#he has about four-five months of school left | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kurooh · 20 days ago

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LOST IN THE FIRE !

⊹₊˚. HAPPY 4/20 2025 — two baked and horny college students + a late night ritual to summon a hungry sex demon = a hot mess! but as satoru famously likes to say, what could go wrong?

warnings: 18+ content, mdni. succubus fem! reader, recreational drug use (weed), crack taken very seriously, threesomes, humor, inaccurate demonic rituals, blood offerings but sexy, oral, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, throat fucking, extreme marathon sex, ‘this is where you’re weak right’, lots of cum, handjobs, blowjobs, spit roasting, tit sucking, reader is sexy asf! wc / 12.6k DAMN

xoxo, juno: this idea came to me sober btw! happy 420, two months later. comment & rb if you enjoyed, lmk if you caught the jjk easter eggs i threw in teehee

“god, it’s really been too long.”

satoru exhales a cloud of smoke into the air, and he can feel the tension bleeding out of his slouching shoulders. weeks of built up stress dissipate along with the smoke, and for the first time in a while, he’s finally able to take it easy. he passes the blunt back to his best friend and squints at the laptop screen. it is dark in their apartment, and the air is thick with the heavy scent of weed, all thanks to suguru’s idea to hotbox the place. why follow the no smoking inside rule when you can shove a towel against the front door and keep the windows shut so the neighbors can’t smell it? honestly, fuck them—the people on the left always have something to say, especially to the landlord!

with a wry chuckle, suguru plucks the blunt from satoru’s fingers and raises it to his lips. “it’s been a month, satoru. you were literally the one who kept telling me to be your sobriety sponsor so you could focus on school and work.”

on the illegal (but free!) website, cocaine bear plays on the display, not yet in full screen. satoru loves to watch comedy movies, and this is the only one he’ll ever want to watch when he’s high. as for suguru, he either falls asleep or watches it too. the workload for classes has really amped up in the past few weeks, and as much as satoru hates to say or even think it, he’s genuinely been struggling. scheduling at work has also been a bitch, and utahime, his boss, has the nerve to turn her nose up at him even when he comes in early! if she wasn’t shoko’s girlfriend, satoru would mess with her endlessly.

diamond irises stand out brightly against reddening eyes as he blinks a few times, leaning in to better see the movie. soft voices and sounds pour out of the speakers, just loud enough to hear. the tip of satoru’s index finger lands on the touchpad, and he skates the mouse across the screen to dilate the movie’s picture when he notices a peculiar bookmark just under the search bar.

“what the hell, suguru?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth; legitimate curiosity and maybe a little excitement slip into the words, and before suguru can snatch away his laptop, satoru pulls it into his lap and scurries onto his own messy bed. “what’s this? it looks weird, i’ve never seen this site before.”

it’s true.

satoru has browsed nearly all corners of the internet, and not once in his twenty four years of living has he seen this website icon before. it’s a black circle with intricate white lines in a shape that he can’t quite make out, and when he dodges suguru’s attempt to drag him off the bed, he clicks onto the bookmark and kicks his feet childishly.

“dude,” suguru tries weakly, having managed not to drop the blunt. he grabs at his best friend’s flailing ankle and his lips twist downwards, an embarrassed heat creeping into his face. “listen. i promise, it’s really not what it looks like, hear me out—”

“‘how to summon a succubus in five steps’. what the actual fuck is this? suguru, if you’re going through a dry spell, why not just go to the bar near shoko’s place?”

“that’s—it’s a lesbian bar, satoru. for the record, i’d never be desperate enough to summon a succubus. it’s because of yuki, she kept hounding me about this shit. what, you think i’d voluntarily research something like this? she threatened to whip me off her motorcycle when i was on it.”

satoru’s face scrunches in disgust. he doesn’t really like to know that he has friends desperate enough to look into something like this, but at least she’s more suguru’s than his. they met in a similar class at some point and apparently hit it off well enough for her to pass something like this off to him.

“and you said yes? what happened to the stop, drop, and roll thing?”

“i was drunk and we were on a freeway. this was right after drinking at the lesbian bar, by the way. two women actually hit on me because i wore my hair down that night.”

“where was i? why didn’t you invite me to this little get-together, huh?” satoru sours immediately, already thinking too hard about when this may have happened to register suguru taking a seat on the bed beside him.

“at work,” suguru hums, scooping the laptop into his own lap to explore the web page, “i shouldn’t even be telling you this, but utahime organized it so you’d be stuck working late.”

of course it was her! satoru lightheartedly teases her about her hair bow or her occasional meltdowns when there’s too much work dumped onto her shoulders, and to get back at him, she decides to screw with his schedule. that’s too far, even for her. if he were soberly processing this information, he’d begin plotting revenge, but right now, he’s still thinking about the succubus thing.

“i hate her,” he whines pettily, pulling the blunt away from suguru to take a long, calming hit.

“don’t let shoko hear that.”

“are you—give that to me, i want to read it.” satoru is quick to regain control of the laptop, exhaling smoke through his nose as he navigates the dark webpage. the title, How to Summon a Succubus in Five Steps, runs along the top of the website in a bolded font. upon further inspection, satoru notices the lack of a back arrow and symbol that tells him this is a secure, private site. this website could potentially introduce a virus to the laptop, but suguru just looks on, waiting for his best friend to read the nonsense he’s been researching for the past week.

HOW TO SUMMON A SUCCUBUS IN FIVE STEPS

Before summoning any kind of spirit or demon, it is necessary to understand the

“satoru, why’d you scroll past the introduction? it’s actually informative.”

“i’m not reading all that,” he shrugs in reply, lip jutting out as he impatiently rolls down to the next set of bolded lettering. the laptop feels like it’s radiating more heat through his sweatpants; the screen flickers, flashing black for a split second before returning to normal. “dude, you need to charge this thing. cord should be on the floor, i saw it there earlier.”

after releasing an unwilling groan, suguru begins shuffling around to find the black charging cord. while he fishes around in a sea of clean though mismatched socks and papers for it, satoru clears his throat and begins reading aloud.

“‘to begin, you will need to arrange red candles in the shape of a circle and then light them.’ hey, suguru, while you’re up, can you grab some of your candles?”

suguru brushes his bangs out of his face and throws his friend a mildly annoyed look. “you just said red candles, and mine are all white or blue. also, i can’t find the goddamn charger, so once the laptop dies, that’s my sign to go to bed.”

“so you don’t wanna test out the stuff you’ve been researching? it’s better to go to all this effort so yuki knows it was a good idea to ask you for help. aren’t you the least bit curious anyway?”

“you don’t give a flying fuck about yuki,” suguru deadpans, crossing his arms. his eyes are droopy and red from the weed, but he still manages to speak in that sober monotone of his. clearly, he needs to help satoru finish that blunt all the way. “you’re just interested in the idea of fucking a spirit.”

“weed does more than soothe the mind,” satoru begins nonsensically, pinching his fingers together in a cone shape to make his point hit harder, “it activates the loins and controls every single craving a person could possibly have.”

“the loins?” suguru can’t help but parrot him, completely baffled and still standing like an elementary teacher scolding a bratty student.

“yes. smoke some more and you’ll start thinking with ‘em.”

because satoru never shies away from a challenge, he tips his chin up and smirks like he’s just spoken wise, socratic words. significantly slower than normal, the seconds creep by as they hold the eye contact. between the two of them, suguru is the first to crack, his lips curling back as he bursts into laughter, clutching at his sides as he wilts to the floor. likewise, satoru cackles along with him, unable to remember where he randomly pulled the word loins from—everything feels like it’s been slowed down, his surroundings hazy by the time he finally comes back to himself. while suguru fetches the candles from his room, satoru can’t stop giggling, even when he’s reading the next steps.

suguru arranges the candles in a sloppy, uneven circle and hits the blunt to reward himself, taking a seat on the floor to follow the upcoming instructions.

“‘before lighting any candles, obtain a piece of paper and a working pen.’ why the fuck would anybody use a dried out pen? uh, it says to ‘start this letter by addressing the goddess lilith. use her formal titles and then start writing your erotic thoughts or feelings. put everything out of your mind and focus only on requesting one of her succubi.’ you get all that, suguru?”

“yeah, i’m writing right now.”

“the instructions give a few examples but specify not to use them, so i hope you’re thinking original thoughts.”

messy words are scrawled into the paper, which crinkles against suguru’s thigh, growing wrinkly from being pressed into the material of his sweatpants. he’s trying not to press too hard and rip anything, but it’s kind of hard to focus on one specific thing when the most random thoughts are ricocheting through his head and exiting just as quickly as they came. he manages to finish his final paragraph kindly begging the goddess to consider his request, and signs his name under it. both the pen and paper are passed to satoru, along with a tight-lipped warning. “if you read that shit out loud, i’m taking you outside, satoru. in fact, don’t even look at it.”

in lieu of a verbal response, satoru dramatically rolls his eyes. “since it’s dark, i just rolled my eyes. we’re trying to summon a sex demon, so i don’t really get why you still have the nerve to be embarrassed. that should’ve passed the second you grabbed the candles, dude.”

suguru’s words on the paper were more thoughtful, more profound. satoru just writes a slew of horny things, like he’s trying to customize a video game character—please be soft, don’t be totally evil, please be open to letting me suck your tits. his final paragraph is respectful and kind of a copy of the one a few lines above it, but whatever! despite his insistence that satoru doesn’t read his writing on the paper, suguru hypocritically takes a small peek and groans aloud, pressing a thumb into his forehead.

“‘please be soft?’ what the hell does that even mean? need i remind you we are talking to a demon and could end up being cursed if we show even the smallest bit of disrespect?”

everything flies in through one ear and right out the other. careless as usual, satoru scoffs dismissively. “blah blah blah, it’s not even that serious. i get that you’re afraid, but like—”

“read the next step.”

“‘to seal this letter, prick your finger with a needle—’ hell no, that’s all you. ‘drip the blood onto the letter, light every candle in the circle, and meditate until you feel you’ve completely cleared your mind. then, without folding it, burn the letter and continue to meditate until a succubus comes forth.’”

suguru cringes, but ultimately decides that he must take the plunge. the best case scenario is that they complete the ritual accurately and nothing happens, but they are selfishly messing with the supernatural. he doesn’t know that much about demons, but the name holds a negative connotation—getting on the wrong side of one doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest.

“okay, it also says to cut your palm for more blood if you’re extra serious about this. i’m not doing any of that shit, by the way.”

“satoru,” he sighs exasperatedly through his nose, deadpanning the name, “you wrote in the letter too, so you also have to seal it, not just me.”

“ugh, can’t we just offer chocolate or something?”

suguru relents, because his high brain doesn’t entirely think that satoru’s suggestion is a bad one. no, it doesn’t align with the provided steps for this specific ritual, but during his extensive research, he came to learn that some rituals involved edible offerings and supposedly worked. “i’ll try offering blood, and you do the chocolate.”

“right!” satoru nods thoughtfully, under the impression that he just keeps getting smarter and smarter after he smokes. he proudly sticks up his index finger when he remembers the existence of his sweets drawer, which is always restocked on fridays, like clockwork. “do you want that needle or are you planning to bite your tongue?”

suguru grimaces as the scent of chocolate and sugary candy wafts through the air, thanks to satoru opening his underwear drawer. it is literally divided into two different sections—the left side is taken up by folded boxers and a jockstrap he hasn’t used since high school; the space on the right is claimed by an orange halloween bowl filled to the brim with mini chocolates, hard candies, and too many packets of konpeito.

when satoru comes back from the bathroom with a safety pin in hand, he’s giggling stupidly. it’s dark all over the apartment, and it’s well past midnight—the perfect conditions to summon a succubus. clumsily, he drops the safety pin into suguru’s extended palm and pulls the laptop off of the bed before taking a seat on the floor.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this,” satoru laughs dryly, dragging a hand down his warm face as one brief and sober thought passes through his mind, “i’ve been celibate for far too long, suguru. i think the lack of pussy is actually starting to get to me, i’m beginning to lose smell in my right ear—”

suguru wordlessly relights the blunt and hands it to his best friend. firmly gripping the unclasped safety pin, he jabs it right into his thumb and winces when it goes a little deeper than intended. he snatches the letter and swipes his bleeding finger across his signature, and practically throws it at satoru.

“you good?” smoke billows out of his mouth in thin wisps as he picks up the letter, noticing suguru sucking on his thumb. then, his eyes widen when he notices the wet streaks of red along the paper. “fuck. that’s . . a lot of blood for a dumb ritual, suguru.”

he starts to stand, planning to hunt down an ashtray and a bandaid, but suguru shakes his head, pulling at his leg. “it’s fine. in this case, more is better than less. just get the chocolate on the paper, we need to hurry up.”

he glances over at the laptop while satoru unwraps a hershey’s. it’s pretty much melting now from the heat of his hands, which makes it easier for him to swatch beneath his own signature. it looks weird, especially when compared to the streaks of blood a few inches up the paper.

satoru clears his throat, holding the blunt between his fingers while he skims over the screen again. the words feel harder to read now—it’s like they’re blurry and glitching out whenever his eyes land on the first word in a sentence. “uh, okay. ‘light every candle in the circle, and meditate until you feel you’ve completely cleared your mind. then, without folding it, burn the letter and continue to meditate until a succubus comes forth.’”

“let’s get this over with,” suguru assents, his thumb still spurting blood against the folds of his shirt. “i’ll light the candles and you burn the letter.”

“ew, this is pretty creepy.”

one by one, the peppermint candles are lit up. small orange flames flicker, dancing from side to side, and the light fills the room, giving it an eerie glow. satoru does not believe in spirits, but he shuffles a few inches closer to his best friend in case something spawns out of a candle. maybe he’s just paranoid, he realizes, but he makes no move to get away from suguru.

reluctantly, he reaches into the circle, the letter dangling precariously from between his fingers. he moves it over a candle’s flame, the only one in the circle with the smallest speck of blue, and lets the corner of it catch on fire. everything happens fairly quickly—the hungry flames engulf the thin paper, eating up the ink and offerings within a few seconds.

shit just got real, suguru recognizes, a sudden awareness prickling in the forefront of his mind. what the hell was he thinking? what kind of person writes some lustful desires on a piece of paper, signs their name, gets blood on it, and then burns it in a sinister circle of candles? his heart kicks against his ribs, and he wonders how he could possibly meditate peacefully when he’s more cognizant than he’d like to be at this point in time.

his tone leaves no room for questions when he demands, “hand me the fucking blunt, now.”

it’s a lifeline. trembling, he starts puffing away like an asthmatic in the throes of an attack, getting blood on the sides of it with his bad thumb. satoru starts to cough, his eyes watering from the huge clouds of smoke filling the room. heavy and hot, the mingling scents of burned paper and weed hang in the air like a weighted blanket. weakly, he reaches for an abandoned bottle of water under his bed and doesn’t hesitate to suck half of it down. now that he’s back to being comfortably wasted, suguru can meditate without thinking excessively. sure, there’s still a few thoughts that creep in, but he’s able to dismiss them and focus on a positive end goal to this whole ordeal. he swears to himself that he’ll never get involved with the occult again, whether or not this goes well—never again.

satoru crosses his legs and focuses on meditating, eyes closed as he hums long, unintelligible syllables to relax. not far behind him, the laptop is getting battery notifications; it’s about to die very soon, and yet the screen is the brightest it has ever been. suguru doesn’t notice, too engrossed in meditating alongside satoru. if they both channel positive thoughts, maybe this will end better than the way it started.

a light breeze hits satoru’s cheeks, leaving tingles in its wake. it is much cooler than it should be, considering the fact that the windows aren’t open and—the windows aren’t open. they are sitting in a dark room illuminated only by candlelight, with zero air flow. his eyes snap open, and he notices the flames frantically flicking from side to side.

“oh fuck, suguru. i swear to god there’s something else in here with us, don’t you feel—”

“don’t say anything,” suguru hisses, closed eyelids clenching, “go back to meditating. we gotta make sure we don’t piss it off.”

satoru’s throat is dry and his heart is pounding in his ears, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. okay, this spiritual mess isn’t funny or weird anymore—he is legitimately concerned about being haunted by a fucking demon. what if it’s because he offered chocolate and then the demon didn’t like it? or what if she did, and that’s why she’s going to come after him?

suguru also feels the breeze, but then a nearly unbearable heat tears through his body. it’s so unbelievably hot, strong as a fever, but then it crests right between his thighs. he swallows dryly, his throat clicking. it makes his skin sting under his clothes—the brisk air does nothing to soothe the scorching in his cheeks, and the presence of something else is indisputable.

beside him, satoru’s starting to twitch. he is deathly afraid and not expecting the very same heat to ignite in his gut; it’s like he’s an hourglass, except the sand is fast moving magma pooling between his thighs. he tries his hardest to concentrate on meditating, even though the sensations are really overwhelming him. just as he’s started to successfully gaslight himself into thinking that it’s just the weed, something physical brushes gently against his throat and sends a chilling wave of dread through his warming body.

it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but satoru is extremely on edge nonetheless. “if i die,” he hisses, jaw clenching, “i will be haunting utahime for eternity.”

suguru must be experiencing his own turmoil, because he draws in a sharp breath and straightens his back against the edge of the bed. something both soft and sharp coasts along the slope of his jaw, with just enough pressure to slightly sting. an indecipherable mutter of words as quiet as a whisper echoes through the room, only growing louder with each pass between them. something beyond the two of them is definitely present by now.

this is really embarrassing and he feels like a total pussy, but satoru wants to grab suguru and huddle against him like a last-ditch effort to prevent from freezing to death on an icy tundra. he’s high out of his mind, which probably amplifies the paranoia, and he is uncomfortably aware of the fact that he has helped summon a demon into the very place he lives—yeah, this definitely takes the cake for his top three worst experiences ever.

gradually, the ominous sound climbs in volume until it finally evolves into a shout. what had at first been a low, unsettling hiss is now a deafening chant that blasts through both satoru and suguru’s heads; accompanying the noise is a pressure that’s strong enough to crush a soda can flat. it hurts more than anything ever has before, and just as suguru thinks he’s about to have an aneurysm, everything stops and falls completely silent. the quiet is still jarring to their ringing ears, and is more unsettling than anything else.

when you materialize in the room, you first notice the thick and musty smell of the place before anything else. it has earthy notes of smoke and herbs, but it’s been hanging in the air for so long that it is no longer pleasant. it’s fine, though, because your own scent supercedes the stench of the small apartment—a seductive and sickeningly sweet aroma fills the air, making the candles burn brighter. despite the room’s dim glow and darkness, you can very clearly make out the two male figures seated in front of you. you knew that they were there to begin with, though; fear rolls off of them in heavy, bitter waves that you can taste on your tongue.

both of them have their eyes closed, although the delicate skin of their eyelids seems to jump or twitch every now and then. perhaps they’re both caught in a nightmare and need to be awakened? you bend forward to observe one of them more closely, without stepping out of the summoning circle, and you reach out a hazy, half-formed finger to touch him. a sharp, manicured nail skims along suguru’s jaw, and he wills himself not to react, but the other man beside him jerks ever so slightly from the accidental graze of your tail against his throat.

