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sugugasm · 7 months ago

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☆ CLICK TO PLAY ! ➜ 450 DEGREES

YOUR LEVEL IS STARTING SOON . . .

level quest : pov ur neighbor is a firefighter, and you love a man in uniform . . just as much as he loves your chocolate chip cookies.

☆ — a message from the developer : hiii i missed uguys sm, i’m so glad to be back for realsies this time :p don’t mind any mistakes or errors & before you read — nsfw content up ahead so pretty please read these warnings !!! strangers to lovers !!! age gap alert ➜ toji is 35 and reader is 25, mentions of sexual themes such as oral, vaginal penetration, pet names such as : sweetheart, angel, baby ofc, princess, honey, etc. usage of sexual terms and usage of terms describing female anatomy, uses she/her pronouns. firefighter! toji x baker! blk fem! reader 333 — word count : 8.0K or 9.0K, i lost track LOL

“fuck . .”

toji cut the engine of his ford pickup and sat for a moment, eyes closed, letting the silence wash over him. every muscle ached with exhaustion, the double shift of 48 hours catching up to him. he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in an actual bed instead of snatching a few hours on the lumpy firehouse couch in between calls.

sighing, he grabs his duffel from the passenger seat and levers himself out of the truck. as he turns toward the house, a flash of color across the street quickly catches his attention. his new neighbor — you, out puttering in your postage stamp front yard, wearing a tank top the same vivid coral as the geraniums you were watering and cut-off jean shorts that barely qualified as clothing to any old, bitter bastard.

he’d seen you before. many times. whether it was while leaving for an early session at the gym as you walked your puppy, or his moving day . . where he could barely order around gojo and geto, struggling to tell them where they should place certain boxes due to hearing your alluring giggle coming from the house next door, your curls flowing in the breeze as you gossiped over iced lemonade with mrs. johnson on her porch.

his thoughts are interrupted when you glance toward him, face lighting up with a friendly smile as you spotted him. “hi there! nice to finally see you in the flesh instead of just passin’ headlights at odd hours of the night.”

“sorry about that.” toji hoped his answering smile passed for normal and not serial-killer exhausted. “i’m toji, toji fushiguro. i jus’ moved in last month.”

“well m’ yn. welcome to the neighborhood!” you propped a hand on one cocked hip, thoughtlessly drawing his eye to the thickness of your legs that almost looked golden in the sun lighting.

jesus.

realizing he was staring, he jerks his gaze back to your face, feeling his neck heat up at the idea of you catching on. “thanks. s’ a nice area. quiet.”

“i like to think we're a pretty welcomin’ bunch. in fact . . .” you bite your lip, looking almost shy for a second. “i was plannin’ to do some baking later, as a housewarming gift for all the newbies. any requests? cookies, muffins, scones? i make a mean cinnamon roll too.”

an unexpected warmth kindled in toji’s chest at the kindness of the offer. even as his stomach rumbled in anticipation, he couldn't remember the last time someone had gone out of their way to do something nice for him. sadly, baked goods didn't really tend to hold up well on 24-hour shifts.

“that’s really sweet of you, thanks. i love a good chocolate chip cookie, but i’ll happily be your guinea pig for anything.”

“sounds like a plan.” you graced him with another one of those classic, southern hospitality miles. “i’ll surprise you. they’ll be over before you know it!”

“looking forward to it. i better let you get back to . .” he waves a hand vaguely at the riot of flowers on your lawn, colors and smells galore.

“oh, right. see you soon then. welcome home!” with a small wave, you bend to retrieve the watering can, giving him an unobstructed view of her perky ass in those obscenely small shorts.

strangling a groan, toji spun on his heel and double-timed it into the house before you caught him ogling you like a creep. so much for a quiet neighborhood, he thought ruefully as the door shut behind him. you were gonna’ be one hell of a distraction, though some traitorous part of him looked forward to the temptation. it’d been way too long since he'd been around a pretty girl. maybe that's what all this edginess was - his libido waking up and taking notice after a long dry spell.

well, he'd just have to keep any wayward urges in check. no matter how mouthwatering you looked in tiny cutoffs, you were practically a decade younger and a neighbor, at that. off limits. he’d accept your baked goods, enjoy a little innocent flirting, but anything more was out of the question.

resolved, he headed for the shower, already counting the minutes until he could taste whatever delights you were whipping up for him.

the next morning, toji was on his second cup of coffee, basking in the rare luxury of an empty day ahead with no responsibilities, when the doorbell chimed. he opened it to find you, juggling a huge wicker basket with an equally enormous smile. the sweet scent of sugar, vanilla and chocolate wafted out to tease his nostrils so blissfully, just like how your sheer presence teased . . . other parts of him.

“g��mornin’,” you chirped. “i come bearing gifts from the sugar fairy.”

“so i smell . .” his mouth waters as he relieves you of the basket and ushers you inside, noting how your flowered sundress set off your peaches-and-cream personality. no shorts today, but the dress was nearly as enticing as it grasped on to your curves. he wondered if your skin would taste as good as you smelled, then mentally slapped himself.

down boy.

“i hope you don't mind me just droppin’ by like this. i wanted to catch you before you got busy.” your smile faltered slightly as you glanced around the spartan space with its generic bachelor furniture and decided lack of personal touches. “if s’ not a good time . .”

toji set the basket on the coffee table and turned to her, hands raised in mock surrender. “you came to my house bearin’ gifts of dessert. trust me, it's never gonna’ be a bad time. i may actually make some sort of sugar delivery beacon to summon you in the future.”

your laugh sounded a little relieved. “aww cute, sounds like my kind of bat signal. i’ll have to get you a spotlight shaped like a cupcake.”

“make it a cookie and you've got yourself a deal.” he grinned at you. “can i interest you in some coffee to go with whatever magic you've got in there? smells incredible.”

“coffee would be great, thank you.”

he led the way into the kitchen, noting how you took in details like the depressing lack of clutter and decoration. the only personal items were a handful of framed photos stuck to the fridge - him and his siblings as kids, his parents' wedding portrait, shots of fishing trips with his buddies — one with snow-white hair and the other with black. it struck him how sterile the space was, more like a way station than a home.

you didn't comment on it, instead you just leaned a hip on the counter and watched him pour a darkened substance into a ‘worlds worst morning person’ mug. there’s a comforting silence as he catches a whiff of your light perfume over the powerful espresso aroma - something floral and citrusy. it suited you.

“i wasn't sure what kind of treats you'd like, so i made a sampler of my greatest hits,” you say brightly. at his gesture, you unpack the basket, setting containers and various utensils on the table. “okay so . . we’ve got triple chocolate chip cookies, blueberry muffins, apple cinnamon scones, and my famous brown butter cinnamon rolls.”

“good lord,” toji shook his head in awe. “you made all this yesterday? after we spoke? do you even sleep?”

you laugh and accept the steaming mug he offered. “who needs sleep when there's sugar? besides, baking relaxes me. i love seeing people enjoy my creations.”

as if on cue, his stomach rumbles loudly, and you bit your lip against a smile. “sounds like someone's ready for a taste test. don’t be shy . . dig in.”

toji didn't need to be told twice. he selected a cinnamon roll, still warm from the oven, and bit in with a moan that would've been beyond embarrassing if his mouth wasn't full of heaven. “shit . . think i jus’ found my religion.”

you giggled that giggle that’d been stuck in his head since the day he heard it. “the cinnamon rolls tend to inspire a cult-like devotion. you haven't even tried em’ with the cream cheese frosting yet.”

he halted with the pastry halfway to his mouth for another rapturous bite. “there’s frosting too?”

in answer, you pulled a container from the basket with a flourish. “i figured you could handle adding your own so it didn't get soggy.”

“you’re an angel.” he slathered a generous amount of fluffy white frosting on the roll, not even caring that he probably looked like an overexcited kid.

watching him take another blissful bite, you cradled your coffee mug in both hands. “soo . . what d’you do that keeps you gettin’ home at such odd hours? i promise m’ not stalking you, but it's a quiet street. hard not to notice the comings and goings.”

toji washed down the sticky-sweet mouthful with a swig of coffee. “i’m a firefighter. we work 24-hour shifts, so my schedule can be pretty unpredictable."

interest sparked in your eyes. “really? that’s so cool! i bet you have some amazing stories.”

“eh. a few,” he allowed. truthfully he tried not to dwell on some of the things he'd seen, the memories that still occasionally jolted him awake in a cold sweat during the night. “it’s rewarding work, but not exactly a picnic for the social life.”

you give him a sympathetic look over the rim of her mug. “i can imagine. is that why you moved? needed a fresh start?”

