𝐀. ❤︎︎

jock!rafe who knows all the girls attending the game every week are fawning over him. but who gives a fuck? he revels in the attention actually. he’s cocky, he’s goodlooking. he’s on top of the world right now. nothing can break him.

jock!rafe who has a backwards hat glued to his head. he has a whole collection of hats with his favourite sports teams. his favourite one is a dark red chicago bulls one that he wears almost daily. other than that, his closet consists of a variety of thrasher flame hoodies, old football shirts, and his trusty white jordan ones.

jock!rafe who after a lot of persuading, gets an assigned tutor. you, the quiet student in class: face always hidden behind a book, quiet, never asks any questions, but still gets the best grades in the entire class. you’ve never paid any attention to rafe, and you don’t ever want to. you just want to keep your head down, work hard. nothing else.

jock!rafe who finds you weirdly endearing from moment one. you don’t talk down on him, you explain concepts and theories like you actually want to help him. you don’t treat him like you want something more of him. he finds that quite refreshing. you, with your fluffy jumpers and glasses that keep slipping off your nose when you look down at your textbook.

“so, boundary drawing refers to the processes of inclusion or exclusion regarding the scope of justice,” you say, carefully underlining the concept in his textbook without ever looking at rafe. not that you can handle the heat of his stare, anyway. what you don’t notice is how rafe doesn’t look at the thin pages of his book. nah, he only looks at you.  

“and how come you know all this… stuff?” rafe asks you once you’re done with the tutor session, vaguely gesturing towards his still opened textbook. the library is almost closing, and you’re in a hurry to get to your dorm before it gets dark outside. “i don’t know— i just… do the work. read the literature.” you respond, stuffing loose papers into your bag. rafe huffs, leaning back in the wooden chair, momentarily lifting his hat off his head to brush his fingers through the golden locks. he realises then and there, he never really sat down and did his work. always too busy with football, his friends, parties. he figures that you’re a good influence on him. “you’re really interesting, y’know that?”

jock!rafe who starts making sense of his courses now. your sweet, shy voice explaning all the different paradigms on repeat in his head as he jots down the professor’s lecture notes in his notebook, while topper and kelce make fun of him for actually putting effort in. “huh, didn’t even know you own a pen, mate.” topper laughs as he claps rafe on the back.

jock!rafe who starts calling you “glasses” after a while. he catches himself wanting to push up your glasses himself. one time, they were so blotchy, he pried them from your face himself, cleaning the lenses with the material of his hoodie before putting them back on your pretty face, rendering you completely speechless.

jock!rafe who wants to pull you out of your shell. and when he learns you’ve never been to a party, he strikes up a deal with you. when he gets over an 80, he can take you to a party. a real one. while you weren’t so sure. you only agreed when rafe reassured you he wasn’t going to leave your side for one second if he could take you to that party.

jock!rafe who starts hitting the library like crazy. he’s there day after day, skipping training, skipping dinner. he’s forcing himself to remember pages and pages full of information. he even purchased a planner now to keep track of his to do list, and some coloured markers, because he saw you using the same ones. in the midst of it all, he realises he’s never put this much effort into anything or anyone in his life. except when it involves you.

jock!rafe who shows up to your study session with his usual cocky, self-assured grin, exam paper in hand. “look what i got,” he says. he turns the paper, and you see a big, bold 81 in red marker on the paper. your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets. “looks like we’re partying tonight, glasses.” he says.

jock!rafe who really doesn’t care how you dress for the party. you can dress up, you can dress down, but it doesn’t influence anything, because he’s already in love with your mind. your shy smiles. your grit, your determination.

jock!rafe who still sucks in a sharp breath when he texts you that he’s in front of your dorm hall, and sees you wearing your cutest top, your hair perfect, and of course that pretty smile that adorns your face. he can’t help it, he’s smitten with you. he’s smitten with you when he intertwines your fingers together, he’s smitten when he opens the door to the houseparty for you. he’s smitten with you when he pours you a soda and finds out you’re not a heavy drinker, and he’s smitten with you when he sees you complimenting another girl’s lipgloss.

jock!rafe who reluctantly introduces you to kelce and topper. he doesn’t want them around you too much, he’d rather keep you all to himself. he keeps sneering at his friends while you chat to them about your future plans, your home town or courses you’re currently enrolled in, daring them to make fun of you.

eventually, you two end up playing beer-pong with kelce and topper. and to rafe’s surprise, you seem to be really solid at it. “how can you be so good at that when you’ve never played before…” kelce musters, lost in confusion, when your ping-pong ball ends up in another cup. you shrug indifferently. “just need to find the perfect angle, pretty simple.” and rafe just marvels in how you can outsmart his friends with ease. somehow it makes you more attractive to him.

jock!rafe and you who end up taking a stroll outside, ending up on a random playground, sitting on the swings, bashfully taking glances at each other like two teenagers in love. and that’s when rafe knows, he needs to confess to you soon.

jock!rafe who all of a sudden starts to sit next to you during lectures and tutorials, inviting you to his football games with easy confidence. and you go. you don’t know why. all you know is that rafe makes you feel more alive that you’ve ever felt. and that feeling is addicting. what’s even more addicting is the sight of rafe running back and forth over the pitch, yelling instructions at his team mates, voice hoarse, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead as he points all over the pitch.

you notice that he’s actually on time now, he’s no longer late to class. you also notice that he simply ditches kelce and topper now to sit next to you during tutorials or lectures. and you don’t mind it. not one bit.

jock!rafe who catches himself wanting to learn more about you. spends hours and hours in book shops, watching you page lazily through every book your eyes land on, asking you specifically what you like about the book. he can listen to you rant about logarithmic patterns for ages, and loves indulging in your weird hobbies. if you like maps, he’d gladly page through the atlas together to see that spark in your eyes as you get lost in your silly interest.

when he finds out you volunteer at the local bookshop sometimes, he makes it a routine to pick you up after every shift because somehow the walk back to campus is “too dangerous” according to him. never fails to bring you something to drink after your shift. hot cocoa in the winters, a frizzy reddish-pink lemonade in the summer. and normally his car is a mess: random balled up socks, two random hats and a pair of old, worn-out football boots scattered around. but ever since he’s started to pick you up, his car is squeaky clean for some reason.

jock!rafe who also teaches you all about football, showing you photos of old, already retired players. “okay, who’s this?” he asks softly. you think for a second. he’s told you about this one, you’re sure of it. “… nicolas anelka for real madrid?” you guess, and rafe truly breaks out in happiness. “my girl’s a natural talent!” he yells into the dark night. it shows that he’s enjoying himself, and he wants to teach you about all the things he’s passionate about, too.

jock!rafe who takes you on drive-thru dates, munching on burgers while he ‘educates’ you on his music taste in the abandoned parking lot. he nearly had a heart attack when he found out you’ve never ever in your life listened to travis scott or future.

something you still have to get used to is how spontaneous rafe is. when you’re up late at night, busy studying on your own, rafe knocks on your door begging you to come with him to get something to eat. and you’re just standing there, in your ugly ass pjs, glasses crooked. “what— i can’t, i’m busy studying!” you exclaim, to which just shrugs. “taking breaks is important too, baby. you’ve taught me that.”

jock!rafe who practically melts when he sees you in his jumpers. especially if it’s one of his college football sweaters, or a well-loved, old jersey, with an almost melted off sponsor and player name from how many times he’s worn it. whenever you sleep over at his (after kicking topper, his room mate, out for the night), he basically begs you not to pack pjs. he just loves seeing you in his fluffy bed, hair damp from the shower you just took, face bare, entirely his.

random, but loves to pull you in by the drawstring of (also his) oversized joggers. thinks it’s absolutely adorable how you drown in his clothing.

