat. He massaged it slowly, feeling the bud stiffen impossibly harder under his fingers.
He wanted to pull back, needed to, but the urge to feel more, taste it, was a fever in his blood. His eyes darted to the hallway, empty and silent. Swallowing hard, he sank to his knees beside the couch, the leather creaking softly under his shifting weight.
Just a taste, he bargained with the throbbing ache in his gut. He leaned in and dragged his tongue in one long, sloppy wet stripe from the soft underside of your tit all the way up to that stiff nipple. A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat at the taste of your warm skin. Then his mouth closed over it, sucking your nipple deep between his lips. Flicking the hard bud fast and filthy with his tongue, sucking hard enough to pull your soft flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. He released it with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting his lips to your swollen bud, only to latch back on even harder, nursing it like he was trying to milk you.
His free hand yanked the neck of your t-shirt down roughly, fully exposing your other breast. Both of your fat tits were out now— soft and glistening with his spit.
The sight punched the air from his lungs. His free hand slid across your stomach as he reached your other breast. Grabbing it softly, fingers spreading wide to cradle the heavy weight, trying not to wake you, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. He massaged both tits now, kneading them like dough, pulling and squeezing until your nipples were puffy, swollen nubs.
He wanted to stop. Should stop, but his hips ground against the couch edge, cock making a sticky mess in his pants.
He couldn’t fight it anymore. With a rough yank, he ripped his slacks open and shoved them down his thighs, letting his fat cock spring free, drooling sticky strings of pre-cum from the slit like it was already begging to breed something. He wrapped his big hand around the shaft, groaning deep as he squeezed it hard enough to make the veins bulge.
He started pumping it fast, thumb smearing the leaking mess all over the fat head with every brutal upward stroke. At the same time he dove back down, sucking your nipple back into his greedy mouth.
Wet, obscene sounds filled the silent room— the slick of his fist flying over his dick mixed with his hungry breaths. He nursed your tit, hard wet pulls that made the soft flesh bounce in his grip, spit running down the curve of it.
But it still wasn’t enough for the greedy bastard. Mind kept flashing to your untouched cunt, probably leaking under those tiny shorts. Just the thought made his heavy balls draw up tight, forcing another thick pulse of pre to spill over his knuckles. It had his fingers dug into your tit too hard, leaving angry red marks.
He froze, breath catching. "Shit. Did I wake her?"
But you shifted, twisting away and burying your face into the couch cushions. Your back arched so prettily as you pulled from him.
His mouth lost your nipple with a wet pop, and a frustrated growl rumbled deep in his chest. Eyes dragging down the delicious dip of your waist, straight to those shorts that were doing a piss-poor job of hiding what belonged to him.
Round, perky ass— plump, and practically begging to be spread open and used. The fabric stretched taut over each cheeks, outlining their fullness while you lay on your side, a gift he was dying to unwrap.
Fuck... all this time?
There had been an ass like this right under his roof, sitting within arm’s reach every single day, and he’d never bothered to use it? How the hell had he been this goddamn ignorant?
His cock jumped eagerly as he kept stroking. He needed those shorts gone. Needed to see that bare cunt right fucking now.
He leaned in close, fingers hooking into the waistband of your cotton shorts, tugging them down slow, watching the fabric peel off your hips and bunch at your knees, revealing twin globes of perfect flesh.
Shit... this was what he’d been ignoring all this time? the arrogant prick in him wanted to laugh at how blind he’d been. He needed to ruin it. Needed to cover those plump cheeks in thick ropes of his cum until it dripped down your skin.
His thumbs dug deep into the soft flesh, spreading your ass wide open. There she was— a pretty cunt, puffy and shiny with slick and the little hole clenching around nothing.
“Look at that,” he muttered, letting out a low whistle. His index finger slid through your soaked folds, dragging all that warm slick up to your clit before he started rubbing it in rough, slow circles. You whimpered softly, hips shifting and pushing back against his hand like your greedy pussy already knew it was him.
He kept rubbing your pussy with slow strokes, slick coating his fingertip as it slid effortlessly over the mess. He could feel every pulse and throb, your cunt practically sucking at the air. He bit his lip bloody holding back from shoving his dick into that tight hole right fucking now. Wanting to fuck you stupid, to feel the gummy walls choke him, the thought of it nearly buckled his knees. With a groan, he pulled his finger back, thick string of slick connecting to your pussy for a second before snapping.
Without hesitation, he shoved them into his mouth, sucking hard. The taste exploded on his tongue and his eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy.
At that hell of a moment all he wanted was to be balls deep in that fuck hole, slide in and out until it milked him dry. But the clock was ticking. He had somewhere he needs to be. Jaw clenched, he grabbed his aching dick, pumping it roughly in his fist, finally aiming it between your thighs.
The swollen head dragged through your soaked folds, smearing your slick over his throbbing tip. He bit back a moan, teeth grinding as he rubbed himself against your pussy, everything too much.
Heaven wasn’t some distant dream—it was right here, between your thighs, in your leaking cunt. Gojo was already at his fucking limit, cock sliding through your soaked folds once, twice—and the swollen head caught on your clit on the third thrust, rubbing hard against that swollen bud.
That was it.
Three slides of his cock on your folds and it was endgame for the mighty Satoru gojo. He covered his own mouth as his hips jerked forward uncontrollably. Thick, hot ropes of cum exploded from his cock, splattering across your bare cunt in thick, white stripes. It pulsed out of him in violent spurts, painting your glistening flesh with sticky streaks.
Satoru’s sat on his knees, chest heaving, eyes dark and smug, and yeah… he knows exactly what the fuck just happened.
Does he feel even a hint of guilt?
Hell no. Not even a shred. And why would he? The bastard loved every second of it. He even had the audacity to pull back your shorts like he was done using your hole, not even giving a damn what you’d think when you woke up.
That’s the fun part—letting you wake up, piecing it all together, maybe stumbling into him later, cheeks flushed, begging for it and even if you didn't, it doesn't matter cause he takes what he wants anyways.
And let’s be real… how could you even say no to that face? That cocky, impossible, infuriatingly perfect face? You can’t.
look at me || satoru gojo x f!reader, pure fluff, jjk drabbles, first year au, 446 word count (◡̀_◡́)ᕤ
thinking about satoru noticing shy!reader and their inability to hold eye contact...
the boy was a natural observer, icy blue eyes remaining vigilant for any odd phenomenons in the area, both on and off duty—whether it be during missions or even on campus. the boy was always watching.
maybe that's why he immediately took notice of that odd habit of yours, that whenever he would talk to you, your first instinct would be to look away. hell, he doesn't even think you've held eye contact for longer than 10 seconds.
and that's truly such a shame, because...
"i like your face," he blurts out—huge dopey grin plastered against his lips. the teasing in his voice doesn't lessen, even when you nervously fidget under his gaze. it was cute.
if only you actually looked at him though.
you shift your weight from one foot to the other, eyes focusing on the passing cars straight ahead, and trying to ignore the increasing heat beneath your skin, "...you can't say things like that so casually."
satoru chuckles, "just couldn't resist—can't exactly blame a guy for trying~"
he leans down, tilting his head in your line of sight to meet your gaze, but of course, you immediately avert your eyes in a panic. he pouts, moving himself again in whatever direction you were staring at, "why do you always do that, huh? you never look at me!"
you mumble something incoherent, voice so faint it's barely classified as a whisper.
the boy hums, raising a single brow as you briefly glance at him, subtle amusement seeping into his tone, "or don't tell me you've already fallen for my dashing good looks—that you can't even meet my gaze, hm~?"
he could only freeze as your eyes darted away, your fingers subconsciously twiddling at your side, with you still remaining as quiet as a mouse.
wait wait wait—you actually—?!
you shyly glance up at him, hesitant but honest, "s-sorry, your eyes are just... too pretty."
thump thump. thump thump. thump thump.
he's speechless for a moment—satoru blabbermouth gojo is actually at a loss for words. wow... who could've guessed?
the boy groans, dramatically throwing his arms around you in a matter of seconds, and pressing you against his chest. your breath hitches, but you don't pull away.
as if you'd want to anyways.
his heart is nearly beating out of his ribs, trying to gain some stability before doing anything rash. damn it all. and damn that cute tone of yours!
he holds you closer, voice muffled against your neck that it sends shivers down your spine, and a jolt to your pulse, "just what am i gonna do with you..."
Synopsis: When you return to your hometown to visit your aunt for the summer, you plan on finding a suitor and marrying into money the way your family has prophesied for you for years. You just don’t expect that suitor to be Gojo Satoru, cocky, popular country artist and heartthrob. And the man whose heart you broke years ago after he got you pregnant. You weren’t ready for his world then and you tell yourself that you’re not now. But when he offers you a friendly drink after his show, how can you refuse the starlit hottie? And how will you tell him that he’s the father of your child?
Warnings: 18+ (MDNI); No Curse AU; Small Town Romance AU; Country Boy!Reader x Country to City Girl!Reader; Exes to Lovers; College Romance Trope; Accidental Pregnancy; T/W for Abortion Talk; Highkey Flirting; Sexual Tension; Love Confession; Public Sex; Outdoor Sex; Cunnilingus; Mommy Bod Worship; Sundress Season; Spanking; Tittyfuck; Deepthroat; Riding; Fucking From Bottom; Mating Press; Daddy Kink; Tongue Piercing; Dick Piercing; Switch!Gojo x Switch!Reader; Breeding Kink; Raw Creampie; Aftercare
Word Count: 13.4k
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!
Writer's Note: I finished this early lmaooo so here's my VERY FIRST INSTALLMENT FOR MY GOOD BELLE SERIES!!! I hope y'all enjoy reading!! <3 -love, Jazz
Credits: Gojo art above by 1004_shvn! Dividers by @chachachannah & @kodaswrld!