“somethin’ like that. the job costed me my marriage a couple years back. got tired of walkin’ around the old place alone, so i thought a change of scenery might do me good.”

change of scenery in deed. toji even went as far as to relocate to a different state after his divorce with his wife. even the landscaping around the city had become too much of a heartache. what was once a happy, sensual marriage quickly turned sour the moment toji began working more. the position as chief hadn’t sounded that horrible in his head, but if he knew he’d come home one night - the clock reading exactly 3:17 am, to an unrecognizable man fast asleep in his bed, naked next to his wife, that that position could’ve waited. could’ve been passed on.

there’s a silent second between you two, your face still, “i-im so sorry,” you say softly, and toji feels relief when he sees that your eyes were warm with understanding, free of the pity he'd come to dread whenever his divorce came up in any other conversation he’d have with someone who didn’t know him.

he shrugged. “it is what it is. we married too young, grew apart. my hours didn't help. no hard feelings though.” he mustered up a wry smile. “what about you? you’re a little young to be living the retired grandma life, baking up a storm in the 'burbs.”

you grin, allowing him to lighten the mood. “hey, hey, hey, this grandma can party with the best of em’! fyi, i stayed up past 10 last saturday watching bad girls club.”

toji clutches his chest in feigned shock. “damn, so scandalous! what was the special occasion?”

“all have you know . . i was trying to perfect a new macaron recipe. passionfruit with dark chocolate ganache. they’re a fickle mistress though - one minute too long in the oven and they're as dry as bones.”

“sounds like bakin’ is more than jus’ a hobby for you,” he observed.

you toy with your mug. “it’s my whole life, really. i’m in my second year of culinary school, specializing in pastry arts. when i graduate, i’m hoping to open my own bakery. somewhere people feel welcome and cared for. a safe space, i suppose.” he stares, and you duck your head with an embarrassed laugh. “sorry for the tangent . . it probably sounds so silly.”

“not at all.” toji found himself impressed by the passion and dedication evident in your voice. you had a dream and you were going after it. he remembered that feeling. before the reality of adulthood had started chipping away at his own youthful idealism.

he wanted to say something to encourage you, to protect that light shining in your eyes for as long as possible. “for what it's worth, i think you're gonna’ be amazing,” he told you seriously, holding your gaze. “if this morning’s haul is any indication, you'll have lines around the block.”

you shield your smiling face sweetly. “that’s kind of you to say. i appreciate the vote of confidence. speaking of . .” you hesitate, then forge ahead. “m’ actually working on developing an original signature recipe for my final. multiple components, flavors, textures. the works.”

“sounds ambitious,” he said, eyebrows raised. “what’d you have in mind?”

your eyes sparkle with enthusiasm at the question, the thought of genuine curiosity making your heart flutter. “deconstructed black forest cake. dark chocolate cake, kirsch-soaked cherries, vanilla bean whipped cream. i wanna’ play with it, update it. maybe turn it into a trifle or a parfait of some sort.”

toji was no culinary expert. hell - he didn’t even know what half of those things were, but even he could tell you were on to something special. “that’s incredible, yn. lemme’ guess - you need a guinea pig?”

you bite your lip nervously, smile turning impish. “i didn't wanna’ impose, but since you offered the other day . . how would you like to be my official taste-tester? i can't really pay you, but you'll get free rein to sample every variation.”

“where do i sign up?” he was only half joking. even if your creations turned out to be awful, which he highly doubted, any excuse to spend more time with you sounded like a win.

you laugh. “i think i can waive the usual application process on account of the fact that you're doing me a huge favor. plus, it means you won't be able to avoid me constantly showing up at your door to force-feed you desserts.”

“oh no. however will i cope.” he feigned a put-upon sigh.

you shot him a look of amused reproof as she packed up the empty containers. “try to contain your disappointment. i promise to space out surprise sugar bombings. wouldn’t wanna’ make you sick of me or my baking."

“i don’t really think i ever could . . to be honest,” he declared firmly. on impulse, he reaches out to still your fluttering hands with his own. your skin was so soft and warm, sending a tingle zipping up his arm. your breath pauses at the contact and your eyes flew to his, startled.

“i mean it,” he said, voice gone low and intent as he tries to infuse sincerity into every word. “i can't imagine ever getting tired of you. or your company.”

for a suspended moment you just stare at each other in silence. then you swallow, sounding a little breathless as you replied, “likewise. m’ really glad you moved in, toji.”

“me too,” he said roughly. and though he knew he shouldn't, that he was venturing into dangerous territory, he allowed himself to stroke the delicate bones of your wrist with his thumb. just once, to feel your shiver lightly in response. then he released you and stepped back, moving to hold the door open for you in unspoken signal.

“i’ll get out of your hair now,” you murmured as you gathered the empty basket with hands that trembled just slightly. “but i’ll see you soon? for taste testing purposes, of course.”

“absolutely,” he confirmed. “anytime. y’know where to find me.”

with a final nod and smile, you slipped out the door. he watched you go, admiring the sway of your hips, the bounce of your hair, already counting the minutes until he'd see you again.

you were gonna’ end him, so so sweetly too., he realized with a trace of fatalism.

but what a way to go, huh? death by cinnamon rolls.

the day of the first official tasting arrived, and toji found himself unaccountably nervous as he approached your door. he felt a like an awkward kid picking up his prom date, palms sweaty and heart knocking around his ribs. which was ridiculous. this wasn't a date. just two neighbors getting together to sample some sweets. totally casual.

never mind that he'd changed his shirt three times, vacillating between wanting to look nice for you and not wanting to seem like he was trying too hard. he’d finally settled on a plain black tee and his least disreputable pair of jeans, adding a hint of cologne as an afterthought.

now, standing on your stoop, he wished he'd brought something. flowers maybe — lillie’s like the ones in your garden, or perhaps wine. did people bring wine to taste testing sessions? probably not. you’d most likely think he was a presumptuous idiot.

shaking his head at his own weird bout of nerves, he raised his hand to knock. before his knuckles could connect, the door swung open to reveal you, looking adorably pretty and flustered. you were wearing a frilly pink apron over a gauzy white sundress scattered with tiny red cherries. your hair was bundled on top of your head in a haphazard knot, loose curls escaping to dance around your swelled cheeks. a dusting of cocoa powder streaked one of them.

“toji - oh, you’re right on time! m’ runnin’ a bit behind, so sorry. come on in.” you stepped back to let him enter and he caught a blend of tantalizing scents - rich chocolate, sweet cherries, warm vanilla, and underneath, the subtle floral musk that was purely you. it made his head swim and his stomach clench with a hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with the promise of dessert.

he followed you into the kitchen, blinking a bit as he took in the transformation. when he'd helped you carry in groceries a few days ago, the room had been tidy and quaint, with cheerful yellow walls and kitschy retro appliances. now every surface was strewn with baking detritus - bowls, whisks, spatulas, piping bags. the air was hazy with a fine mist of flour and powdered sugar, swirling in the slanting sunlight.

incongruously delicate paper doilies serving as placemats were scattered with miniature cakes, puddles of sauce, and billows of snowy cream. it looked like a fancy bakery had exploded all over the place.

“as you can see, i’ve been experimenting with a few different iterations of the concept,” you said with a small smile, waving a hand at the sugary chaos. “couldn’t settle on just one. i thought i’d get your input n’ then we could narrow it down together.”

“i’m at your service,” he told you gallantly, skating his gaze over the counter. “i’ll warn you though, my palate isn't exactly refined. you might end up with the bland 'it all tastes good' as feedback.”

you giggled. “i’ll take it. okay, let's start basic.” you gestured for him to take a seat at the flour-dusted table and set a plate in front of him. on it perched a generous slice of cake, glossy with ganache, accompanied by a scarlet swoosh of what he assumed was the cherry compote. a dollop of whipped cream, flecked with black speckles, completing the overall masterpiece look.

toji quickly picked up the fork and took a bite, closing his eyes to focus on the flavors. the cake was intensely chocolate, the ganache dark and silky. tart-sweet cherries burst on his tongue, balanced by the subtle fragrance of the vanilla-specked cream.

“damn,” he mumbled around the mouthful. “fuckin’ fantastic, yn.”

you beam, looking relieved. “yeah? the cake recipe took a while to get right. i wanted something more . . . complex than a standard chocolate cake, so i used black cocoa powder to really amp up the flavor. n’ i even added a little coffee to enhance the chocolate.”

“s’ a winner,” he assured you. “i dunno’ how you could improve on it, honestly.”

“oh i have a few ideas,” your smile turned mysterious. “you haven't seen anything yet.”

over the next hour, you walked him through several variations. chocolate cake layered with cherry compote and kirsch-soaked chocolate cake crumbs, topped with cocoa whipped cream. dark chocolate and cherry bread pudding drizzled with cherry coulis. chocolate panna cotta with drunken cherries and cherry gelée . . . and toji sampled them all, humming with pleasure while you watched him anxiously. your initial nerves seemed to melt away as you lost yourself in describing the ins and outs of each dish - the technical challenges, the way certain flavors complemented or contrasted, ideas for garnishes and plating.

he found himself captivated by your intensity, the way your whole being lit up when you talked about your craft. it was more than just a job or a hobby for you . . . it was a calling. he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that kind of soul-deep passion for anything. couldn’t take his eyes off the way your slender hands sketched shapes in the air, punctuating your words. delicate, clever hands that created so much beauty.