MOODBOARD:

songs included: t-shirt | the motion | look alive | 3500 | rina | the language

you turn to the screen, grin clumsy, leaning forward so it fills up with your face. “hi, kenny!”

nanami softens. “good evening, y/n.”

you beam, but your grin can hardly stretch before sukuna’s palm grabs your face & tugs you into his chest. you pout up at him but his gaze stays glued to the screen.

“kento,” his voice is cool. “the guest list. you were saying?”

you’re buttoning & unbuttoning his shirt with your lips jut out but ryomen sukuna pays you no mind.

“yes,” nanami picks up a pen, neck rash red. “i was saying—“

“kuna,”

you interrupt nanami with a finger tugging at your boyfriend’s necklace. sukuna sighs, doesn’t look down at you or your pout.

“tell me.”

“can we have cake for dinner ?”

“no.” he taps something on his keyboard. “kento, go ahead.”

“right. i think—“

“kuna,”

sukuna breathes. “tell me.”

“you shouldn’t say no to your girlfriend.”

“my bad, sweetheart.” he’s sighing now but his palm squeezes your thigh. “kento.”

“right. as i was saying—”

“kuna,”

sukuna closes his eyes. one second, two, & he can still feel you looking up at him with that soft, sweet pout. he won’t kiss it away. not here, not now.

“tell me, baby.”

“i can’t, it’s embarrassing.”

he’s pinching his nose now, eyes shut as you sit up on his thigh. through the screen nanami’s eyes are twitching & his lips are pursed like he’s resisting the urge to ask if you’re deadass.

sukuna finally turns to you; bleary-eyed & gaze half-lidded. “say it in my ear ?”

you nod & he leans down with an ear to your lips. your gloss stains the shell when you lean closer:

“i’m horny.”

sukuna blinks. he wants to ask how the hell that happened, if you’re messing with him, if you have any sense of time & place and why your gaze is shy as if he’d ever tell you no.

he turns back to his laptop, necklace still in your grip. “kento, something came up. rain check?”

“liar. i heard that.”

sukuna slams his laptop shut. you squeal as he lifts you in his arms.

2. BIMBO DIARIES #2 : I WANNA TWERK ON THE FLO’ !

God has blessed gojo satoru with the gift of legwork. so just as david danced before the lord, gojo satoru dances on sigma-chi’s table with all his might.

with you right beside him, of course.

sigma-chi’s frat house is sweat-soaked bodies pressed together & neon lights on a friday evening. by the corner to the left, ryomen sukuna is watching you with a cup to his lips & bleary eyes.

on the center table, gojo is twirling you around with his chain glinting & cap tilted off. you cheer along with the crowd as the music switches to burna boy & gojo throws it back. nanami kento is somewhere near the bar, cheeks flushed & praying the wine’s strong enough to help him forget the sight.

“ryomen,” suguru’s voice is sudden beside him. “get your girl off that table. quickly.”

sukuna shoots him a side eye. “get your boyfriend off first.”

on the table you’re still cheering, grin clumsy, hair soaked against your neck & cup in your hands. sukuna catches your eye. you blow him a kiss but he keeps a straight face. you pout once & he raises a palm to catch it lazily before you beam & resume dancing like an episode character.

beside him, suguru doesn’t blink. “he’s not my boyfriend. and stop deflecting.”

“you let him sleep in your bed.”

“he has nightmares.”

“he has a crush on you.”

geto ignores his statement. “i’m not playing with you. i want her off the table now. she shouldn’t even be here—i told you no shein outfits in my frat house.”

as if on cue, toji walks by, 500% polyester shirt squeaking through the music. sukuna raises a brow.

“he’s a brother! i can’t do anything about it!”

“whatever you say, vice.” sukuna drawls, taking a swig from his cup. his eyes flit back to you on the table. you’re laughing away and still drunk & dancing, but now your knees are bruised & wobbly & his brows scrunch because you might fall any second.

you stumble—just once, just slightly, & ryomen sukuna is already moving.

he’s squeezing through drunk bodies now, alcohol sloshing around in his cup. ahead of him geto is already there, begging satoru to please come down. he sets his cup on a passing tray & he’s by your side at the table in seconds.

“kuna!” you cheer, eyes meeting his & still dancing. “hi, baby!”

“hi, beautiful,” his voice is soft as you dance your way over to him, heavy palms coming up to catch your hips. he looks up at your flushed cheeks & bright eyes before pressing a kiss to your thigh. “time to stop dancing.”

you squeak, jerking out of his hold to run away. “no—! i’m still having fun with satoru—“

you make about three steps before he catches your heel & tugs you into his chest.

“put me down, ryo!”

“no, you’re done.”

“no!” you’re whacking his chest as he shifts your thighs over his arms to carry you bridal style. “put me down! put! me! down!“

sukuna ignores you. “ryomen! i swear if you don’t put me down right now i’ll—“

“can you shut up for five seconds?”

ryomen sukuna is tired. bones limp, eyes bleary, neck rash red for no good reason. he knows he shouldn’t snap but the words seem to work because you go silent & still in his arms.

too still.

he won’t look down. it doesn’t matter anyway—you’ll get over it. he did it for the best & he doesn’t care if you cry because—

“fuck, wait—baby don’t cry,”

he’s much too late. your lashes are already tear rimmed & you’re squeezing his shirt while peering up at him with glossy eyes. sukuna bites his lip. god, what has he done?

“is it because i embarrass you?” you sniffle, lips wobbly & cheeks hot from the alcohol. “is that why you never let me dance?”

sukuna exhales, breath shaky, gaze pulling away from yours because he’s never been good at looking you in the eyes after making you cry.

“that’s not true and you know it,” he squeezes your thigh. “i don’t care about you dancing. i care about you not breaking your leg.”

you soften in his grip, peering up at him for a beat.

“kuna?”

“tell me.”

“i forgive you.”

sukuna scoffs, patting your hip. “thank you, angel. and geto is an idiot.” he mumbles the last part.

you’re still peeking up at him, still drunk & starry-eyed. “kuna.”

“tell me, baby.”

“i love you.”

ryomen sukuna kisses your hair. he doesn’t say it back but you feel it in how he grips you tighter.

3. BIMBO DIARIES #3 : DRESS UP DARLING !

the only thing between ryomen sukuna & his sunday afternoon nap is his beautiful girlfriend with her back against his chest.

sukuna is tired. on sundays like these he always is, limbs groggy & eyes heavy with sleep. he has his cheek in your neck & his arms around your waist. his back’s against the headboard and yours is on his own.

“kuna.”