Read on AO3 HERE!
“Utahime, why the hell are we at a concert venue? You said we were goin’ out to dinner!”
You sit next to your friend in the concert venue, somewhere close to the front on the ground level but not quite dead in front of the stage. You glare at the long-haired girl among the crowd of eager country fans in their cowboy hats and boots, mostly women and girls, from high school students to college girls to older ladies in their golden years.
“We just did!” Utahime protests, barely looking away from teasing her long, black locks in her phone under her cowboy hat that she bought from the merch station. “A very hearty steak dinner if I can remember correctly. Those BuzzBallz are talkin’ to me.”
The BuzzBallz she consumed in your Uber ride on the way to the concert that she didn’t tell you about when you thought you were going to see a movie. You should’ve known something was up since Utahime was wearing her sexy halter top, denim mini skirt, and told you to dress in your “MILFy best” for tonight’s festivities.
You threw on your favorite wedges and sundress for the occasion, the kind with spaghetti straps and skater ruffles that compliment your curves given to you by your baby. Why didn’t you question Utahime then? “Oh, no, no,” you groan, pinching your sinuses. “My aunt is gonna kill me! She thinks we’re out havin’ a fancy, quiet dinner and a movie!”
That was why you aunt had you take a break from her “lessons” about finding a suitable husband—lessons that included attending endless parties around your small town in the upper crust world of Southern society with your daughter in tow (for some anyway; for others, your aunt had her personal maid watch her).
“And she can still think that!” Utahime argues, wrapping an arm around her neck. “If you look at it my way, this is a movie…just with a really hot country singer in his jeans flexin’ his cute butt and his big d–”
“Utahime,” you firmly say, cutting her off. “Don’t even. My aunt would have your head if she found out how you were talkin’ to her niece.” Your friend laughs, waving off your warning. “Oh, please! That woman adores me!”
And it’s true. Your aunt doesn’t like many people in this world, but she likes your longtime friend Utahime. She considers Utahime to be someone that was 100% there for you during your pre material pregnancy and the dark time afterwards fueled by postpartum depression and transiting from small town to city life.
“Plus, this will getcha a chance to come out and have some fun, girl,” she giggles with a wink at you. “And find your pretty ass a suitor. Ya think your folks will appreciate any of the fine cowboys in this crowd?”
“Please,” you chuckle and take a sip of your beer, feeling the alcohol’s affects; you had a BuzzBall in the car so you feel a slight throb and a comfortable flush. “My aunt is lookin’ for the highest payin’ bidder for me and mine. If he wants me then he’s gonna have to want my baby too.”
Utahime applauds that, raising her beer high. “Oooh, so we cruisin’ for a brand new daddy for little Tara too! I’m on board!”
Then you feel your phone vibrate in her crossbody, already knowing who it is. “Speakin’ of which…” You answer the phone, smiling. “Hey, Auntie!” you shout. “How’s–”
“Y/N, where ever are the juice boxes you provided for Tara?” she immediately snaps, her Southern accent twinging her words. You have to hold the phone away from your ear because of how loud she is. “She keeps askin’ for me these God-forsaken apple juice packages!”
You giggle at your daughter’s antics, knowing your aunt would have her hands full with the little 5-year old. “Check her Hello Kitty duffle in the guest room. It’s full of her snacks.”
Your aunt scoffs, ever the haughty older Southern belle through and through, wearing her church hats and every piece of jewelry she owns. “You’re spoilin’ this child too much, you know. Soon, she’ll be as plump as a tomato and hard to control!”
You roll your eyes at her lecture, knowing damn well your aunt insisted you bring Tara along for the trip to her estate for the summer. Your aunt spoils everything she loves, including her poodles. “I’ll keep that in mind, Auntie. Sorry.”
There is a sudden whoop from the background and a beer bottle breaking, making you flinch. “What was that?” she asks. You feel your blood run cold and quickly, you look for an escape. “Nothin’, Auntie! Gotta go, love you and Tara-bear, bye bye!” Then you hang up and huff in relief. “That was close. I was in for an earful.”
An earful about how being at a concert with a bunch of drunks and girls in daisy dukes isn’t “proper”. Your aunt is very old school—and rather internally misogynistic—, so she swears up and down that to be a sophisticated young woman in high society is the way to get men…at least the type of men she and your folks are trying to pair you with.
Doctors, lawyers, politicians, councilmen, etc. You only went along with this trip not in the hopes of finding a respectable man to eventually marry but to come back home and get out of the city for the summer season. And to finally hush up your folks who keep asking you, “Y/N, when are you gonna find a daddy for Tara and get married?” Not that you told your aunt this though.
“Well, she’ll be less rough with you once we getcha a new man.” Utahime wiggles her eyebrows at you while you just sigh, pinching your sinuses. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this, Utahime. I ain’t interested in no man but my family swears it’ll benefit me and Skylar.”
“Then maybe you should trust ‘em,” Utahime suggests with a comforting smile. “City men are different from the ones here, honey. You know that!” When she turns away to take photos of the stage, you frown at her statement, thinking of one Southern man in particular. “Tell me about it,” you grumble.
Luckily, she doesn’t hear you. “And if you don’t get a relationship or a shiny diamond ring, there’s always somethin’ else you can get out of a Southern man here.” She gives you an not-so-friendly smirk that’s so suggestive that it would make a nun blush. “Shut up, you slut,” you snort. “You’re so nasty.”
“Lady, when’s the last time you got yourself some dick, girl?” she scoffs. “Seriously! You’re a fuckin’ MILF and no city guys were bustin’ your door in?”
“A woman with a kid ain’t as hot as you think,” you laugh. “And besides, I wasn’t interested. I only came here to get out of the city and introduce my daughter to my hometown.”
Utahime is that friend that swears that sex is the answer to everything, especially sex with no strings attached. Though she is a romantic like you, she participates in weekend hookups and swimming through dating apps for her latest catch of the night.
You used to do the same, but after realizing how fucking weird men act around women with kids—either fetishizing them or ghosting them entirely—, you decided that you were better suited to be alone. However, you can’t deny the loneliness that creeps in late at night when Tara is fast asleep and it’s only you.
No school, no PTA meetings, no trips to the ice cream parlor or the park to keep your 5-year old occupied during the summer. Just you and your tiger strips, full breasts, thick thighs, and an aching need for companionship and affection.
“Well, just think about it,” Utahime says, tossing an arm around you. “And have some fun tonight! You deserve some time off from bein’ a mommy!”
You smile, raising your beer to match hers. “Cheers,” you giggle, clinking your beer bottle with hers. You turn back to the stage, noticing that instruments have been set up and the staff is done testing the pyro, smoke machines, and the microphones. “Now where’s this heartthrob everybody’s here for? Who is he anyway?”
Utahime looks excited to tell you. “You remember that kid from homeroom back in college?” she asks. “The one who left for California after we graduated?”
But before you can answer her, the lights shut off and the entire venue explodes in frenzied cheering and excited screams that make you cover your ears where your gold hoop earrings dangle. Even Utahime is screaming, holding her phone up to record.
“Ladies and gents!” a disembodied female voice yells into the mic. “Introducin’ the one you’ve all been waitin’ so patiently for…the heartthrob with the ocean blues…the reason for ‘everythin’ is big in Texas’...Gojo Satoru!”
Wait…Gojo Satoru? Your Gojo Satoru? The man whose heart you broke into two all those years ago before you left for the city? “Oh, no,” you gasp. Utahime looks over at you, concerned. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
You can’t answer her. It feels like there is a ball in your throat that won’t go away no matter how much you swallow. It only gets worse when the man you’ve been thinking about for five years pops out of the stage in the most sinfully tight denim jeans and white tank top known to man, each muscle on full display.
He wears a leather jacket with a black cowboy hat and matching boots with his outfit along with dangling dog tags that he used to wear back in college when you started secretly dating. He has ditched the glasses, now wearing contacts that make those intense, attractive blues pop, and he is so confident and self-assured whereas in college, he was just putting on a front.
He was the small-town college boy who played guitar during his free time and had big dreams of being a singer. Dreams that you believed in. But when he started getting recognized after blowing up on YouTube and asked you to come with him to California when he got a record deal, you got scared. You backtracked.
Especially after you found out you were pregnant with his baby after that night. The night he asked you to leave with him. The night you broke things off with him for good. The night your love was forever fractured and you promised to never tell him you were carrying his baby.
Then you graduated college and headed for the city, he left for Cali, and you never saw him again…until now, five years later. Looking at him now, all those old memories and feelings you thought were long buried come rushing back.
He smiles that white-toothed, dimpled smile that always gave you butterflies. His silvery-white hair and blue eyes startle you, especially since your Tara has inherited both. “What’s goin’ on, y’all?” he hollers into the mic. “Y’all come to party with lil’ ol’ me tonight?” The crowd erupts into frenzied screams and cheering. Gojo laughs, strutting up to the mic where his guitar is waiting for him. “Aww, thank you kindly! I’ll make sure it’s an extra special show for y’all ‘cause I’m back home!”
He then straps the guitar to his slim waist as his band comes out onto the stage. He introduces them all: Shoko on the bass; Nanami on the secondary guitar; Geto on the drums. And as the strumming of guitars and the banging of the drums hit your eardrums, vibrating through your body, Gojo begins to sing.
His voice is silky and sweet yet seductive, sweetened by his Southern accent that never left him despite Cali. It makes you tremble and your heart pound as you sit there, rigid, your beer in hand. The worst part is that you’re forced to sit and watch all of it.
Well, you’re not forced, but you also can’t move due to the bodies pressed tight against you in the seats. You’re also too transfixed to look away. Gojo is truly a star, moving across the stage with his long legs; doing choreography and belting out all kinds of impressive vocals; strumming his guitar with those long fingers that used to touch your body.