when you’d been summoned, you were excited and expecting much more than whatever the hell this sorry set up is. two men were calling you to an apartment located in a busy suburb in tokyo, and their generous offerings appealed to your two favorite tastes. first, an excessive amount of blood, and second, a sweet snack known to humans as chocolate. a feverish sort of sensation rushes through your body, just from looking at them—without having stepped foot out of the circle of candles, you’re already feeling hot and bothered.

out of nowhere, suguru’s rock hard and nearly choking on his tongue at the feel of it. his cock throbs painfully against his thigh, the tip of it drooling precum into his boxers, and he’s shocked. this must mean that the ritual worked—they genuinely summoned a succubus with an online ritual from 2014.

a thin sheen of sweat forms on satoru’s skin, spanning his whole face and throat, while also dampening his chest underneath his black jujutsu tech shirt. if he knew a supernatural being would be seeing him in a shirt with the name of his college stamped across the front, he would’ve dressed up more for the occasion with a compression shirt of the same color. also, maybe if he wasn’t representing his college, you’d be unable to discern his whereabouts if you maliciously wanted to haunt him. but, like, aren’t spirits and the like all-knowing? does his shirt even matter?

it really looks like they’re asleep, or maybe caught somewhere in the fragile realm between consciousness and slumber. being a succubus for thousands of years simply means that you’ve developed a propensity for kickstarting the arousal of your conjurors, and so long as their offerings are worth something, what’s the point of keeping them waiting when they’ve put so much effort into calling you to them?

you lean in for a kiss, and it is nothing short of electric when your lips meet his. shocks of pure lust reverberate through both of your bodies at the delicious contact, and you can feel his energy swelling in the air immediately. suguru’s arousal is acidic on your tongue as you swallow it down, happily feeding off of such succulence. a mouthwatering tang stands out against the flavor, which amplifies the output of your own energy; in turn, this aggravates their arousal.

startled though buzzing with desire, suguru pulls back and kicks his feet out to protest against the invisible force. an entity has attached itself to his mouth, and it feels nice but also makes him freak the fuck out. the first thing he can think to do is scamper back and away from the circle, dragging you out of it as well. without the aegis of the sacred candles, you fully manifest in front of them, going from an inpercievable specter to what appears to be a half-clothed female human being, with a few unusual attributes.

at a loss for words, suguru releases an astonished gasp. satoru protectively slots himself beside his best friend, too shocked to think before he speaks. “what the fuck is that thing?”

in the thousands of years you’ve been a succubus, you’ve heard it all with previous summoners—goddess, woman, angel, demon, beauty, lady—but this is the first time you’ve been called a thing.

you rise to your full height, looking surprisingly intimidating. the unfurling of your black bat-like wings and the back and forth flick of your heart shaped tail is unusual enough for them to exchange a look of panic. you don’t usually keep them during sex since they can be a hindrance, but you’ve always assumed that they look more sexy than anything else. the fact that they’re so obviously afraid gives you some kind of wicked delight, which prompts you to spread them out further, casting a somewhat menacing shadow over the men.

raising a brow, you glare at the source of the voice; he’s looking toward the floor, unsure of where to direct his gaze. satoru’s diamond blue eyes widen a fraction when he hears your voice boom through the room, authoritative and dangerously demanding. is he starting to lose it or did the walls just shake? “repeat yourself, human.”

the last thing he wants to do is repeat himself, now aware of the severity of his mistake. for encouragement, suguru digs his elbow into satoru’s belly, urging him to respond. well, shit. how’s he supposed to respond? this is about to get extremely ugly, and even worse, he’s gonna die before he graduates college! he’s way too young for this shit! you can smell more panic leaking out of their souls, the miasma of it poisoning the air and overshadowing the pleasant arousal.

“uh, well. hm . . i was so startled i asked what kind of goddess you were. like, just look at you! anyone’s wires would get crossed seeing you appear in front of them. i’ve never been so blessed.”

the cracking of his voice makes his lies obvious. he’s only layering it on thick because he’s so afraid of what you might do—as he should be—but this is just pathetic. most thankful summoners would drop to their knees and bow or something, but this . . this is different. this is intriguing. you decide to toy with them a bit further, narrowing your eyes as you take a single step closer.

in vain, satoru tries to scoot back, only for his spine to press against the solid edge of his bedframe. carelessly summoning you has turned out to be a massive mistake, and to make matters worse, he just had to upset you! he wishes he could blame this on someone else, say it was yuki’s fault for putting the summoning idea into his head, but you don’t look amused.

you lean in, tail flicking dangerously behind you. the cloying air feels thicker in satoru’s lungs, like he’s drowning in a tub of honey and trying to breathe at the same time; the light scent in the air has shifted into something reminiscent of rotting fruit. he regrets having closed the window as per suguru’s instructions—it’s getting a little humid. it’s already too sweet. too nauseating.

after nodding quickly at suguru, he decides to open his mouth. you’re waiting for a real apology, aren’t you? surely it’ll help to clear up this grave misunderstanding. but then, you put your hands on your hips and your voice booms through the room once more.

“i should show you what it feels like to have your soul pulled apart thread by thread and then burned in the very circle you used to summon me.”

suguru’s stomach drops. this is actually the end. he’s gonna die and suffer in the afterlife because he decided to take on a succubus research project given to him by yuki, and didn’t hide it well enough from satoru. maybe if they weren’t thinking with the wrong heads, they wouldn’t be in this situation right now! they’d be watching cocaine bear for the thousandth time and eating a mix of snacks from satoru’s candy drawer if it hadn’t been for their stupidity.

he attempts to say something, but his mouth is completely dry. not a single word manages to form on his tongue, and all he can do is bow his head, pitifully begging for mercy. at his side, satoru looks shell-shocked, like he’s just seen a ghost—in all fairness, he’s currently looking at a variation of one—and tears gather in his eyes. there’s nothing he can do to save himself.

suddenly, you retract the bat wings, and light returns to the room, illuminating their faces. you drop to your knees in front of them, laughing so hard you’re clutching your stomach as you double over. “oh my god!” you manage to gasp out, feet kicking wildly, “you should’ve seen your faces!”

satoru side eyes suguru. both wear the same blank expression, but neither let go of the other.

you sit up, sniffling. tipping your head to the side, you smile, all teasing and tickled. like you didn’t just scare the shit out of them by threatening to kill and curse them less than a minute ago.

“what the fuck,” satoru blurts out, pushing away from his best friend when suguru tugs at his shirt, shaking his head vehemently. “no, seriously, what the fuck?”

“satoru—i’m sorry, he didn’t mean to say that,” suguru attempts to intervene, pulling him back.

you shrug, tail flicking lazily, like that of a cat’s. “it sounds like he did. ‘what the fuck’ what?”

“why would you threaten to kill us? we literally gave you our blood and chocolate! didn’t you read the letter i burned? i specifically said ‘please don’t be totally evil’ in that thing! this seems very evil, y’know!”

“i haven’t stretched my wings out like that in a thousand years! it was really boring being stuck in purgatory, so i just felt like i had to shake things up. no hard feelings, right?”

suguru’s trying to process this information. he presses his thumb into his forehead, trying to sort it out aloud. “so—correct me if i’m wrong, but you were in purgatory for a hundred years and decided to threaten to kill us just for fun?”

“exactly! but i just said that, so why are you repeating me?”

satoru starts talking before suguru can rip into you, more focused on understanding. “what did you do to get stuck there for a thousand years? did you just float there or something? why couldn’t you stretch your wings out?”

you sit up straighter, tits bouncing with the movement. suguru’s totally pissed right now, but damn—even he can admit that you’re truly divine. the personification of beauty and lust all in one, sitting in his apartment. you’re sitting on your knees, facing satoru and focusing on him. good. you can’t see his thirsty ass drinking you in, his eyes tracing over every inch of you.

you’re scantily clad in too much clothing and not enough. black lace barely covers your tits, leaving just enough to the imagination—he can see your nipples through it—while black opera gloves extend from the tips of your fingers to the start of your biceps. suguru’s dark eyes crawl further, finding the sparkling beads lining your waist, and god, that does something to him. the gemstones on each strand in the small stack look otherworldly, impossibly unique and all you.

satoru’s listening to you answer his questions and watching you talk with your hands. “it was a punishment for fucking a demon. he summoned me once and then afterward, i kept coming to him of my own accord, which i wasn’t supposed to do,” you sigh dramatically, not even hiding the fact that you miss whatever demon you’re talking about. “he had a mouth on his stomach and like, four arms. could you even blame me for going back to him? of course not. anyway, purgatory’s kind of like the place between heaven and hell. there’s no passage of time or any entertainment. it’s kind of like sleeping, but with your eyes open and without being able to move.”

satoru’s trying to pick his jaw up and off the floor. how the fuck could demons with four arms and stomach tongues roam this very earth? he looks at you, motioning for you to continue. as much as he hates to say it, this is kind of interesting to listen to. “and the wings?”

“oh, they were taken away through a cursed technique. that’s just an ability that my higher ups have, nothing super important, but my wings were missing that whole time. i only just got them back.” suguru’s completely ignoring what you’re saying. he’s buried in his thoughts, too focused on the lower half of your body to notice anything that may or may not be happening. you’ve got these black leg garments on—he can only equate them to stockings or thigh highs, even though they look a little different than what he’d see in a clothing store. he sneaks a dirty glance at your panties, eyes lingering at the lack of coverage on your ass.

the black strings arch over your hips, leading into an extremely thin bit of fabric and lace covering your pelvis. maybe, just maybe, this succubus summoning ritual might actually be something he could be okay with.

“i saw that,” you say suddenly, calling him out. suguru looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can faintly see the red of his cheeks in the dark. “i can feel you looking at me. both of you.”

satoru scoffs, dismissively waving his hand in the air. “don’t start with the threats to kill us for looking at you. it’s not like your eyes are closed either.”

impressed, you raise a brow. his audacity sparks your curiosity and also your arousal. the effects can be felt throughout the room—suguru sits up straighter, and satoru adjusts himself.

“you did call me here for a reason. generously offered me blood and chocolate so i’d come.”

the mention of blood reminds suguru that he is still bleeding. it’s too dark to see clearly, but going off touch alone tells him enough; a lot of it has soaked into the lower half of his shirt and has probably stained it for good. he sees you inhale through your nose, detecting the faint traces of it in the air, and then you’re on all fours, creeping forward like a panther waiting to pounce. he swallows dryly, hearing the click of his throat, and isn’t sure if he should feel afraid or strangely turned on by the predatory look in your eyes.

you reach out and take his hand, nails lightly raking against his skin. he doesn’t pull away, even when you experimentally squeeze at his injured thumb and watch the blood bubble up. satoru glances at his best friend, wondering if you’re pretending to inspect suguru’s hand with the intent of biting it off. he understands that succubi are different than vampires, but after that stunt you pulled earlier? satoru can’t trust you completely.

something warm, wet, and silky soft envelops his thumb.

suguru tilts his head down, and your burning eyes meet his own. it’s nearly impossible not to moan as you suck on his thumb, tongue swirling around the sore skin in a way that manages to be delicate and effortlessly sexy all at once. all he can do is squirm and bite his cheek while satoru just watches, slackjawed. hell, if he knew he’d be getting this kind of treatment afterward, he would’ve offered plenty of blood! the sight gets him hot and bothered, way more than it should, and he emits a choked noise from beside his best friend, suddenly aware of how his boxers feel a few sizes too small.

“uhhh . . do you want any chocolate with that?” he’s halfway through the sentence when his voice breaks cutely, and your eyes flick toward him, glowing with amusement. “i’ve got plenty of kit-kats, if you’re into those.”

sighing softly through your nose, you let go of suguru’s finger with a pop to focus on his best friend. he looks over his finger incredulously, no longer feeling the wound’s sting; your saliva coats his skin and glistens in the low light. would it be weird if he wanted to taste it?

a sly smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “the chocolate can wait until after i’ve had my fill of what i came down here for. i’ve been kept waiting for too long anyway.”

there’s a beat of silence. the tip of your tail drags slow and teasing along suguru’s throat, and satoru just stares at you like he can’t believe he’s gotten so lucky.

you raise a brow, feeling the lust flare in the air. the energy is plentiful and strong, fueling the cycle of desire—it arouses you, which reflects back to them more intensely. “you, let’s share a piece of chocolate.”

satoru looks confused, but reaches for the bar he used for the letter. “didn’t you just say you were done with the chocolate? did the thousand year imprisonment have any mental affects?”

you scoff, thinking through your list of comebacks. you could take the easy route and roll your eyes, saying something like i know what i said, i changed my mind but where’s the fun in that? you are the one in control here—if you willed it, they’d bow down to you—as you should be.

“i’ll fuck him on your bed while you watch,” you tilt your head toward suguru, whose eyes widen a fraction. did you just say you’d fuck him on satoru’s bed while also forcing the latter to watch? it makes some sense—you are a mischevious demon, after all. a very sexy and seductive one, at that.

satoru places the half melted piece of chocolate between his lips. you lift yourself into his lap and push your gloved hands into his messy hair before tugging his face toward your own. part of the chocolate breaks when you bite it and take it into your mouth; it’s light and sweet on your tongue, but satoru would taste a thousand times better.

chocolate smears against his lips as his mouth meshes with yours in a scorching hot kiss. the candy tastes much better when you’re perched on his lap and licking it out of his mouth like you can’t get enough. satoru lets out a debauched moan, more than pleased with how you’re kissing him—his cock is painfully hard against your ass, and despite the layers of clothing between your bodies, you can feel each inch of him.

suguru sits back and observes, feeling the heat of desire sweltering under his skin. fuck, you’re not even kissing him, and he wants to moan just from watching! are you really attractive or is he discovering something new about himself? satoru tips his head down, trying to change the angle of the kiss, and your fingers are already on his chin, tilting his face up without any concern of being gentle or not. he groans, weakly attempting to grind you down on his cock.

“shit,” suguru mutters, reaching toward the waistband of his sweatpants.

with one final dip of your tongue into his mouth, you pull away from satoru and look just in time to catch the feverish devastation flash across his face. you might be starving for some sex, but nothing beats the slow burn of foreplay—it’s more than necessary right now.

“your turn, suguru,” he’s flushed and breathing a little heavier than usual, but he nods, stretching out his legs for you to come and sit on his lap. instead of situating yourself the same way you did on satoru, you balance your weight on your knees, positioning them on either side of his thighs. “oh,” you coo, swiftly undoing the tie of his neat bun, “look at this gorgeous hair.”

brightening at the compliment, he gives you a half smile. “thank you. i actually—”

in the background, satoru groans, sounding petulant when he interrupts his best friend. “okay, suguru. you’re gonna bore her if you start going on about the shampoo and oils you use.”

“i was going to say that i actually think the bed would be more comfortable right now.”

he’s in the middle of his stupid bickering with satoru when your soft hands slide against his neck and immediately draw his attention. you shush him with a low, quiet sound and lean in for a kiss that instantly adds a dangerous amount of fuel to the fire raging deep in your belly. you’re nearly sick with desire and drowning in the overwhelming waves of everything that accompanies it—there is so much that the excess seeps into your movements, making every single one all the more intoxicating.

satoru’s a little pissed. actually, scratch that, he’s a lot pissed. he’s being forced to sit back and watch the succbus that he helped to summon ignore him for his damn best friend. yes, suguru deserves some love, but not this much! you’re rocking your hips over his lap and swallowing all the soft sounds he makes, sometimes muffling them with your own, and it is genuinely one of the worst things he’s ever had to watch. you must feel his eyes on you, or you really like suguru’s hair, because you thread your fingers in it and tug hard enough to elicit a drawn-out groan of fuuuck that comes from deep within his chest.

“ahem. allow me to remind you that i helped to summon you too. do i look like some kind of cuck to you?” satoru practically spits the question out, narrowing his eyes at the both of you. “suguru, don’t you dare say yes.”

“if he won’t say it, i will,” you tease, throwing him this smarmy smile even though he shakes his head in warning. as expected, you just ignore it. “yes, you do.”

you stand, much to suguru’s dismay, and with a wave of your hand, both your tail and wings disappear into thin air. now, you look completely normal—if being flawlessly beautiful is a normal human trait. the bed creaks gently under you as you lay back against the pillows, looking like a medieval queen upon her throne, and with a single finger, you beckon them closer.

“show me why i should grant your requests. both of you.”

the mattress dips under satoru’s added weight when he sidles up beside you and pulls you into another sweet kiss. since he isn’t quite sure where you’re okay with being touched, he decides to play it safe by cradling the side of your face with his palm—you can feel the energy spike in the air and taste the comfortable petnames he whines into your mouth.

reverant as can be, suguru bows forward and slots himself between your thighs, tossing your legs over his shoulders. he’s radiating enough warmth to be comparable to a damn oven—even through his shirt, you can feel the shape of defined muscle. a shockwave bolts right to your pussy at the thought of stripping them both naked; but you can’t rush. not yet.

wait, this is totally insane! too many thoughts race through suguru’s mind at once, but he doesn’t allow the doubt to impede his rhythm. even the idea of fucking a succubus and ruining sex for the rest of his life doesn’t stop him! those soft lips of his drag hot and languid against the tender skin of your inner thighs, scattering kisses around the place where you need him most. he wonders if succubus pussy tastes different than that of a human’s, and feels his cock leak at the idea of it. it’s painful, being this hard—you must have some kind of divine effect on him.

with your tongue in his mouth, satoru can’t think. he’s completely blissed out, his diamond eyes unfocused and blurry as you kiss his judgment away with those pillowy lips. just when he’s pressing you closer instead of taking a moment to breathe, you grab him by the dick and squeeze. your grip is firm and authoritative, leaving no room for resistance—not that he’d want to, of course.

sharp and delightfully startling, your teeth sink into his lower lip. the light sting reverberates through his head like an echo in an empty hall, and fuck—he gasps, eyes rolling back into his skull. how the hell is he meant to show you that he deserves to have his ridiculous requests granted when you’re playing him like a violin, tugging his heartstrings every which way?

“you’re awfully sensitive, satoru,” you giggle, twisting your wrist. “i haven’t even gotten my bare hands on you yet.”

yet, you say, like you haven’t practically broken him already. he huffs, blowing hair out of his face, and attempts to regain any semblance of control. “well, neither have i.”

you tug your gloves off; suguru’s nose bumps against your clothed clit and you let out a moan, face scrunching. he’s right there—so god damn close to where you need him and still refusing to give. you glance down, only to be met with a smirk and eyes that are twinkling with mischief. have you met your match?

“use your words,” he punctuates his demand with a slow, agonizing drag of his tongue over the thin fabric of your panties. he’s looking at you like he’s daring you to snap at him, like he’s just waiting to show you what he’ll do—what an asshole.

you hum thoughtfully, focusing on suguru while your hand dips beneath satoru’s waistband and teases his cock through his boxers. “i’ll bite. i want you to devour me like a sweet fruit—juices pouring down your chin as you lick the excess from your fingers to savor all of it.”

the piquant visual makes his mind hazy. if you want to be devoured, then devoured you shall be.