“earth to toji,” teased, waving one of those mesmerizing hands in front of his face. “did i lose you? too much of a sugar crash?”

toji blinked and refocused on your amused expression, realizing he'd been caught woolgathering like an idiot. “sorry, just slipped into a brief dessert coma. what were you saying?”

“i was asking what you think of this last one. it’s the more . . . wildcard of the bunch.” you pushed a small glass toward him. it looked like a miniature trifle, with layers of cake and cream, a vivid cherry layer in the middle, and a fan of shaved chocolate on top.

he dug in and had to suppress an absolutely obscene moan. the combination was incredible - velvety smooth, creamy, rich, and fruity, with a kick from what had to be a generous glug of kirsch. sweet but not cloying, a sophisticated twist on a classic.

“i think we have a winner,” he managed, not even caring that his voice came out husky. “if you're going for adding a 'wow' factor, this is it.”

you stand on your tippy-toes, looking hopeful. “you think? i couldn't decide if it was too out there. verrines aren't exactly traditional black forrest cake material.”

“doesn’t matter. it’s a showstopper. interesting to look at, fun to eat, n’ the flavor is phenomenal.” he scraped the glass clean with his spoon, not wanting to waste a drop.

your smile could've lit up the city block. “thank you, toji. you don't know how much it means to me, you bein’ here. lettin’ me talk your ear off and stuff you with treats. it really . . helps a lot."

“believe me, it's my pleasure,” he said, returning her smile with one of his own. “i haven't had this much fun in . . i can't even remember how long. i like seein’ you in your element.”

you both just grin goofily at each other for a moment, the air feeling thicker. then you hopped up and began clearing the table, stacking dishes and bustling around the small space.

“y’know i feel bad, you feedin’ me all these goodies without me contributing anything,” toji said, rising to help. “at least lemme’ take you out for a meal that isn't 90% butter and sugar. you must be sick of cookin’, day in and day out.”

you slanted him a glance, tucking a stray curl behind one ear. “m’ not, actually. it never feels like a chore. but i . . wouldn't say no to dinner out. if you're sure you don't mind.”

mind? he’d been trying to come up with an excuse to spend more time with you, and here you were gift wrapping one for him. “i’d love to,” he said firmly. “s’ the least i can do. and i’d like to hear more about this final project of yours. when do you present it?”

“next month,” a shadow crossed your expressive face, there and gone in a blink. “m’ tryin’ not to think too much about it yet. one step at a time, y’know?”

he recognized that look. the flickering uncertainty, the hint of stage fright. he’d worn it himself, back before his first real fire. wanting so badly to prove himself, to show what he was made of, terrified of choking.

impulsively, he reached for your hand, halting her flitting movements. your fingers curled reflexively around his, warm and strong. “look at me . . . you got this. you’re a star, you're gonna’ impress the hell outta’ your professors.”

you swallowed hard, eyes searching his. looking for the belief you couldn't quite muster on your own. “i hope so. i want it so much, toji. this . . all of it. it’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

“then don't let fear hold you back,” he told you gently. “don’t doubt yourself. you have a gift, mama. i know m’ a dumb scrub who can barely tell a macaron from a macaroon, but even i can see that you were born for this shit.”

your hand squeezed his, almost painfully tight. from both the nickname rolling off his tongue so elegantly and the encouragement that you sometimes failed to receive from your closest peers. “thank you, seriously,” you whispered. “for believin’ in me, i guess. it means a lot to me . . .”

he squeezes back, thumb sweeping over your knuckles. he had a sudden, wild urge to haul your into his arms. to soothe the worry from your brow with his lips, to show you with his hands and body and breath how special you were. how much he'd come to care for you in such a short time.

but he couldn't. however strong the pull, however much he wanted to cross that line, he knew it would be a mistake. you weren’t for him, this shining woman with stardust in her eyes. and he was in no position to offer you anything real. he needed to remember that.

so he contented himself with a soft “anytime,” and released your hand, stepping back to a safer distance. “now, about that dinner. friday work for you?”

you blinked, then hitched your smile back into place. it wobbled a bit at the edges, but he pretended not to notice. “friday’s great. s’ a . . . plan.”

even through the awkwardness, the unspoken words clogging the air between you, a little thrill went through him. it’s a date, you’d almost said. and god help him, he wished it was — that’s why you settled on making plans to try the new, cozy italian restaurant that had opened downtown, the one you’d mentioned wanting to visit after a neighborhood watch meeting one night. it was intimate . . . romantic. toji walked home with a lightness in his step, an unfamiliar flutter in his gut. he was in trouble, he knew he was. you were trouble in ways he hadn't encountered before. you made him feel too much.

more than he ever had.

but he was in too deep to back out now. all he could do was try to keep a clear head, keep things casual and platonic. be your friend and supporter, nothing more. his life, his job . . there was no room for complications.

even if he was beginning to suspect it was already far too late.

the days leading up to friday passed in a blur of anticipation and nerves, though toji did his best to ignore both. ‘it isn’t a date. she’s not into you. this isnt a fuckin’ date . . .’ he reminded himself sternly, no matter how much his idiot heart wanted to pretend otherwise. just dinner between neighbors. a thank you for your tireless taste testing efforts. nothing to get all hot n’ bothered about.

so then why the fuck had he changed outfits half a dozen times before settling on the nicest button-down he owned and a new pair of dark wash jeans? why had he agonized over whether to bring flowers or wine or both . . again? this was so embarrassing. he was so embarrassing. he’d think being married once would've meant he had at least a little bit of game . . but nope - he had nothing.

taking a deep breath, he knocked on your door at precisely 7pm. when it swung open to reveal you, his lungs almost stopped in their tracks. you looked no less than stunning in a ruffled dress, in the pretty shade of baby-pink, your hair tumbling over your bare shoulders - half up, half down and bumped at the ends. a slim gold chain nestled in the hollow of your throat, shamefully drawing his eyes down to the swells of your titties.

“fuck . .” he said inanely, tongue suddenly clumsy in his mouth. “m’ so sorry. forgive me, i mean, you look . . absolutely amazing.”

a shy smile curved your lips, brightening your whole face up. “thanks . . so do you, toji.” your eyes skimmed over him appreciatively and he fought the urge to preen.

“o-oh, these are for you.” he thrusts the slightly wilted grocery store bouquet at you, wincing inwardly at his own awkwardness.

but you just smile, cradling the limp blooms like they were something so precious. “how sweet of you! i love daisies. lemme’ jus’ put these in some water and we can go.” you disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him to marvel at how such a simple gesture could delight you so thoroughly. damn, you were so lovely. inside and out.

the drive to the restaurant was filled with easy conversation interspersed with comfortable silences. toji let you be in control of the radio, secretly charmed by your off-key humming to the cheesy pop songs in rotation on your playlist. he could imagine countless nights like this, aimless drives with no destination in mind, just content to be in your company with no one to bother.

and dinner was a laughter-filled affair, trading bites of pasta and garlicky bread, arguing playfully over the merits of various desserts. you entertained him with customer service horror stories from your barista days, confessing your penchant for ‘accidentally’ giving rude patrons decaf.

in turn, toji found himself sharing more than he usually did - funny anecdotes about his buddies at the firehouse, his worries about his little sister starting college in the fall, even a bit about his dad. the words came without effort, drawn out by your natural warmth and empathy.

he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed anyone's company so effortlessly.

when the check came, he wouldn't let you even reach for it. you rolled your eyes but allowed him to pay, primly informing him you were getting the next one. his stomach flipped at the unthinking promise of a next time.

you then lingered over coffee and dessert - the restaurant's version didn't even hold a candle to your black forest verrines, but you were too polite to say so - neither wanting the evening to end. toji watched you lick chocolate from your spoon, entranced by the tiny pink flash of your tongue. wishing he could lean in and taste the sweetness of your mouth. a pleasant shiver chased over his skin, heat simmering low in his belly. he’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted you - this maddening mix of tender and carnal, the urge to both protect and possess.

“mmm,” you purred appreciatively, pulling the spoon from your mouth with an obscene pop. “whoever said that chocolate isn’t better than sex clearly hadn't tasted chocolate like this.”

toji swallowed hard, adam's apple bobbing convulsively in his throat. “playin’ with fire are we?” he manages to rasp, fingers clenching around his mug.

you placed the spoon delicately on your empty plate, fingers lingering just long enough to draw his attention to their graceful dance. “who says i’m playin’, handsome?” you quip.

he was so fucked. so. totally. fucked.

afterwards, he walked you to your door, hands shoved deeply n’ awkwardly into his pockets to keep from doing something stupid like reaching for your hand. you then hovered on the stoop, the sultry summer night pressing in close.