He is meant for this world, as you thought so long ago…and you’re not.
Thirty minutes later, Gojo has changed into a simple black wife beater that sinfully hugs his muscles and faded jeans. He dabs his face drenched in sweat with a towel, all of his band and dancers gone backstage. “My goodness, y’all are makin’ me sweat!” he whistles. “I’m gonna have to strip a lil’ bit…y’all don’t mind, do ya?”
He gives a cheeky smile to the crowd that squeals and screams for what’s coming next. Turning around, Gojo flexes his back muscles as he strips off his wife beater, showing off the back tattoos inked into his tan skin. You swear, you nearly choke on your beer.
“God, he’s so hot!” Utahime groans, smiling at you. “Ain’t he hot? Now that’s a man you should make your new suitor, honey!” But you kind of already did that. He was hot even back in school, but now? The motherfucker is walking sex. California and fame did something to him.
You can barely breathe when he turns around, revealing the lipstick print on his right hip where his jeans are dangerously low on his V-line. He tosses his sweaty towel into the crowd where two middle-aged women begin to fuss over it. “No fightin’ now,” he chuckles. “We’re all grown folk here. We all family tonight, right, y’all?”
He grins wider when the crowd erupts in agreement, cell phone lights flashing like stars at him. “Then allow me to make myself a lil’ more comfortable. We’re gonna slow it down a bit while my dancers get a break….but not me. I can go all night.”
Oh, he most definitely could. ‘Stop it!’ you think to yourself.
Gojo then drags the stool closer to the edge of the stage. If you weren’t sitting three aisles away from the stage, you’d be right in front of him. You swear, you go completely catatonic, unable to speak or breathe as he sits on his stool with his guitar, completely stripped down and intimate, the spotlight illuminating his handsome face.
“This next song is about a very special someone,” he says silkily. “A lot of you may know this one, but not about its backstory. This is for someone that I used to be with many moons ago that left for a life without me in it.”
Oh, no. You grip your beer and go to drink more for liquid courage, but you realize that you drank it all.
“It’s about bein’ in love with someone you shouldn’t be ‘cause they ain’t with you no more. It’s about forgivin’ that person for breakin’ your heart, but never truly…” And then his eyes lock on you. Somehow, as those ocean blues are grazing the audience, they land directly onto your face after so long of looking and not quite seeing you. Now, there is no hiding.
Gojo’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of you and you know that he recognizes you immediately. “Forgettin’,” he finishes. “Holy shit.”
The fans surrounding you immediately turn to either look at you or around you, wondering who the hell has got Gojo Satoru so starstruck. You can’t breathe or look away, too locked down by those pretty eyes that have haunted you for so long.
“Is he lookin’ at you, Y/N?” Utahime gasps. You don’t answer; you can’t. Finally, the moment passes when Gojo blinks and clears his throat, smiling at the crowd. “U-Uh, sorry. Thought I saw somebody I knew…probably. Looks like my old teacher is in this crowd too!”
He points into one of the upper seats where, sure enough, a man wearing a shirt with Gojo’s face plastered on it is screaming while his two daughters look entirely embarrassed. Gojo laughs as he recovers while you haven’t, still standing there dumbfounded. “Y’all sing the words if you know this one. This is ‘Once In A While’.”
He begins to play and the song is slow, sappy, and sweet. The lyrics are poetic and beautiful yet sorrowful, his silky voice curling around each word. You stare, unable to look away, as he croons into the mic. “Girl, you okay?” Utahime asks, holding your hand. You turn to her, noticing her worry. “Yeah…this song is just really sad.”
It’s a good lie because it’s also true. You manage to hold back your tears as Gojo continues to sing, looking so in his element and passionate as he sings. It tears at your heart and makes you want to bolt, but you stay, letting the song wash over you.
Thankfully, the show is over thirty minutes later. Gojo and his dancers take a big bow as the stage erupts into streamers and confetti, everyone wearing pink cowboy boots. Gojo looks so sexy in pink, the fuchsia tank top and boots bringing something feral out of you.
“Y’all have a good night now! See ya soon!” He blows kisses and raises his beefy arms to wave as he is taken down from the stage, tossing a guitar pick at a random fan before he is finally gone.
You and Utahime wait until a good portion of the seats have cleared out before you venture out into the stadium to get something to eat. You decide on something small and get in line for the fry stand, famous for serving fries with all kinds of toppings, cheeses, and sauces. While Utahime is still beaming about the show, you just want to head home and tuck your head under the covers for good.
“What a show!” she dreamily sighs. “And what a fuckin’ man. How’d you like it, honey?” She looks at you expectantly and her smile pains you. How can you tell her that the whole time, you were regretting your life choices staring into the ocean-blue eyes of your ex? “U-Um…it was–”
“Omigod, Y/N?!” someone shouts from behind you. “Utahime! Girls, I can’t believe it’s really y’all!” You turn around, finding a slender, fit girl standing there in cut-off shorts, cowboy boots, and a snakeskin tank top. You recognize her dark green bob and instantly being screaming in excitement. “Oh, my goodness, Mai!” you squeal. “You’re one of the dancers?!”
You wrap your around her tight, feeling her dancer muscles. Mai used to be a cheerleader back in college, so it makes sense that she’d become a backup dancer for a career choice. “Yes, ma’am! Been on the road with Satoru for months now; he hired me last year for his tour.”
She gives Utahime a big squeeze too, your old friendship renewed after so much time and different paths. “So you girls are still livin’ here?” she asks, a hand on her hip. “Y/N, did you move back? Last time I heard, you moved to the city.”
Utahime proudly answers that she’s still living in town, not being able to drop her gig at the children’s hospital. “I’m just here for the summer with the little one,” you explain and Mai melts at the mention of your daughter. “Oh, yeah, little Tara! I hope I can see her before you leave us again. Oh, before y’all leave, come meet the crew real quick!”
Despite your better judgment, you follow Mai backstage away from the chaos of fans trying to leave the stadium and enter the world of the business of fame: stage staff, towel people, and the beautiful dancers and instrumentalists that Mai introduces you to. Though you’re happy to meet them, you’re also scared to run into Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. You find yourself looking down each corner and behind you as if he’s fucking Freddy Krueger ready to slash you in the back.
“Hey, if you girls are down for some more fun, me and the crew are goin’ to the bar later for some drinks,” Mai says, rolling out the welcome wagon for some more fun with the famous people. She gives you a wink that she was famous for back in college, meaning that you’re in for some trouble tonight.
“Bet, I’m down!” Utahime squeals, down for the chance for some drinks with the band. But you, however, are already planning to excuse yourself from the festivities in fear of running into your baby daddy. “Uh, actually, Mai, I think I should–”
“Mai, you flirtin’ with my fans again?” Suddenly, a silky voice hits your eardrums as it explodes down the hall. All of you turn and suddenly, you’re staring into the handsome face of the one you were trying so hard to avoid tonight.
Gojo is standing there in the flesh, no longer a memory or a dream conjured by a moment of horniness in the dead of night. He is in sweats and a tank top that hangs off of his muscular body, a towel wrapped around his neck. Seeing him is like a slap in the face and you can barely breathe.
The singer looks momentarily starstruck at the sight of you, but then that cocky smirk comes sliding back onto his lips as he saunters up to you. Almost as if he’s been waiting for this moment to arrive. “Oh, my God!” Utahime gasps, grabbing your arm rather roughly. “He’s even hotter in person!” You don’t reply, too cottonmouth to do anything but stare when the country hottie finally stops in front of you.
He casually smiles at you, those blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “Well, well...look who snuck backstage and decided to come crawlin' back to her favorite country boy. Guess city life wasn't as pretty as me, was it, darlin'?"
And just like that, the regret you felt for breaking his heart earlier goes right out the fucking window. “Still cocky as always, Satoru,” you sigh.
Mai looks between you both. “Hold up…y’all two know each other?” she asks, looking confused as all hell. “Am I missin’ somethin’?” Even Utahime looks clueless. You meet Gojo’s eyes and silently plead with him to not tell. To give you mercy.
And he does. “We went to college together before I dropped out,” he explains. I’m an old friend of Y/N’s back when she lived here. He lies for you and that immediately makes you feel bad. So you come clean. After all, you’re adults, right? “We used to date,” you admit. “Then after I applied to Master’s school after college, I moved away to the city.”
Utahime gapes at you, shocked. You try not to look at her, feeling guilt for never telling her this. “Wow, really?!” Mai gasps. “You never told me that, Gojo!” She nudges him hard in the ribs, making him grunt.
“Didn’t know I had to,” he grumbles, playfully swatting Mai away like she’s a fly. "So y’all ladies enjoy the show?” He gives you that white-toothed smile again that seems to hook you the same way it used to.
Utahime eagerly nods. “Absolutely! This one cried durin’ one of your songs.” She nudges you and you contemplate murdering her with your cowboy boot. Gojo places a hand on his heart, playfully poking his pink bottom lip out where his lip ring dangles. “Aw, damn, my bad. Wouldn’t wanna make a pretty lady cry…with my song anyhow.”
You catch the glint in his eye at his little slip of a sexual innuendo but you ignore it…and the throb in your panties. This isn’t the time to be thirsting after your ex AND your secret baby daddy!
“I invited them to come with us for drinks,” Mai announces to the singer. "It’s not everyday you bump into some old friends.”
Gojo’s eyes widen a bit, surprised at the prospect of you coming along for drinks…and then a satisfied smirk plays on his lips. Uh-oh. “No, it ain’t,” he agrees, his eyes sliding over to you and Utahime. “Y’all should! I’ll gladly get a car for you girls or you can hitch a ride on my tour bus.”
Utahime starts to reply, obviously wanting a personal ride in his tour bus, but you stop her. “A ride is fine,” you defeatedly say. “Just one drink will be nice.” You emphasis the number mostly for yourself; alcohol brings nothing but trouble. And you have enough trouble running into Gojo.