“tell me.”

you turn to show him a jacket on your phone. “should i get this?”

sukuna nods. he parts his lips to speak but whatever he says is drowned out by sleep.

“kuna.”

“tell me, baby.”

“this pink dress, or the green one?”

sukuna squints. your screen is too bright in his face & he wants to tell you to move it away but he doesn’t. his thumb circles your hips, “green one.”

you frown, glaring at him. “are you mentally illiterate?”

sukuna blinks. he doesn’t know what that means. he wants to ask, but you likely don’t know either.

“you know i don’t like green.”

“so why was it even an option.”

you ignore him & turn back to scroll through your phone. he’s watching you click through items now with his thumb still brushing your hip. a top, some boots, a dress he knows you’ll wear once & never again—and the total only climbs up. by the time you’re done the total is $400. he can only hope you double checked it was CAD & not USD.

he closes his eyes against your neck, body limp & heavy with sleep.

“kuna.” your voice is warm in his ear.

“tell me.”

“i don’t actually want to buy all this.”

sukuna cracks an eye open. he’s still pressed against your neck, warm & half-awake, & he can see your lashes fluttering & cheeks swollen in the heat. he doesn’t ask what you mean—your voice beats him to it.

“i just wanted to buy something pretty,” you murmur, small & half-shy. “so i look pretty. for you.”

sukuna blinks. and then he sighs, because you’re silly & ridiculous & so fucking his.

“you always look pretty,” he mumbles lazily into your shoulder blade, eyes fluttering shut. “and you know this. i tell you every time.”

you bite your fingernail, turning a little to meet his head buried in your neck.

“kuna,”

“tell me.”

“i love you.”

ryomen sukuna only sighs. he’ll never say it back but you feel it in how he tugs you into his chest to lie on top of him.

you pout, “kuna.”

“tell me, baby.”

“can i still order it ?” you have your chin on his chest now, peering up at him through pretty lashes as sukuna tries, tries to go to sleep.

“order it, princess.”

“with your card ?”

sukuna grits his teeth. “with my card.”

BIMBO DIARIES , end.

ac: see banner! ( @to00fu )

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.

“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. 

THE END.

♡ Vemonized (Venom!Toji x F!Reader) by @screampied ♡ Love Island (Toji x F!Reader) by @tonycries ♡ Nothing Is Lost (Na'Vi!Gojo x Scientist!Reader) by @tonycries ♡ Let's Get Wet (SatoSugu x MILF!Reader) by @reignpage ♡ Building Services (Toji x F!Reader x Gojo) by @6x-x9 ♡ Stateside (JJK Men x Reader) by @tonycries ♡ His Prettiest Peach (Bowser!Sukuna x Princess Peach!Reader) by @indiewritesxoxo ♡ Geto Knows Best! (Knight!Geto x Rapunzel!Reader) by @indiewritesxoxo ♡ Crash Landing On That D!ck! by @reignpage ♡

♡ Holographic Heartthrob (Porn Star/Hologram!Gojo x Reader) by @mimimochis ♡ Let me fuck those insecurities away angel. (Husband!Eren x Pregnant!Black!Wife Reader) by @laylathegoddesss ♡ Enjin, Henessy & U (Enjin x Reader) by @suki-miu ♡

♡ ♡nanami is obsessed falls in love with his cute neighbor!₊˚⊹ (Nanami x Neighbor!Reader) by @sacratiti ♡ inadmissible (Detective!Sukuna x Reader x Higurama) by @yorikae ♡ Scorched Earth (Homelander!Gojo x Reader) by @nanamiskentos ♡ the weird little lady in the woods (Lumberjack!Toji x Lumberjack!Sukuna x Witch!Reader) by @liahcharms ♡

“Ye— yes,” you breathe pathetically. You can feel the desperate glide of his tongue on your skin, as if he’s trying to lap up the oils of your perfume, right before his plush lips suck faint purple marks all over your neck. “So much, I can’t think straight.”

That makes him release a low chuckle, momentarily deattaching himself from your neck — “My sweet baby.” — before connecting his lips to yours. And you can feel his wandering hands— travelling all over your hips, your lower back, thick fingers slightly teasing the elastic band of your shorts as he slowly moves his hips in tandem with yours. “Look at you, all pretty f’me.”

It drives you crazy, how perfect Jaafar is. The sweetest and most tender man on the planet. And he’s all yours, you realise. He’s all for you. The praise of his words shoot straight to your head.

The desperate tension in the room swirls in the air. His lips feel like a warm wave of pleasure to yours, and you can’t help but let out a small whimper as your boyfriend continues to pepper light kisses all over your neck and collarbones, carding your fingers through his curls.

You keep on writhing against his chest— you feel him harden beneath you. “Easy, baby. Let me fix it.” He whispers. A heavy, yet gentle hand pushes your rocking hips down to his clothed length, fingers now resting on the sliver of bare skin between your shorts and top, and Jaafar’s sure you feel hot. Needy. Eager. Seeking relief, after not seeing him for days. 

“Let me help my pretty baby.” He says to himself, like a promise. You can’t do anything but nod. You don’t want to do anything else, if you have to be honest with yourself. You know you’re in good hands with him. “I— please.” You manage to murmur quietly, breathily.

“D’awwh,” he breathes against your skin. The tension crackles in the air. It’s thick, heavy and yet, you feel so at home with Jaafar’s arms around you, wandering hands resting on your ass. “Y’just need me to take care of you?” He asks lazily, along with a little teasing hint and a surge of pride evident in the way he smiles against the sensitive skin of your neck.

The need within you simmers. It grows silently, like a tingle evolving into a wet pulse in your core as you allow Jaafar to kiss your stress away. He feels like a furnace against you. He’s everything you have ever wanted: stable, present, steady. His skin is soft like a pillow and if you weren’t as needy as you are now, you would fall asleep against his chest. 

Just the fact that he thinks you’re cute and perfect for him makes the pressure pulse heavier. “I feel so lucky,” your boyfriend pants between kisses. Those warm hands travel to your waist, where he moves your body back and forth over the growing tent in his shorts. “You’re too good f’me, I swear.” 

The air in the room is starting to get clammy. You can already feel the shy drip of wetness gather on your panties while Jaafar keeps on dragging you over his prominent length. The delicious friction of your panties and the jersey fabric of Jaafar’s shorts against your clit makes you lightheaded, and you can’t help but release small mewls every time the lace drags over your pulsing entrance just right. 

You look down at where the two of you rub against each other, and God if that sight doesn’t end you right then and there. “Fuck, you—” your boyfriend pants, unable to finish his sentence, “let me taste you, yeah?” His eyes are wide and blazen in pleasure, fingers already thumbing the hem of your shorts down.

You don’t think twice. “Yes, oh my— please.” you whimper out pathetically, finally feeling freed from your own restraint. You don’t care about how vulnerable you sound. You don’t care because everything feels good with him. Easy. Comfortable. 

He brackets his hand around your scalp as he settles you down on the soft duvet and peels off your shorts. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he tells you earnestly, making his way down your body, slotting his shoulders between your open thighs, never breaking eye contact. “Wondering when I could spoil my girl.” 

A small moan bubbles out of you when he snaps the elastic band of your panties against your skin. He’s taking way too long. Out of desperation, your hands sneak into his hair. “Please, touch me.”