“what, you’re gonna leave me hanging?” in an attempt to level the playing field, satoru gropes at your tits, squeezing the soft flesh in his hands. there. now you’re both grabbing one another.

“poor baby wants attention, huh?” you run your thumb over the tip of his cock, pressing at the wet spot on his boxers. satoru absolutely hates to admit it, but this banter with you is annoyingly enjoyable. your little prank had seemed like a true, honest to god curse, but this is a blessing—each exchange turns up the heat more and more.

suguru’s tugging your panties down your hips, careful not to bring your thigh highs down too. hooded and flushed, his eyes are focused only on your body but do occasionally flick over to satoru, who’s putty in your hands. he goes back and forth with you like his bratty ass usually does with anyone he first meets, and you dish it out right back to him. what a sight.

with an unfortunate rip, your panties are torn off you and the mess of lace is tossed haphazardly to the floor. you arch a brow at suguru, who only shrugs, smirking as he draws closer to your messy cunt. his flutter shut as he runs his tongue through your folds for a taste, and fuck, he really does want to devour you. he’d sit you on his god damn face if he could and let you ride his tongue for hours, until it got so sore he could barely talk the next day.

saccharine and something close to ambrosian, your pussy tastes like all of the good things in this world. it’s addicting, the kind of thing he’d want to come home to on the table every day, and he lets out a deep groan that reverberates through your lower body. his hands come up to your hips and he drags you closer, burying his face against you so he can truly drink you in. the tip of his nose rubs against your clit and feels like an electric shock that zips through your stomach.

“fuck,” you breathe, head falling back onto the pillows, “you know how to use that tongue, don’t you?”

satoru doesn’t say anything. doesn’t ask for your attention, doesn’t make any witty comments about you being more focused on his best friend. he just acts, tucking his face against you and pressing kisses to the slope between your neck and shoulder. most of them are wet and mouthy, while a few of them have a little teeth. large hands come up to your chest and pull away the skimpy lace; the bra is replaced by his palms, and it feels like he’s won when you let out a sigh.

“have at it, satoru. i suppose you’ve earned it.”

a mess that’s equal parts his and yours coats suguru’s flushed cheeks as he slurps up your pussy, holding your hips so tightly that you can only move forward. each pass of his tongue is oh so rough as it dips between your folds, seeking more of your sweetness; he lets out muffled groans and shakes his head from side to side, pressing his nose directly into your clit.

his long, dark hair makes its way into his face, but even so, he pushes forward. it might be a bit of a ticklish distraction, but it will not stop him—nothing could, not even you genuinely threatening to destroy his soul with your bare hands.

satoru moans happily when he gets one of your nipples in his mouth. your skin is so soft, just like he’d wished for, and your tits are like heaven’s version of a pillow. he could lay against you and suck your tits all day long, if you let him. hot and overly eager, his tongue swirls around your hardened nipple while he tweaks the other between his fingers, making sure not to leave you feeling unsatisfied.

with one hand, you push your hands through suguru’s hair, dragging your nails against his scalp. the contact makes him sigh into your pussy, but what really gets him is when you wrap it around your hand and tug like he’s some kind of misbehaving dog on a leash. he grunts noisily, his hips instinctively rutting into the bed for some friction.

“oh my god, suguru. you look so fucking good when you’re making a mess, sweetheart.”

you calling him a sweetheart is going to be the death of him, he swears. it’s already enough that you’re saying his first name, but now you’re throwing petnames around—don’t you know he’ll make you cry for that?

“and you, satoru,” you purr, arching into his touch, “you’ve got my attention now.”

with renewed vigor and sinful intent, your hand moves between his boxers and sweatpants. he sucks harder at your tit, the edges of his teeth grazing the nipple; your fingers loosely curl around the clothed head of his cock. nobody’s getting naked until you cum—if either of them thought this was a lot, they’re in for a succubus-style surprise in the next few minutes.

you stroke him lightly, focusing more on pressing the pads of your fingers into the soft underside of his tip. every touch there makes him gasp and buck into your touch, desperate for more. satoru’s starting to pinch your nipple between his fingers, and the pain that goes with it feels so good, especially when it’s combined with suguru’s mouth between your thighs.

it’s not enough.

there’s so much of your slick coating his face, but he still needs more.

suguru lets go of your hips, changing the positions of his hands. one palm presses into your lower stomach, and he pauses, sucking your clit while he slides two thick fingers inside of you. the sensation of being almost full makes you moan, your hips rolling forward, and you unintentionally squeeze the tip of satoru’s cock, nails digging into the sides.

everything blurs into a nasty whirlwind of spit, sex, and the like from there.

saliva coats much of your sore tits by now, but satoru’s head never comes up. he’s too busy biting at your nipples and then laving his tongue over them to make up for it—whenever you like what he’s doing, you stroke him a little harder. tighter, too, if you’re really feeling it. suguru’s grinding against the bed while he eats you out, something that he’d picked up once you’d started to pull on his hair. the sounds that come from your sloppy cunt are truly obscene—loud, wet slurps and sucks fill the room along with the moans from all three of you.

suguru’s pressing down on your lower belly, because he knows that it makes you feel extra good; selfishly, though, he just wants to feel how tight you can get. he’s lost track of how long he’s been between your legs, and normally, he’d get tired, but the arousal raging through his body keeps him going. so does your hand in his hair—you’re tugging him around, taking all that he gives, and fuck, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.

“mmmm, baby,” hot and heavy, satoru’s panting against your chest and rutting into your hand, chasing the friction you’re giving him just enough of, “s-shit, that pace—i’m so close, so close.”

your lips round around a moan of suguru’s name; your thighs are shaking on either side of his head, and his eyes flit up to meet yours. again, that same daring look—although he looks more debauched this time, with his flushed, sweaty skin and the lower half of his face buried in your cunt.

pent up with an otherworldly amount of arousal, satoru’s cock throbs in the palm of your hand and his breaths become more frantic, more gasping. he’s trembling, clinging to you with both arms, and you laugh, taking the words right out of his mouth. “you’re gonna cum, huh? you’re really gonna make a mess in your clothes?”

it’s said with a derision that would stop any normal person in their tracks, but satoru just moans, nodding shamelessly. you continue on, fingers tightening around him. “oh, talk about being dirty. you really like the idea of that, don’t you? my god, and i’m supposed to be the sex demon here.”

satoru whines, and it’s most definitely his lust speaking for him when he says, “keep talkin’ dirty to me.”

electric euphoria hisses through your veins, and you’re quick to realize how close you are. just beneath suguru’s large palm, an unstable pressure seethes like magma in a volcano—ultrahot and undeniably explosive. something’s coming, and it’s not just you and satoru.

your fingers press into the underside of his cock, and it’s so damn sensitive there that he gasps sharply, nearly choking on his own spit. you fight the wavering in your voice and lean in close, so that your warm breath fans against the shell of his ear. “this is where you’re weak, right?”

that’s it.

satoru dies and ascends to heaven right then and there. he cums hard, spilling white and hot into your hand, cock jerking with the aftershocks. slumped against you and reeling from the ecstasy racing through his body, satoru has been pronounced dead. for now, at least.

you wipe your cum covered hand across his shirt, feeling the sharp ridges of his abdominal muscles through the fabric. with him taken care of, you can now focus on the main event—suguru can’t even breathe as you rock your hips into his mouth, your face scrunched with concentration.

having pinpointed your sweet spot, his fingers curl deep and hard into the soft tissue. it’s a bullseye if you’ve ever known one. suguru stares up at you like it would physically hurt him to look anywhere else; you can see the hunger buried in his eyes, they way it twinkles as you hump against his open mouth.

“fuck, suguru,” you moan, voice breaking, “i-i’m gonna cum, oh my god—‘m gonna cum.”

you cum hard, pussy squirting like a waterfall and squeezing so damn tight around his fingers that they’re forced out. finally, after what’s been a beautiful eternity, you release his hair so he can pull back and breathe. he does, briefly gulping in some air before swan diving right back between your thighs for more?!

his tongue drags along your soaked inner thighs, and he laps up all of the excess cum before sitting up on his knees. a mix of cum and spit covers more than half of his face, making his skin shine—he really did eat you like a juicy fruit, didn’t he? suguru makes no move to wipe the wetness dripping down his chin, but instead smirks triumphantly.

“i want—i want a taste, suguru. you were hogging her pussy the whole damn time.”

satoru stirs, seemingly coming back to life. wait, did he actually fucking pass out for a minute?

his best friend scoffs, rolling his eyes. “have at it, satoru. i’m sitting up here now.”

satoru’s fingers close around suguru’s wrist, and he pulls his hand toward his mouth. satoru momentarily sucks at suguru’s sticky fingers before the latter puts an end to it, tugging away. if he had a nickel for every time someone sucked on his fingers, he’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, and in one night, nonetheless!

the delicate strands of beads on your waist jangle softly, and their heads snap in your direction. you’re on all fours, looking at them with those smoldering eyes that say more than your mouth does, and something in the sweet air shifts. their pulses quicken; their bodies move before they can even think about it.

suguru taps his sticky fingers against your lips and pushes them into your open mouth, letting you taste yourself. “i want to see what this mouth can do, sweetheart.”

satoru’s hands are settling on either side of your waist, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “god, i’ve been waiting for this. pretty pussy for an even prettier girl.”

“please, keep talking to me like i’m a human. we’ll see where it gets you, satoru.”

he smacks your ass, uncaring of the fact that you could smite him if you so wanted to. “the wings and tail are gone, babygirl. since we just proved ourselves as worthy, let’s all pretend to be normal human beings.”

“if you wanted me to keep it normal, we’d be sitting around waiting for you to get hard again. had it not been for my power, you’d—”

suguru tilts your chin up, using your cheek to wipe away the wetness from his fingers. “we’re helping you as much as you’re helping us. satiating that appetite of yours is gonna take a while, so why not go along with it?”

that is true. truthfully, you’re just pushing them around because you can, but they’ve either seen through your act or don’t give a damn about the extra respect. you won’t kill them. you answered their summons with an agenda of your own, one that requires their participation.

“i haven’t played the role of human in a thousand years,” you say contemplatively, just to look like you’re being slowly convinced rather than immediately admitting defeat, “fine. fuck me well and i’ll go along with it equally as well.”

the ritual of undressing begins. you watch as suguru divests himself of his long sleeved shirt and his baggy lounge pants, tossing both articles of clothing onto the floor without looking back. luckily for them, nothing is thrown onto a lit candle. satoru’s clothes come off too, his cum smeared shirt flying over your head and landing on top of the clothing pile.

something akin to nervous excitement swirls in your chest. it’s been a thousand years, and you’re finally back at it again—taking two cocks from the get go. being double stuffed isn’t necessarily a new experience, especially with your past flame, but this is a little bit different. instead of having two cocks in one hole or one in your pussy, the other in your ass, you’re going to be taking one down the throat while getting fucked.

you’re excited, there’s no doubt—satoru’s dragging his tip along your slit, gathering spit and cum to use as lube—and thinking of finally being used again wipes the worry from your subconscious. it’s been so long you can’t even remember what a human cock felt like; the last two demon dicks left quite the impression on both holes, superceding all else.

long, thick, and curving to the right, suguru’s cock bobs in front of your face. you have to tilt your head back just to look up at him fully—there’s so much muscle defining every inch of his body, shaping it into something strong and sturdy. his arms flex as he ties his hair back, into some kind of half up, half down style for better movement.

precum beads at the wet tip, some of it dribbling down. the sight is absolutely appetizing; saliva pools on your tongue, and your throat aches for him. he decides to tease you for a moment, before remembering that he’s actually denying himself relief as well.

suguru guides his tip along the seam of your mouth, getting your lips glossy. he looks down at you, his eyes droopy, and he chuckles. “what’s the matter? too big to fit, honey?

you roll your eyes, opening your mouth. your teeth gleam in the dark, sharp at the ends and a little predatory. “i can always cut you down to size.”

satoru presses the head of his cock forward, working only the first few inches into your pulsing cunt. “that’s not how humans talk about dicks, baby. you should say something like, ‘yeah, but i still want to give it a try’. hear the difference?”

“if i were you, i’d worry about not passing out this time,” you snicker, raising a brow in suguru’s direction. “i won’t actually bite. you have my word.”

“uh huh,” he works a hand into your hair, threading it tight around his fingers, and only then does he bring his hips forward. his cock slides into your mouth, the weight of him hot and heavy on your tongue. faintly, you can taste the subtle saltiness of his precum on your tongue, and god does it make you crave more. suguru exhales sharply once he bumps into the back of your throat, his shoulders relaxing. “not too deep, hm?”

you nod in assent. behind you, satoru pushes deeper and deeper, moving as slowly as he possibly can. for what reason, you don’t know—but the feeling is all that matters right now. it’s as frustrating as it is pleasant, which pisses you off, but there’s nothing you can say about it.

suguru’s starting to rock his hips into your face when satoru’s nails dig into the soft skin of your waist, leaving marks between the strands of beads. “oh my fucking god. how the hell are you this tight? suguru, it’s—she’s literally sucking me in. you have to see this.”

“not right now,” suguru shakes his head and his bangs bounce with the movement. he’s focused on how god damn tight your throat is, and how every single gag of yours makes it even better. everything in his body is telling him to choke you with his cock, fuck your face until neither of you can breathe, but he doesn’t. he’ll take it easy on you, just for now.

satoru finally bottoms out, seven inches deep into heaven. your walls are pulsing around him, sucking him as far in as possible, and he almost feels offended. it’s like your body thinks he wants to pull out—but how could he, when you feel like this? why the fuck would he want to?

“i’m not as gentle,” he growls, pulling your ass snug against his hips. “i’ll fill up this pussy again and a-fucking-gain. you saw it earlier—i don’t mind making a mess.”

you can only let out a gurgled moan around suguru’s cock, spit pouring down your chin. he talks a big game—you’re more interested to see if he can back it up.

once suguru feels like you’re accustomed to his cock and tired of feeling the restraint ripple through his shallow thrusts, he pauses to let you breathe through your nose. “i taught you how to take it, huh?” you nod, clearly interested in what he has to say next. “i want to see if you can put those skills to use, sweetheart. open.”

because he’s still bitter about you having scared the shit out of him and his best friend, satoru slams into you the moment you open your mouth and suguru’s cock goes in. a wide, almost evil smile spreads across his face when he hears you choke; that was his revenge for your little joke a while ago, and this will be to fulfill his own selfish desires.

satoru’s heavy balls smack into your clit with every frenzied thrust of his hips. he’s chasing his high, that sweet feeling of ecstasy that comes along with filling someone up; he also wants to leave some kind of evidence that he was lucky enough to have you, preferably something that you’ll remember. if your exhausted pussy is oozing load after load of his cum, you’ll definitely commit him to memory.

“shit, baby,” the image of you conjured by his mind’s eye is powerful enough to make him whine like a bitch as he ruts into you, “all you’ve done since we summoned you is drive us crazy. ready for some fuckin’ p-payback?”

“she’s too busy to answer you,” suguru sounds both broken and triumphant as he fucks your mouth, savoring the sounds of your wet moans and occasional gags. “this throat’s all i could need for payback. fuck, you really are a fast fuckin’ learner.”

the claps of your ass are loud, ringing through the apartment like gunshots, but none of you could bring yourselves to care about any future noise complaints. your throat is being fucked open while your pussy is stuffed full at the same damn time—maybe this was worth waiting a thousand years for.

satoru’s hand comes to press down hard against your lower belly, making you squeeze tighter around his cock. the added pressure makes it feel like he’s all up in your lungs, punching the breath out of you with each feverish slam of his hips. spit and cum drip down your inner thighs in sticky trails, staining your lacy stockings; a lot of it has gotten all over satoru’s pelvis, strings of it connecting his skin to yours.

you let out an inhuman mewl as suguru’s cock plunges into the very back of your throat, leaving a dent that is uniquely his. you can faintly hear yourself sobbing over the sound of your pounding heart, can feel the tears rolling down your cheeks. this is good, so good—but it feels like too much and too little at the same time. they’re both giving it to you pretty well . . perhaps you’re just insatiable after a thousand years without sex.

suguru breaks first. “i want you to swallow every last drop, and you’re gonna show me that pretty fuckin’ tongue before you do, ‘kay?”

“you’re so nasty,” satoru pants, exerting himself too much to even laugh, “fuck. i’m not that far off either, baby.”

bittersweet cum spills into your mouth, hot and thick on your tongue. suguru’s groaning as he lets go of your hair, looking down to see you follow through on what he asked you to do. you open your mouth, showing off the mess on your pink tongue, and he actually moans at the sight.

“you’re fucking incredible,” he can’t even finish his sentence in peace; you make a big show of swallowing it and making your throat click. “you’re such a good girl.”

“then where’s my reward?” you rasp, sounding even better than before.

“right here,” satoru reaches a hand around your body, his fingers easily finding your swollen clit. his ministrations are executed with the same dexterity he’d exercised on your nipples; each rub or pinch sends sparks shooting through your veins. “cum all over this cock, baby. in fact, scream my name while you’re at it.”

suguru scoffs, hand on his cock as he sits back and watches. “you’re impossible.”

your arms collapse under you, and your body tilts forward, ass going up like a seesaw. “oh my god,” satoru grits his teeth, watching you writhe against the mussed blankets and listening to you moan, “y-you’re so fuckin’ deep, satoru. right there—oh!”

his eyes roll back when you fuck him back, throwing your ass back onto him to meet each and every single one of his sloppy thrusts. you’re angling your hips with each swing, forcing the tip of his dick into this soft spot inside of you, one that’s close to your cervix.

“fuckfuckfuck—ugh, i’m gonna cum,” satoru’s fingers are staggering, shaking on your clit, and his chest is heaving, working to breathe against the impending euphoria. he comes undone with a delicious groan that dissolves into smaller, bitten whines; it’s the heat of his cum shooting deep into you that pushes you over the edge next.

“‘m cumming, satoru,” you manage, your voice breaking pitifully. wave after wave of bliss crashes over your body, nearly drowning you, and it’s a god damn mess when you cum. you’re shaking so hard your teeth are chattering, squirting cum all over satoru’s pelvis while you’re at it; he teases your clit rather roughly and laughs as more sprays onto his skin.

something warm slides against your skin as suguru lifts your face from where it’s pressed into the bed. sticky cum covers both of his hands, and you can only surmise that he was jerking himself off while he watched you and his best friend. “you still with us, angel?”

you are everything but an angel, but you still respond to the petname, nodding. there’s this wild gleam in your eyes that tells him everything he needs to know—suguru just nods, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“whew, holy fuck,” satoru steadies himself with a hand on your back, not wanting to pull out of you just yet, “did you actually just squirt on me, baby? this is some next level pussy magic.”