The singer nods, happy with your answer. “I’ll get y’all that car then…but I’m gonna need your number for that.” His satisfied, smug smile is so irritating that you want to smack him. Begrudgingly, you give him your number along with Utahime who is way more eager and even adds emojis when Gojo lets her.
“Great! See you two tonight.” He gives you a small wink that only you catch before he saunters off, that firm yet bubble butt that could make male models cry swaying in his jeans.
Mai bids you farewell before Utahime turns to you, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. “I know, I know, I’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do,” you sigh.
Your friend grabs your arm, pulling you to the nearest exit. “Damn right, missy,” she tuts. “The hell do you mean you used to date Gojo Satoru in college?! Why didn’t you tell me this?! And how didn’t the whole town know?!”
This was gonna be a very long night.
When you finally finish telling your friend your story, you feel like you should sell it to a Hollywood agent for a movie.
Utahime sits in the ride share with you that Gojo ordered to transport you to the bar—a nice sports car with blasting AC, complementary water bottles, and comfy seats—, staring at you like you just finished telling her that you’re God.
“Okay, wait,” she says. “So you’re tellin’ me that you and Gojo secretly dated back in college ‘cause you didn’t want your family findin’ out about him, he got you pregnant before he dropped out of school and went to Hollywood, so you lied about goin’ to school in the city just to get an abortion?”
You nod, nervously toying with the loose thread on your sundress. “Yeah, that’s the gist of it.” Utahime huffs, shaking her head in awe. “Jeez, honey…and I thought I had men problems.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you say, feeling horribly guilty. “You know my aunt would’ve killed me if she found out I was datin’ in college and—“
“Girl, I don't care about that!” she scoffs. “But didn’t you tell me about that other thing? I would’ve gone to the city with you!”
You feel your eyes bubble with tears, loving that your friend doesn’t blame or bash you for your decision. “I didn’t tell anyone. Only my family knew and my aunt paid top dollar to get me the procedure out of state. After that, I just made my life in the city.”
Initially, you planned to get an abortion and your family decided out of state would be better since your small town liked to talk like high school girls in a locker room. But once you got a look at the little blip in your tummy, you changed your mind and kept the baby…but you never told Gojo.
You hid your relationship with him back in college to avoid it getting back to your parents and wealthy aunt who paid to put you in the best school in your town. Originally, it was just a fling that turned into something more. You fell for Gojo and his talent.
But overtime as his popularity got bigger and his world was becoming a little too big for you, you got scared. You jumped ship. You couldn’t think of a life with him in fear of him getting sick of small-town you and leaving you for a Hollywood bombshell.
You thought that breaking things off was for the best—he could focus on his career and you could focus on your future…and your baby girl. But still, as years passed, the temptation to check online to see how he was doing stuck around. You wondered if he ever made it his dream come true; now, years later, you see that he absolutely has.
“And you’re still okay with seein’ him again?” Utahime wonders aloud. “We can always turn around and get that hotel.” You smile, affectionately patting her hand. “Nah, I need the drink. Plus, I wouldn’t wanna ruin your fun with my sob story.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Please! How often do you fuck a famous country singer and get knocked up with his kid? Your life is literally a country song, doll!” You knock your knee with hers and you two laugh among each other as the car suddenly comes to a stop. “Ladies, you’ve arrived,” the driver announces.
And just like that, your heart falls into your ass. Utahime gives you a comforting smile as you get out of the car and stand in front of the glowing sign of the cowboy-themed dive bar. “And don’t worry; Gojo won’t know. Your secret is safe with me, always. Now let’s go getcha that drink!”
She interlaces your fingers as you walk into the bar together, immediately bombarded with the sounds of loud country music, chatter, and the clinking of pool cues against the colorful balls as they roll along a pool table on your left. On your right is a mechanical bull and darts. In front of you is a bar where Gojo’s crew is situated, sitting on stools among the fake bull head mounted on the wall over a rack of booze bottles.
“They’re here!” Mai shouts, the first to greet you and Utahime in her cowgirl outfit. She gives you both a hug, already buzzed from a couple shots. “Let’s get y’all some drinks!”
For the next ten minutes, you don’t see Gojo even though you search for him. You can’t seem to calm down despite the cool beer in your hand and the sweet company that he keeps. You chat with his bandmates about living in the city while Utahime is busy blushing around Shoko, the bassist, as she smokes her cigarette before he finally arrives, causing his crew to cheer and raise their glasses to him.
“My bad, y’all,” he huffs, grinning that perfect grin. “Agent was in my ear about the next stop. Managed to get us two days off, so let’s get fucked up and enjoy ‘em!” But as he looks towards the bar, his eyes lock on you instantly, almost as if he was waiting for you.
You swallow hard, gulping down more beer in an effort to drain your nerves as he takes a seat next to you on the stool. He is wearing a crisp white tee, jeans, boots, and dog tags that make you think of some sinful things. He smells of pine and spiced cinnamon, the tempting aroma driving you to insanity.
After hailing down the bartender—who isn’t too busy since Gojo rented out the entire bar—for a drink, he slings one beefy arm over the bar and gazes at you. “So you actually showed up,” he scoffs. “Didn’t expect that since you seemed so horrified to see me.”
You side-eye him, sipping your beer and tapping your fingers to the music on the bar. “I’d beg to differ,” you retort. “But then again, I wouldn’t be too happy ‘bout seein’ small town folk from my past either. You’re a big star now.”
Gojo chuckles, the sound too sexy for words. “On the contrary, darlin’; I’m always happy to see some old friends. You girls want some shots?” You now notice that Utahime has come wandering over, tipsier than earlier. “Yes, please! And your bassist’s number too.”
You gape at her while Gojo tosses his head back and laughs, the sound making your tummy flip. You know that you probably shouldn’t mix drinks, but you can’t resist the temptation of some liquid courage around your old boyfriend. You don’t know why you feel so jittery and jumpy around him.
After Gojo gets a personal round of tequila shots with some lime slices on the side, he places them in front of you and Utahime. You go for a particular glass at the same time as Gojo, causing you to brush hands. Utahime doesn’t notice, too busy swaying to the music. Quickly, you tear your hand away from Gojo’s as if you’ve been burned, his soft skin and the veins running through his palm shocking you to your core.
If Gojo is hurt, he doesn’t show it, instead picking up a different shot glass. “My bad,” he murmurs, his eyes gazing into yours. You avert your eyes, not wanting to see what’s in his. Then he raises his glass and clears his throat. “Cheers. To old and new friends.”
Clink go your shots before you down them. You relish the delicious burn of the tequila before it instantly goes to your head, making it feel light while the rest of you feels heavy. You have to back up off of the booze for a moment to recuperate while Utahime wanders off to chat some more with Shoko.
Leaving you alone with Gojo. It is awkward and odd, the tension thick like Southern heat. But also comfortable. You’re afraid of that. Gojo was always easy to talk to and things haven’t changed. He clears his throat, trying to start some conversation since you won’t. “So how’d ya wind up back here? Last time I heard, you were in the big city doin’ big girl things.”
He gives you an easy smile that almost makes you crack. “I still am; I’m just here for the summer with my aunt.”
He nods, downing his shot in one go. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob. Damn him. “Ah, the epitome of Southern etiquette. She always hated me.” You chuckle to yourself, nodding. “Mmm-hmm. Said you was trouble…and she wasn’t wrong.”
Gojo raises a brow at you. “Whatchu mean?” You smirk knowingly at him. “Did you forget about all the skinny-dippin’ and ditchin’ class for joyrides?” you chuckle. The singer grins wide, his eyes sparkling from the memories. "Ya got me there, darlin’. Not to mention the ‘study sessions’ too.”
You squeeze your thighs together at the mention of those hot, forbidden sessions where books were forgotten.
Your aunt saw Gojo before you did—at a opening house for the college. “Stay away from a boy like that, dear,” she hissed to you. “Underneath that dimpled smile and sweet talk, he’s the Devil.” You just waved off her lecture, figuring that it was just crazy talk.
But then word of your secret dates got back to her and while she didn’t tell your parents, she forbade you from ever going around Gojo again…of course, you didn’t listen. You just got smart. Hence the study sessions.
“So how’s it feel bein’ back here after travelin’ the world on your tour?” you ask, curious.
Gojo pauses, thinking for a moment, and then exhales with happiness. "Like a breath of fresh air. I right outside our town now, so comin’ back home after jumpin’ from country to country is always a warm welcome.”
You couldn’t agree more and sip some beer to drink to it. “What about you? What’s it like bein’ back in a small town compared to the big city?”
The look he gives you is too warm. Too happy. Like he really is joyed to see you. “Warm. And cozy,” you answer. “My aunt swears that it’ll be a good place to find a husband.” Whoops. Maybe you shouldn’t have mixed your drinks after all.
Gojo gives you an incredulous look, scoffing with laughter. “She’s lookin’ for a husband for you?” he chuckles and whistles, shaking his head. “Good luck with that, honey. I find that the fellas are alike all around.”
“Oh, so ya do now?” you scoff, cocking your head at him. “And how’s that? You an expert in men?” The booze has made you too mouthy. Too bold. But Gojo goes toe to toe with you and it’s undeniably hot. “I should be. You dated me, right? From my perspective, I did a pretty damn good job at it before ya left.”
You feel a slight dip in your stomach at the mention of you leaving town, but you ignore it. “Watch it, cowboy. I’ll give ya props, but don’t get too cocky.” The singer just smirks at you, giving you a look dripping with a molten hot promise that makes you feel hotter than the tequila. “Have you met me, darlin’? That’s all I do.”
Suddenly, your smile fades and you can’t tell if you’re just playing anymore. This is quickly edging towards some dangerous territory. So what do you do? You run. Like always. Like you did before.