A knowing smile appears on Jaafar’s mouth at just seeing you so undone, desperate for relief, begging him to go down on you like he’s your only salvation. He looks at you in a way you’ve never been looked at before: wanted. Important. Desired.

“When have I ever been able to say no to you, baby?” 

And with careful precision, your boyfriend peels off the last piece of fabric that separates your pussy from him. His soft, wet mouth immediately latches onto you like it’s a habit, a magnet. 

The drag of his tongue between your walls is slow, sleepy and filthy. The desire in your core keeps pulsating, heavier and stronger with each brush of his lips against your clit. It’s almost like a heartbeat that drives you mad. “Can’t stand seeing y’unsatisfied.” your boyfriend manages to mumble out while his face is buried between your legs. 

Between heavy breaths and languid licks between your walls, he manages to draw tight circles to your clit. His other free hand is wrapped around your thigh. “Makes me want to spoil you. Never have to lift a finger w’me, y’know that?” 

You can’t find the energy to respond to him. The delve of his tongue inside your spongey entrance, the warmth of his breath coating your thighs — it’s all too much. But it’s just the way you like it, and your boyfriend knows that too. You spend minutes grinding yourself against his waiting tongue. The grip you have on his hair almost functioning like a rein. 

When your fingers lose their hold on his hair, Jaafar is quick to lead your hand back to his head. “Keep it there, sweetheart,” he orders between pants. “Love it when you do that.” 

He continues to eat you out, albeit sloppily. Wet squelches of his tongue continually prodding at your hole ricochet off the walls like an echo, and you can feel the spark low in your core start to build up. “J, I—” your voice is tiny as it cracks from desperation. “I’m so close.” Your cunt flutters around the wet muscle of his tongue.

You sound wound up, and it spurs Jaafar on to keep doing what he does. “Please,” he begs back between dips of his tongue and gentle nips, “You’re doing so good, baby. Show me how—”

He doesn’t get much further. Your whole body lights up, muscles pulled taut. Jaafar’s sentence is cut off by a broken moan, and your entrance keeps gushing out the sweetest essence he has ever tasted. He moves his tongue through it, never letting up. Your breaths are heavy and pitchy and a little skittish as you finally come down from your high, chest rising and falling with deep inhales of oxygen.

Your thighs are still shaking when you try to sit up, and he sits up with you, seemingly more in love with you than before. One hand stays on one of your trembling thighs, keeping you still. He presses a lingering kiss to your lips. “Better, baby?” 

You nod back with a lovesick smile, all satisfied and happy, eyes flicking down to the problem he has to deal with now. The drowsy, sleepy tone in your voice from before can’t be heard when you say, “you need some help with that?”

Jaafar flashes you a grin: he knows what you’re talking about. He’s never the one to push you to do something you don’t want, but tonight, you want to take a different route. His grin is boyish and somewhat wicked, dimples appearing on his face. 

“When have I ever been able to say no to you?”

You thought it was a joke when Michael said he had adopted a new pet. “It’s a little bunny,” he gushed about it on the phone, voice scratchy due to the unstable connection, but the excitement in his voice was clear as day. “Saved her from this horrible lab where scientists do experiments on her.”

But seeing the fluffy bunny in real life, all white, elegantly perched on the warm carpet, pink nose slightly twitching had you clutching your chest with a small pout.

“I think she’s still a little shy,” Michael smiled, knuckles carefully stroking the bunny’s fur. He sat cross-legged next to you, his knee barely touching yours.

His eyes flitted between the bunny to you with his classic teasing, mischievous smirk on his face. “She reminds me of you.”

“Mike, what— how?” You barked out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “How the hell do I remind you of a bunny?”

The noiret shrugged, a quiet chuckle lingering in the air like electricity. “Dunno. Cute, soft, sweet. Reminds me of you.” He said, voice gentle and honest, eye contact unwavering.

Moments like these were difficult. You’ve been friends with Michael ever since you were little kids. He was your very first boy friend. Space between the words, even though he’d always been a massive flirt.

More so for the last couple of years. And that — knowing that he might like you in a different way, as something more than just friends — had your heart beating faster in your chest. You often wondered what life with Michael would be like. If he preferred to sleep in, how he liked his eggs in the morning. What his fantasy books would look like next to your contemporary fiction books.

You settled your attention on the pet again, cheeks warm. “Seriously Mike, what are you gonna call her?”

That had Michael thinking. He hummed in thought, and from here it looked like he had actual sparkles in his eyes. “Snowball. Isn’t that cute?” He looked back at you for confirmation. “Very.”

You spent the next couple of minutes watching how Michael played with his bunny, his long fingers stroking all over the animal’s soft fur, her flexible ears. A gooey, syrupy, tender feeling sloshed around in your stomach at the sight of Michael having fun with Snowball.

You wished he felt more understood. Not even you could bring him the understanding his tough career required. It was difficult, making music. Being an artist. Being constantly scrutinised, you knew that.

The sky eventually turned a sad shade of deep blue, the winter storm slowly dying down. Snowball felt comfortable enough now to hop around the living room, sniffing the sofa, the carpet.

“Curious lil’ bunny,” Michael drawled with a dopey grin as his eyes followed the white ball of fur. “She’s a sweet thing.”

“She is,” you whispered back, deciding you were going to call it a night. You pulled yourself up from your sitting position. The entire house was quiet, everyone already asleep. “You should put her back. I’m going to bed, Mikey.”

“Sure thing, honey girl. I’ll be there soon.”

You couldn’t sleep. You’ve tossed, you’ve turned. Clutched the blanket tighter across your body. Put on another, thicker jumper.

Your last hope was a glass of warm milk.

With a heavy, tired heart you made your way down to the kitchen. The house was still eerily quiet when you found a little pan. It was quiet when you shuffled around the large kitchen and opened the fridge to look for the milk carton. It was quiet when you slammed the fridge shu—

“Boo.”

“Michael!” You shrieked, almost dropping the milk from your hands. You shied away in fear.

Life’s unfair. Because how can your best friend look so good at three in the morning? Even though his hair was slightly mussed from sleep, his smile was still endearing, his eyes still glittering and big. Lips still kissable.

Wait, what?

“Couldn’t sleep?” He continued like nothing happened. His pajamas were simple, plaid pants and a white tee, snug around his arms. He looked comfortable and warm. Something you were particularly jealous of. God, why’d he have to be so cute?

“It’s too cold,” you replied, setting the milk carton down on the kitchen island. “I was freezing in the guest room, Mike.”

Michael’s face dropped, the usual teasing, lovesick glint in his eyes dying down. Just a little bit. The thought of you uncomfortable on his watch, in his house. It’s something he didn’t want to happen, ever.

“Sleep with me then,” he proposed, voice light and melodious, pretending his hands weren’t shaking in the pockets of his plaid pants. “My bed’s big enough for the both of us. And, y’know, we’ve known each other long enough.”

You stopped in your tracks. You were tired enough to completely miss the deeper meaning and consequences of Michael’s proposal. What it would do with your feelings toward him. You wanted to sleep, and in that moment, your best friend looked warm, cuddly and comfortable enough for you to utter “sure, Mike.”