“i had fun tonight,” you softly. in the light spilling from your living room window, your eyes were luminous. hopeful. “we should really do it again sometime.”

“we should,” he agreed, mouth dry. he couldn't look away from your face, tracing the delicate arch of your brows, the dark feathering of your lashes. you swayed closer, tipping your face up to his, and his heartbeat kicked into overdrive. god, you were killing him.

it took every ounce of willpower to step back, to force a chuckle past the ache in his chest. “well i should let you get your beauty sleep. early start tomorrow, right?” your smile faltered, a brief tightening around your eyes hinting at disappointment. he almost caved right then, almost said to hell with his reservations and dragged you into his arms the way he'd been dying to do all night.

but he couldn't. not when he had nothing more to offer you than heartache.

“right,” you murmured. “beauty sleep. so important for . . . baking.” you fumbled for your keys, not quite meeting his gaze. “i’ll see you round’ then.” he could only watch you retreat into the house, torn between relief at the bullet dodged and an overwhelming sense of loss.

wearily, he turned to go back to his own quiet home. he’d done the right thing. the smart thing. so why did it feel so damnably hollow?

avoidance was the order of the day after that near-miss. though it pained him, toji forced himself to keep some distance, to not make up flimsy excuses to show up on your doorstep at all hours of the night. no more dessert development sessions, no matter how much he craved the sight of you gushing and twirling over your latest creations. no more cute, little dinners with furtive hand holding under the table.

he threw himself into work with even more zeal than usual, pulling extra shifts and helping out with the neverending station chores. if the guys ribbed him about his sudden devotion to alphabetizing the equipment room or polishing the engine to a blinding shine, he shrugged it off. it was loads better than going home to an empty house haunted by what-ifs.

he ached to see you though. sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of you catering to your garden or heading off to the market, and his fingers would itch with the urge to go to you, to close the seemingly unbridgeable gap between you both with long strides and strong arms. more than once he'd picked up his phone to call you, thumb hesitating over your smiling face in his contacts until he cursed and tossed the phone aside.

it was for the best, he told himself firmly. you had your whole life ahead of you - school and internships, building your dream from the ground up. he’d only get in the way, bog you down with his everlasting issues and cynicism. he wouldn't, couldn't be the dead weight holding you back.

even if letting you go felt like tearing himself in half.

he should've known you wouldn't let him slink away so easily. that for all your sweetness, you were just as stubborn as he was. you’d never been one to give up on the things - or people - you wanted.

which bring us to now . . you ambushing him on his way home from a grueling 48-hour shift, looking unfairly pretty and indignant as you marched across the street to plant yourself in front of his truck. he barely bit back a groan, exhaustion and longing a potent cocktail in his bloodstream.

“hey, stranger,” you said archly, fine brows drawn together in a scowl. “long time no annoy.”

he cut the engine and climbed out, suddenly self-conscious about his unwashed, smoke-saturated state. “hi, yn. how’s it going?”

“ah, y’know. jus’ workin’ myself to the bone, trying to perfect this dessert that's only the culmination of my entire academic career thus far. while also attempting to figure out how i mysteriously pissed off my friend to the point of complete radio silence.” your arms crossed over your chest, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes, “so yeah . . the usual.”

guilt lodged under his breastbone, sharp and corroding. he’d never meant to upset you, to make you think any of this was at all your fault. “shit, yn. i’m sorry . . i didn’t mean to ignore you, i’ve just been so -”

“busy . .” you finished for him, mouth flattening. “mhm, i’ve noticed. so busy you ignored all my calls n’ texts - missed our dinner the other night too. you’ve been practically living at the station lately.”

he grimaced, one hand scrubbing over his stubbled jaw. he’d never been any good with words, with making excuses. especially when faced with eyes that seemed to see right through his every defense, “you’re right. i’ve been avoiding you. but not because of anything you did. i jus’ . . needed some space to clear my head.”

your arms tightened, gaze dropping to the oil-stained pavement. “i thought we were having fun,” you said quietly. “gettin’ to know each other. but if i misread things, if i made you uncomfortable in any way i really am so sorr . . .��

“no.” he interrupted fiercely, taking an involuntary step closer. close enough to smell the light, citrusy scent of you, to see the faint mascara smudges of sleeplessness under your eyes. “you didn't misread anything, yn. these past weeks, spendin’ time with you . . . s’ been amazing. the most fun i’ve had in years, if i’m being honest.”

confusion clouded your expression. “then why?”

“because m’ a goddamn mess,” he bit out, the truth clawing its way up his throat. “because you’re brilliant, and you’re goin’ places . . n’ i wouldn’t be able to give you my time in the way that i know you more than deserve. i wanna smell muffins in the mornin’ . . not the smell of musty men and water hoses.”

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before sitting his stuff on the hood of his car, “i jus’,” he started, “i’ve done the dating thing, alright? the marriage thing too, y’know that. i jus’ . . i cant afford to lose another person in my life that i care about — not when i’ve come this far to prevent it n’ when they’re as sweet and pretty, and as kind as you.” you stand in silence, letting him vent, “i’m not perfect. m’ terrible at cooking, i sing in the shower, n’ on top of all that i fuckin’ snore like a grizzly bear. ya’ still want me now?”

you took a step forward, hand coming up to fist in the front of his t-shirt. he inhaled sharply at the sudden press of your soft curves against his hard planes, the way your gaze dropped to his mouth.

“yeah, you grumpy old fuck . . i still want you,” you whispered fiercely. “mess, snores and all.”

he softened as you pressed a kiss onto his cheek, gentle and warm with truce, “i have my own damn baggage. y’think thats stoppin’ me from goin’ after what i want? no. so jus’ stop bein’ such an asshole n’ kiss me alread - mmph!” — that was it. that was the straw that’d broken the camel’s back. with a muttered curse, his control had finally snapped. he hauled you flush against him, one arm banding around your waist as the other hand sank into your hair, cradling the back of your head. you made a soft, needy sound and surged up on tiptoe, sealing your mouth to his.

the first touch of your lips was electric, a livewire straight to his core. they were exactly as soft and sweet as he'd imagined, moving over his with an urgency that matched his own. he angled his head to slant his mouth more firmly over your, licking at the seam of your lips as you licked on the scar on his.

he swept his tongue into your mouth, stroking over yours, swallowing the low moan that vibrated in her throat. you tasted like peppermint and the vaguest hint of sugar, an addictive flavor he already knew he'd never get enough of. your arms twined around his neck, blunt nails scraping deliciously at his nape as you pressed impossibly closer.

dimly, he registered the whoops and catcalls of a passing group of neighbors, but he couldn't bring himself to care. let em’ gawk. the whole damn neighborhood could come out to watch and he still wouldn't be able to tear himself away from your sweetness.

he was a man possessed.

the kiss deepened, turning hot and hungry. toji backed you up against his front door, hands roaming greedily over your curves as he pressed the hard length of his body into your soft warmth. you made yet another sound into his mouth, lifting one leg to wrap around his hip, opening yourself up to him.

he tore his lips from yours only to trail open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, tasting the salt on your skin from the sweat of the hot summer sun. “fuck . . i want you,” he growled against your pulse point. “wanna’ touch you, taste you, feel you. if you’ll let me . . of course.”

“wow, such a gentlemen,” you gasped, hands scrabbling at his shoulders. “please fuckin’ do, toji.” patience fraying, he fumbled for his keys and somehow managed to get the door open without releasing you. you stumbled over the threshold, shedding clothes haphazardly between searing kisses - your flimsy blouse fluttering to the floor, followed by smoke stained his t-shirt.

toji walked you backwards down the hall to his bedroom, kicking the door shut before tossing you onto the bed. he followed you down, covering your entire frame with his own, reveling in the feel of all your bare skin finally against him. you were a vision in the spill of afternoon light, curls fanned across his pillow, pink lace bra and panties a tantalizing contrast to your brown skin.

he took a moment just to admire you, committing every detail to memory. the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted on shallow breaths. heavy-lidded eyes hazy with want and something deeper, more tender.

“been dreamin’ about you, princess. shit - you’re so gorgeous.” he rasped, nipping at your earlobe with each word, “so pretty, so beautiful, so smart.”

you shivered, fingernails raking over his shoulders, “nngh - c’mon stoppit, toji . .” growling low in his throat, he captured your lips in a nasty kiss, all teeth and tongue. large hands cupping your full titties, calloused thumbs rubbing your nipples into stiff peaks. and you arched into his touch with a moan, shameless in your pleasure.