You get up and fix your dress as you head to the dance floor among Gojo’s crew, the warm lights washing over you. Gojo watches you, his eyes grazing your ass. You feel them and you hate that you like it. “Where ya goin’?” he wonders. You don’t look back as you saunter to the floor, the guitars and drums calling your name. “I wanna dance!” you call over your shoulder. “You gonna come along, cowboy?”
You don’t know why you ask. You’re supposed to be trying to get away from him, not reel him in for more! But the beer and the tequila are talking for you, making you feel reckless and irresistible. With every electric strum of the guitar strings and beat of the drums in the country song blaring from the overhead speakers, your blood grows hot and you feel alive the more Gojo watches you.
You turn away from him as you begin to dance, swaying to the beat, your sundress swishing around your hips and thighs. The dance floor is packed, making the air feel sticky with sweat and alive with energy. You stand right in it, becoming lost in the tide. It feels good to dance alone but you know dancing with Gojo would feel even better, even if you don’t want to admit it.
Then you feel a touch on your wrist and turn with a smile, only to see that it’s not Gojo but one of the bartender who is off duty. “You need a partner, stranger?” he chuckles, giving you a sloppy grin that gives you the impression that he was sipping AND mixing on the job.
But before you can politely tell him no, your white-haired cowboy appears beside you, his sheer height making you feel protected enough. “Nah, she’s with me,” he says with a finality, but he wears s mile. “Better luck next time, bro.”
The bartender lifts his hands in defense and moves onto the next girl. You turn to Gojo with your arms crossed over your low cleavage. “You speakin’ for me now?”
The singer side-eyes the bartender, looking indifferent to his presence. “You don’t want that asshole. He was reekin’ of whiskey; woulda thrown up all over your pretty dress.”
His blue eyes graze over your form in your sundress, making you feel naked. You hate that you relish it, shivering from his molten gaze, drunk off of the booze and you. Then he stretches his big hand out for you, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Dance with me?” he offers.
You know you shouldn’t, but temptation wins. You take his hand and let him pull you into him, just like you used to. As you place one hand on his chest and the other on his shoulder, he places his big hands on your waist just like used to. Instantly, flashes of those dance slow dancing with him in your dorms come flooding back, nostalgic and troubling.
You fit into him like a missing puzzle piece, feeling at home surrounded by everyone dancing in their boots thumping against the hardwood floor. Feeling like you’re the only two in the world. Your hand finds his dog tags, the metal cool against your fingertips, but you also feel his heartbeat thumping against them too. Thumping for you.
“I missed this, y’know,” he whispers. “Dancin’ like this. Kinda makes us feel like the only two people here.” You don’t know why you look up. You shouldn’t because all you see in those eyes is affection that he shouldn’t have for you. “Satoru,” you murmur. “We shouldn’t…”
And then you’re kissing. You don’t know who leans in first, but he doesn’t matter: he’s kissing you and you’re kissing him, slow and steady. No rushing. No push and pull. Just a slow, lingering seduction that draws you in with every drag of his soft lips and coolness of his lip ring against yours. He tastes and feels just as he did before, but better.
You feel dizzy as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing lightly with yours where you taste his tongue ring. He never had one before and it arouses you. You find yourself pushing yourself into him, needing more, and he pushes right back, giving you a feel of the unmistakable outline of his thick, long c—
Bzzzzzz! You gasp, pulling away when you feel your phone buzzing in your bag against your leg. “S-Sorry,” you stammer. Gojo stares at you, lips flush from kissing and eyes hooded as you answer the call, clearing your throat. “Hello?”
“Mommy!” Tara yells into the phone, so loud that you have to take your phone off of your ear. “I can’t find Applejack!” You sigh, trying not to get mad at your daughter for interrupting a kiss that you shouldn’t have had. “Look in your duffle bag, baby girl. I packed it with your My Little Pony PJs.”
Painfully, you stand there with Gojo, afraid to look at him, as you hear Tara scuffling around on the phone for her plushie.
“Found it!” she squeals. “Auntie’s mad you’re not home yet.” You roll your eyes, not in the mood for your aunt to kill your buzz from miles away. “Tell Auntie that I’ll be home tomorrow. Love you, lovebug.”
“Love you more, Mommy! Buh bye!” Finally, the call ends and you breathe a sigh of relief. You turn to Gojo, still not looking at him. “That was my…daughter,” you sigh when you can’t think of a good lie.
“You got a kid?” he asks, sounding surprised and you feel your heart pummeling in your chest. “You ain’t tell me that.” Before you can stop yourself, you feel irrationally agitated and fumble with your bag, trying to shove your phone in it.
“I didn’t know I had to,” you snap. "We’re not together anymore, Satoru; it’s been five years since we…” You pause, feeling tears well up as the guilt piles on, making you feel like a pile of donkey shit. “I’m sorry. I-I have to go.” But as you turn to leave, Gojo grabs your hand, stopping you. “Wait, don’t go,” he pleads. “I’m sorry, I just–”
“Let me go, Satoru,” you whimper as if you’re in pain. He releases you, looking positively wounded, like that night you told him you weren’t going to Cali with him and broke his heart. You ignore it.
"Tell Utahime there was an emergency and I got an Uber.” Quickly, still fumbling with your bag, you storm off the dance floor and away from Gojo, struggling to hold back tears. “Wait, I’ll get you a car! Y/N, hold up!”
But you’re racing for the exit, trying to make it outside before the tears start coming. You manage to make it out of the bar in the sticky summer night, the night alive with activity. But you don’t call an Uber. Instead, you go walking, needing to be away from everyone and everything for a while.
You decide to curve around behind the bar where there is nothing but dirt roads, grass, and fireflies. Nothing but you. However, you also somehow find yourself standing in front of Gojo’s tour bus parked smack-dab on the grass. You stare up at his beautiful face on the side of the bus; that white-toothed grin; those pretty eyes.
And then you begin to cry. You softly sob into your hands as fat, salty tears drip down your cheeks, ruining your mascara and shimmery eyeshadow that you spent an hour perfecting. You don’t feel beautiful or sexy or desirable. You feel like dirt. Trash. Nothing but scum under your sandals.
Gone is the intoxicating feeling you initially felt from the alcohol. Now, you only feel tired and regretful. The memories hit you like a train: you, see twenty two-year old Gojo’s hopeful expression five years ago standing in your luxury dorm, his hands in yours after telling you about his record deal offer.
“You can come with me, darlin’!” he exclaimed. “We can go to California together! And once I sign this contract for my deal, our relationship will only—“
“Our relationship?” you scoffed, snatching your hands from his. “Satoru, we don’t have a relationship, remember? How do you expect me to tell my folks that I’ve been secretly datin’ you for months when I’m supposed to be focusin’ on my studies?”
Gojo’s smile faded, now looking utterly confused. “We’d just tell ‘em…unless you don’t want to.” His eyes grew steely and you didn’t like it. “You don’t want ‘em to know about me,” he realized. “Even now.”
“They can’t!” you snapped, frustration in your tone. “They forbade me from datin’ in college, Satoru, and this town talks! Plus, I can’t just up and leave my life here for a life in Cali. What if we broke up?”
That hurt Gojo more than you realized; you could see it in those beautiful, blue eyes. But you ignored it, retreating emotionally, guarding your heart. “I just think we need to be realistic,” you mumbled, hugging yourself tight. “I just don’t think this is gonna work for us anymore.”
The look Gojo gave you made you feel like a murderer; like you stabbed him right in the chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice clogged with emotion. You didn’t say anything in fear of breaking down in tears. Instead, you stayed silent and watched him leave, taking all of your love for him with him.
“Y/N!” You suddenly hear someone shout, ripping you out of your memory. You turn, finding Gojo standing there as if conjured by your thoughts. He strides up to you in his boots, looking concerned. “What are you doin’? Come back inside.”
He goes to touch you, but you flinch away, waving him off. “No!” you whimper. “Please, Satoru, just leave me alone! You don’t want this!”
Gojo looks wounded, but doesn’t push it. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, his pink lips a thin line. “You dropped this inside.” He then produces you with a photo of you and Tara that escaped your phone wallet.
Quickly, you snatch it back and slide it back into your bag. The silence is thick and tense; you’d need a chainsaw to cut it. “She’s beautiful,” Gojo softly says. “She looks just like you. Prettiest thing in the world.”
He gives you a small, almost sardonic smile that pains you to your core. “I’m sure she looks like her daddy too.” The words make your stomach pit and your blood run cold. When you look at him, his gaze is intense and knowing. Without a doubt, he knows your secret now. “She mine?” he bluntly asks.
You don’t answer, your heart pummeling so fast that you’re afraid you’ll have a heart attack. Gojo grows irritated at your silence, his jaw tensing. “Y/N, answer me.” Still, you can’t, and turn to walk off, unable to tell him the truth out of your mouth.
But Gojo ain’t having it this time. “No,” he growls, grabbing your hand. “No more fuckin’ runnin’ from me. You did that before when you left me with a broken heart.” You try to wrench your hand out of his grip, pulling away from him. “Stop it, Satoru!” you weakly protest. “I don’t wanna talk about this!”
Gojo releases you, but still gives you that sharp, hurt look. “So you were just gonna come back here and not tell me about my own baby?” he scoffs.
You glare at him, furious with yourself more than him but still unable to swallow your pride. “How do you even know she’s yours? Plenty of guys have white hair and blue eyes, you dick!” Even when you think it, you know that it’s BS.
“How old is she?” he growls. You harshly bite your lip, staring down at your painted toes. “Five,” you whisper.
“Mmm-hmm,” he replies, crossing his beefy arms over his broad chest. “You left five years ago, so unless you had someone else around that time, I know that little girl is mine. I ain’t that dumb, darlin’.”