. . .

the bed rocks under all three of your bodies, scraping along the floor and groaning dangerously from the movement on it.

round after round, position after position, orgasm after orgasm.

it’s a neverending cycle that leaves the three of you slick with sweat, panting with exhaustion, and messy with ungodly amounts of cum. suguru slides his cock out of your fluttering cunt with a groan, both him and satoru watching as load upon load of cum oozes out. you never tell them it’s time to take a break—if one’s tired, you’ll fuck the other, or take them at the same time—in fact, you tell them that it’s not enough.

god, you’re insatiable.

satoru gathers the hot globs of cum on his fingers and pushes it back inside you, using the excess as lube for your abused clit. an acidic mix of unequal parts affection and lust hisses through his nerves upon hearing you whine out his name—it’s all your voice has been reduced to thanks to merciless throat fucking and screaming elicited by being split open on their cocks.

this is the nth round of the night—early morning, actually. they’ve been fucking you for a few hours straight, mostly because you’re so horny that it impacts them, but also because your presence opposes refractory periods. it almost hurts, because neither have much left to give, but then you’re pulling another orgasm out of them and nothing feels real again.

eventually, the bedframe snaps with a deafening crack, but nobody stops. in fact, it just reminds you to change positions—satoru fucks you on your side while you sixty-nine with suguru, who sucks your clit and playfully nibbles at it when you choke on his cock. but once that’s over and done with, they’re getting creative as they hoist you off of the bed and take turns fucking you while standing up.

by the time it’s over, you’re left with two uniquely satoru and suguru shaped dents in your stomach.

. . .

“suguru!” mussed with sleep and looking wild because of it, satoru pushes at his best friend, who’s asleep on the floor. how the hell did he even manage to fall asleep when there’s so much debris strewn around? papers, socks, and clean shirts that were once folded surround his body like the chalk outlines at a crime scene. “suguru, dude, c’mon. get up already!”

“what,” suguru deadpans, pushing his hair out of his face. the first thing that he notices is how dry his fingers are when they accidentally graze against his forehead. huh. he could’ve sworn that hand was bloody from a thumb injury. “why are you hassling me first thing in the morning?”

“first, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon, and second, i had the craziest dream. you’ll never fucking believe it.”

there’s a beat of silence before suguru’s brows furrow in realization.

“i did too.”

1K notes · View notes

cinnamorollcrybaby · 3 months ago

Text

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and “kitten”, use of y/n, use of “good girl”, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: I love how I started out on Tumblr as a Gojo girlie, but I quickly became a Toji girlie. However, I write the most fics about Sukuna. He’s just so interesting. I want to eat him.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Part five.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

Nothing could ruin the rest of your night, nothing.

Not when you were counting up the money you made from tonight alone, and it was enough to keep you steady for over three months. You might not even have to work this job for long. Student loans be damned.

You were sat at the bar after closing. Your phone screen dimly illuminated that it was well past four in the morning, and your battery was running low.

The club was much less intimidating now. The music was dulled down to a low hum. The lights were on, exposing the club for what it actually looked like. Janitorial services were walking around while disinfecting every surface imaginable.

Honestly, the stranger’s words that he would be back had long left your mind. At first, you were nervous. You kept looking to the door, expecting for him to be there. You were jumpier too, and you started looking at your customers wearier.

Then, you realized it was probably a hollow threat. He had clearly had business with the Gojo clan, and he may not even make it out alive from that.

Yorozu was wiping down the bar and cleaning up. Since your customers were the last to leave, you were tasked with staying behind with her so you two could leave together. The club liked to use a buddy system for all of the girls. Of course, security personnel members were still posted at each and every corner.

“Sheeesh girl, you must have a natural talent for this,” Yorozu whistled as she watched you count through the massive pile or money before you. Most of it came from that stranger’s pocket.

“It must’ve been a hidden talent,” you meekly murmured with a small shrug, but you couldn’t bite back the small smile on your face. You felt elated, even if your feet were throbbing from the ridiculous heels you were wearing.

Yorozu grinned at you with a small laugh. She honestly found your calm and demure appearance to be charming, especially in this industry. “So humble,” she giggled. “Listen, some of the girls invest some of their money right back into the product to make sure they keep up with demand, but I don’t even think you need any of that.”

“The product? They invest in Malevolent Mass?”

“Girl no. They get work done. You know, a boob job here, tummy tuck there, a Brazilian butt lift if they’re brave enough. Remember, the product is your looks as well as the booze.”

“Oh… I don’t know,” you said sheepishly. The thought of walking around a courtroom with a BBL when you’re a lawyer didn’t necessarily strike you as professional, but to each their own.

“No, no, no, I get it. Like I said, I think you’re doing a good job with what you got. I’m trying to compliment you, silly.”

“Oh,” you exhale with a nervous laugh. You ease into the barstool, trying to remind your fight or flight instincts that Yorozu has been nothing but kind to you. You should relax around her. “Uh— I think you’re pretty too by the way.”

The bartender grins at you while she flips her high ponytail over her shoulder with a small wink. “Aww, thanks. I feel like I have the looks, but I don’t have the personality for a bottle girl. That’s why they stuck me back here.”

“Why is that?” you inquire, leaning your elbow on the bar as you prop your head up with your hand. Yorozu is working on cleaning off all the taps and nozzles.

“Because the first motherfucker to try and grab me is getting a bottle smashed across his head.”

You involuntarily laugh from the sudden bluntness of her words. Immediately, you imagine trying to defend her in court as her attorney, immediately taking a self-defense plea.

Before you can reply, tires screeching and motorcycles revving outside has you looking towards the door. Surely, it’s a couple of drunk people not realizing that the club is closed.

Then, the door swings open, and you can hear a few deep laughs echoing through the building. Security will deal with them, right?

You look up to Yorozu, wondering if she’ll end up telling them off instead, but you catch her fixing up her hair and pulling down her shirt a little bit further to expose her cleavage that was in fact — very pleasing to look at.

Feeling confused, you finally look over to who had entered the club, and your heart drops into your stomach. Instantly, your skin feels like TV static, and you have the instinct to run.

The handsome pink-haired stranger was walking towards the bar with a smirk planted on his face. His white button-up had been stained with a red splatter that you could only assume to be blood.

“Lord Sukuna,” Yorozu greets with a pretty smile.

Sukuna. You’ve heard that name before. Who was this man?

“Yorozu,” his gravely voice greets back. “Get my men a round, will ya? They deserve it.”

“Hell yeah! Drinks are on the boss tonight!”

“Boss! What about us, huh?” A security guard calls from his post on the second floor.

“The security men too, Yorozu.” He adds before he casually slides onto a barstool right next to you.

Surely, they’re just calling him boss out of terms of endearment.. You already met the manager, and this wasn’t him. Maybe he’s a friend of the owner..? Maybe…

“Good girl. You waited on me,” his voice lowly praises you as his eyes focus on your face. He finds your confusion and fear to be absolutely decadent. He’s going to savor this moment for as long as possible.

“I—“ your words get lodged in your throat as you don’t even know what to say right now. You have so many questions, but Sukuna’s men and security personnel are crowding around the bar. Everyone is too close, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

Yorozu planted a drink in front of every man including Sukuna, and she made one for herself. “What are we saying cheers to tonight?” she asked casually as she looked around the room.

“To the Gojo clan for being made up of a bunch of dimwits,” a man with short black hair called out, and he toasted his shot glass in the air. The rest of the men agreed, even Sukuna raised his shot glass before he tossed back his head, and the amber liquid slid down his throat.

Your eyes were zeroed in on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and you traveled your gaze over to his hand, remembering the way his fingers tested your throat out while you cried on his lap. You felt a dull heat settle between your thighs, so you clenched them together to soothe the ache.

“You said you didn’t drink,” you whispered sheepishly to Sukuna while the men hooped and hollered in the bar, bragging about the easy hits they got off on the Gojo men.

“Oh doll,” Sukuna cooed as he looked over to you. He gave you a mock pity glance. “I lied.”

“Just like you lied about being the owner?” you questioned as you went to stand from your barstool. You didn’t need this. You made enough money in one night for three months. You could find another job before then. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up in a crowd like this.

A strong hand settled on your thigh, gripping it as he applied a little pressure to keep you sat. Sukuna cocked an eyebrow at your boldness. To think you could just walk away from him so easily…

“Did I ever specifically say that I wasn’t the owner?” he asked as he sat his shot glass down on the bar.

“Another round?” Yorozu spoke up. This was the most chipper you have seen her ever.

Sukuna merely waved his hand out her with an indifference that even made you want to flinch. However, she took it in stride and made everyone else another round, skipping you and Sukuna.

You still feel her eyes dig into your face as it’s obvious you and Sukuna are engaged in a pretty serious conversation.

“No, you didn’t, but I feel like that’s just lying by omission,” you say as your eyebrows furrow slightly. You can feel your stomach twisting in knots. A swirl of emotions settle in your body: shame, fear, and inexplicable arousal.

“Oh y/n, are you really the one to talk about liars hm?”

Your name on his lips fellt like a sucker punch to the gut… and the clit. You never gave him your name, only opting for your codename, but he knew who you were. It was only a matter of time before he knew what school you went to, what you were majoring in, everything…

You’re already in too deep.

Suddenly, everyone feels to close. Your clothes are itchy, and your hair is sitting on you in the wrong way. Everyone’s too loud, and the buzzing of the lights makes you want to rip off your skin.

Your breath picks up, shifting to small pants as you try to calm yourself down. You haven’t had a panic attack in so long... why now?

“Alright, hop up. Let’s go to my office,” Sukuna says as his hand lets go of your thigh, and he gently hovers it over your lower back as he stands up from his stool.

Nothing sounds worse than going to his office, except for staying here and breaking down in front of a bunch of Yakuza members and coworkers.

Your legs wobble beneath you, but Sukuna keeps a steady hand against you, grounding you to him as he carefully guides you up stairs.

“We’re almost there. You’re okay,” he sounds like he’s trying to comfort you, but allowing him to soothe you would be like cuddling up to a venomous snake when they wrap themselves around you. He’s sizing you up, looking at you like prey.

You’d pay more attention to your surroundings if you weren’t so focused on trying not to hyperventilate. You hear a small beep before a door opens. It’s locked by a fingerprint sensor, only Sukuna could enter.

He guides you to sit down before his desk, and you hear the door shut behind you.

“Let it out,” he lowly demands as he walks over to the corner of the office. He presses a button on a fan before it blows in your general direction. You’re grateful for the cool breeze as you let out a haggard sigh.

You silently bring yourself back down to earth. You were in a sticky situation now, but you’ve done nothing wrong. Sure, Sukuna is the owner of Malevolent Mass, and sure, he had his fingers down your throat earlier, but that’s not a crime.

His large figure stands before you as he rummages through his desk for a moment. Once he finds what he’s looking for, his gaze snaps back up to you.

“You’re not letting it out,” Sukuna grumbles as he steps behind you. His large hands comb through your hair. Your eyes involuntarily close, and you hone in on your five senses to ground yourself further.

You can feel the air from the fan blowing past you, and Sukuna’s fingers are gently combing through your hair. He gathers it up into his palms. His office smells like him, of leather and bourbon with a nice manly musk as well. The fan is quiet, but you can hear the small motor buzzing as its blades are propelling around. Opening up your eyes, you recognize that his office is quite bare. It doesn’t look like he’s here all that often.

By the time you’re finally feeling better, you realize that your hair is off your shoulders, and you look up to see Sukuna standing behind you, looking down at you.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you reach behind your head to see what he did, and you feel your hair tied up in a bun, using a pen to hold it in place.

He put your hair up in a bun for you.

“Did you think I chopped it all off?” he asks, not missing a beat with his smirk. Satisfied with your calmness, he walks around his desk before taking a seat.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you say slowly at your eyes look up to meet his. Being nervous wasn’t going to get you anywhere, you tried to remember the lessons in confidence that your law professor had given you. You straighten your back, pushing your shoulders back as you face Sukuna squarely. “So, should I call you boss too?”

He barks out a laugh from your little display. You really were nothing like anyone he’s ever met, and he’s met plenty of people from all walks of life. “Oh doll, I would much prefer if you said my name instead.”

His eyes rest upon you with an expectant gaze. He’s waiting for you to say it. He needs to hear you say his name.

“Okay… Sukuna,” you finally relent, choosing your battles wisely. “I— um,” Dammit, you’re already failing your confidence lessons. It’s something about Sukuna’s soft red eyes exploring over your face, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. “Thank you for getting me away from them and… helping me through that.”

“How precious,” Sukuna snickers as he leans back into his chair. “It’d do you well to know that everything I do is for the benefit of me, doll. Nevertheless, you’re welcome.”

“Putting my hair up in a bun benefitted you?” you press a bit, wondering just what his motives are now. Before, you assumed he was just some older rich man who was looking for a bit of play, but now… you weren’t so sure.

“I needed you calm before I sat down and spoke to you,” Sukuna answers as he watches your face carefully. He loves watching you try to piece everything together.

“Is this meeting some sort of performance review because if so, it’s rather late. I have other matters to tend to like trying to maintain some sort of proper sleeping schedule.”

“You’re rather mouthy to the man you work for, and for the man who forked up thousands of yen to you.”

A small sigh escapes you, knowing he has you under his thumb now. You should’ve never taken the money. You gave an inch, and now, he was going to take a mile.

“Oh darling, don’t look so down. I think it’s charming. It was just an observation on my part.”

You take a deep breath. You’re still at a loss for what was motivating him now. “Right… So, why am I in your office?”

“I have a proposition for you,” Sukuna says as he twirls a pen around his fingers. His digits effortlessly spin the pen in intricate circles, never losing grip or control.

“Listen— you’ve been exuberantly kind with your money, and I appreciate that, truly. But…”

“Aht, Let me finish,” he says in a lightly scolding tone. His eyes give you a disapproving look for interrupting him. “I don’t want you to work for me anymore. If anything was proven tonight, it was that you’re not cut out to be a bottle girl.”

Your jaw drops open, and your eyebrows furrow a little bit, forming a crease between them. He was firing you? How could he say that when Yorozu said you had a natural talent??

“Tch. Don’t take it as a bad thing, girl. Like I said, angels don’t last long in this industry. Consider it a favor that it’s ending with you being fired and not dead in a ditch.”

“Oh wow, thank you. How should I ever repay you?” you ask bitterly, barely holding back frustrated tears as they threatened to spill from your eyes. Your fists clenched at the hem of your dress. It’s just one setback after another.

“If you must, you can crawl under this desk and show me just how grateful you are,” Sukuna replies as he leans forward on the desk with a small smirk.

The audacity of this man makes you see red. He never misses a beat with his responses, and he’s fucking unshakable.

“So your proposal was for me to blow you for firing me-?” you ask incredulously.

“Oh doll, that would really be a treat, but no. I’m wanting something that can’t be obtained in just one night.”

“Please—“ you say before you pinch the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath. Emotions don’t belong in negotiation, and that’s exactly what this is. “Can you be a little less cryptic? It’s been a long night, and to top it all off, I just got fired from the only job I’ve had.”

Sukuna’s quiet for a moment. His eyes roam over you before it looks like he finally takes pity on you. “Alright, I don’t want you working for me at Malevolent Mass. I think your set of skills would best be allocated elsewhere. Instead, I wanted to offer you a proposition.

“It’s clear that you’re money motivated, and before you throw some sort of tantrum, I’m not saying that as a bad thing. It’s just a fact. I want to support you through school, and in return, I just need you to be available to me.”

You stare for a long minute. Available to him. You could only guess what he meant by that. “You want a sugar baby,” you say slowly, narrowing your gaze at him.

The thought of letting him do more with his fingers than train your throat crosses your mind. You have to cross your legs to soothe the small thrumming feeling you feel deep in your core.

“Mmm, not quite. I’m not offering to buy you cute little outfits and fund your next beach trip. I’m offering to put you through school. Any expenses that relate to your schooling and/or living situation, I’ll handle. Actually, scratch that. I will buy you cute little outfits if they're for my eyes only,” Sukuna leans back in his chair, and his eyes stay glued onto your face.

“I can only assume that available to you means free use,” you scoff, rubbing your face in a stressed out gesture. You just made more money than you have ever seen, got fired, and propositioned to be a free use not-sugar baby all in one night.

“Smart girl,” he replies with a slight predatory grin.

You take a moment to wrack your brain for every little detail you’ve learned in your law classes so far. This deal seems like it benefits you, until he just gets tired or supporting you or until you don’t feel like doing a sexual favor for him.

He could also invoke his free use policy at any given time, demanding that you miss class or wake up in the dead of night.

There was also another problem.

“Free use of every inch of my body?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow at him.

Sukuna lets out another deep growly chuckle as he tips his head back. “This is what I get for trying to bargain with a future lawyer.”

Your eyes widen as you stare at the man across from you. “You know what I’m in school for?” you ask as your heart starts to thump harshly in your chest. You haven't mentioned that small detail to anyone at Malevolent Mass with the hopes that you could keep your work life and university life separate.

“Oh y/n, I know a lot more about you than you think, kitten. I don’t just hire anyone at Malevolent Mass, and I don’t just extend offers to just anyone either.”

You glance back towards the door, wondering if you could just run from this, but horror strikes you as you realize there’s a fingerprint sensor on this side too. The only person who could leave freely was Sukuna.

“Don’t look so petrified, doll, It was really a simple background check. I have to make sure those nasty dogs from the Gojo clan don’t try and weasel their way into my space.”

You look back to face him, trying to convince yourself that he was telling the truth. It was just a protocol procedure…

“You never answered my question. Will my entire body be free use to you?” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Sukuna rests his elbows on the desk, and he gives you an almost bored expression now. “Yes. I’m not putting you through school just to experience only half of the fun, girl.”

“No thank you. I’ll pass.”

He looks interested now, peaking up at you with a small smirk. “What bothers you about that, doll? Is it the ass play? I’d be willing to give that up. Never been much of an ass guy anyway.”

“I wasn’t—“ your eyes widen as you realize you’d be giving up your whole body to whatever kinks he had in store. You hadn’t even thought about anything past vanilla sex. “No, that’s not why. I just— no deal.”

“I hear you, but tell me what’s spooking you off from taking my deal.”

“I made a promise to someone really close to me,” you don’t dare to mention your dad, not wanting Sukuna to pry anymore into your personal life than he already did. “I’m not willing to give myself up before marriage, especially not to some sort of free use deal.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He shifts in his seat as his lips twitch upwards. Things just got much more interesting for him. “Ohhh, I see. You’re a cute little virgin, huh? I should’ve known based on how you cried from merely sitting in my lap.”

You swallow thickly, feeling your fight or flight instinct kick back in. He was acting as if you told him some sort of heirloom secret in your family. Your head slowly nods, not trusting your voice to speak.

“Hm. Alright, fine. Get out of my club, girl. And don’t let me see you here as a guest either unless you want me to bend you over my lap and discipline you myself.”

“I want to propose a counter offer.”

“Huh-?” Sukuna is rarely ever caught off guard. He prides himself on knowing everyone’s next moves, probably before they even know their next move. However, he did not foresee you, a meek little thing, giving him a counter offer.