“someone’s eager, hm?”

breaking the kiss, he began to work his way down your body, mapping every dip and curve with lips and teeth and tongue. he paid thorough attention to your titties, laving at the dark-brown nipples until you were panting and squirming beneath him.

“b-baby, please . .” you whimpered, fingers sinking into his hair to urge him lower.

he only chuckled darkly against your flesh. “patience, sweetheart. m’ not goin’ anywhere. let me love you.”

true to his word, he set about exploring you - kissing a meandering path down your ribs and belly, dipping his tongue into your navel just to hear you gasp. strong hands gripped your thighs, pushing them further and further apart so he could settle more comfortably between them.

hooking his fingers in your lacy panties, he dragged the scrap of fabric down your legs. “fuck yeah, look at you. so wet for me already. look at this pussy . .”

you mewled as he licked a broad stripe up your slit, circling your puffy clit with the tip of his tongue. he sealed his lips around the sensitive nub and sucked, fingers delving into your soaked entrance, curling to find that special spot inside you.

“o-ooh my god — yes!” your back bowed off the bed, a vibration spreading down your chest as he worked you higher. he paid close attention to your most tender skin, alternating between broad, flat licks and quick, targeted flicks. crooking his fingers just so, he rubbed and rubbed until he found — “ah f-fuck!” your g-spot, feeling your thighs start to tremble around his head.

“thas’ it, bunny - cum on my tongue. i wanna’ see it all, mama. c’mon, i know you can do it,” the filthy words combined with the relentless stimulation quite literally pushed you over the edge . . and you came with a sharp cry, gushing your juices all over his lips and chin. he groaned at the taste of you, lapping up every last drop, addicted already.

while you were still quivering and coming down from your high, toji fumbled blindly for the nightstand drawer. he managed to retrieve a condom without taking his eyes off of you. ripping open the packet with his teeth, he sat back on his knees to quickly sheath himself.

you took the opportunity to admire his body, running appreciative hands over his muscular chest and abdomen. he was all tanned skin and chiseled muscle, a sparse trail of dark hair pointing the way to his impressive erection. it jutted from a thatch of coarse curls, thick and flushed nearly purple, the bulbous head glistening with excitement.

wrapping your fingers around his rigid length, you stroked him base to tip, twisting your wrist on the upstroke so that the condom slips right back off. toji grunted, hips bucking into your touch as you rubbed your thumb over the leaking slit. you pause, your mouth watering as you begin to lower your head down. you press the side of your face against his thigh, peering up at him with batting lashes and a poked lip. your ass is arched - high in the air and wiggling as if you just wanted him to smack it.

that’s when you began slapping his heavy dick against your cheek, repeatedly, “so big, baby,” you whisper, now positioning your face to where his cock could sit right on top of it - “can i put it in m’mouth? please . .?”

“yn you don’t have to -”

“i want to.”

toji looked down at you once more, the look of want in your eyes . . . how could he resist?

he gently grabs the side of your neck, firm but not firm enough to cause pain, his other hand curling around the base of his cock as he whispered, “open wide. tongue out,” biting his lip as he braces himself for the sensation of your mouth wrapped around him.

that’s when your wet tongue dances out tentatively, tracing the ridge of his head before retreating back to safety inside your mouth. it was clear that you were just as lust filled as him. toji could feel himself pulsing with need as you took him in deeper and deeper, a low groan escaping him, “shit, doll - got it all to fit . . good girl.” your hands gripped his hips tightly, nails digging into his skin as you bobbed your head up and down. toji swore he could fall in love with the simple, yet beautifully disgusting sound of your throat — gawk, gulp, gawk! ugh, they were such disgusting noises - some gagging here, some moaning there, but he couldn’t have asked for anything better. you were slobbing, spitting, and choking on his dick and the only thing getting in your way from taking him whole was the fact that his size was still fairly new to you.

“sss’ ooh fuck - b-baby . . yn -” he hisses, both your eyes and his rolling to the back of your heads as you continue to gulp him down, spit trickling down to your tits as they jiggled to the rhythm of your mouth. each and every glide against your tongue was starting to overpower him, and before he knew it, if you didn’t stop he was bout’ to —

“cum . . m’gonna cum! m’fuckin’ cumming - asshhit . .” he groaned, eyes tightly closing as you continued to deepthroat him the best you could, “don’t stop, keep suck - y-yes . .” it was a hassle - a big one, but the taste of him warm cum painting your throat felt like a sweet reward.

almost sweeter than your baked goods.

whining and still aching to suck on him some more, toji pulls you off in fear of shaking more than he already was — and the sight of you with his cum dripping out of your mouth only did the complete opposite.

“uh, well then . . how’d i do?” you say shyly, as if you hadn’t just completely slutted out your mouth for your next door neighbor.

a surprised bark of laughter escaped him even as his cock jerked at you eagerly. “don’t exile me, but that mouth . . shit, might be better than your cookies. not gonna’ lie, sweetheart . .” toji growled, and you pout as he’s prowling back over you. you then watch him slowly, his fingers unexpectedly plunging back into your pussy as he scoops some of your wetness onto the pad of them before pulling them back out. he fists the base and tip of himself, smothering his cock in your juices as lubricant as he teases your entrance with a few pats n’ nudges. fuckin’ tease. he kept on until you were angrily swatting his chest to put the damn thing in already.

who could blame your lust? after all . . you’d been dreaming about it for weeks now.

yet again, he snags another rubber, strokes a little, and once he’s in, “oh s-shit that pussy's tight, baby . .” he’s in. you moaned in tandem, dick snuggling into your tight walls inch by excruciating inch. you were warm and wet and perfect around him, gripping him like a silken vise. it was magical, just like you - but the look on your face . . oh that look, almost seemed like you wanted to be broken. with your arms above your head, your titties swaying against your chest and your whines now hoarse n' pleading — he kinda wanted to break you too.

toji started with slow, deep strokes, mindful of your tightness and his considerable girth. he didn't want to hurt you, wanted to savor every clench and flutter around his aching cock. wanted this to last, to burn this moment into his brain forever.

“f-feel so fuckin' good wrapped around me,” he gritted out, hips rolling in a lazy figure eight that had you keening. “y’so wet, honey . . dick feel that good?”

“toji,” you whimpered brokenly, fingernails scoring down his flexing back. “more, please . . need it harder . .”

and how could he deny you anything when you begged so sweetly? bracing his weight on his forearms, he obliged, snapping his hips forward with more force. the headboard started to thump against the wall, the mattress creaking beneath your writhing bodies.

“like that, baby? hm?” he panted against your throat, sweat beading at his temples as he drove into you again and again, his cock damn near slipping out of you from the slippery speed. “this what you need? me splittin' this pretty pussy open?”

“yes d-daddy . . ” you wailed, back arching like a drawn bow. your cunt was fluttering around him, a telltale sign of your impending orgasm. “aah - don't stop, don’t stop, m'so close!”

“shh, i got you,” he promised, shifting the angle of his hips to grind against your clit with every thrust. “gonna’ make this pussy sing for me, gonna’ wring the cum outta’ you 'til you're shakin' on me. you want that?” his filthy words seemed to be your undoing because suddenly you were clenching down on him like a vice, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you thrashed beneath him. your release gushed hot and slick around his pistoning length, drenching his groin and thighs with sweetness.

“f-fuck yeah,” toji choked out, his own rhythm faltering as your rippling walls threatened to milk him dry. “good girl, sweetheart, cream on this dick, lemme’ feel you.” he managed a handful more erratic thrusts before his own orgasm crashed into him like a freight train. he buried himself to the hilt and stilled, a hoarse shout muffled into your sweat damped shoulder as he spilled himself into the condom. his cock jerked and twitched with every pulse, vision nearly whiting out with the force of it.

for long moments, you both just shook and gasped, clinging to each other as aftershocks rolled through your bodies. toji's heart was thundering so hard he was sure you could feel it through his sweat-slick chest. he'd never come so hard in his life, never felt so utterly shattered and remade.

you made a soft, satisfied sound as he carefully withdrew from your heat, rolling to the side to dispose of the condom with a quick knot. then he was gathering you close again, palm smoothing up your spine as you burrowed into him with a sigh.

“shit,” you eventually mumbled into the heated skin of his throat. “that was . . .”

“ . . fuckin' heavenly,” he finished roughly, a laugh rumbling in his chest as he felt your answering huff of amusement. “m’ sorry i uh . . came so fast. i don’t usually -”

“did you just apologize to me because my pussy is good?” you teased, dragging your nose along the edge of his stubbled jaw. he could feel the curve of your smile, the unabashed joy, and it settled something deep within him. soothed the ragged pieces he'd thought long broken.

“damn straight,” he agreed, arms tightening around you possessively. “i can die a happy man now.”

“well, you're not allowed to die on me now, toji. you're stuck with me. escape if you can.”