You turn away, unable to focus on anything but the internal battle inside of you. One side screams at you to tell the truth while the other insists that you keep your heart and Tara’s heart on lock. But as you stare into Gojo’s ocean-blue irises and see the pain in them, you can’t help but feel guilt engulf you. “Tell me,” he begs. “Tell me the truth.”
Finally, the tension breaks and you release. “Yes, okay?!” you snap. “Yes, she’s yours! I ain’t been with anyone else like that since you got me pregnant! Is that what you wanna hear?!”
Gojo stands there for a moment. Silent. Taking it all in. Five years of never knowing. You never telling.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, looking oh-so sad. It breaks you. “I could’ve been there. I would’ve been there.” He sounds so sure, like he would’ve promised at twenty-two years old that he would’ve been a daddy.
You scoff, rolling your wet eyes stained with running mascara. “Oh, please, Satoru! You had a life that was just startin’ and I wasn’t ready for it! You weren’t ready for a kid, so I made the decision for you…or I would’ve if I hadn’t kept her.”
Gojo blinks at you, confused but still tender. He knows you’re trying to tell him something. “You confusin’ me, darlin’. I’m not good with cryptics.”
You bite your lip, a lump in your throat and your body flush with humiliation. Why is this so damn hard? “I lied about goin’ to Master’s school,” you admit, staring at your toes. “I went to get an abortion, but then I changed my mind and kept the baby.”
Silence swells between you, thick as the hot Southern night and so intense that it’s unbearable. You’re sure that Gojo will hate you even more now. “I know you’re mad about me, but I-I didn’t think I was ready for a baby! I was so young a-and–”
“Baby, baby, slow down,” Gojo coos, taking your hands in his. This time, you don’t pull away. “I’m not mad about the abortion. Hell, not even about California. I’m upset that you left and didn’t think to tell me what was goin’ on. Fuck the fame–I wanted you and I wanted our daughter too. Nothin’ was more important to me than you.”
His eyes are firm and passion, softened by his love for you still blooming after five years. You stand there, melting from the soft, safe love that you still don’t believe you deserve. “And there still ain’t,” he confesses, impassioned. “You were my first and only love. Nobody else came after you, but I was so convinced you had someone else in your life.”
His words make you come apart and when he cups your wet cheek in his hand, you stop fighting. You stop running. You want to crash right into him and his love, and drown in it. “No one,” you softly confess. “It’s always been you too, Toru. It’s only Tara and me.”
A hopeful smile stretches onto his dimpled cheeks. “So does that mean I've still got a chance with you? We can still try again?” His thumb runs over your bottom lip, making your arousal peak. “Satoru,” you whisper. “We shouldn’t–”
“We can,” he murmurs, pulling you close against him. “Stop fightin’ this, darlin’. It’s just me.” Yes, just him. Just your love. The one you’ve been thinking of for years now.
And so you let his lips descend upon yours again, kissing you deeply and passionately. You drink in his cologne and how his chest feels against your fingers as you lock lips, softly moaning into each other’s mouths.
Gojo used to be a good kisser back in college, but now? He’s had practice and you can tell from the way he falls into rhythm with you, swooping your tongue up in a private dance that makes your panties wet.
He presses himself against you, making you feel his hard bulge pressing against his jeans. He stutters out a groan as you grind down into him as his big hands slide under your sundress, possessively grabbing your ass. You whimper, hot sparks of pleasure swirling inside of you.
“I missed you,” he moans against your lips. “Missed ya so goddamn much.” You feel his tongue, hot and pierced, slither down your neck to your breasts where his hands trail to grip and grope, massaging them through your thin sundress. “M-Missed you too!” you stammer. “God, Satoru, don’t tease!”
The country star smirks at you, the act so familiar and oh-so sexy. “It’s been a while for ya, huh?” he teases. “Don’t you worry, darlin’; this cowboy can help with that. Just tell me ya want it.”
You stare into his eyes, no longer afraid. No longer running. You need this. “I want it,” you mew, your legs turning to jelly the more you stand here with him. “Taste me, Satoru.”
Your ex is happy to oblige. He guides you over to the back of the tour bus, out of sight of the bar, the road, and other buildings, giving you some privacy. Gojo pins you against the tour bus and gives you a hot, sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling with yours. “You’re so perfect. How I missed this body…”
His hands glide over your soft skin, his touch leaving trails of fire, as he playfully nibbles on your bottom lip. “These lips…” He pulls the lush lip before popping it back into place, grinning when you whimper.
“These tits…” He peppers your tits in wet kisses, pulling down your spaghetti straps for better access but not taking them out to toy with your nipples. Not yet. He teases you, making you gush into your panties as he kneels down before you, his expression hungered. He trails your sundress up to reveal your soft inner thighs, slightly sticking together from the heat, and your panties. “That pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he growls. “Look how wet you are for me, baby, shit!”
He can see it from the front—that wet spot growing in the pink lace fabric. He takes two fingers and glides them along your slit, making you gasp, before sticking them in his mouth to suck off your taste.
You flush, biting your lip. “It’s been awhile.” Gojo raises a brow at your confession, hope twinkling in those ocean blues. “You ain’t been with anyone else?”
You’re inclined to tell him what he wants to hear when he begins rubbing your clit with his thumb through your panties, sparks of pleasure shooting through you. “It’s been a slow summer,” you softly exhale.
And it has—you haven’t had a man knock the cobwebs off your pussy all summer long because you had no interest in it. But now, all you can think about is Gojo knocking your screws loose and fucking your brains out to make up time.
“Don’t worry, darlin’; no other man will compare once I’m done with you. Just keep it down…if ya can.” He gives you a smirk before he pulls your panties aside, exposing your glistening, puffy pussy lips to him and the summer air.
You grit your teeth at him and his arrogance even as it turns you on. “You cocky little—oh, fuck!” You have to cover your mouth when Gojo finally gets his mouth on you, hot, wet, and juicy. He is perfect—just as he used to be, but better.
He is more precise and skillful yet still has that sloppy eagerness that makes your pussy wet with his spit because he keeps coating your slit in it, allowing for his tongue to slide between your swollen lips. He moans at your taste as if he can’t get enough of your honey.
Each moan sends vibrations throughout your cunt, making you shudder and quake against his mouth. You can’t help but whine and whimper over the magical feelings your country star ex and baby daddy gives you.
His blue eyes lock with yours as he hooks your thigh over his shoulder, pulling his plush, pink lips away to speak to you. “Touch me, mama. Put those pretty hands on me.” You begin to caress his white locks of hair as he continues to lap at your pussy before hooking his tongue inside of you.
Your eyes widen at the feeling, your mouth falling agape as a loud moan escapes you. “Oh, my God,” you gasp. “T-Toru, fuck! Right there!”
Gojo smirks against your clit, nuzzling it with his nose. “Right here?” he teasingly asks. He does the same move again, the coolness of his tongue piercing melting against your molten pussy as you grind yourself into him. “That’s real good, mama. You sound so fuckin’ good f’me.”
Zzzzzip. You suddenly hear the sound of him unzipping his jeans with one hand, but you have no chance to look down because you’re too busy squeezing your eyes shut from the sheer, intense pleasure the country heartthrob is giving you.
Finally, Gojo pulls away to breathe, his lips glistening in your taste and eyes lust-blown for you. “Turn around. I wanna eat this pussy from the back.” The order coming from his silky voice makes you shudder in arousal.
Quickly, you turn around and brace your hands against the tour bus, sticking your ass out for him. Gojo groans at the sight, hypnotized as he hikes your dress up to reveal your full, plump ass in your lace panties.
SMACK!
“Oh!” you gasp, taken aback by the sudden, pleasurable sting of his hand against your ass. Gojo chuckles, laying a kiss on your asscheek. “Sorry, mama, but you bought that on yourself. Guess our baby filled you out.”
His hands glide down your full hips and over your tummy, softer and fluffier from the baby. You bite your lip, suddenly self conscious. “I-It’s somethin’ I’ve been workin’ on.” Pilates, cardio, dieting, you name it. Though you’ve lost weight since having your daughter, you still have the curves that being a mommy has awarded you.
Gojo shows you how awarded he feels by gripping your ass lovingly and kissing it, making you hum in pleasure at the wet trail of kisses. “Don’t. You’re so fuckin’ hot like this. All these hips and that ass…” He hits your ass again, the sharp smack making your pussy throb.
He then stands up and you hear a soft smack-smack-smack of something hard and hot against your pussy, teasing your clit. “Feel that, baby?” he silkily asks. You bite your lip, resisting the urge to push back into him and sink back onto his cock. “Uh-huh.”
Gojo hums in pleasure, running the bulbous head of his dick against your swollen, wet lips where you feel something else. Something cold. A dick piercing. “I would do this for no one but you. You know that, right? Only you can make me this hard.”
Finally, he kneels behind you and proceeds to eat your pussy off the bone, his tongue slipping, sliding, and swirling around your dripping hole. You have to clap a hand over your mouth to avoid screaming in pleasure and alerting people.
He just so perfect. He turns you into an eager, needy slut, freeing her from the prison she’s been in for so long. “Oh, f-fuck, Toru, yes! More! I-I need more!”
Gojo smirks into your pussy, using his index finger to rub your clit in semi-circles. “So you want me to make ya cum your pretty brains out?” You nod, looking back at him behind you. His eyes glitter with mirth, his smirk molten lust. “I can do that. Make up for lost time.”
And then there is no more talking from you as he hooks his pierced tongue up to caress your G-spot as he rubs your clit, the lewd, sloshing sounds of his tongue flicking in your soaked pussy drifting through the summer air. “Shit!” you moan. “Faster! Please, Toru!”