“Are you not willing to hear me out? I’ll gladly leave with the money I made tonight,” you say, calling his bluff on kicking you out.

He quickly fixes his face from a look of surprise to another confident smirk. “Go on, doll. Show me what you got.”

“No free use. You support me through school financially including my livelihood and beyond that,” You purposely leave out the part where you don’t necessarily have a livelihood, but he’ll find that out sooner or later. “We get married, and then, you can have me as free use with the only stipulation that it can’t interfere with my school or work.”

Sukuna silently reaches over, and he clicks off the fan that was blowing on you earlier during your panic attack. A heavy silence fills the room, and his eyes bore into you.

“Are you looking to become the sole beneficiary of my life insurance policy, hm?” he finally breaks the silence, and a feline grin almost spreads across his face. He’s mocking you.

“No, you keep your life insurance policy to whoever it is. I’ll even sign a prenup stating that I’m not entitled to anything of yours in the event that we get divorced due to infidelity or any nefarious acts on my end,” you explain as your fingers subconsciously twiddle together.

Sukuna's silent for another moment as he weighs everything out in his head. You look down towards your hands, wondering if you just made some grave error in trying to negotiate. You should've just taken the money he gave you and ran.

“I take great pride in understanding human motives, doll. You’ve been one of the few to truly stump me. Tell me, why would you want to marry me? Because I know good and well it’s not to fulfill some promise to someone important to you. If it was about that, you’d understand that this… certain somebody would want you to marry for love, not for a contractual agreement.”

You licked your lips to wet them as you took what Sukuna said into consideration. You suppose he’s right. Your father didn’t want you to marry for some sort of mutually beneficial contract. Perhaps, your late father wanted you to marry so that you couldn’t be so easily abandoned again like your mother had abandoned you.

“Maybe you don’t understand because you’re on the inside,” you say slowly, keeping your eyes trained onto the floor. You felt your face warm with the unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability. Tears bit into your eyes.

“On the inside of what?” his question was more like a demand.

“Despite being born in this country, I am still on the outside. I don’t have a last name that anyone takes seriously. If I want to make change, people have to look at me with reverence and respect. Even being an outsider who doesn’t understand all the great family names of this land, your last name made me take heed. Your name demanded respect, and I want that same respect in turn for myself.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen but a fraction as his pupils dilate while looking at you. From the moment he knew your name and saw your pretty face, he knew you’d be interesting, but this? This took the cake for him.

“I need an heir for my… empire. If you’re married to me, I’ll expect at least one, though you should expect that I’ll keep your hands and stomach full with wifely duties,” Sukuna said, testing to see how you’d react.

“I want my degree first,” you expertly counteroffer, looking back up at him in the eyes. You were really agreeing to marry this man and have his children, but you have no earthly idea what his ‘empire’ truly was.

“Done. What else would you like, doll?” Sukuna easily agrees. His body leans forward into the desk. You’re so fucking tantalizing to him, and you don’t even know it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. This is the same high he chases right before a well deserved kill. The only other person who has made him feel this same way without dying was Satoru Gojo, head of the Gojo clan.

“If you’re really a…” The word ‘yakuza’ dies on your lips. People didn’t throw around that word so frivolously. “If you and your business partners outside this office subscribe to that sort of kinship, I want to be as clueless about it as El Chapo’s wife. Please, give me plausible deniability.”

You could feel your moral compass shattering just from the mere bargaining of this. Just because you didn’t see something, doesn’t make it any less real. You were just turning a blind eye to Sukuna’s crimes… just like how corporations turned a blind eye to your father.

You try to remind yourself that this was for the greater good. You wanted revenge and penance for all the workers who have suffered at the hands of greedy men. You had to play to win.

This was only temporary. Once you established yourself in the field of law, you wouldn’t need Sukuna’s last name. By that time, he would likely already grow tired of you and move onto the next young pretty thing that fell onto his lap. Both of you would move onto different things.

Sukuna let out a deep, rich laugh that only men of high status could give. “Darling, I wouldn’t dream of involving you in my work, as long as you don’t involve me in yours.”

You let out a deep breath. This was really happening. What would your father say about the life you had chosen to live?

Your future husband slowly held out his hand to you. His palm was rough and calloused. The small splatter of blood on his white button-up spoke volumes to you. This was a man you didn’t want to cross.

“A deal, then?” his voice coated you in a false sense of security. Sukuna was terrifying, but in a way, he also brought you comfort.

“Before I shake your hand, I want the right to end our engagement should I change my mind. I’ll forfeit the money, and I’ll never step foot in the entertainment district. I’ll also never utter a word about anything I may have seen during our engagement.”

Sukuna kept his hand extended towards you. “The door your eyes kept glancing to has been unlocked this entire time, darling. The fingerprint sensor isn’t even active right now. You’re free to walk away from me all the way until you say I do,”

You glanced down at his hand then up to his eyes. He’s wearing a subtle smirk that tells you that he’s comfortable right now. You take his hand, and you shake on it before you could think wiser.

“Good girl. We can go over more explicit details the next time we meet,” your future husband smiles — a real genuine smile, and he stands up from his desk. His hands go to unbuttoning his shirt.

“I—“ your words get caught in your throat as Sukuna shrugs off his button-up shirt. His muscles look as though they’ve been delicately sculpted by one of the greatest artists to ever live. His tattoo, lines and circles that seem to have no other purpose, only accentuate every hill and ditch on his body. No, Sukuna’s not some sort of man — he’s a god.

“What are you doing?” your voice is about an octave too high, betraying your nervousness. You quickly stop yourself from staring, opting to cover your eyes up with your hands.

“Oh doll, don’t be shy,” he teases with a throaty laugh. He’s enjoying watching you squirm over him. “I’m for your enjoyment now, seeing as though we’re engaged.”

You hear fabric rustling, and you take the chance to peek between your fingers to see what he’s doing. He had another shirt tucked away in his desk, and he was now buttoning it up across his chest.

His old shirt was no where to be seen. He must’ve already expertly discarded it for no one to find.

You slowly stand as well, taking the hint that this conversation was coming to an end. You look for your bag before you realize that you must’ve left it at the bar when Sukuna led you up to his office during your panic attack.

“Come, doll. I’ll take you home,” Sukuna says, beckoning to you like an owner would their dog. He opens the door, proving that it really wasn’t locked.

You slowly follow behind him. “It’s fine. I can walk or take a subway,” you say slowly. The thought of Sukuna seeing where you lived, even if you were on student housing, made your skin crawl with unease.

“Oh y/n, you have so much to learn about me,” he taunts as his hand grazes the small of your back. He carefully leads you down to the club level. The bar had mostly cleared out. You noted how Yorozu had seemingly left. So much for the buddy system. “I’m not the type of man to let my future wife navigate the entertainment district at this ungodly hour without so much of a cell phone to call for help.”

“I have a cell phone—“ you quickly protest before you pick it up off the bar. It was completely dead. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. How did he even know about that..?

“I watched the screen fade to black as you were accusing me of lying. Let this be your first lesson, your trip here was the last time you’ll be free to roam the streets of the entertainment district without some sort of protection with you.”

You swallow thickly as you slowly grab your purse. Not that the money mattered, but it was still left undisturbed on the bar. Sukuna’s eyes flickered between you and the stack of yen, as if silently telling you to take it… even if you didn’t need it now.

“Consider it a down payment,” Sukuna laughs as he grabs a helmet off the bar. Your eyes widen as you remember that he didn’t drive a car here.

Your future husband doesn’t take a moment for pause as he walked towards the doors. He holds it open for you, expecting you to follow him.

What other choice did you have? You also didn’t necessarily fancy walking home without a phone to call for help if you needed it.

He turns to face you before reaching around and pulling the pen he had meticulously placed in your hair to hold it up. Your hair fell down, and he stepped closer to you. “Have you ever ridden before?”

You slowly shake your head. You’ve never even been close to a motorcycle before, and Sukuna’s bike looks intimidating.

“Mm, I should’ve guessed by the fear in your eyes,” he laughs lowly before slowly slipping the helmet over your head. You’re rendered blind for a moment as it takes him a second to adjust the helmet to your head. His fingers delicately adjust the straps beneath your chin, making sure you’re properly secured in.

“If I would’ve known I’d have my future wife with me, I would’ve opted for the car instead of my bike. You’re lucky I’m a good driver, doll.”

Your hands go to raise your visor up so you can look him in the eyes instead of a tinted plastic meant to protect your eyes. However, Sukuna slaps the visor back down with a hearty chuckle. “Keep it down, kitten. Don’t you want to be able to see while you walk down the aisle?”

His strong hands then wrap around your waist, and he lifts you effortlessly as though you weigh nothing to him. You barely make it through a gasp before he safely settles you onto the back of his bike.

“Put your feet on the pegs,” he instructs as he carefully swings his own leg over the bike. “When we’re riding, you hold onto me, and lean with the bike not against it.”

“What does that even mean?” you shout, feeling like your heart is going to have palpitations after this ride.

“It means…” he reaches behind himself to grab your hands, and he makes you wrap your arms around his waist. He places your palms on his rock solid stomach. “Hold onto me and trust me, doll.”

You’re forced to lean into him, practically laying yourself against his muscular back. His warmth seeps into you as you hold onto him tightly. The bike roars to life.

“You ready for the ride of your life, doll?”

The beautiful neon lights of bright purples, lime greens, and cyan blues zip past you as Sukuna revs the bike. The engine purrs and whines as he drives the bike with a confidence that comes with riding for several years.

The entertainment district is at its prettiest during this hour. Not many people are out and about, but it’s still dark and the streetlights illuminate the space. It feels like it’s straight out of a dystopian science fiction movie.

The ride is mostly silent. You’re focused on the feeling of the wind in your hair and the sights that Japan has to offer. You stay wrapped around Sukuna, using his body as an anchor while it feels like you might blow away.

It gives you time to think and reflect. You’ve done more new things in the last 24 hours than you have all your life. It feels… freeing, a sort of freedom that you haven’t felt since your father was injured at his job.

A sudden thought occurs to you. You never told Sukuna which student housing you live in… Sure, he could infer that you live on student housing, but there’s still multiple housing facilities that you could live in.

Much to your dismay, he pulls up to the exact right building, and he slowly kills the engine. “How was that?” he asks as he turns over his shoulder to look at you.

Your fingers quickly fumble with the strap of your helmet, trying to peel the safety gear off of you.

Sukuna laughs quietly as he watches you struggle. He pushed himself up off the bike, so he could tend to you better. “Careful, doll. Don’t overwork yourself. I’m sure the ride wasn’t that bad.”

Once the helmet was off, you stare up at him with a heat of a thousand suns. “How do you know where I live?” you demand as your eyebrows furrow. Your lips curl into that adorable pout that makes Sukuna involuntarily grin at you.

“I already told you, doll. I don’t just let anyone work at Malevolent Mass, and I certainly don’t just offer marriage to someone I hardly know,” he says it as if it’s the most natural thing on this planet.

You’re completely speechless for a moment, reeling over just how much he knows about you. He made the deal with you knowing what he was getting himself into; however, you basically just signed yourself up for a blind sentence.

“As much as I crave the fear you’re wearing on your face, it’s late. You have class on Monday, which means you need to fix your sleeping schedule tonight. Go inside, get some rest, and make sure to charge your phone. I’ll be in touch.” You don’t even bother asking how he knows your phone number.

He reaches out to you, bracing a hand behind your head as his fingers intertwine strands of hair. He then bends over and presses his lips gently against your forehead.

A warmth blossoms over you. A simple forehead kiss was not what you were expecting from the man who fucked your mouth with his fingers and propositioned you for a free use bargain. It felt simple, sweet, innocent…

It’s almost enough to make all the anxiety lift from your shoulders, but you still yourself, reminding yourself not to fall for such frivolous tricks and pretty words… even if it was really thoughtful that he had already thought about your schooling.

“I’ll draft up a contract before our next meeting, doll.” He slides the helmet over his own head, and he pushes the visor upwards so you can gaze into his red eyes that appear soft at the moment.

Coming to your senses, you give him a weary gaze. “Written contracts only ever benefit the writer of the contract.”

You can’t see his lips, but you can tell from his eyes that he’s smirking at you like he’s proud of you for picking up on such a minor detail. “I have such a clever little wife.”

With that, his bike roars to life, and he points towards the door of your building. His intention is clear enough. You’re now to do as your future husband says.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord

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nadvs · 1 year ago

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sleeping with the enemy ✮ au

pairing basketballplayer! rafe cameron x cheerleader! female reader

summary after getting dumped by the captain of the basketball team you cheer for, you find revenge in the form of rafe cameron, your ex-boyfriend’s worst enemy. based on this one-shot

rating explicit 18+

tropes both afraid of commitment, college rivalry, friends with benefits to best friends to lovers, everybody sees it, he falls first

timeline when they meet, she’s a junior and he’s a senior at rival colleges. they’re friends with benefits for three months before they start dating. they’re together for five months, then he gets signed with the nba and moves away. they stay together long-distance and she moves in with him a year and a half later. she gets pregnant six months after moving in, when they’ve been together for a little over two years. they get married four years later.

legend ⊗ smut / ❥ fluff / × angst

˚　꩜ ︴friends with benefits 　︵　🏀

✮ ࿐ they meet and hook-up ⊗

✮ ࿐ rafe texts her after they meet ❥

✮ ࿐ her ex sees them together ❥

✮ ࿐she learns about his past ❥

✮ ࿐ she hears people talking badly about her ×

✮ ࿐ he takes her out to dinner ❥

✮ ࿐ he fights to defend her ×

✮ ࿐ she rides his thigh ⊗

✮ ࿐ she keeps his shirt ×

✮ ࿐ they hook up in the library ⊗

✮ ࿐ his first time getting jealous ×

✮ ࿐ their favorite position ⊗

✮ ࿐ she cleans him up after a fight ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ a new player on his team hits on her × ⊗

✮ ࿐ he takes care of her when she’s drunk ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he accidentally calls her his girlfriend ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ they become official ❥ ×

˚　꩜ ︴in a relationship 　︵　🏀

college days

✮ ࿐ he tells his friends they’re dating ❥

✮ ࿐ their first time having sex as a couple ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ people see the marks she left on him ❥

✮ ࿐ they compete ⊗

✮ ࿐ he does a body shot off of her ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ their first fight as a couple ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he helps her when she’s stressed about school ❥

✮ ࿐ he consoles her after she fails a midterm ❥

✮ ࿐ they meet each other’s families ❥

✮ ࿐ they fight before he leaves ×

long distance

✮ ࿐ their roughest patch ×

✮ ࿐ he has a photo of her in his locker ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ her first night visiting him ⊗ ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ their first ‘i love you’s’ ❥

✮ ࿐ they almost break up ×

✮ ࿐ he misses her after she visits ❥

✮ ࿐ her ex hits on her ❥

✮ ࿐ she gets jealous ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ she drunk calls him ❥

after she moves in with him

✮ ࿐ he supports her career ❥

✮ ࿐ she tells him she’s pregnant ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ the public finds out she’s pregnant ×

✮ ࿐ he supports her through her pregnancy ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he gets his first tattoo ❥

✮ ࿐ she gives birth ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ they announce the birth ❥

✮ ࿐ he sets up the nursery ❥

✮ ࿐ paparazzi find them at the hospital ❥

✮ ࿐ they struggle being new parents ×

✮ ࿐ rafe snaps at paparazzi following them ×

✮ ࿐ they deal with rumors that he’s cheating ×

✮ ࿐ a clip of her feeds the rumors ×

✮ ࿐ she sits courtside with their babies ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s away from the babies for too long ×

✮ ࿐ they’re overprotective parents ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe as a dad ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe does his babies’ hair ❥

✮ ࿐ their first night away after becoming parents ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ they hook up at a wedding ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ his daughter attends a conference with him ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe has a rough day with the kids ❥

✮ ࿐ their daughter loves attention ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s afraid to propose ×

˚　꩜ ︴married 　︵　🏀

✮ ࿐ they have a problem on their wedding day ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ she gets possessive of him ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe tells their son’s friend to stop looking at her ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s overprotective of their daughter ❥

✮ ࿐ what they fight about as parents ×

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

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pearlessance · 3 days ago

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Cupid's Chokehold — part four!

LUCK OF THE DRAW

[prev/next]

summary: Uncle Tommy teaches you about the gambler's high in Stratford. And when you return home, you're forced to put that poker face to good use.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap, gambling, allusions to addiction, oral f!receiving, tommy 'let me eat it before we go' miller, unprotected piv, praise, breeding kink, light angst, teeny tiny bit of exhibitionism, orgasm delay, creampie, no beta, this part ends on a cliffhanger im so sorry

note: full disclosure i know absolutely nothing about poker or casino games so like...let's not look too hard at that

wc: 11.6k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

The consultation goes far better than Tommy expects.

You meet with a woman named Miranda. She’s tall as hell and wears one of those pinstripe blazers that reminds Tommy of his high school principal.

He lets you do most of the talking. You’re real good at it and have Miranda laughing five minutes in. The three of you walk through the house and Tommy’s critical in his observation. There’s ten bedrooms and four balconies and marble floors that shimmer and shine. The backyard has a goddamn waterfall in the heated pool and ten acres of woods behind it with a private lake and a brand new dock. Secluded and quiet. It’s beautiful. The most expensive house Tommy’s ever stepped foot in.

Miranda explains that she wants to keep the house's old bones. Likes the charm of the curving archways and the transom windows and the laundry chute in the hallway. But the rest of the house is rather dated.

The roof needs to be completely redone—something she failed to mention in the email exchanges. Tommy clocks that one before they even step foot out of his truck.

The plumbing needs updated, there’s only power going into the left half of the house, the insulation needs to be switched with something more modern, and the wood that makes up that big, wrap-around porch is so dry rotted that it needs to be fully replaced.

Tommy makes note of all of it. Is overly observant because he knows Joel will want every little detail. And he tries not to get too excited. Truly, he does.

But…they could do it with their fucking eyes closed.

Five million dollars.

Even after labor and material cost and everything else, for this one job Tommy alone would get paid two hundred grand easily. And he can’t imagine everyone on the crew would want to go all the way to Stratford for a month, and so that paycheck would likely be even more than he thinks.

Truthfully, he’s never cared much about moving out of his apartment. It’s always been just him there with the occasional on and off again girlfriend. There’s space to fit his things comfortably and his neighbors are nice enough, so he’s never given a place of his own much thought.

But when Tommy thinks of his future now, his brain subconsciously makes room for you in it.

He can see it clear as day when he dreams. Sees himself cooking dinner in the kitchen while you sit at the butcher block island he built with his own two hands, sipping whiskey from an icy glass. Sees you on the front porch steps while he’s out mowing the lawn. Sees you standing at the refrigerator late at night, bare feet on the tile, wearing nothing but his old t-shirt, trying to twist off the cap on a jar of olives that he always tightens just a little too much because he likes when you ask for his help.

You’re in everything he does. Present and future. Sometimes Tommy thinks even his past decisions had been made with you in mind, leading him right here. Right to you.