“mm, is that right,” he nuzzled into your hair, breathing in the scent of you - all warm woman and satisfaction.

“mhmm. you're not getting rid of me easily. i still have so many desserts to force on you, so many early morning baking sessions to drag you into . .”

he laughed outright at that, at the sheer exuberance in your voice. “promises, promises.”

“oh i always keep my promises, mister. which reminds me . .” you pushed up on an elbow, eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper. something that snatched the breath from his lungs. “i seem to remember you saying something about round two . .”

“did i? care to refresh my memory?” he growled, even as he was already rolling you beneath him again, mouth seeking yours. you then feel his palm colliding with your ass in a gentle spank. “what am i gonna’ do with you?”

“everything.” you breathed against his lips, a vow. “anything. i want you, toji. want everything with you.” and fuck, what could he say to that? what could he do but kiss you like a promise, a prayer, and proceed to show you just how much he wanted that too? wanted to give you everything, anything, all he had to offer?

he'd never been a man of many words. but this - loving you with hands and mouth and body, breaking you apart and putting you back together again and again until you were both sweat-soaked and shaking . . this he could do. this he would do for the rest of his life if you'd let him.

“you’ve got me.”

and from the joyous half-sob of his name as he sank back into your pussy, the way your body opened for him like a flower to the sun, he had a feeling you just might too.

there would be time for more words later - time for confessions and plans and mapping out a future he'd never even let himself dream of before. time to make good on promises whispered into heated skin, to build something real and lasting brick by brick. but for now, in the honeyed afternoon light with your legs wrapped around his waist and your heart in his hands . . let himself get lost. let himself drown in sensation and emotion, in this miraculous woman he didn't deserve but who'd chosen him anyway.

from lost to found, in the space of a heartbeat. and all because an angel in a garden had smiled at him across a sunny street and offered up a little piece of heaven. he'd never know what he'd done to deserve you, or this second chance. but he'd spend the rest of his days earning this gift, cherishing it.

cherishing you.

that was a promise. and like his beautiful girl . . toji fushiguro always kept his promises.

©️ SATORUBI - please do not copy, translate, or modify my work without my approval ! thank you for playing . . the challenge has only just begun.

#🎀 — www.satorubiwrites/games !#AHHHHH WE HERE #papa toji i luv him #toji x fem! reader #toji x female reader #toji x black reader #toji x black y/n #toji smut #jjk x fem! reader #jjk x poc!reader

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 9 days ago

Text

Sacrifices (BTR Series Book 2 of 3) a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 32: The Bitch Lied..

5:22 PM

Rhea pulled into the garage, the hum of the Tahoe's engine fading as she turned it off. She sat for a moment, staring at the folder on the passenger seat, still unable to wrap her mind around what had happened earlier. With a deep breath, she grabbed the folder and her backpack and headed inside through the garage door.

The house was quiet, the kind of calm that always greeted her when Jey was home and the boys were with their mom. She set everything down on the counter and called out, “Jey?”

“Coming!” his voice called back from upstairs.

Rhea hopped onto one of the bar stools, her fingers drumming on the counter as she waited. Moments later, Jey came down, dressed in a black tank and gray sweatpants, his hair still damp from a shower. He smiled, his presence immediately comforting. “Hey, babe. How was work?”

Rhea hesitated, her lips curving into a faint smile. “It was… great.”

Jey’s eyes flicked to the folder on the counter. “What’s that?”

Rhea stayed quiet, her expression unreadable. Without waiting for an answer, Jey grabbed the folder and flipped it open. His brows furrowed as he read the first line aloud. “‘You know, Kiddo, I’d like to believe that you’re aware enough even now to know that there’s nothing sadistic in my actions… I love you.’ King Cobra?”

Rhea nodded but didn’t say anything, watching as his eyes moved down the page.

Jey’s voice dropped an octave as he continued reading. “‘The items gifted include my estate property in Orlando, FL, and the sum of my bank accounts combined, which amount to $950,000,000 USD. I hope that they will serve their purpose with the utmost utility and continue to act as tokens of favor in your journey. I entrust their stewardship to you. Please understand that these assets are exempt from any claims, liens, and encumbrances and are being gifted to you without any obligations attached to them, except any relevant taxes associated with the transfer, if necessary.’”

Jey’s mouth hung open as he set the folder down, his eyes wide as they locked on hers. “Nine hundred and fifty million dollars?”

Rhea sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s from Morris. He left it to me. Brandy came by today to tell me. I guess he never trusted anyone else with his money.”

Jey blinked, still trying to process the words. “He trusted you? That much?”

Rhea nodded slowly. “Yeah. I don’t even know why he thought I’d want this. I mean, what am I supposed to do with it? I didn’t even ask for this.”

Jey ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “First off…” He walked around the counter, standing in front of her and placing his hands on her thighs. “This doesn’t change us. Okay? Even though you’re now almost as rich as Kim Kardashian.”

Rhea let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head. “Jey, come on.”

“I’m serious,” Jey said, his lips twitching into a grin. “I don’t care if you’ve got a billion dollars or zero dollars. You’re still my Rhea. This doesn’t change a damn thing about us.”

Rhea reached out, grabbing his hands. “Thank you.” Her voice softened. “It’s just… overwhelming. I don’t even know where to start with this.”

“You don’t have to figure it out right now,” Jey said, squeezing her hands. “We’ll take it one step at a time. And you’re not in this alone. We’ll handle it together, yeah?”

Rhea nodded, her chest feeling a little lighter. “Yeah. Together.” Rhea pulled Jey into a tight embrace, her voice soft as she murmured, “I’m so glad to have you.”

Jey returned the hug, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I am too.”

After a moment, they broke apart, and Rhea walked over to the guinea pig’s cage, smiling as she reached in to stroke Bartholomew’s soft fur.

Jey leaned against the counter, watching her. He hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether to speak. Finally, he said, “Rhea, actually… babe, I have to ask you a question.”

Rhea glanced over her shoulder, her hand still gently petting the guinea pig. “Go ahead, babe. What’s on your mind?”

Jey hesitated again, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… a little off.”

Noticing the shift in his tone, Rhea turned fully to face him, her brows furrowed. “What is it, love?” she asked, concern creeping into her voice as she studied his expression.

Jey took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers. “Did you ever… do anything with Morris?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Rhea blinked, momentarily stunned. “What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jey shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I mean… you said he trusted you with everything, his money, his estate. That’s a lot for someone to just… hand over. It’s making me wonder if there was ever… anything more between you two.”

Rhea’s jaw tightened as she took a step closer to him. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

Jey raised his hands, sensing the edge in her tone. “Babe, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just asking. It’s been bothering me since I read that letter.”

Rhea crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. She took a deep breath, deciding that honesty was the best course. “You said you wanted us to be more truthful… okay, Jey. We did make out a few times, but it never went past that. It was a long time ago, and it meant nothing. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up because it was so insignificant.”

Jey’s expression remained unreadable as he absorbed her words.

After a moment, he simply nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. Without saying anything further, he turned and walked upstairs to their bedroom, leaving Rhea standing by Bartholomew’s cage, her heart pounding in her chest.

She watched him go, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach.

Bartholomew squeaked softly, as if sensing the tension in the room.

Rhea sighed, leaning against the counter as she tried to process the sudden shift in their evening.

She knew they would need to talk more, but for now, she gave Jey the space he seemed to need, hoping that their honesty would ultimately strengthen their bond.

—

Rhea stirred the vegetables together and quickly flipped the grilled chicken, her movements precise yet distracted. Jey still hadn’t come downstairs, but she prepared a portion for him nonetheless. After serving her plate, she poured herself a glass of pink lemonade and sat down, trying to focus on her meal.

A sudden kick in her stomach drew her attention, and she gently placed a hand over the spot, smiling softly. “I know, sweetie… Daddy’s just upset right now. Sometimes, even when Mommy did something before she was with him, it feels like it’s her fault.”

She sighed, her thoughts drifting to the conversation they’d had earlier. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension hung heavily in the air, mingling with the aroma of the meal she’d prepared.

Taking a deep breath, Rhea resolved to give Jey the space he seemed to need, hoping that time would help heal the rift between them. She knew that open communication was essential, but for now, she would wait for him to come to her when he was ready.

As she ate in silence, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness, the empty chair across from her a reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Yet, with each gentle movement from the life growing inside her, she found a renewed sense of hope and determination to navigate this challenging time together.

Jey walked down the steps, his movements deliberate as he approached the kitchen. He grabbed the plate Rhea had prepared for him and poured himself a glass of water. His steps were slow as he made his way to the table, where Rhea was already seated. He sat down across from her, his eyes focused on his meal, not saying a word.

Attempting to lighten the mood, Rhea offered a small smile and said, “I met with Kendrick Lamar today to discuss the music for your return.”