“Are you comfortable enough?” Michael whisper-shouted as he settled the duvet over the both of you. “Yes. Thank you for, uh, the offer?” Was all you could muster, pulling the soft material up to your chin.

Like a memorised symphony, you two turned toward each other. “It’s nothing, baby,” said Michael. He was so close to you, his nose almost touches yours. “How’re you feelin’?”

You quietly scoffed. “You’re the one asking, Mr. Number One Album For Sixteen Successive Weeks. How are you feeling?” You propped yourself up on one elbow. “How’s celebrity life treating you, huh?”

Michael softly chuckled, casting his gaze down in embarrassment. “I can’t believe it. I really can’t— the fans, they’re so… they really like me, I guess,” he explained, voice wavering with emotion. “But with all the fame and the fans, y’know,” his bigger hand found yours under the blanket.

“You’re the only one who can make me feel normal. Human.”

There it was. It was as if silent fireworks exploded in his head, in his chest, and he finally felt he exposed some crazy secret. “Mike...”

“I wish we could hang out every day. I wish I could, I don’t know— take you to the studio with me. Meet Quincy. Meet Mr. Bahler, McCartney. Take you to rehearsal. Just to have a... f— just, you.”

“Oh, Mikey...” You mumbled, the nickname you used when the two of you were younger naturally lacing itself into your words. Your hand slid over his cheek. You wouldn’t need a heater if Michael’s words had this effect on you. They were so honest, profound. Heartfelt. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?” You let out incredulously, breath hitching in your throat.

Michael’s doe eyes found yours. “Just like life better with you by my side.” His fingers tightened around yours. His thumb rubbed back and forth over the back of your hand, as if to soothe himself. To ground himself, knowing that you were indeed here, right beside him. Where you belonged.

His confession lingered in the air. You blinked.

“I also like life better with you.” You admitted quietly in the dark. Raw and unfiltered, pure emotion. It laid there, out in the open. Simmering in the quiet. The words carving a pathway to your heart. Those words were enough for Michael. Enough to know that whatever life would throw at him, you would be there.

The snowstorm started raging outside. Angry waves of wet snow tapped against the window behind you, but in that moment, you couldn’t focus on anything else but Michael. The way he stared at you, the way he teased you for the simplest things— it all fell into place within the chambers of your heart.

Without exchanging any words — because Michael and you had the kind of friendship where you understood each other with merely one look — he pulled your intertwined hands from under the duvet, up to his lips as he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. Your skin tingled the moment his lips left your skin, all warm.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Mike.”

And when you finally let your eyes rest, it was with the promise of something newfound between you.

TWO: The West's Most Wanted.

THREE: From One Killer To Another.

FOUR: She's Such A Tyrant!

FIVE: No Tell Motel.

SIX: For A Sinner's Ears Only.

SEVEN: Hit 'Em Up!

EIGHT: Good Damage.

NINE: Kiss Me Gently in the Morning.

TEN: Somethin' Wicked This Way Comes.

ELEVEN: A Helping Hand.

TWELVE: Toxic.

THIRTEEN: Easing the Pain.

FOURTEEN: Sweet Medicine.

FIFTEEN: Starting Fresh.

SIXTEEN: A New Change.

SEVENTEEN: Misdirection.

EIGHTEEN PT I: In The Summer Breeze.

EIGHTEEN PT II: Pour Some Sugar on Me.

NINETEEN: Ain't Too Proud to Beg.

TWENTY: Them Changes.

TWENTY-ONE: Movin' On.

TWENTY-TWO: Untameable.

TWENTY-THREE: The III Most Wanted.

TWENTY-FOUR: Ride It, Sugar.

EPILOGUE.

if you weren’t so horny, you would be ashamed to admit that you wanted to bite him. his hands, his arms. his fingers wedged between your teeth. sucking marks all over him, rightfully claiming what’s yours.

your favourite thing is how protected you feel when jaafar’s arms tense up around you when he lifts you up with only a low grunt, lips brushing over your forehead in the process as he calls you every sweet name in the book whenever you feel stressed or sad.

it all happens with one simple stare. well, not really simple, because jaafar knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. he always knows when your stares and glances mean something more.

you’re on the sofa, legs tangled together, you resting on jaafar’s chest as you listen to his heart beat steadily under his ribcage. your eyes aren’t really on the tv, but more on him. his arms, in particular.

“you’re staring, baby.”

it takes a couple of seconds before you answer back, eyes completely zeroing in on his biceps. “what?”

“i said you’re staring,” he sounds somewhat amused, a slight smirk on his face. “you like my arms?” he lazily extends one arm experimentally, muscles automatically flexing along with the movement.

and damn, if that doesn’t immediately make your mouth water. especially now that your stupid beautiful boyfriend is waving his left arm around, right in your face.

the muscles in his arms look like little hills, skin even like an iced cake, perfect to sink your teeth into.

you finally remember to respond. “i— i do, i think.” you downright admit, heat creeping up your cheeks. your thighs already clamp together from his teasing tone alone. “especially this part—”

your nimble fingers already settle over jaafar’s forearm to pull him closer to you. your fingers squeeze around his bicep, feeling the thick tendons underneath his skin.

without thinking, you press one tentative kiss to the area, just letting it linger there, gauging your boyfriend’s reaction. the amused grin is still plastered on his face, this time with a darker, heavier gaze in his eyes.

“do you now, huh?” he asks, cupping your chin with his free hand, thumb rubbing back and forth. you nod happily, pressing another kiss to the muscle, this time pinching the skin between your teeth before you suck.

one more. another. and another, until his arm is covered in your glittery lipgloss, purple marks and slippery with your saliva. “you're killing me over here, princess.” your boyfriend grunts, his head tilting back from the sensation.

before you can press another kiss to jaafar’s arm, he’s already flipped you over, caging you in between his arms, his breath ghosting over your swollen lips.

“you’re so sweet. such a sweet girl. kissin’ all over me,” he whispers — even though you’re alone — his hot mouth travelling over the column of your neck. “gonna show me how much you like my arms, baby?”

a/n: sorry i keep cutting scenes off before the smut I HAVENT WRITTEN SMUT IN SO LONG I THINK I FORGOT HOW TO (and haven't been intimate with anyone in a long time but that's too tmi) pls be patient with me, and sorry for cockblocking 💔

“You could take me with you,” you hummed, giving him your best set of pleading eyes as he felt the once shriveled organ he called a heart squeeze at how sincere you looked. 

“I-” 

“Shouldn’t I be there anyway if it’s about our wedding?” You insisted, and despite his reservations, the only thing he was weak to was you. 

So he dragged his finger over the ribbon, slicing through it and the thick fabric easily as he cleanly cut each and every restraint keeping you tied to his bed. 

You had requested your own chambers when he first abducted brought you here, but these days, you rarely even stepped foot in them when you’d taken to staying up sleeping in his sheets. He liked your little scowl when you peeled off the now torn dress from your body, getting out of bed and rubbing your wrists with a haughty huff befitting your status. 

His future queen. 

“Happy?” He grumbled, shoulders rolling back as his greedy eyes dragged over the shape of your breasts, mouth watering enough he had to swallow his own spit. 