Miranda has lunch delivered during the consultation. A big spread of meats and hard cheeses and whole grain breads. She pours mimosas for you and herself but Tommy declines her offer. Wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel with an ounce of champagne in him if you’re the one in the passenger seat.

The two of you talk about labor pricing while you eat. Tommy sits silently beside you, taking slow bites of his turkey club concoction he’s put together, and lets you do your thing.

Isn’t surprised at the easy way you make conversation. Slipping in those personal questions between the ones about dollar signs to make Miranda more comfortable. You ask how her husband’s doing on his business trip to Italy and about her son’s basketball tournament. If he didn’t know any better, Tommy would think the two of you have been friends for years and not just the two weeks you’ve been emailing back and forth.

And when Miranda offers to pay another half million at the end of the consultation, Tommy isn’t surprised about that, either. She says, “My husband and I really love the work Miller Contracting does. And what’s even better is you’re good people. At the end of the day, that’s what we’re paying for.”

You tell her it was nice meeting her. Explain that Joel makes all final decisions so you can’t promise anything, but you’ll do what you can to sway his favor.

Miranda understands his hesitation. Knows it’s a long process and far away from home but swears to make the distance worthwhile.

Tommy hasn’t even pulled fully out of the long, winding driveway before you’re plucking your phone out of your back pocket and dialing Joel’s familiar phone number. You put it on speaker and hold it between the two of you.

It only rings twice before he answers. “Hey, kiddo. How’d it go?”

“It’s real, Joel,” you say, the smallest bit of pride in your voice. As if to say, I told you it would be. It’s almost undetectable, but Tommy hears it. “Everything she said in the emails was true.”

“Did you check the basement? The plumbing down there, is it accessible?”

“Sure is.”

“And the furnace?”

“Yep. And the water heater and the HVAC and the foundation. I triple checked it all. Just like you taught me.”

“An’ she didn’t leave anything out? Nothin’ at all?”

“The roof,” you say. “But we figured as much from the exterior picture she sent us.”

“So she did lie.”

“It ain’t that bad,” Tommy interjects. “Would take us less than a day to fix. An’ I don’t think the roof was even in the proposal plan, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t,” you answer. “Not once has she asked about us redoing her roof. Could be something she wants someone else to do.”

“Alright, fair. But the cost of labor—”

“How much would it be? For housing and food and travel expenses and everything else. Including pay for each day for everyone who wants a hand in it. How much would it be?”

Joel’s hesitation translates, even through the phone. “A lot. I don’t—I don’t know off the top of my head.”

“Highball it.”

Tommy can’t hold back his grin. Has never in his life heard someone talk that way to his brother during one of his stubborn moods. You speak clearly. Concise. Your voice holds an edge that’s devoid of fear and cowardice. He can hear Joel’s teachings in the way you speak.

Joel sighs heavily, and Tommy would bet money that he’s squeezing his jaw or massaging the incoming headache from his temple. And then, finally, he says, “Four hundred thousand, maybe. I can’t imagine Cooper or Adam are going to want to go, they’ve got those young kids an’ all.”

“And what if I told you it would all be paid for and then some? Outside of the five million,” you say.

“Where are we gonna get the kinda cash for—?”

Before Joel finishes, you’re explaining, “Miranda just offered another five hundred thousand. That means three and a half million dollars in profit after max material cost.”

“But Christmas bonuses and—”

“Joel.”

He stops. Silence hangs in the air, and Tommy knows it’s not because he doesn’t trust you, it’s because he doesn’t trust Miranda. The offer seems almost too good to be true. It’s taken them so long to get this far, and now that they’re here, Joel’s having trouble wrapping his head around it.

Tommy wishes he had something wise to say. Something to sway his brother, something to calm the anxiety he can see written plainly on your face. But he isn’t like you—doesn’t always have the right words. And so he holds tight to the steering wheel with one hand and extends his other, giving you a soft smile when you thread your fingers between his.

“Look, I know it’s a lot,” you say. “The three of us are the only ones who know, so if you decide not to take the job, no harm no foul. And you know I’ll have your back no matter what decision you make. Okay? But一if we get half before the job, half after, we won’t need to spend a dime out of our pockets. It’s real. And you’ve worked hard for it. It’s not a hand out and it’s not charity. You built this business from the ground up. You deserve this, Joel.”

Tommy knows his brother’s done for before he even speaks. He’s been on the receiving end of these talks with you, the ones where you say everything he wants to hear with so much conviction in your heart it’s impossible to discount it.

Joel sighs again but it’s a little lighter this time. He says, “Alright, let me…just let me talk to your mom first. I’ll tell you as soon as I make a decision.”

Before you even make it back to the hotel parking lot, Joel sends you a wordy text explaining his agreement terms. He wants to wait a month before they start construction. Says he needs to figure out who’s able to lend a hand and give them time to inform everyone they need to. He needs to replace Noah with a new hire and find a decent job for everyone who stays in Austin so they still get paid, too. Says to put the words ‘half the payment at signature, half after completion’ in the first draft of the contract.

The second you’re back in the hotel room, you’re pulling out your laptop and setting it up on the edge of the bed to tell Miranda the good news. You promise to have a complete breakdown of Joel’s terms sent by Monday afternoon and a revised agreement sent by Friday.

Tommy waits patiently while you work. He flops back on the mattress beside you and admires the way you look and the soothing sound of your fingers as they hit the keys.

He doesn’t rush you. Gives you all the time you need and concocts a plan of his own while he lays beside you.

And when you finally close your laptop, there’s a satisfied smile on your face. “This is going to change everything,” you say. “I mean, if Miranda has people tour her house when it’s finished they’re gonna want to know who did it, right? This opens up a whole new world of clients for us.”

Truthfully, he’d never thought that far ahead. Supposes that’s why you’re so good at what you do, always seeing opportunities before they’re staring you right in the eye. “I think this is cause for celebration,” Tommy says. “You bring some goin’ out clothes?”

That troublesome smirk finds its way onto your pretty face. “Picked an outfit as soon as Joel told me you’d be my chauffeur.” You stand to your feet, fingers already working at the buttons of the white blouse you’d bought specifically for the consultation. “Where are we going?”

“You’re gettin’ a birthday do-over,” he answers, a tone of finality in his voice. “S’been eatin’ at me, so I’m gonna make it right.”

Tommy pushes himself to his feet and comes to stand in front of you. His hands take over for yours, undressing you slowly. You tilt your head back to stare up at him, lips parted just slightly, eyes beginning to darken with desire he’s familiar with now. “You already did,” you say, and it warms his heart to hear it.

But it’s not just the end of the night he wants to fix. It’s the beginning, the middle, the aftermath. He has a chance to give you everything you wanted that day without fear of prying eyes, and Tommy thinks he’d be a fool not to take it.

He pushes the pearlescent buttons through the satin fabric of your blouse. One by one. Revealing the red lace you wear beneath. “Y’know, I’ve got this…this errand to run.”

The prettiest crease forms between your brows. Tommy presses a kiss there. “We have errands?”

It takes considerable effort to fight his grin. He likes the way the word we sounds in your mouth. And that assumption is no surprise, really. He can’t remember the last time he did anything without you at his side. But he shakes his head. Says, “Nah, just me. You go ahead an’ get all dolled up. I’ll be back in an hour. Yeah?”

The confusion on your face persists. And Tommy knows you like the back of his hand, so he tries to ease your mind. To put some of your uncertainty at ease.

“I just gotta pick something up,” he clarifies. “An’ it won’t be a surprise if you’re there the whole time, now would it?”

You narrow those pretty, suspicion filled eyes at him, but that grin gives you away.

Tilting your head up with gentle fingers beneath your chin, Tommy kisses you once, twice. Three times for good measure. “Be good,” he says.

“Never.”

He’s still smiling when he slides into the leather seat of his truck. It’s so easy, being with you. Loving you. Like second nature. As if it’s what he was made for.

And while he drives through the streets of Stratford, Tommy can’t help but think about a future with you. Even though there’s a little voice in the back of his head, reminding him that fantasizing about it will only make the inevitable devastation worse.

But it’s just too good. It makes his heart race, thinking about the way you’d look with a diamond ring on your finger and a belly swollen with his baby. He’d ntroduce you to all his friends as his pretty little wife and when they tell him to stay for one more drink he’d say, ‘nah, gotta get home to the misses’ with a big grin on his face.

He’d buy a plot of land and build your dream house with his own two hands. Tommy knows just what you like—has seen all those Zillow links you send him when you’re tucked behind that desk on the job site. He’d make sure it had a big window in the kitchen above the sink and hardwood floors and all the hardware in the house would match. Brass, of course—because that’s the metal you always notice.

But most of all, Tommy would keep you happy. Satisfied. If you wanted to work, he’d drive you every morning. If you wanted to stay home, he’d pick up extra hours if need be. He’d take you to see the sights of the world or spend the weekends cozied up on the couch—whatever you wanted.

He’d indulge your every whim and never let you participate in a bad idea alone. Whatever kept those stars in your eyes and that troublesome smirk on your sweet mouth.

And Tommy knows he’d be happy regardless of place or time. As long as you’re there with him.

When he arrives at the locally owned jewelry store he’d found online, he doesn’t linger. Does what he came to do and gets back to you with a sense of urgency.

Tommy hates being apart from you. Even if it’s easier knowing you’re waiting for him, the distance feels heavy. Like a waste of precious time. And you must feel it, too. Because as he’s pulling back into the hotel parking lot his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Your text simply reads ‘miss you.’ His favorite one to receive.

Tommy thinks he’ll never get over the way you make him feel. Wanted, needed, like he’s the most important man in your life. It doesn’t make sense to him, truthfully. He’ll never understand what the hell you see in him.

But he’s well past the point of rationizing any of what lies between you. So he just sits with it instead. Feels the love you have for each other and the near paralyzing fear that comes with it. Lets that heaviness fill him to the brim because it’s you, and he’s greedy for it all.

When he opens the heavy hotel room door, he finds you fixing a stray piece of hair in the mirror. You smile wide and your eyes light up as they meet his in the reflection.

You’re beautiful, Tommy thinks. Breathtaking.

His hands itch with the need to touch you, like they always do. Insatiable. And so he does, because for this weekend he can. He comes up behind you and places his broad palms on your hips, right over the waistband of your jeans. Light washed and distressed with glittering pockets, tight and casual but sexy. He presses a kiss behind your ear and promises, “Missed you more, sweetheart.”

Your hands find his, guiding them beneath the smooth satin of your black halter top, pressing them against your soft skin. It’s not an inherently sexual caress, it’s just there. Grounding. As if you need the touch just as much as he does.

“Got you somethin’,” he says. He fishes the small package from his pocket. “Close your eyes.”

When you do just as he asks, Tommy carefully unwraps your gift, turns one of your hands over, and sets the dainty piece of jewelry there. He can feel your excitement as if it were his own. Sees that pretty smile and mirrors it. “A present?”

“Mhm.” His stomach twists with nerves. But he’s not really sure why, because it’s you. Knows it’s something you would’ve picked out for yourself if given the chance. But he wants to impress you. Wants to make sure you feel loved. “Alright,” he says. “G’head.”

You laugh softly and your grin widens, fingers coming up to trace the thin chain of the necklace. In the center of it sits a single, pearl pendant. Small but pretty, not dissimilar to a lot of the jewelry you normally wear.

“I know when you asked for a pearl necklace that you meant the Uncle-Tommy-made one,” he says with a laugh. “But you still asked for it. So I wanted to get it for you.”

“I love it,” you say. And then you're handing it back to him and gathering your hair in your hands, a silent instruction.

Tommy unclasps the necklace and lays it delicately in the center of your chest. “You know, the jewler lady was tellin’ me all this stuff about gemstones. Said they all kinda mean different things. Like emeralds are for growth and diamonds are for strength or whatever,” Tommy explains.

When he secures the necklace, he gently runs his knuckles down the back of your neck. Feeling you; your skin, your warmth, your pulse.

“And when she started tellin’ me about pearls, at first she said they’re for purity and innocence.”

“Purity and innocence?” You laugh at that—one of those sweet, belly laughs he loves so much.

Tommy shakes his head, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt. “I know, I had the same reaction,” he tells you. “But just—just listen. Stay with me.”

With a nod, you press your lips together, trying to fight off your amusement.

“An’ then she said they could also be for spiritual connections," Tommy continues.

You quiet a little then, hearing him, seeing his point before he even alludes to it. Reading his mind in that way you do.

“I asked her to explain it to me. So I knew I was understandin’ right. An’ she told me a spiritual connection ain’t somethin’ you can control. Doesn’t matter if it’s someone you shouldn’t want, doesn’t matter if…if it makes sense or if it’s right. It just is. Said those that experience it are lucky. Cause sometimes, for some people, somethin’ like that never happens at all.”

You stare at him in the reflection of the mirror, pupils blown wide and filled with the same intensity he feels. A shared understanding.

A shared devotion.

When you reach for him and your fingertips snag against the shiny, new hardware on the ring finger of his left hand, you immediately notice it. Can feel the difference, the change from what’s normal.

He smiles as you turn in his embrace, holding his hand up in the space between you. Your brows furrow the smallest bit, and Tommy feels his gut twist with nerves as you closely examine the simple gold band. Thin but masculine, with a single pearl stone set in its center. Twin to the pendant around your neck, one more shared thing between you. Something tangible, something physical that will remain even after the weekend is over.

“They’re the same,” you say. “Like us.”

His heart pinches in his chest at the softness in your voice. “Yeah, darlin’,” he mutters. “Jus’ like us.”

You turn his big hand in yours and press it to the side of your face, and his thumb instinctively caresses the delicate curve of your cheekbone.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said last night,” he whispers. “About…about how mad they’d be if they found out. Now, my brother, he’ll hate me for this. I think we both know that.” Tommy swallows hard. “But I…the risk一to me, anyway…it would be…it would be worth it. You…you are worth it.”

The words come out stumbling over one another. Tommy’s not used to this, to laying the truth of his heart out in the open for someone else to see. But he reminds himself that it’s not just someone he’s letting in. It’s you.

And you’re everything.

He can feel your pulse beneath his palm. Steady and unafraid, a direct contrast to the way his heart thrums against his sternum. “Are you saying you want to tell them?”

“I’m saying that I’ll do whatever you want,” Tommy explains, hearing the surrender in his own voice. “If you want to tell them, we’ll tell them. If you wanna keep carryin’ on the way we’ve been, just these stolen moments when no one else is lookin’, then we’ll do that, too. An’ if…if one day you find someone else, then I’ll step back. Won’t blame you, won’t hold you to nothin’ cause I know this一this ain’t the way it’s supposed to go.”

The thought alone leaves him feeling hollow, but he means it. You squeeze his hand a little tighter, no doubt seeing the flicker of disquiet in his eyes.

“What I’m sayin’ is that I’m yours, darlin’,” Tommy explains. “As long as you’ll have me. After that, even.”

For the rest of his disappointing, god forsaken life, all things good about Tommy Miller belong to you.

“I’m all in,” he says. “An’ I mean it. You just gotta say the word, darlin’.”

You stand there, staring up at him, wide eyed and grinning like you’d just won some prize. And he wants you to say it一wants you to tell him that you’re ready to risk it all. To step outside of what’s comfortable and damn every last consequence.

And you want it, too. Just as badly. He can fucking see it.

But then something flickers across your face. The reality of it hits. You remember who exactly it would hurt in the process.

And Tommy knows the decision you make before you speak. Watches you silently take all that temptation and bury it deep. His sweet, selfless girl.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into his touch. “I love you,” you say, and he knows you mean it. But you love them, too. Just as much.

He gets it. Reminds himself you still have the weekend. You still have now.

You press a kiss to the pad of his thumb, lips velvet soft. With that smirk on your face, you say, “All this cause I wanted a facial.”

Tommy laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m kidding,” you say, but the intensity of the moment has passed. Replaced with something lighter yet filled with just as much love. More, even, because this is the kind of airiness that only ever exists when you’re together. The feeling he’s come to crave.

“Drive me fuckin’ insane,” Tommy tells you, but there’s no salt to his words. They’re filled with affection instead. His joy persists, even as he shakes his head and says, “Spillin’ my guts an’ you gotta make it about that damn pearl necklace. Oughta teach you to respect your elders.”

Your giggles bubble out of you, a familiar sound that eases all of his ache. But once your laughter begins to die down, you take him by the jaw. “Hey.” You tilt his face down so he’s staring right at you. Into you. “You are my home, Tommy Miller,” you say with such finality it makes his ears ring. “Don’t ever doubt that. Not for a day in your fucking life.”

He smiles wide. Lets himself soak up the heat of this moment in case he never gets to experience it again. His hands find your skin, sliding easily beneath your top, stroking just beneath your ribs. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy when you get all bossy,” he says. “You know that?”

“Bossy?” You scoff. “I do not get bossy.”

The lie bleeds through, and Tommy thinks about giving you examples from the consultation and the phone call from this morning, but he’s got something a little different on his mind. A matter that’s a little more pressing. “Mmhm,” he hums, leaning down to kiss the exposed junction of your shoulder. “Sure. Right.”

You shiver beneath the warmth of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth against your skin. “We’re supposed to be going out,” you say, but you tilt your head back anyway. Giving him more access. “You keep this up and we won’t make it two feet out the door.”

“We will, baby,” he promises. “We will. Wanna show you the city lights. But just…” Tommy kisses a trail down your chest, lips hot and heavy. And then he hooks an arm around your waist, lifting you up and sitting you on the porcelain edge of the sink. “I just gotta take care of somethin’ first.”

He squeezes the supple flesh of your thighs, spreading your legs to make room for the width of his hips. His fingers are careful, moving with the kind of familiarity that only he could ever possess. “Take care of what?”

“Of you.” Tommy smirks. “Look so fuckin’ pretty.” He unfastens the button of your jeans and slides down the zipper to find you bare beneath一and there’s something about it that sets him off. Makes him a little more desperate for you. The knowing, maybe. The realization that you’d planned for this, that you’d gotten all dressed up with the expectation to be dressed down by his rough hands.

He sinks to his knees before you, head positioned perfectly between your knees. “But I never have enough energy after,” you whine, but you arch into his touch as he slides a hand beneath your top and palms your breast anyway. Not an ounce of resistance to be had. “If we fuck now, I’m just going to want to stay here and do nothing else for the rest of the night.”

“Who said anything about fucking?” Tommy hooks his fingers in the waist band of your jeans and pulls them down. “Said I’m gonna take care of you. Just wanna eat it before we go, baby. S’that alright with you?”

A flush crawls up your neck, and Tommy would bet that if he pressed his fingers to your cheek that they’d be full of sweet, summertime warmth. He wants to feel it, to taste it. But then you press your teeth into your bottom lip and nod, giving him the green light, and Tommy returns to his trajectory. “Be fast,” you say, a teasing lilt to your tone.

Tommy takes it as a challenge. Pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and hands it to you. “Five minutes,” he says, mirroring the silly smile you wear. “Go ‘head. Tell me when you start it.”