Jey’s eyes flickered up briefly, and he responded with a curt, “That’s good.” His tone was flat, and it was clear he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

Rhea’s smile faltered, and she looked down at her plate, the weight of the silence between them pressing heavily on her chest. She took a deep breath, deciding to give him the space he seemed to need, hoping that time would help mend the rift between them.

As they ate in silence, the only sounds in the room were the clinking of utensils against plates and the occasional squeak from Bartholomew’s cage. The atmosphere was tense, each of them lost in their own thoughts, the earlier conversation still hanging heavily in the air.

After finishing his meal, Jey stood up, taking his plate to the sink without a word. He glanced at Rhea briefly, his expression unreadable, before turning and heading back upstairs, leaving Rhea alone with her thoughts and the lingering tension between them.

Rhea sighed softly, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach, seeking comfort in the life growing within her.

—

9:48 PM

Rhea brushed her damp hair slowly, her reflection in the mirror revealing the storm of emotions she had been trying to suppress all evening. Her eyes lingered on her baby bump, and she took a deep breath. Jey was her partner, her love, the father of her child—and the distance between them tonight felt unbearable. If they didn’t talk now, when would they?

Determined to bridge the gap, she slipped into a black babydoll that hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating her shoulders and allowing her growing belly to be beautifully visible. She knew Jey couldn’t resist her in this; she was banking on that soft spot in his heart to bring him closer. She walked to the bed with a quiet confidence, though her heart was racing.

Jey looked up as she entered the room, his eyes instantly drawn to her. His gaze softened as he took her in, but there was still a hint of the tension from earlier lingering on his face.

“You’re making it hard,” Jey muttered, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of his lips despite himself.

“Good,” Rhea replied softly, climbing into bed beside him. She pressed her hands against his chest, urging him to wrap his arms around her. “Hold me, baby.”

Jey didn’t hesitate, pulling her close and resting his chin on the top of her head. The warmth of his embrace made Rhea feel safe, but she knew they couldn’t let this moment pass without addressing what had been left unsaid.

“I just want us to be okay,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “I want to be honest with you, Jey, but I can’t do that if I’m afraid of how you’ll react.”

Jey’s arms tightened slightly around her, his chest rising and falling in a deep sigh. “I love you, Demi,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I always have. But hearing about Morris—it messed with me. It’s not even about him. It’s just… I hate the idea of you being with anyone else, even before me.”

Rhea pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, her own filled with understanding. “I get it. I really do. But Jey, my past isn’t something I can erase, and it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s just… there. A part of me. But that doesn’t change how much I love you and only you.”

Jey nodded, though his jaw was still tight. “I know that. I do. But it’s hard, you know? I’m not trying to hold it against you—it’s just the thought of it… it’s eating at me.”

Rhea reached up and cupped his face, her thumbs gently brushing his cheekbones. “Then let’s deal with it together. Talk to me when you’re upset. Let it out. Don’t hold it in and let it fester, Jey. That’s not what we do, is it?”

He shook his head, his expression softening further. “No. That’s not what we do.”

“Exactly,” she said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Our pasts are just that—the past. Let’s focus on what’s ahead of us: our future, our baby. That’s what matters.”

Jey exhaled deeply, finally letting some of the tension in his shoulders go. “You’re right. I don’t want to let this ruin what we’ve got. I don’t want old ghosts messing with us. It’s just… I needed time to sort it out in my head.”

“And I get that,” Rhea said. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Anything,” Jey replied, his hands resting on her hips.

“Promise me you’ll tell me how you’re feeling—good or bad. Don’t shut me out. That’s all I ask.”

“I promise,” Jey said firmly, his eyes locking with hers. “I’ll do better. For us.”

Rhea smiled, the tension in the room dissipating as they leaned into each other. “I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her lips.

In that moment, as they lay intertwined, the weight of the earlier tension seemed to lift. They both knew their journey wasn’t perfect, but their commitment to each other was unwavering. Together, they would face whatever came next.

Jey kissed Rhea softly, his lips moving slowly as if he wanted to savor in her lips. He pulled back slowly, gazing into her eyes with an intensity that made her heart skip a few beats. There was a quiet tenderness between them, one that spoke volumes without the need for words.

“So, have you thought about any names for Baby Boy Fatu?” Jey asked, his voice soft, filled with love and curiosity.

Rhea, still basking in the warmth of his embrace, ran her hand over her baby bump with a thoughtful smile. “I like Jeyson,” she said, her eyes meeting his, her voice carrying a sense of certainty.

Jey’s face lit up with a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with affection as he took in the name. “How do you spell that one?” he asked, his tone playful but full of admiration.

“J-E-Y-S-O-N,” Rhea replied, her voice gentle as she repeated the name, feeling it roll off her tongue. She loved how it felt, how it connected them. “It just feels right.”

Jey nodded, his smile growing as he processed the name. “I like it,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Jeyson Fatu. That’s our son. Sounds like a champion already.”

Rhea smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in her heart. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words, the way he made everything feel possible, the way he made her feel like the luckiest woman alive. “I’m glad you like it,” she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of love and relief.

Jey leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, their noses brushing lightly. “I’m always gonna love whatever you choose, Demi. This little one—he’s already everything to me. He’s gonna be perfect, just like you.”

Rhea felt the familiar flutter in her chest at his words. Every time Jey spoke, every time he looked at her, it was as if her world brightened. He had this way of making her feel seen, cherished, and understood in a way that no one else ever could. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him close as if she never wanted to let go. “I feel the same way about you,” she whispered against his chest. “You and Jeyson are my world. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Jey tightened his arms around her, the deep sense of connection between them palpable. He kissed the top of her head gently, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “You know, I’ve been through a lot in my life, but nothing has ever felt as right as this. You and me, Demi… and now Jeyson. This is what I’ve always wanted, what I never knew I needed.”

Rhea pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with the same love that he always gave her. “I never knew, either, until I met you. But you—you make everything feel so complete. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jey.”

—

Flashback – December 25th, 2019

The soft hum of the Christmas lights cast a warm glow in the cramped two-bedroom apartment Rhea shared with Demetri. She watched him tear open the neatly wrapped box she had handed him, her heart eager for his reaction. Inside was a sleek pair of Vans, a style she knew he had been eyeing for months.

“Thank you, babe!” Demetri grinned, leaning over to kiss her. His lips were warm, but something about the gesture felt mechanical, lacking the spark she once cherished.

Before she could revel in the moment, Demetri’s phone vibrated loudly against the coffee table. He glanced at the screen, his face tightening. “Give me a sec,” he muttered, standing and disappearing into the hallway to answer the call.

Rhea sat back, her smile fading, and turned to Dustin, who was still perched on the couch, sifting through his own modest pile of gifts. “Did you like your Christmas gifts?” she asked, hoping to distract herself from the uneasy feeling growing in her chest.

“Yeah,” Dustin replied, but his voice was hollow, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Rhea frowned, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?” she pressed gently.

Dustin shrugged, his expression hardening. “It’s just… another holiday where I have to go back to my mom’s after this,” he said, his tone laced with quiet bitterness.

“I’m sorry,” Rhea said softly, her heart aching for him. But before she could say more, Dustin cut her off, his voice rising with frustration.

“Don’t even try,” he snapped, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. “He could take you in, but he can’t take me in. What does that say about me?”

Rhea’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth to respond, but the weight of his words left her speechless. Dustin shook his head and stood abruptly, retreating to the other bedroom without another glance. The door closed with a muted thud, leaving Rhea alone with her swirling thoughts.

A few minutes later, Demetri returned, his phone still in his hand. “I have to go see Morris,” he said, his tone clipped.

Rhea frowned, her unease deepening. “About what?”

“It actually doesn’t concern you, believe it or not,” Demetri replied sharply as he grabbed his coat and keys. Without waiting for a response, he walked out, leaving Rhea sitting in stunned silence.

That night, the apartment felt colder than usual. The joy of Christmas was long gone, replaced by a gnawing emptiness that settled in Rhea’s chest. She spent hours staring at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights mocking the loneliness she felt.

12:31 AM

The soft glow of a bedside lamp illuminated the room where Demetri and Valerie lay tangled in a sea of tangled sheets. Valerie leaned on one elbow, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on Demetri’s chest. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she spoke.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Valerie murmured, her voice a seductive purr.

Demetri smirked, his hand trailing over her bare shoulder. “I did too,” he replied smoothly before shifting the topic. “What happened with Charles? Why’d you come back so early?”

Valerie let out a throaty laugh, tossing her long hair over one shoulder. “Morris wanted him to teach me all that crap he taught you and Mamba. Hated every second of it,” she admitted with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Demetri chuckled, his grin widening. “Maybe it’s because you don’t like people telling you what to do,” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Valerie sighed dramatically, her tone turning venomous. “I just wish someone would put Charles out of his misery already. I mean, come on—55 years old and still teaching Morris’ ‘love interests.’” She arched a brow and gave Demetri a pointed look. “Which begs the question… you’re not a love interest, are you?”