You begin to ride his face, pushing your ass into his face as you begin to rock back on your heels, needing to cum. Desperate to cream all over his tongue. Finally, you feel that tug in your core and you reach back to grip his hair, much to his enjoyment. “Fuck, I’m gon’ cum, Daddy!” you moan.
“Uh-huh!” Gojo moans into your pussy, repeating it like it’s a mantra as his tongue flicks get faster. His finger rubs a little harder, just enough for you to feel that pressure. And in one split second, like a string growing thin and bursting, you release.
“Oh, shit, Toru, yes!” you gasp as you cream all over his tongue. You muffle your loud, pornographic moans and whines with your hand as you cum hard and intense, your head growing foggy from the euphoric feeling.
Gojo greedily slurps every drip of your cum up, groaning at the taste. Like it’s the best thing in the world. After your moans turn into cute little whimpers and sobs, Gojo pulls away and stands, that big thang swinging between his thighs like a pendulum.
You turn to him, giving him a goofy smile that can only happen after a good orgasm. “Thank you,” you sigh. You wrap your arms around him, kissing yourself off of his lips. “Don’t mention it, mama. It’s always been a pleasure.”
His cock throbs between you, agreeing with that statement. You stare at it hungrily, needing it in your mouth. “Now it’s your turn~”
But before you can kneel, he stops you, kissing your knuckles with a searing promise in his eyes that makes you melt. “Not out here, you little minx. I’m freaky but I’m also possessive. Let’s getcha inside so we can really make up for lost time, huh?”
You giggle as he suddenly scoops you up off of your feet and carries you into his tour bus, locking it with a simple click of a button, before carrying you to the back of the bus to a comfy black couch to continue your “activity”.
Minutes later, Gojo is buck ass naked and you’re on your knees titty fucking him, the soft, beautiful tig ol’ bitties slick with coconut oil. His big, thick dick pierced at the tip glistens between your tits, standing up at attention. "You are no one’s gonna find us?” you pant, looking at the bus doors.
Gojo cups your chin and forces to look at him. All of him, right down to his washboard abs and V-line. “Positive. I locked the door. Now hush and keep rubbin’ that oil on you.” He reaches over for the little bottle and pours more onto your tits, making them slick and slippery. “You’re such a perv, Satoru,” you tsk, but you love it.
You proceed to jack him off with those luscious breasts that seem to hypnotize Gojo, his lust-blown eyes flicking between his cock disappearing between them and your pretty face. “It’s good, Daddy?” you coo.
You can tell from his handsome face screwing in pleasure, his muscles tense from the sensations. Your country star tilts his head back against the cushions, throat exposed and mouth open as he moans and pants for you. “Oh, my fuckin’ God, yes!” Gojo groans. “Look so good between ‘em. I belong there.”
You can’t agree more watching his cock strain between your breasts, pulsating and throbbing against the soft globes slick with oil. “Yes,” you moan. “I’m all yours, Daddy. Go on, fuck them titties for me.”
He does so, lifting his hips and letting out straight pornographic moans as he fucks your titties, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Fuck,” he groans, his blue eyes hooded and cheeks flushed. He’s never looked hotter and you’ve never been wetter.
Finally fed up, he pauses, staring dead at your mouth. “Put your mouth ‘round me,” he growls. “Lemme see them lips stretch.” You give him a lewd smile before wrapping your lips around his cock, tasting the coconut oil dripping off of his thick shaft.
He moans loudly and sluttily at the feeling of your hot, wet mouth entwining him, sucking him off. “Oh, God, yes,” he groans, his eyes fluttering closed. You pump your head up and down, pushing him in and out of your throat, hollowing your cheeks for more suction. How you missed this! Especially how he sounds: so needy and desperate for you.
Gojo laces his piano long fingers in your hair, gripping the locks as he guides your head down. “Fuck yes, ah!” he gasps. “Deeper, mama. Take me deep…yeah, just like that!” His moans become louder, not caring about anyone hearing, as your throat gags and flexes around him.
He’s still so fucking big after all this time! You struggle to take him at first, but quickly, your throat adjusts and opens for him, allowing him deeeeep down the tight, wet tunnel. Gojo’s toes curl and his abs tense as you work his cock with your luscious, heavenly mouth, your spit dripping down his balls to stain the couch.
Finally, you pull away and smile at him, pressing his wet cock to your cheek slightly streaked in mascara. “Wanna give me a nice souvenir?” you joke. The country star smirks, eyes glittering with lust. “Sure, but not in your throat. I wanna be inside you.”
A delicious shiver runs through your body at the thought of this sexy ass man fucking you deep and cumming inside of you, fulfilling something inside of you that you thought was going to be long empty forever. You nod, smiling as you giddily bite your lip in anticipation for what is to happen.
Gojo opens his arms for you, making your heart flip. “C’mere,” he coos. You crawl to him and he has you sit in his lap, his cock grinding against your asscheeks and slit, making you moan as his dick grows sticky and wet from you dripping onto it. Staring down into those blues, you see nothing but a growing heat just for you. “Ride me. I know you need this too.”
Oh, like he wouldn’t believe. Your pussy has a damn heartbeat of its own with how aroused you are. You ache for him.
So you can’t resist bracing yourself on his chest and raising yourself up to slide down his achingly hard, delicious dick. He securely holds your curvy hips, eyes flicking from your tits to your face like he doesn’t know what to stare at more. “Ready, mama?” he asks. “Come down when you’re—“
Before he can even finish, you’re sliding down that soaked pussy down onto his cockpit taking just the tip first. As soon as you do, you both share a gasp and your eyes widen like you just took a shot of the purest drug in your system. “Shit!” you both moan in unison.
Gojo continues to hold you tight as you adjust and then surely begin to alternate between rocking your hips and slowly bouncing on his dick. Your moans are soft and slutty, just as his are. He watches you through slits of his eyes, teeth clenched and face flushed. “Just as I—ah, fuck, baby—thought. You still fit me like a fuckin’ glove.”
As if in agreement, your pussy squeezes tight around him, happy with the praise. Your country singer lets out a groan fit for a porno and leans his head back against the cushion, mouth agape and eyes rolling back.
That sexy look on his face makes you bounce a bit faster, taking him deeper. Moans, gasps, and whines escape you, filling the tour bus along with the sound of your curvy ass smacking against his thighs. “O-Oh! Oh, fuck! God, Toru, you’re so fuckin’ big!”
Gojo grins at this, training those eyes on you. “Just like old times, right, darlin’?” he softly chuckles, gripping you so possessively that you’re sure he’ll tattoo those fingerprints into your flesh.
You shake your head, still gripping those pecs as you bounce up and down, making your full titties bounce with you. “No. Better. You fill me up so much.” And he does—you feel so full and stretched, every inch of him making you whimper and your pussy spasm. Gojo’s eyes grow darker and he begins to fuck you from the bottom, slowly. “Keep bouncin’ on me. Take what you need.”
You do just that, fully hopping on that dick, making your titties bounce more freely and your ass recoil against his thighs. He lets you use him, his moans growing louder and sluttier, his voice mixing with yours to bounce off of the tour bus walls. “That’s it, darlin’! Ride me! Fuck, I love your fuckin’ pussy!”
He starts to fuck you from the bottom again, this time much faster and rougher. He jackhammers his hips up into you, going so fast and gripping your ass so hard that you see stars as you bounce like a bunny on his dick.
“I-I love you, Toru!” you gasp. The words explode out of you like fireworks, unable to be contained or kept hidden the more you ride his fat cock.
As soon as they are out, you can't take them back—both of you know that. Gojo stares at you, shocked, his blue eyes wide. Then he splits into a big, white-toothed grin that makes butterflies swarm in your tummy. “Ya do?” he asks.
You nod, unable to take it back…but you don’t want to. You want him to know that you love him and you always have. This is not just some hot fucking; this is making love too. At least to you, it is. “Yes. I never stopped. I’m so sorry that I—oh!”
You can’t finish the rest of your heartfelt apology because Gojo is suddenly picking you up with ease, causing you to lace your limbs around him. You squeal when he scoops you up and carries you to the far back of his tour bus where his bed is and tosses you down onto it. No tour needed right now.
He then proceeds to put you in mating press, putting his full body weight on you as he dangles your ankles from his broad shoulders and keeps your arms locked around his neck. “You must’ve said that just to get put into this fuckin’ bed,” he grunts, a feral look in his eye. “You’re fuckin’ with my head, darlin’. Drive me crazy!”
He then proceeds to fuck you dumb in mating press, drilling his dick into your satiny, puffy pussy over and over again, fucking you to tears. The sounds that escape your lips are downright slutty and lewd, but you can't help it! His dick is just too good! “Oh, shit, shit, shit!” you babble. “God, Daddy, yes! Fuck me! Fuck me just like that!”
He is so deep, filling the deepest part of you, his abs rubbing against your clit, sending parks of pleasure through your toes up to your head. His pretty face hands above you, a sight to behold. “Say you love me again. Say you want me.” His tone is laced with desperation, his cock pulsating inside of you.
With a whimper, you reach up to cup his face, shivering when he leans into your touch. “I love you. I want you so bad, Toru! Need you with me and our daughter!” He smiles and kisses your palm, nuzzling his cheek into your fingertips. “I love you too, darlin’. I never ever stopped. Every fuckin’ love song I make is about you.”
Your heart swells at his words as your pussy pulsates and throbs around his dick, oozing and gushing down your asscrack to stain his balls and bedspread.
But he doesn't care. He keeps fucking and fucking, pounding your cunt into the bed like it’s his job. And with the way he stares into your eyes, fucking the deepest parts of your soul, you can tell he means every word he utters to you through stuttering moans.
“I’m gonna go wherever you go. You stay here, I’ll get you a farm. You go to the city, I’ll get us a fuckin’ penthouse. I don’t give a fuck if your folks are rich; I take care of mine.” He locks a hand around your throat and squeezes, just the way he used to, and you feel it—that tug on your core.