You shake your head in disbelief but settle in anyway, leaning back against the mirror. You put in the passcode to his phone, set the timer for exactly five minutes, and lay it on the sink beside your thigh. Your finger hovers over the start button. “You’re a little confident,” you say. “There a reason for that?”

He turns his head and bites the inside of your thigh, flicking his tongue over the hurt the moment your breath catches in your throat. “S’cause I know you, sweetheart,” Tommy explains. “Got you memorized. Know your favorite color, your favorite song.” He moves closer, sucking bruises into your thighs in the shape of his mouth. “Know how you like to be touched.”

Your knees drift further apart, breath coming fast. Anticipating what’s to come.

“Start the damn timer,” Tommy demands. And the moment you do, he’s leaning forward and getting his fix. He pushes your thighs apart and lays wet, open mouthed kisses against your clit. Circles it with a pointed tongue that works you up with precision.

He revels in the broken moans that you let slip, in the way your fingers tangle in his curls. You’re so wet, so responsive, so needy. But this is more for him than it is for you; a controlled release, a hit to tie him over while you’re out.

It’s damn near over when he slides two fingers inside of you. Your body accepts him so naturally, greedy in a way only he understands. Your fingers curl around the sink’s edge, blanching as you try to fight release.

But Uncle Tommy does have you memorized. Presses his fingers against that spot inside that has you gasping, flicks his tongue just right.

In the end, it only takes him two minutes and twenty-eight seconds before your pussy pulses around his fingers. Your spine bends and your clit throbs beneath his soft tongue, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Tommy doesn’t stop until your thighs shake. Doesn’t come up for air until his lips are swollen and his chin glistens with your arousal.

But when he does, you wear this sweet smile. And even though his cock throbs painfully in his jeans, Tommy feels satiated at the sight of it. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, helps you back into your jeans, and zips them up all before the timer goes off.

And when the two of you finally leave the hotel room, you lace your fingers through his and cling to him with that sweet smile still on your face. Safe and satisfied and happy.

You cling to him as he leads you through the busy streets of Stratford. Leaning into him, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. It’s such a small, intimate thing, but it pleases him. He likes knowing that if anyone were to look in your direction they wouldn’t assume there was anything wrong about the way he holds you.

Not once do you question where he leads you. You just trust him. Fully and without any reservation. No one has ever trusted him like you do, Tommy thinks. Not any of his friends, not any of the women he’s been with, not even his own brother.

He gets high on it. On your faith. You know him better than anyone and are fully aware that he’s an impulsive man, that he follows his heart without giving the consequences much thought. And yet, still, you trust him fully. To be good to you, to be good for you.

Thoughts of the potential tomorrow he could have with you persist once more, begging to be acknowledged. He tries to stay grounded in the moment. Holds your hand a little tighter, inhales the sweet scent of perfume that clings to your skin. The sun sets in the distance, just now dusk, still bright. Still day. Still time.

When you round the last corner and Tommy steps into the short line at the entrance, you look at him with an expression that’s a little lighter. Bright eyed and curious. “A casino?”

He grins. “What kinda uncle would I be if I didn’t introduce you to some bad ideas of my own every now and again?”

You turn to the bouncer and present him your shiny new ID; the horizontal one that’d come in the mail not too long ago. They wave you through, and Tommy follows suit.

It’s darker inside. Busy, too. Filled with people of all kinds; some in jeans and work boots, not dissimilar to Tommy. Others in three piece suits and cocktail dresses.

The air smells like smoke and booze and the lingering scent of pine cleaner. Colorful lights cascade over the space, over your soft skin. Hues of blues and yellows and greens. He can hear the faint electrical whirring of slot machines in the distance, mixed with sighs of defeat and the clink of coins and gasps of celebrations. All mixed together, a low thrum that slithers through him, the energy alight and buzzing.

The lights reflect beautifully in your eyes, and Tommy can’t help but get a little lost in it. In you. The prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He wishes he had the words to explain it, to make you understand that you’ve uprooted his entire life.

Tommy realizes then that he’d been right all along. In the beginning, knowing that the moment he touched you everything would change. That he would change. Red to blue, green to yellow. He’d known it then and had indulged in you anyway. Completely, lucidly aware that nothing would ever be the same for him.

And if he had a chance to redo it all, if he could go back to that night at the warehouse party, Tommy knows with certainty that he’d do it all over again.

Even if you never say the word. Even if you tire of him and find someone your own age who you don’t have to kiss behind closed doors or ten hours away from everyone you know.

Even then, the time you’ve given to him has been worth it.

You extend your hand, palm out and open. “Drinks first?”

He slides his rough fingers through yours. “Drinks first.”

Tommy leads you to the bar, orders two whiskeys, and pays with his own card. While you wait for the bartender to finish pouring, he hands you a hundred dollars in cash and says, “Now, the trick is to go slow. I know it’s real exciting, ‘specially when you get the hang of it and start winning. But you gotta keep yourself in check. Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you. Slow and steady. Easy does it.”

“A hundred bucks each,” he explains. “An’ once you’re out, you’re out. We’re here to have fun, not start any new bad habits.”

You jut out your bottom lip, forming a pout. “Damn. And here I was, thinking we were gonna remortgage the house and sell your truck.”

Tommy snorts, shaking his head. He thanks the bartender when he sets the two whiskeys in front of you and you clink the edges of the crystal glasses together. “We’ll start wherever you wanna go,” he says. “Lead the way, baby.”

It takes you a while to decide. You walk around the carpeted casino floor hand in hand, sipping whiskey and asking a million questions. Sometimes, you linger at some of the tables.

“What’s that one?”

“Baccarat,” Tommy tells you, watching the dealer shuffle the cards in a dramatic fan. “Sometimes you win, sometimes your opponent wins, sometimes the banker wins. Kinda complicated.”

You walk further, past the slot machines and to another small crowd of players. You point to the spinning wheel attached to the table, striped black and red and numbered. “Roulette,” you say. “Right?”

“Supposed to be about math.” Tommy tuts. “Mostly just about luck.”

When you reach the poker tables near the back of the game floor, you move a little slower.

You don’t say anything, but Tommy knows you. So he takes your hand and leads you to the dealer. Buys twenty dollars in poker chips and takes a seat at the table. You do the same, sitting right beside him.

There’s an older gentleman at his other side, graying and drenched in the heady smell of cigar smoke. Beside him sits a woman a little older than you, wearing a sequined dress that casts rainbows over the green table.

The dealer looks to you, and you place the minimum bet in the center of the table. Two blue chips.

Tommy goes next. Adds a red chip to the pool.

The old man places his, and then the woman. And when the dealer places two cards in front of each player, Tommy lifts just the corners of his up and nearly laughs. He’s got an ace of spades and a seven of hearts.

Tommy’s got shit for luck. Always has.

He turns to you, tries to read the look on your face. You just smile at him, maybe a little smug. But he can’t tell if it’s because you’ve got a winning hand or if it’s the excitement of it all.

The dealer discards the card on the top of the deck. Lays it face down off to the side. And then he flips three cards into the center of the table; three of spades, five of diamonds, seven of clubs.

“Bets,” the dealer says.

You lean forward, stacking another blue chip onto the steadily growing pool. “Raise.”

Tommy tries to keep a straight face, but he can’t. The amusement bleeds through, his mouth pulling up at the corners. “Call.” He places the same bet, another blue chip beside yours.

The man beside him folds, and Tommy thinks he must have an even worse hand than the one sitting in front of him.

The woman calls, too. Matches your bet.

The dealer places another card in the center of the table. Six of hearts.

He sees your leg twitch beneath the table. The only tell he’s noticed since the beginning of the game.

“Bets?”

“Raise,” you say again, putting in two red chips now. Worth more. Nearly doubling the pot.

Tommy shakes his head, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. “Fold,” he says, pushing his cards face down across the table to the dealer. It’s just you and the woman at the end of the table now.

And it seems she’s got a hell of a poker face, too. Because Tommy can’t pick up on a single cue between either one of you.

The old man beside him nudges Tommy with an elbow. “Guess we got shown up, huh?”

He laughs. “Guess so.”

Just beneath the table, he holds a five dollar bill between two of his fingers. “Got five bucks on my daughter,” he says. It surprises Tommy at first. But as he looks a little closer, he sees the resemblance there; they share the same blue eyes, the same aquiline nose. “How much you got on your wife?”

It’s stupid, he knows.

But Tommy can’t help himself. Not when it comes to you.

He pulls the remaining cash out of his wallet. “Got eighty bucks in my pocket,” he says, his confidence coming out more arrogant than he initially intended. “On her?” He clicks his tongue. “I’m all in.”

The man holds out his hand, a glimmer of excitement in his pale eyes. “Deal’s a deal.”

Tommy grins. Shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Deal’s a deal.”

When he returns his attention to the game, Tommy sees the dealer lay another card on the table. Six of hearts.

You raise again, adding one more blue chip, leaving you almost empty.

The woman at the end of the table hesitates. Just for a moment, but Tommy sees it. She calls, matching your bet.

The dealer lays the final card on the table, face down. He waits, lets the anticipation simmer. And then he flips it with a quick flick of his wrist. Practiced, meticulous. Eight of diamonds.

The woman lays her hand down first. She’s got an eight of hearts and eight of clubs. And with the eight of diamonds on the table, she’s got three of a kind. A win.

Tommy’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Starts to wonder how the fuck he’s going to explain that he’s lost every last dime before the first game’s even finished.

But then you reveal your hand.

Two of diamonds, four of diamonds.

Four of a kind, and a seven card straight.

“Aw, hell.” Tommy’s eyes go wide and it takes everything in him not to jump to his feet. Still, the excitement spills out of him. Won’t stay contained no matter how hard he fights it. He takes your face in his hands and presses his mouth to yours, needing to touch you, to feel you, to taste you. “Now that’s what the fuck I’m talkin’ about, baby!”

Your giggles are girlish and blithe, filled with so much joy you’re damn near swimming in it. You lean in and gather the chips on the table, pulling them toward you. As you stack them neatly at your side, you sip the whiskey from your crystal glass. “Another game?”

“You bet your sweet fuckin’ ass we’re playin’ another,” Tommy says.

The old man at his side claps him on the back, forks over eighty bucks worth of poker chips, and says, “Ya’ lucked out on her, kid.”

The words stop him in his tracks. They’re said so casually, but they give him pause.

Because they’re fucking right.

He’s lived his entire life in the wrong places and the wrong times. Has never been dealt a good hand and if he has, he fucks it up in a minute.

But he did luck out on you.

Was in the right place, at just the right time. Said just the right words, did just the right things.

He fell hard and fast. But you did, too, and Tommy knows it’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to him.

And this old man who doesn’t even know your name can see it just as clearly.

Tommy nods. Swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I did.”

The man and his daughter both step away from the table, and two others take their place, leaving Tommy to reassess the way he’s viewed his entire life up until this point.

Because maybe all those mistakes prior to the day he met you were worth it, meant to bring him here. To Joel’s that first evening, to the warehouse party, to the crowded bar on Sixth Street, to that diner in the middle of nowhere, to the poker table you sit at now.

He thinks about the jewelers take on a spiritual connection. How it only happens once in a lifetime or sometimes not at all.

He thinks about the words you’d whispered to him last night. Surrounded by chlorinated water and sandstone walls, safe enough in his arms to ask the one selfish question he’s ever heard uttered from your lips.

What if it wasn’t my mom and Joel who were meant to meet. What if it was us?

All that bad luck for all those years because he was saving it for you.

The dealer shuffles the cards, fanning them across the table.

You sit there for five more games, all of which you win. You came to the table with twenty dollars in poker chips and leave with over two hundred一up higher than Tommy’s ever been himself.

You ask to take a break after the last win. Tell him you want to try something else, to see if you’re any good at the slot machines or blackjack. But the moment you’re away from the table, you’re throwing away that facade you’ve mastered in the last hour and looping your arms around his neck, smiling wide. “Can you believe that? I did good, didn’t I? Six games in a row!”

Tommy laughs and holds you tight against him. “You did so good, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Let’s see who else’s pockets you can run.”

The slots are a let down. An experience, for sure—but not a single round do you or Tommy win more than a single dollar. Yet, still, you sit beside one another and stick coins into the machines and cross your fingers and hope for the best.

Once, you try to mimic the mechanical whirring sound of one of the penny slots, and it’s so accurate that you have Tommy laughing hard enough his side aches.

You go through more drinks—another round of whiskey and you share a frozen, lime flavored margarita tower that’s nearly as tall as you are.

Tommy wins twice at blackjack, and you lose so badly that you’re back down to the same hundred you walked in with. He wants to try another round, but you call it quits and sit in his lap while he plays.

It’s a hell of a lot more difficult to focus with you so close.

He’s supposed to be counting up the value of his hand, but all he can think about is the curve of your shoulder when you pull your hair back and expose it to him.

Tommy presses a kiss beneath your jaw, trying to curb the craving to taste the salt of your skin.

He watches goosebumps rise on the back of your neck in response, watches you press your lips together to keep that troublesome smirk from forming on your face. You take his hand that rests gently on your hip and slide it just a little higher, beneath the satin hem of your top.

It’s different than when you’d done it in the hotel room. Less about feeling him and more about being touched.

You shift in his lap, rolling your hips forward, spreading your legs a little wider to make room for the thick plane of his thigh. It’s the smallest change, barely there一but Tommy sees it. Feels it. The warmth, the need.

There’s six other players at the table. The one on your left is close enough that you could touch your elbow to the fabric of his black suit if you leaned over just a bit more.

Filthy, shameless girl.

You shift your hips over his thigh again. More intentional, more obvious.

Tommy’s hand tightens at your side in warning.

That smirk of yours is on full display now as you glance at him over your shoulder, eyes filled with equal amounts of challenge and devilry.

The other players around him show their hands. One by one. And when it’s Tommy’s turn, he lays his cards down to reveal the winning numbers. A ten of hearts and a ten of spades.

He leans forward to collect the chips in the center of the table, and slides his hand a little higher on your waist in the process. Feels your soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips, pressing into the divots between your ribs.

Tommy always feels that gravitational pull towards you, but it’s different knowing what the end of the night holds. He’s less guarded, less careful. He touches you without shame.

There’s nothing hesitant about it. No guilt. Tommy likes it more this way, he thinks. It makes him feel impossibly closer to you. Makes him feel free. Weightless.

His subtle touches are a little different for the remainder of the night. Heavier, full of intent. His hand at the small of your back as you try a rounds of pool, his forefinger beneath your chin, forcing you to look up at him when you ask for another whiskey.

But there’s no rush, no race to get home to feed your desires before the moment passes.

You’re gifted a round of shots from a girl you make quick friends with in the restroom, and the luck of it convinces you to go back to the poker tables. They’re busier now, the night in full swing.

But it makes no difference. You still wipe the floor with the other players every damn game, Tommy included. Even the ones where you’re dealt a losing hand, you’ve got such a winning streak that he finds himself folding out of intimidation.

A little before eleven, the two of you step out onto the balcony to share a cigarette that Tommy lights with the chrome zippo that lives permanently in the front pocket of his Levi’s. You leave the poker table with nearly five hundred dollars worth of chips in your pockets and a carefree smile on your face.

You lean back against the railing on the balcony, smoke swirling around you in an angelic halo. “I can see why people get addicted to this,” you say, lighthearted.

Tommy laughs. “Yeah, well. Let’s keep that little confession to ourselves. You develop a gamblin’ addiction an’ Joel finds out it was ‘cause of me, he’ll have my ass.”

With the roll of your eyes you say, “Oh, please. If I’m going to develop any addictions it’s not gonna be something lame as hell like gambling.”

He gives you a crooked smirk. “Booze, then?”

“Was thinking heroin,” you joke, passing the half-smoked cigarette back to him.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he says with a shake of his head, but his wide smile only grows. He takes a long drag, letting the nicotine dull the alcohol head buzz that’s well and truly set in by now.

You giggle softly, always happy to present him with that crude humor. But as he exhales slowly, your smile begins to fall. Just a little, as if you’re unsure of exactly how you’re feeling. Caught between one emotion and the next.

Tommy reaches out his hand. Strokes his knuckles gently across your cheek. “Tell me, baby.”

You cast your eyes away, nudging a small pebble beneath the tip of your sneaker, resigned. And then you admit, “I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”

It pulls that anxiety that’s been building in his chest all day to the forefront of his mind. The fear that this feeling won’t last, that it’s coming to a rapid close. That this high has gone on for too long and the come down is like a slab of concrete rushing up to greet him from below.

Tommy wishes he had the answers for you. Wishes he could carry the weight of it all just to grant you peace. He’d do it without complaint if it meant you didn’t have to feel this emptiness, too.

”C’mere.” He opens his arm and you fit yourself naturally beneath it. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs, lying his cheek on the top of your head, holding you as close as his anatomy will allow. His grip is firm, unrelenting, squeezing tight like his body could grow roots into yours if only he could get close enough.

With a long exhale, you say, “I wish we could stay here forever. The pretending gets so tiring. You go home after dinner every night and it’s the worst part of the day. I just…I miss you. All the time.”

His stomach twists and his throat gets tight in the way it always does when his emotions start to choke him. “I’m right here, darlin’,” he whispers. “Not goin’ anywhere. An’ you never have to pretend. Not with me.”

Tommy keeps you close until your shoulders relax and the cigarette burns to cinders between his fingers. And when you finally pull away, you stare at him hard. Like you’re searching for something hidden in his eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak. To remind you that whatever turmoil’s swirling around inside that pretty head of yours is his to shoulder, too.

But then you let out a dramatic groan. Loud enough to attract the attention of the other smokers out on the patio. You pay them no mind, though, and neither does he. You throw up your hands in surrender and say, “You know what? No. No. Fuck it.”

Tommy thinks the rapid shift in energy may just give him whiplash. He’s got no clue about the silent conversation you’ve had with yourself, but he knows that he loves you. Knows that he’s never had a bad day if you were at his side. Knows that as long as you’re together, he’d do anything.

Anything.

A short, clipped laugh escapes him, and then Tommy throws his hands up, too. “Fuck it.”

You grab his hand and lead him back inside. There’s a newfound determination in the way you move, and it frightens him and makes him feel alive simultaneously.

The roulette table is still just as busy as it was in the beginning of the night. Bustling with players and onlookers alike. Tommy stops you just before you start pushing your way through the crowd.

He wants to know what’s changed. Has the faintest hope that you’re being selfish for once. But he can’t be certain. Not with this.

And so he says, “Hey, wait. Hang on. What, exactly, are we fucking?”

“Each other,” you answer with the happiest smile on your face. “I mean, Christ. I’m not…I’m not doing this anymore. I love you, and I’m tired of feeling bad about it.”

Tommy blinks in surprise. His heart hammers behind his ribcage.

With a sigh, you say, “Look, I don’t一I don’t know a thing about this, alright? I know fuck all about soul connections or how any of this is supposed to go or how it’s supposed to look. What I do know is that Joel’s gonna be pissed and my mom’s gonna think I’m having a crisis. But, like…fuck it, right?”