Demetri burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking as he threw his head back. “At one point, he considered me a son,” he admitted, the laughter still lingering in his voice.

Valerie tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “What changed?” she asked, her tone quieter now, more serious.

Demetri’s smile faded slightly, his gaze growing distant. “I brought Mamba in,” he said simply. “After that, Morris focused all his effort on her. She became his new project, and I was… pushed aside.”

Valerie studied him for a moment, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, that’s Morris for you. Always moving on to the next shiny thing.”

Demetri shrugged, his expression unreadable. “It is what it is,” he said, his tone resigned.

Valerie leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “You’ve always been more than just a ‘shiny thing,’ Demetri,” she whispered, her voice a soft caress.

Demetri turned his head to meet her gaze, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—passing through his eyes. But before he could respond, Valerie pressed her lips to his, silencing whatever words had been forming.

For a brief moment, the world outside the dirty motel room faded away, leaving only the two of them and the tangled mess of their shared history.

—

7:36 AM

The next morning, the sound of the front door opening jolted her awake. Demetri walked in, his expression unreadable, and headed straight past her toward Dustin’s room. But as he passed, Rhea caught the faint but unmistakable scent of vanilla perfume lingering in the air. Her stomach turned. She didn’t wear vanilla perfume.

Demetri knocked on the bedroom door. “Dustin, come on. Get your gifts. I gotta take you to Mom’s,” he called out.

Rhea stood from the couch, her fists clenching at her sides. “Where did you go?” she demanded, her voice low but trembling with anger.

Demetri didn’t even glance at her. “I told you—I went to Morris’,” he said casually, as if the lie wasn’t written all over his face.

“Really?” Rhea spat, her voice rising. “Then why the fuck do you smell like Valerie?”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, and before Rhea could process what was happening, Demetri’s hand lashed out, the sharp sting of his slap making her stumble back.

“You don’t get to talk to me about what I do behind your back,” he hissed, his voice cold and venomous.

Rhea’s hand flew to her cheek, tears stinging her eyes as the betrayal sank in. Motherfucker…

Dustin emerged from his room, his arms full of gifts, his eyes darting nervously between them. He didn’t say a word as he followed Demetri out of the apartment, leaving Rhea standing alone in the silence once more.

—

11:21 AM

Valerie sat stiffly, her eyes locked on Morris as he loomed over her with a look of cold disdain. His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence with venom.

“You say you want to be more than just my pleasure toy?” Morris began, his tone low and mocking. “You say you want to be part of my shipments? Work with Mamba? You say you want all these nice things, all these great opportunities… but what do you do?”

Valerie clenched her jaw, her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t respond, didn’t flinch.

Morris leaned closer, his voice rising. “You give up after three months. Three months! Mamba? She had less time, less chances, and mastered everything I taught her. But you?” He gestured at her dismissively. “You’re nothing but excuses.”

Valerie’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Well, I’m not your precious Mamba, now am I?” she spat, her voice laced with venom.

Morris straightened up, his face darkening as he stepped toward her menacingly. The room seemed to grow colder as his shadow fell over her.

“Consider yourself done,” he said with finality.

Valerie’s defiance faltered for the briefest moment. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Morris chuckled, the sound cold and merciless. “I mean, I don’t have a use for you anymore. You’re out. The only I will need you is when I need a quick fix. That’s all you’re good for now.”

Valerie shot to her feet, her voice trembling with anger. “You’ll regret this.”

Morris tilted his head, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. “Oh? Are you threatening me?”

Valerie’s hands clenched into fists. “I’m going to tell Demetri,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing. “I’m going to tell him you’ve been screwing Rhea.”

Morris laughed, the sound echoing in the room like a dark symphony. “And I know you’ve been screwing Demetri,” he shot back without missing a beat, his smirk growing wider.

Valerie froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Morris leaned in, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Why do you think I don’t care when you leave? Why do you think I don’t chase after you? You’re nothing to me, Valerie. Nothing.”

Her confidence crumbled under the weight of his words, and she felt the sting of humiliation settle in her chest. She tried to keep her face composed, but the lump in her throat betrayed her.

Morris straightened, brushing invisible dust from his suit as if the conversation bored him. “Now get out of my sight,” he said dismissively, turning his back to her.

Valerie stood frozen, her mind racing with emotions—anger, humiliation, and a simmering desire for revenge. But for now, she did as she was told. She turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

As she made her way down the dimly lit hallway, Valerie muttered under her breath, “You’ll regret this, Morris. You’ll regret all of it.”

—

April 5th, 2022

The room was dimly lit, with the cold fluorescent light flickering slightly above the steel table. Valerie sat stiffly in the chair, her hands resting on the edge of the table, fingers tapping anxiously. Across from her, an FBI agent slid a stack of papers across the table, his expression calm but scrutinizing.

“These are the list of names involved in this operation?” the agent asked, his voice steady but probing.

Valerie glanced at the papers before nodding, her face neutral, betraying none of the turmoil beneath the surface. “Yes,” she replied.

The agent leaned back in his chair, studying her. “We’ve heard of another person involved, nicknamed the Black Mamba. Any idea who that could be?”

Valerie froze for the briefest moment, her heart skipping a beat, but she quickly masked her reaction. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No idea.”

The agent’s gaze lingered on her, as though he could see right through her. He tapped his pen against the table before nodding, as if accepting her answer—for now.

“And in exchange for your cooperation,” he continued, flipping through the papers, “you want full relocation services to Phoenix?”

Valerie nodded again, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach. “Yes. I want a fresh start.”

The agent slid a pen across the table toward her. “Okay,” he said, his tone formal. “Sign here.”

Valerie hesitated for a fraction of a second before picking up the pen. Her hand hovered over the paper, her mind racing. This was it. The decision that would change everything. Her past, her alliances, her future—it all rested on this signature.

As the pen hit the paper, she signed her name with a flourish, sealing her deal with the government.

The agent took the papers and stood up, collecting them into a neat stack. “You’ve made the right choice,” he said, giving her a curt nod before walking to the door.

Valerie sat back in her chair, exhaling deeply as the weight of her decision settled on her shoulders. She whispered to herself, “Fresh start… fresh lies.”

—

May 31st, 2022 Flashback

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the cemetery as Dustin stood frozen, his eyes glued to the hole in the earth. The coffin containing his older brother, Demetri, was now out of sight, but the weight of its presence crushed him. His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists, trying to hold back the tears that burned in his eyes.

His mother had gently touched his shoulder before leaving earlier, offering a hollow “Take your time,” but Dustin barely registered it. His father, as distant as ever, had left without a word. They didn’t grieve for Demetri—not like Dustin did.

The world saw Demetri as nothing more than a drug dealer, a man who lived and died in violence. But to Dustin, he was more than that. He was his brother—the man who protected him when no one else would, who made sure he had food to eat when their parents didn’t care.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the freshly packed dirt. The air grew cooler, and the sounds of the city faded as night crept in. The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps behind him.

Dustin turned to see a woman approaching, her figure barely illuminated by the dim streetlights surrounding the cemetery. She was tall, with dark, striking features that seemed both familiar and out of place.

“I knew your brother,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Dustin squinted at her. “How?” he asked, his voice hoarse from hours of silence.

Valerie hesitated for a moment, folding her arms across her chest. “We worked together,” she said finally, her words heavy with unspoken meaning.

Dustin’s brow furrowed. “You mean… in his business?”

Valerie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “Yes.”

Dustin’s breath hitched, and he turned back toward the grave. “Do you know how he died?” he asked, his voice trembling. “My parents… they haven’t told me anything. They just said it’s done. That’s all.”

There was a long pause before Valerie answered, her voice quieter now. “She killed him,” she said, her words laced with bitterness.

Dustin spun around to face her, his eyes wide. “Who?”

Valerie took a deep breath, her gaze locking with his. “Rhea,” she lied. “It was self-defense… or at least, that’s what she says.”

Dustin staggered back a step, as though the words had struck him physically. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true.”

Valerie stepped closer, her voice growing firmer. “It is. I was there. She did it. Your brother may not have been perfect, but he didn’t deserve that.” She lied again.

Tears spilled down Dustin’s cheeks as he stared at her, his heart shattering into pieces. He couldn’t reconcile the brother he loved with the story Valerie was telling. Nor could he actually believe that Rhea would kill Demetri.

“Why are you telling me this?” Dustin asked, his voice breaking.

“Because you deserve to know the truth,” Valerie said. “And because no one else will tell you.”

Dustin turned back toward the grave, his shoulders slumping under the weight of her words. The night stretched on, heavy and suffocating, as he stood there, grappling with a truth he didn’t want to believe.

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