“No,” you sharply scoffed, striding over to your now-shared closet as you swiped through the selection of outfits he had made for you. “That was my last pink dress from home.” 

“I think these suit you much better,” he dryly replied, having to keep himself from snarling at your disdain for the clothes he’d chosen. So what if they showed a little more skin? “But if you wish, I’ll kidnap your dressmaker.”

“Can’t you just hire him?” You asked, giving him that look, like he was somehow testing your patience. 

Personally, he found that most prisoners, or well, workers only did their best after some time in the dungeon. 

But he didn’t mind bickering with you about it. 

Not when it made him almost feel like you were already married. 

“I guess,” he begrudgingly grunted, making a mental note to send a koopa down to find him tomorrow for you. 

Watching you get dressed was nearly as intoxicating as seeing you strip, studying the lines of your body, the way you moved your limbs as you squeezed into the tight outfit he was absolutely correct in assuming would look fantastic on you. Eyes glazing over as he committed and etched the image of you in his head, content to capture you like this in a painting later, frame it and hang it up in his private study as a new permanent fixture. 

Sukuna was not accustomed to compliments. 

But he found himself awkwardly clearing his throat, reaching out for you right as you glanced over your shoulder at him. 

“My bride is beautiful,” he muttered, his voice coming out all low and gravelly as heat creeped up his neck and threatened to color his cheeks in an obvious blush. 

Forcing himself to look back at the barred windows, biting the inside of his mouth until it drew blood. The thick taste of iron on his tongue as a delicate digit tapped his much larger hand. 

“Thank you,” you softly said, tempering your tone as you laced your fingers through his. “Shall we go?” 

He wasn’t stupid enough to assume you truly loved him back. Not the way he loved you, at least. 

Knew damn well that this could just be some attempt to get his guard lowered enough for you to escape. 

You might just want to know what their plans were. Where he’d send his troops of koopas to claim the land that used to be yours. Figure out any weak points. 

It didn’t matter. 

He wasn’t going to give you the chance to take advantage of it. No matter how much he might loosen your leash. 

Still, the walk through the air ship was rather peaceful. 

The warmth of your palm pressed against his, your skin brushing against his, those quick glances you’d steal up at him when his shell bumped into you. 

The koopas were already waiting for him there, crowded around the table and chattering before they all froze at the creak of the door swinging open. 

Turning to bow down before him, his ego inflating at their easy obedience while he caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes to his right. 

“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “It appears there aren’t enough chairs.” 

It would be easy to have a koopa scramble to fetch one for you. But just lazily walked over to his throne and sat back in it, spreading and patting his thighs while you stared at him with an adorable attempt at a stern expression. 

He could picture you presiding over meetings like this back in your own Kingdom, addressing those morons in your dominion as if they even deserved to speak to you at all. 

And now here you were, climbing on his lap in a tiny outfit, looking more like a concubine than a dignified princess. 

“You did this on purpose,” you muttered, not that you actually seemed mad. More like you were pretending to be – acting out a role you knew you were supposed to fill.

“How?” He dryly mocked. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Well, sure, perhaps part of him suspected you’d protest being all tied up and ask to tag along. But the chairs were just a coincidence. 

You shuffled on his lap, trying to get comfortable like he couldn’t feel the way you were quivering already. 

That was the part you were horrible at hiding. Because despite that sweet mask you liked to wear of a proper lady, you couldn’t disguise your attraction to him, couldn’t pretend to be distinguished when he’d seen how much you craved his cock every night. Derived a certain degree of pleasure in him ruling over you instead of the other way around. 

“You’re cruel,” you half-whispered, as if he somehow humiliated you when he could smell how horny you were. 

You were cute when you were trying to be strong. 

What would that plumber of yours think of you on his lap like this? 

He supposed he’d take care of that business after the wedding. Once he had bound you to him for good. 

“Lord Sukuna, we received a report from the koopas stationed-” 

He waved it away, shaking his head before he could even finish. 

“We’re discussing the wedding tonight,” he interrupted, running a calloused palm across your waist, feeling the way you shivered at his touch. “Since my bride is here.” 

It would all belong to him soon enough anyway.

Your heart. Your home. 

He’d conquer it all. 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

You hadn’t meant to fall for him. 

He was meant to be the monster in the tale. 

The scary villain that needed to be slain. 

A beast you were supposed to hate by the end of the story. 

You’d grown up with plenty of fairytales. Romances spun about princesses who were saved by brave knights and lived happily ever after. 

You had always thought you would marry a guy who wields a sword instead of spewing fire, someone steadfast and pure hearted. 

Sukuna was stubborn. Strange. Hot-headed with that horrible temper of his, with claws that looked made for slashing rather than clumsily clutching the stems to bouquets you could hardly believe he picked for you. 

You stared at his sleeping figure. The tattoos inked against his tanned skin as his chest slowly rose and fell. 

His mouth parted, the low roar of his snore starting up as you untangled yourself from his heavy limbs. 

The meeting had run far longer than either of you had anticipated, heavy eyelids drooping from exhaustion with you still on his lap. And even when it ended, he just yawned and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you back to your room with one hand while the other rubbed his exhausted eyes. 

He didn’t even try to fuck you. To your disappointment. 

Just plopped you down in bed and joined you there, strong arms wrapping around you before he promptly passed out. 

But no matter how many sheep you counted in your head, or how hard you shut your own eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep.

Your brain was buzzing, hyperaware of his touch, of his breath, a big ball of tension coiling tight in your core as you tried to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs. 

For a guy who kinda kidnapped you, the least he could do was have a smaller dick so you didn’t have to think about how good it felt to be fucked full of him constantly. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, shuffling off the bed slowly, stare still trained on him as you avoided waking him up. 

Usually though, once he was out, he wouldn’t stir until the sun was slipping through the cracks in the porthole he called a window. 

Now, there were only a handful of candles lit to illuminate the dark, your engagement ring glittering in the low light. It was big, and well, a bit gaudy, a ridiculously large pink sapphire glinting in the middle surrounded by small diamonds embedded into a gold band. 

Something that screamed you were taken from a mile away. 

He’d gotten down on one knee, the spiky shell on his back seeming even bulkier when he was all bent down like that, popping open a velvet box to propose to you like you were a normal couple. 

A year ago, you would have scoffed at the idea of him bowing to anyone. Laughed that someone might say yes to him.

But your own affirmation had come a bit too easily for even you to conceal your own crush. 

Could you call it that? 

Shrink your feelings down to something more comfortable to swallow? 

He rolled over, and you froze, throat constricting as you waited for his body to realize you weren’t there and wake him up. 

Instead, he grabbed the pillow, squeezing it tight as his nostrils twitched. Sniffing the scent of you left there before he let out a soft sigh and settled back into dreamland. 

When you watched him like this, all peaceful and pleased, you could almost trick yourself into thinking that this could last forever. 

But your feet were creeping closer to the door, heart thumping rapidly as you tried to quell your troubled mind with reassurances that you wouldn’t get caught. 

This could be the only opportunity you ever got. Your only chance to just leave. 

Your parasol had just been lazily stashed in a storage closet by one of the koopas, so it wouldn’t even be hard to snag it and slip off the ship. 