“Toru,” you whine. “I’m gonna cum again!” With every thrust that knocks you up the bed, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to your end. Gojo whimpers as you squeeze him, his thrusts becoming sloppier the wetter you get around him. “M-Me too, mama. I wanna give you this load so bad!”
Yes. You want that more than anything. And it isn’t just the sex talking. “Do it! Gimme another kid, Daddy! Make me a mama again!” A switch flips in Gojo and he grins his hips faster, harder, pistoning into you with the fury of a thousand horny fires. “So my baby wants to be bred? You want your country star to fill ya up with his babies?”
You nearly sob over how good he feels, gripping his muscular forearms for dear life as your orgasm grows near. “Yes, yes, yes! Cum in me, Daddy! Please get me pregnant!” With every slam of his hips against yours, going plap-pla-plap as he pounds himself into you, you know that you’re sure to get bred with another baby.
Another baby belonging to your love. “Get pregnant f’me, baby,” he gasps. “C’mon, cum with me! Give it all to…oh, fuck!” He leans down to swallow your moans as you both get closer, sloppily kissing and sharing your pants as you both come crashing down. With a groan, Gojo empties himself inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cum.
You feel it pouring out of you, shooting into you, hot, creamy, and sticky. It makes you gush and you cum all over his cock with a sob-like moan, pleasure crackling in your veins like firecrackers. His spunk fills a void in you that has long since been vacant and you smile, feeling an execrating amount of joy and euphoria that takes you higher than a drug ever can.
You hold him tight as you cum, arching your back so far off the bed that you’re afraid it will break, still sloppily swirling your tongue with his. It is all so perfect. Heaven on earth. But after a few minutes of Gojo slowly fucking his cum up into you, he grows tired and sighs, pulling away from you. He whistles, staring down at you with a satisfied smirk. "You worked me out, baby girl,” he chuckles.
And vice versa. You feel achy and winded already yet totally and supremely satisfied…and sticky. You can feel his cum dripping out of your pussy, soaking your puffy lips and inner thighs, slipping down to your ass crack. Gojo softly laughs, leaning down to give your slit a long lick to slurp up his cum, making you moan. “Damn, I made a real mess. Stay there.”
You giggle as you stay laid out on your back, legs to the ceiling, cum dripping out of your pussy. Gojo shortly returns with a towel soaked in warm water and lavender-scented soap. He gently cleans you up and you hum in relaxation at the sensations.“Thank you. For the towel and the load too.”
Gojo clicks his tongue at you, playfully smacking your ass with the towel. “Silly girl. No need to thank me. I’ve been dreamin’ of doin’ that for years now.” He presses a soft kiss to your tummy, making you flush. To think he has been dreaming of making love to you again makes your pussy throb again.
But before you can go round two, you need to rest. After Gojo gets you a cool water bottle from the mini fridge, he snuggles with you under the covers. His big body fits so nicely with yours…almost like you were made for each other. Your fingers glide along his abs, pecs, and beefy arms while he traces shapes over your curves, his big feet playing footsie with yours.
In the comfortable silence, something snags you and you can't help but ask him, “Did ya mean whatcha said? About livin’ with me and Tara?” Your heart pounds in your chest, anticipation his response. You’re afraid that it was just sex talk.
But to your relief and joy, it wasn’t. “‘Course I did,” Gojo replies, kissing your cheek. “Sure, I’d have to work my way up to buildin’ trust with Tara, but y’all are my world. Nothin’ else matters if I don’t got my two girls in my life.”
You split into a grin and turn around to face him, holding his face in your hands. “I’m gonna make ya so happy,” he whispers. “I promise. Your aunt is gonna be so glad you chose me, baby, I swear to y—“
You don’t give him a chance to finish before you’re kissing him, pouring every ounce of happiness and love you have into him. But before the kiss can move onto something else, you hear your phone ringing. “Damn,” Gojo groans, pouting, but he picks your bag up from the couch and hands it to you.
You dig into your phone, checking the caller ID. “It’s Utahime,” you announce. You answer, preparing to explain yourself to your anxiety-induced friend. “Hey, girl, I’m not dead. I’m so sorry that I—“
“Fuck, Shoko!” she moans. “Oh, that’s so good!” You hear a feminine giggle in the background and a soft popping sound like someone tearing their lips away from a very soaked pussy.
“Yeah? You want it faster?” Shoko teases. Then Utahime is moaning her head off, so loud that Gojo can hear it too. At least you’re both getting what you want tonight.
You both give each other a knowing look as you slowly hand up the call, struggling to not laugh. “Must’ve been a butt dial.” But when Gojo erupts into a fit of laughter, you join in, giggling hysterically. “She’s fuckin’ my bassist? I’m NEVER lettin’ her live this down!” he cackles, holding his stomach.
After recovering from your laughing fit, Gojo suddenly reaches back behind him and retrieves a guitar. You giggle, figuring that, of course, as a country singer, he’d have a guitar ready on hand. “Speakin’ of guitars, let me give ya sneak peek of my new stuff.” He gives you an irresistible smile and a wink as he sits up cross-legged, still naked with the guitar in between his legs.
You giddily grin at him, propping a hand up to hold your chin as you stare up at him from your side. “You’re gonna serenade me?” you tease, but you’re blushing all over at the idea of such a hot singer wanted by all serenading only you.
He nods, playing a few strings with his guitar pick, steady and skillful. “Hell yeah; I’ll do this forever if you want me to.” You feel a delighted shiver run through you at that, figuring that tonight can’t get any better for you. “Send a lil’ video to Tara. She needs to know that her papa can sing.”
You giggle and reach for your phone before Gojo begins to play, the sound of his silky voice combined with the sweet strumming of his guitar filling the tour bus. And just like that, you are proven wrong: tonight can get better for you. Sometimes, all it takes is a serenade.
Almost witnessing your husband die on live television to the king of curses rewired something in your brain.
The 3 weeks he was hospitalized due to his life threatening injuries and the list of medical issues that needed special monitoring. You were always there, chair pulled up to his bedside your hand covering his much larger one.
The amount of tubes going into his body and the amount of stitching on his body taunted you, mocking you. Making your brain spiral to every what if scenario there was out there in the universe of what could’ve happened to him out there, what he could be laying in right now that wasn’t a hospital bed.
The 4 days after the fight was just him sleeping catching up on years of sleep he was deprived of from being the strongest.
The days he was awake you were still always right there.
He needed water? you were already leaving the hospital room to go get it. Food? your voice was already mixing with his as you ordered whatever he was telling you what he wanted. He needed to stretch his legs? You were already there helping him out of the hospital bed treating his body like it was made of glass as you helped him stand up.
Your hands in his much larger ones as he helped him take a few small steps. your eyes staring at his face the entire time making out what facial expressions he would make. A furrow in the eyebrow and boom, you were already fussing at him to sit down and not to overdo it.
When Satoru finally got the okay to leave and was back in the comfort of your shared home. You became even worse over him.
Even with all of his wounds healed and being able to walk again you were still hovering over him, just in case. that’s what you told yourself.
and oh boy. Satoru noticed, of course he noticed. he noticed the first day he was awake in the hospital about your actions. The immediate action you took when he wanted something, asked for something even as little as another pillow to prop his back up a little more. The fussing over him when he would wince just a little when he sat up or to readjust himself to get more comfortable.
At home the only thing you did was follow him around like a lost puppy even if he was sitting down taking it easy. You were right there by his side never leaving him alone for more than a minute.
Finally one day while you were cuddled into his side on the couch your hand periodically going to where his heart was checking his heart beat, just in case. Satoru looked down at you - trembling fingers rubbing slow circles on your hip as you stared at the tv.
“you wanna tell me what’s been going on inside that pretty head of yours?” his unusual low voice cuts through the noise of the tv, you shift slightly under his gaze hesitating on if you should look at him or not.
Satoru didn’t say anything, he wanted you to speak up without him asking. When you still didn’t talk for a second too long for Satorus liking - two fingers pinch the fat on your hip when it was a second too long for satorus liking making you squirm under his finger pads.
“answer me.” his voice was sharper - pleading almost. he needed answers not this lost puppy shit.
“i just want you to recover quickly,” Satoru knew those words were true but that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“so you following me around these past two weeks like some lost puppy is because you want me to recover quicker? bullshit.” his fingers pinched your hip again a bit harder this time making you let out a small whimper in pain.
“okay! okay!-,” you whine in defeat giving into his tactics.
“i just- im scared, im so scared of losing you i was scared before the fight but now? I can’t even sleep without dreaming about seeing you die from that stupid fig-,” your lips shut when you felt Satorus hand on your jaw lifting your head up.
Your eyes finally meet, silence stretching over the both of you that it even blurred the sound coming from the tv. The only thing you could do is just stare at him, your words were caught in your throat again like they’ve been for a month now.
“listen me.” his voice was firm, not playful or mad. He needed this to get through your head.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promised you that before the fight and i kept it. Just because i got a little beat up doesn’t mean im gonna die,” voice firm not like his usual soft reassurance you were used to. No. He desperately needs his words to get through your head.
You nodded slowly trusting him like always - eyes still locked on his.
“i appreciate how much you’ve taken care of me and how much you’ve been fussing over me, but i also need my wife to not be ridden with anxiety when her husband is alive and well.” his voice was softer now like the way it always was, his slightly trembling hand cups your cheek bringing your face closer to his kissing your forehead that you could feel the love in his lips.
“would this be a bad time to ask my precious girl if she can get her still kinda injured husband an ice cream sandwich from the freezer?” you could feel the small smirk on his lips as he murmured the question against your forehead.
He pulls back looking at your with that same smirk you felt against your forehead and without a word you’re already up feet pattering to the kitchen to retrieve his ice cream sandwich.