All you’d really have to do is find the courage to jump and float down. 

Of course, you’d need to hope that you weren’t drifting over anything dangerous. 

But considering you were sharing close quarters with someone as feared as him, who had enough strength to probably split your former plumber in two, you supposed whatever was below couldn’t be much scarier than what you’d be leaving behind. 

Were you scared though? 

Truly? 

Did his pointy teeth hold any terror anymore? When was the last time those sharp claws of his inspired even a sliver of apprehension? 

You had started to see them differently. Him differently. 

Anticipating the next time he’d sink his mouth on your skin and leave love bites. Fantasize about him scraping his claws down your back. Intoxicated by the weight of the restraints he liked to tie you down with. 

Was it fucked up to be horny instead of frightened? 

Yes, but that wasn’t exactly something you wanted to unravel while you were tiptoeing across dim hallways thinking about the logistics of an escape plan. Where would you even run to? 

Find some tropical island to take shelter in and hope none of the ape-ish men there would make things worse? 

You couldn’t just abandon the mushroom kingdom either. 

Leave the land you’d sworn to protect behind for him to seize in your absence. 

If you stayed, you could still rule over them. Ensure their safety – and your own. 

Although, you were sure it was only a matter of time before a certain someone attempted to take you back. 

Gojo seemed to think simply saving you was enough. 

He was always busy with Suguru or racing karts or doing other stupid shit that made you feel more like a second thought than a lover who was special to him. 

Sacred.

You wanted to be worshipped. 

Not strung along or simply sucking it up to see how long you could suffer. 

You were a princess after all. 

What purpose did you have if you weren’t born to be revered? 

Perhaps that was why when you opened the door you stopped in front of, the first thing you saw wasn’t your parasol staring back at you – but your own face. 

A hundred of them. 

Canvasses of different sizes, some hung up on the walls and others lined up against each other, one still on the easel in the center of the room as you stepped on the crinkly plastic tarp laid out and covered in paint splatters on the floor. 

Who said a villain couldn’t have hobbies? 

You hesitated as you gazed at his latest portrait of you, the soft strokes, the delicate touches that seemed incapable of coming from his massive hands. Each one was deliberate. This painting captured you in a candid moment, your head turned to the side as you leaned over the edge of the ship, the sky behind you and the sun on your face. Some of the others featured a…more flattering version of him next to you. 

Ones that made him look more regal.

More like a man instead of a monster by your side. 

Gojo would have scoffed. 

Said it was cheesy or stupid or came up with some other cheap insult to diminish his work. 

But it made your heart stutter. 

Slam faster into your ribcage the longer you stared at yourself. 

This was how he saw you. 

And it was how you wanted to be seen. 

You could blame it on reason. 

Say you had a responsibility or you were just doing what was rational. 

But you simply didn’t want to run away. 

Would it truly be so horrible to marry him? To be his wife and rule two kingdoms instead of one? 

Maybe give him a Sukuna Jr.? 

A loud bang exploded in the distance. 

The sound of wood splintering and faint crashes that seemed to get closer by the second. 

Oh well. 

It seemed your groom-to-be had woken up. 

You didn’t budge though. 

Just folded your arms across your chest as a chill ran down your spine and waited for him to find you – even as his gruff voice barked orders for his koopas to start sweeping over the ship for any sign of you. It didn’t take him too long to find you, the door thrown open so fast it hit the wall behind it and made an awful noise. You stilled, only throwing him a bored look over your shoulder.

“You’re making a racket,” you commented, pretending to be casual as you returned your attention to your own portrait. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded to know, stomping over and grabbing your wrist to spin you around. It was hard to hide the hint of a smirk your lips attempted to curl up into, but you managed, fixing him in your most unamused stare. “You’re trying to fuckin’ run away, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t know whether to deny it or offer the admission that you at least changed your mind.

The feral scowl etched into all his rough features was pretty hot.

“I’m admiring your art,” you murmured softly, wondering how difficult it would be to make him melt for you. 

“Liar,” he accused, thick brows pinched together tightly. “You left me.” 

“How could I leave you if I’m right here?” You pointed out, tilting your head to the side. 

For all his fire, he faltered when you offered him a small smile, his own mouth curving down to form a disgruntled frown. 

“Stop playing dumb,” he hissed, barring his teeth as if it would work on you now. 

“Are you calling me dumb?” You asked, arching a brow up as if you believed he was. 

His free fingers curled into fists he immediately shook out, jaw clenching as his red eyes seared straight through you. 

“I am not-” He stopped himself, maybe realizing he was falling into your trap before angrily shaking his head. “You little-” 

“Little what?” You dared him to actually finish his curse, but he had clamped his lips shut. Pulling you closer to him before unceremoniously scooping you up bridal style, muttering to himself as he stormed back in the direction of your now shared bedroom. 

“Thought that fucking idiot came and stole you,” said the man who stole you first. You had to hold in your snort, keeping your head down as you tried to not let him see you roll your eyes. 

But his intense stare was fixed on you, his nose scrunching up, lips parting in an annoyed scoff. 

“You think this is funny,” he grunted. 

“Is it not?” You asked, tempted to test just how crazy you could drive him. 

“You are-” Sukuna grimaced, biting down on the inside of his own cheek so hard you knew he probably drew blood.

“You’re really having trouble finishing your sentences tonight,” you commented, pushing your luck further. The vein bulging across his forehead ready to burst at your trivial giggle was a cute perk to pissing him off. “Tell me, my king, what exactly were you going to do if I had run away?” 

“Get you back,” he grumbled, as if you somehow could miss the glint in his eyes when you called him your king. 

You wondered how long it would take for him to ask you to say that in bed. 

And got your answer a lot sooner than anticipated. 

The moment you had crossed the threshold, he was ripping the barely-there clothes off of you and pinning you to the bed. 

Bites buried into your skin as he travelled from your stomach up to your breasts, teeth skimming against every available inch of skin until he was sinking the deepest ones into your throat, a low growl rumbling from his chest as you squirmed underneath his heavy weight. 

His tongue dragged over your neck, leaving a lewd line over the sensitive spots he’d just been sucking on until his mouth was positioned right by your ear. 

“Say it again,” he commanded, all husky and hot as your stomach found a way to tie itself in an even tighter knot. 

“Say what?” you played just as dumb as he accused you of, the tension just building on top of itself as his warm breath fanned over your skin, claws sinking into your hips just careful enough to not hurt, but to make you feel the pressure. 

“You know what,” he hissed, too prideful to admit what it was he really wanted.

“You want me to call you my king?” You hummed, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, softening your voice. 

Sukuna might not say it. But his heavy cock pressed up and throbbing against your thigh surely told you the truth. 

“I want you to mean it,” he murmured, his defined jaw catching the candlelight while you watched the lump in his throat bob. 

You hesitated. 

Considered giving up this charade the two of you had been embroiled in. 

Him dutifully playing your captor while you pretended to be a damsel in distress as if you hadn’t been having sex like partners instead of just lovers.  

He might not know the difference. 

But you did. 

Because even after he came, he didn’t just roll over and conk out. And when you woke up together, he didn’t just abandon you to handle his own affairs. 

He took care of you, fed you only the best foods and offered the best baths, pampered you in luxuries and made sure you wouldn’t want for anything when you were with him. 

What else could a girl ask for? 

So what if he was a little…sharp around the edges? 

You could love him and all his spikes. 

It wasn’t like you were ignoring him, but you’d been so swept up in your own thoughts you were caught off-guard when he abruptly buried his face between your thighs. 

Mercilessly shoving his tongue inside you, diving in without a sliver of reluctance, with a single obvious goal in mind. 

Making you moan what he wished to hear if you wouldn’t just outright say it. 

Swirling his tongue around with the precision of someone who was determined to drag you to an orgasm. The thick muscle working you open ruthlessly, his fingers pressing down and pulling you into his mouth. 

Groaning into your cunt to make your body unhelpfully spasm, giving into those maddening patterns he was painting inside you as those reverberations traveled up through you. 

Resisting felt pointless. 

Holding back was so much harder when the pleasure he was providing was overwriting all your common sense. 

You were tugging hard at his roots, hips arching off the soft surface of the bed to drive him in even deeper. But it simply wasn’t enough. 

He made you just as greedy as him. 

“M-more,” you moaned, swallowing hard as the heat started to get to your bed, the warmth he was radiating making beads of sweat roll down your forehead. 

He pulled out, laughing crudely as he looked up at you with wild eyes. 

“More?” 

Ah. 

Maybe that was a mistake. 

But you couldn’t find an ounce of regret when Sukuna was roughly flipping you over onto your stomach and nudging your thighs further apart with his knee next. Making sure you were properly spread as he climbed back on top of you, trailing the sharp edge of his claw up your spine before grabbing the nape of your neck. 

You couldn’t look back. 

Could barely breathe. 

Stuck there with your face pressed against the smooth blankets as you waited for him to make his move. 

“You want more?” He echoed his previous sentiment, disbelief still ringing in his tone. 

“Do I have to ask again?” You teased, even if your question came out half an octave too high. 

You would. 

But only if he made you. 

“Say it then,” he growled. 

“My king is mean,” you wryly mocked, knowing that he would fuck you harder for it. 

“I’ll show you mean,” he muttered, the swollen tip of his cock pressing right up against your slick entrance as you tensed up. 

You used to think you were smart. 

But considering how soaked you were waiting to have sex with him, you supposed you weren’t half as intelligent as you’d been before. 

And the moment he was sliding in, you were losing even more IQ points you didn’t know if you had to spare. 

Thoughts getting all fuzzy as they faded away to be replaced with mantras of his name, desperation bleeding into each one as you ached to be full. 

He was still gracious enough to ease you into the first thrust, slowly splitting you open on his length before pulling out and doing it again. 

Walls clamping down and straining to get accustomed to all his ridges, to his sheer size. 

But he was bottoming out before you could get your sanity back in check, all your rationality dissolving in a puddle of raw need as he hit a spot that made you jolt. 

“Not running from me now,” Sukuna snarled, pulling your hips back down as he plunged his cock even deeper, grinding it up, up, up for you to practically feel him in your lungs. 

Air squeezing out with each one of his rough thrusts no matter how desperately you tried to quickly suck more back in. 

A snarky piece of you wanted to argue that you hadn’t technically run away at all, but you didn’t think he had any reason left in him either. 

This was just about you and him and fucking until he felt better. 

Until you were both so enmeshed you would never want to leave him again. 

The connection between his cock and your cunt driving you nuts as he drove it in again and again. 

“Being real quiet now,” he taunted, and you just scoffed back at him, unable to form any coherent words to bicker back. 

But before you could try to find him, he was pulling back out right as you were getting edged closer. 

He flipped you over in a second, impatient fingers digging meanly into your thighs as he folded them against your chest. 

Sukuna didn’t have to verbalize it. Mutter a word for you to understand the why. 

He wanted to see your face when he made you cum. 

Cock sheathing itself back inside you as if it was the most natural fit in the world. 

His other hand reached for your throat, big fingers wrapping around it like your own personal necklace as he squeezed just enough to steal some of your air. “You just like punishing me,” you breathlessly moaned, gripping onto his muscled biceps as his thick cock stretched you to the limit, rubbing just right on all those sensitive spots. Contrary to the filthy words he was spewing, he was still fucking you precisely how he knew you liked. 

“You liked being punished,” he retorted, thumb rubbing over your tendon, feeling the faint indents of his teeth he’d left behind. 

Was that what you liked? 

Or was it simply him? 

“What would your plumber do if he saw you like this?” He grunted, gritting his teeth as he fucked you harder, hips smacking into your skin in harsh thwaps. “Panting and begging me for more.” 

“Probably ask to join?” 

Sukuna froze, brows furrowing as he opened his mouth to snarl something nasty before he changed his mind and decided to just fuck that thought out of you instead. 

Letting go of your throat to move his big hand south, his thumb finding your clit to toy with that too. Drawing more practiced circles over the sensitive bud, keeping a steady rhythm of pounding into you as he dragged you towards a cliff. 

You wanted him to throw you off. 

To jump off with you and fill you up. 

The pressure mounting higher, your thighs tensing and toes curling in anticipation as your limbs began trembling. 

You weren’t sure what the last straw was. Whether it was his warmth or his touch or the way his mouth crashed into yours for a messy kiss right as he pressed just right on your clit, but you crumbled. 

Cumming with his name on your tongue, shuddering as the pleasure wracked through you – just for him to pull out midway through, cum leaking out all across your skin. Steady drips falling on top of you as he stroked his shaft, your vision hazy in the corners before you shut your eyes and let go of the tension still lingering in your bones.

“Fuck, you’re so-” He started to groan, his head tilting back to expose the seductive line of his collarbone, the tattoos standing out across his chiseled chest. Your husband-to-be. 

“Perfect?” 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

What good was a wedding without a bride? 

Sukuna touched your hair, unable to wipe the scowl still lingering on his face while he huffed and puffed over your disappearing act a full hour after you fell asleep post-sex. 

He didn’t believe you. 

Even if he wanted to.

You were as clever as you were cute. Crafty. 

There was a chance for you to go. To get as far from him as you could. 

But he found you standing there in your own shrine. 

Unbothered by the commotion and the chaos, just staring at yourself before throwing him that annoyingly attractive glance. 

Were you trying to piss him off? 

Had you simply come to your senses and realized fleeting would be futile? 

He didn’t know. 

And you wouldn’t tell him. 

You were still wearing your ring though. 

It looked rather good – especially when you weren’t wearing anything else. 

Sukuna sighed, chewing his already bitten raw bottom lip as he tasted the iron in his mouth. 

Fingers flexing as he possessively held you tight, unable to loosen his grip in fear you’d just slip away again. 

You had made him a fool. 

And he didn’t think there was any way for him to undo it. 

He didn’t think he made a noise, but you began to stir, sleepily blinking up at him and yawning as you started to pull away, wait no, snuggle closer? 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest as you draped a lazy arm around his side, your scent invading his system and frying all his synapses. 

“Just go to sleep,” you murmured, delicate fingers decisively patting him. “M’not going anywhere.” 

Yeah, not under his watch.