He couldn’t fight his face splitting grin if he tried. You’ve always been close. Always understood each other in ways no one else could possibly comprehend. But this is something else entirely, like coming home after a long day. Like taking a fresh breath of air. “Fuck it,” Tommy echoes.

Your eyes glitter, neon lights reflected in them as you dig out all of your casino chips from the pockets of your jeans. “We’ll tell them tomorrow,” you say. “The second we get home. I’m all in, Uncle Tommy. Are you?”

You already know the fucking answer.

And Tommy Miller, impulsive and obsessed man he is, adds the chips in his pockets to the pile in your hands. He says, “Put it all on red, baby,” and you do.

Pushing your way through the crowd, you set every last casino chip on the table. The other players raise their eyebrows in concern or see the opportunity and sport a wolfish smile, but you hardly notice. All your poker earnings, all of his from blackjack, sit in a messy pile on the green game table. You look at the dealer and say, “All in on red.”

“Bold,” the woman says with a nod of approval. “Number?”

You glance back at Tommy over your shoulder. “Twenty-one,” he answers. “For your birthday.”

You quickly stack your chips on the table over the red circle with the number twenty-one written on the inside, hands moving with precision.

The dealer spins the wheel, colors blurring and shifting together. She waits one second, two seconds一and then she drops the ivory-coated ball into the wooden bowl and everyone around the table goes silent. Waiting with bated breath, listening to the steady tick, tick, tick of the dial.

You and Tommy walk back to the hotel with empty pockets. No casino chips to be found, not a single dollar to either of your names.

But it doesn't matter. Not really. Because you’re laughing and the stars are bright beneath the night black sky and his heart has never been so full.

He put it all on red. High risk, high reward. Lost every damn dime and still walked away from that roulette table the luckiest man alive.

You race down the side of the busy city streets, sharing rushed and messy kisses that leave him feeling intoxicated in a whole new way. Tommy gets high on you, on your sweet affection, on the unrestrained version of your love.

Once you’re tucked safely back behind the hotel room door, you can’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough. He struggles to untie the satin fabric at the back of your neck, so you resort to pulling it over your head instead.

And when you shove him back against the crisp, white sheets, Tommy’s t-shirt is on the floor but he’s only got a single boot kicked off. You have time now, he knows. Could take things slow, could savor it.

But you don’t have to. You can rush into it tonight because there’s always tomorrow.

The word clings around in his head. Tomorrow. With you. Something he’d always hoped for but never quite let himself believe was possible until you’d said those two pretty words. All in.

Tommy thinks he’s been all in with you from that very first night in Joel’s kitchen. Had placed his bets before he lifted that bottle to your mouth, before that whiskey ever touched your tongue.

When you kick your jeans off onto the floor, Tommy shifts further up the mattress. Leans back against the headboard as you crawl in his lap wearing nothing now but that pearl pendant around your smooth neck.

His cock rests against his stomach, thick and heavy, and his lips part as you situate yourself just above it and slide him through the syrupy wetness that’s gathered between your legs.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, baby.” Tommy presses his fingers into the softness of your hips, letting you set the pace. He matches your rhythm and helps guide you. “And I—Christ. I’m so god damn in love with you.”

You smile wide, lighthearted laughter filling the space. And you’re so perfect above him—so happy, that it has warmth spreading through his veins. Not just the hot, needy sort of desire he’s used to, but something warmer. Something that only ever exists when he’s with you.

Tommy knows it’s irrational, the idea of soulmates. Knows that people aren’t cosmic matter wrapped up in human skin. But, fuck. He doesn’t care that it’s senseless and illogical—you are the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to him.

He lifts his hips, angling them just right so when you roll yourself against him again he slides right in. You sigh in tandem, basking in the sweet, aching relief of finally being close enough.

With your hands braced on his shoulders, you begin to move slowly at first, working up to it, accommodating to the size of him. A steady but incessant rocking, thighs bracketing his waist. Gentle but desperate all the same.

“You got it,” Tommy encourages softly. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Made for me, weren’t you? Hm? Made real special, just for Uncle Tommy.”

He can never get enough of you. Feels drunk on the way you look on top of him when you start to quicken your pace. Feels high on the way you breathe out his name and the way your nails dig into the strong muscle of his back.

You feel so fucking good—messy and wet and so warm it makes his head spin. Tommy lifts his hips in sync with you, getting that much deeper. His cock throbs and twitches with each pass of your sweet pussy, arousal making a mess of the thick curls at his base. “Squeezin’ me so tight,” he says. “Look so pretty ridin’ it.”

The sounds you make are pornographic. Sexy and sultry and mouthwatering.

But Tommy can see that little wrinkle of frustration as it forms between your brows. Knows you need a little more, always just a little more, his pretty, desperate girl. “How’s it feel, baby? Talk to me.”

“Good, so一so good, but…I can’t, hm一please一”

He knows. Of course he knows.

“You need my help? S’that it, huh?” You nod frantically, chest heaving with each ragged breath. And Tommy gets it. He understands.

So he surges forward, bracketing his arm around the center of your waist. He holds you close, your breasts pressed flush against his chest. He lifts you just enough to make room for himself below you, and the new angle has him craning his neck to look you in those pretty, starry eyes.

And then he’s thrusting hard, fucking up into you, reaching deeper than you could get alone.

A sharp gasp leaves your throat, a wrecked sort of sound, and his lips curl up into a crooked smirk. “There she is,” he whispers against your collarbone. He does it again, rolling his hips, sinking in deep. “My favorite girl.”

“Oh god一” You loop your arms around his neck, holding tight. The most intimate embrace he’s ever been a part of, a merging of souls.

He finds a good, steady rhythm. Full of longing and love and promise. He lays wet, open mouthed kisses over every part of you he can reach; the curve of your shoulder, the column of your throat, the arch beneath your jaw bone. “Wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” he says, breathing hard as he feels your walls squeeze tight around him. “Build you a big ol’ house and fuck you to sleep every night in it. Jus’ like this. Put a fuckin’ rock on that finger an’ make you a real Miller, baby. Through and through.”

“Tommy, please,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me cum一”

“Nuh-uh, not yet.” He slows his hips just enough to keep you there, right on the edge.

You toss your head back and he can feel you pulse around him, can hear the wet sounds from between your thighs with each thrust. “But I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart, but you got it,” he says tenderly. “Just a little longer, hm? Be good. Be good for me.”

And you do, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your sweat-dotted forehead to his. Resisting, fighting it hard. His perfect, filthy girl.

His release gnaws at him. An intense heat that builds low in his belly, flames licking at his insides, growing and growing until it becomes an inferno. Tommy snakes his free hand down his middle and presses the pad of his middle finger against your swollen clit. “Could put a fuckin’ baby in you,” he grunts out, words feral and breathless.

“Fuck, please, please, I can’t一”

Tommy’s vision goes blurry with the way you squeeze him like a vice, but he only doubles down. It’s vulgar and depraved and disgusting, but he loves it. And he knows you do, too一you’re one in the god damn same. “Ain’t nothin’ they could do about it then. Be mad all they want, but it’ll be my baby in your belly. Fill you up ‘til it sticks.”

He knows you’ve lost control before you even say it. Can feel the way you pulse around him, can feel the rush of liquid that trickles down his cock, coating him.

“Shit, baby,” he hisses, fucking you through it, pressing his rough fingers into the soft flesh of your side. “So fuckin’ pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy. Deserve to feel so good. My favorite girl.”

You slide your hands into his hair and crush your mouth to his in a bruising kiss. It’s hot and messy, a clashing of tongues and lips and teeth, desperate in its own right. You say, “I want everything with you, love you so much.”

And your raw adoration is his unravelling. The way it always is.

Tommy spills himself deep inside you, doesn’t stop until you’re both a mess of trembling limbs and satisfied laughter.

You fall back into the sheets, laying on your side, facing one another, fingers threaded together. Tommy kisses the tip of your nose while he tries to catch his breath. Swipes away the strands of hair that stick to your forehead.

He feels faint with the amount of love that fills him in this moment because there’s no reason for him to fight it. No use in worrying about what happens tomorrow, because it’ll be you, and it’ll be him, and not much else on God’s green earth truly matters.

You’re nearly asleep, eyes closed and breath shallow, when he asks, “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Everything,” he clarifies. “Do you really want it all? Marriage and kids and everythin’ else. You want that? With…with me?”

You don’t open your eyes, but you begin to trace the curves of his face with gentle fingertips. The arch of his brow, the slope of his nose, the shape of his mouth. He doesn’t flinch, not even once, because you move like it’s muscle memory.

The thought crosses Tommy’s mind that no one has ever truly loved him before. Not like this. Not like you have.

“Sometimes I think about things that happened before I met you,” you tell him. “Parties I went to, bars I snuck into with my fake ID, vacations and my graduation and road trips. And all I can think now is how much I wish you’d been there, too. I don’t want to have to do that anymore. The wishing.”

He smiles, and when you feel it beneath your touch you smile, too.

Through a sleepy voice, you say, “Everything is better with you.”

Tommy has never slept so peacefully in his life.

Has never been so happy to wake up to his alarm at the ass crack of dawn.

You spend the ten hour drive back to Austin talking. The radio hums low in the background and the air is just warm enough to have the windows down. You put your bare feet in his lap while he drives and you talk about everything the future holds for the two of you.

It’s going to be hard, you both know. Laying out your worst grievances on Joel’s kitchen table. But it’ll be worth it, too.

And after, once things have settled down, and the job in Stratford is complete, you talk about buying a plot of land not unlike the one you’d viewed during the consultation. A couple of acres just outside of town. You talk about getting a dog and raising chickens and painting the kitchen cabinets navy blue and adorning them with brass hardware.

You show him pictures on your phone that you find on Pinterest of cute little farmhouses with big windows above the sink and wood flooring and wrap around porches.

When he asks about marriage and kids, it doesn’t feel weird at all. It feels easy. You tell him you want to wait until you’re twenty five but insist on having at least two.

It feels like the shortest ten hours of his life.

And when you pull into Joel’s driveway, Tommy’s stomach twists and his mouth goes dry.

But then you grab his hand and kiss his cheek and whisper, “All in.”

And Tommy’s ready. He is. To tell his brother, to deal with the mean right hook that’s likely coming, to start his life. Because it had never really had much meaning until he’d met you.

Your mom and Joel greet you on the front porch. He’s got his arm draped over her shoulders and there’s this look on his face一happy. Elated, even. No scowl to be found.

Tommy thinks there must be good news and feels the smallest bit of guilt, knowing that whatever it is, he’s about to ruin his big brother’s joyful mood.

You don’t make it two steps into the house before your mom takes your hands in hers. She’s nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet, sporting a face splitting grin and bright eyes not unlike your own.

She looks at you, and then at Joel. “I can’t wait. I can’t! It’s killing me.”

Joel laughs. “Alright, then. Go on, tell her.”

Something dark swirls in Tommy’s stomach.

And then your mom holds out her left hand. Nails manicured and painted pale blue and一there. Right there on her finger lays a silver band with a small diamond set in its center. “We’re getting married!”

Your hand jolts back behind you, searching for him, fingers finding the hem of Tommy’s t-shirt and squeezing tight.

For what it’s worth, you put that poker face to good use.

You hug your mom and gush about the ring and tell her how happy you are for her. Joel embraces you and kisses the top of your head and holds you in this fatherly sort of embrace.

But Tommy knows you. Sees right through it. Picks up on every last one of your tells.

Can hear the shake in your voice, sees the tremble of your bottom lip, notices the way you try to touch him every chance you get, reaching out for safety. A brush of your knuckles, a press of your arm against his, scrambling to pick up the pieces of the security you’d just found.

He and Joel share a drink in celebration in the kitchen and Tommy claps him on the back. Congratulates him while trying hard not to lose his footing, to fight off the dizziness.

They offer to take everyone out to dinner. Your mom says, “Sarah will be home soon. She already knows, but we can all go out to that Mexican place to celebrate. How’s that sound?”

Tommy’s the one who answers. Lies and says the drive has exhausted him. That all he really wants is a nap.

Your mom and Joel are understanding, of course. Promise a rain check. Next weekend, maybe.

The ringing in his ears doesn’t stop until he’s back in his apartment. Empty and silent and smothering in the worst ways.

And it’s right then and there that Tommy Miller knows his luck’s run out.

note: hi hello i just want to say thank you to everyone who's been so unbelievably supportive of this fic it makes me so happy to hear everyone's thoughts and to share my excitement with you :') i also want to thank all of you who've recommended this little series of mine over on tiktok in the comments of tommy edits i see u and i love u and i would die for u <3 and if you're interested in some edits inspired by uncle tommy, @feelherlove has made some really beautiful ones so be sure to go check those out!! also, i've made a playlist over on spotify for this series as well and have been slowly adding to it for anyone who's interested in that!! or if you have any recommendations let me know!! ok bye love u so much <3

@theretrofuturista @chuutu @gabymalikk @nana90azevedo @alidiggory92 @marisemonteiroo @ivyinthesun @hollowgracie @moyavsemoya @feliciahardysgf @polkadotsocks1993 @malewifejoelmiller @mmmunson @ssssc0m @skye-44 @tateypots @joelscowgirl69 @dbs5647 @cuntyhunty22 @thaliagracesgf @whossbunny @jamespotterismydaddy @whatdoyoumeanhesnapped @rainydayathogwarts @urfavhanna @subconsciouscollapse @worhols @joyridinginzombieland @emmaaas-posts @millers-girl @strawberrytreecake @atjlovverr @magicxmiller @reidswifeyyyyyy @avaluna @joelsslutt @krystal---meth @bbhfilms @virginesquee @njdluvr @royaltyinlife @bunniacula @gojosanna @streamermattsgf @emmasveinyahhdih @yslgreen @dissentientss @rubyscooby @thisisajdesing @millersdoll @pattwtf @zoeyjadetice2010

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motleyfam · 11 months ago

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Dick forgets to eat sometimes.

Jason can’t fathom it—the entire concept is foreign to him. For as long as he can remember, food’s always been on his mind. If he wasn’t digging through dumpsters for it, he was squirreling away whole pieces of fruit and unopened granola bars the kids at school carelessly left on their trays, picking up gigs babysitting the neighbor brats for the complimentary PB&Js, sitting through two-hour fire & brimstone church sermons daydreaming about the fried chicken and potato salad that would come after. Jason’s gone hungry more times than he can count but never once has he simply forgotten to eat.

Bruce says it’s something with the way Dick’s brain is wired. It’s why he can’t sit still very long without his leg jittering, why he talks a mile a minute when he gets going on a topic, why his apartment always looks like a tornado went through it.

All Jason knows is that it’s five p.m. and he’s starving.

Except he isn’t—not really. He had a bowl of Cap’n Crunch in Dick’s kitchen just that morning, milk and all. Jason’s gone far longer on far less, so he doesn’t know why his stomach's complaining so much today, why his head feels achy and light, why that tiny biting pain in his middle won’t shut up. He’s been living at the Manor for four months now and he’s already gone soft.

They’re walking through Bludhaven Shopping Centre, Dick babbling on about the last obstacle of the indoor minigolf course they just finished. Jason tries to listen, but his heart is beating strangely fast and the only thought pulsing through his mind is food, food, food—

And then abruptly, he notices that Dick’s stopped walking. He’s looking at Jason, brow furrowed and lips moving as if asking a question, but Jason isn’t hearing anything because his hands are shaking and his breaths are coming out quick and gaspy and even though he’d been looking forward to hanging out with Dick for weeks now he suddenly wants nothing more than to be back in the Manor where the pantry’s always stocked and the fridge is full and he can breathe.

And then he blinks and he’s sitting at a sticky food court table, and Dick’s got a hand on his back, saying “in and out, nice and slow, that’s it” and Jason’s got tears welling up in his eyes which pisses him off because that’s stupid, he’s being stupid, only cats and babies cry because they missed lunch, and—

And then there’s a soft pretzel in a paper wrapper being nudged into his hand by a guilty-faced Dick with a murmur of “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking” and it makes Jason want to crawl into a hole and die because he can’t just be fucking normal about this.

But there’s honey mustard sauce to dip it in, and a Chipotle bowl soon after, and tomorrow he and Dick both eat all three meals.

#drabble #batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #food issues #food insecurity #500 words #faster than the batmobile zine

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babydollslibrary · 6 months ago

Text

LABYRINTH — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem! reader

published: January 26th, 2023

summary: y/n goes through the 3 stages of falling in love with her best friend; realization, fear, and relief. based on the 3 “i’m falling in love” lines in Labyrinth by Taylor Swift.

gif not mine.

REALIZATION

i felt like my fingertips may freeze off. and the longer i sat in the glass seat in Prudential Center, the colder they got. i’d been to too many of Jack’s games to count, but it never failed that i always forget how cold it really was sitting directly by the ice.

“i’m freezing my tits off.” i looked over to Luke Hughes, who occupied the seat next to me.

“Luke, you don’t have tits to freeze off.”

“what are you talking about? mine are bigger than yours, eh?” he jokes. i let loose a mock gasp and hit his arm.

“how rude!”

with two minutes left in the third period, i was grateful the game would be over soon. i was less grateful, however, that it was looking like the Devils would be breaking their six game win streak tonight. they’re currently down by one, with the Panthers having four goals against the Devils three.

i had my eyes glued to the puck, mumbling to whatever higher entity would listen, praying for a last minute game tying goal. luck was on our side tonight because with ten seconds left on the clock, Dougie managed to slap shot the puck straight past the head of Bobrovsky and into the net. i shot to my feet, clutching onto Luke’s arm as he stood beside me, both of us with wide eyes and our jaws dropped open.

we settled back in our seats a few minutes later to watch the additional five minutes of overtime, both of us hunched closer to the glass, my hands fidgeting in anxiety. i watched as Jack, Nico, and Dougie skated to the center of the ice for puck drop. Dougie gains possession of the puck quickly, skating it into the Panthers zone before dropping it back to Nico, who tries for a one-shot, which is knocked away by Bobrovsky. Jack gains control of the rebound puck and makes quick work of snapping it into the goal.

Luke and i once again raise to our feet, cheering for his brother and my best friend. Jack skates around the glass bordering the ice, arms up in the air in celebration before skidding to a stop in front of us. our eyes lock and he lifts his hand against the glass. heart fluttering, i place my hand directly against the glass to match his and he mutters out two words.

“for you.”

a low simmering arises in my gut and i feel my heart skip a beat, or three, as he skates away to hug his teammates. what was that? am i having heart palpitations? should i be going to see a doctor?

i catch Jack’s eye once more as Nico taps his helmet and he flashes a smile my way. in return, my heart flips again. my mind whirls through thoughts faster than a hummingbirds wings before settling on the only real explanation.

uh oh, i’m falling in love.

now i meet Luke’s gaze and he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, though his reason for it, i’m not too sure. i’ve been friends with all of the Hughes brothers since elementary school, it’s not as though he should suspect anything between Jack and i.

FEAR

it’s been 2 months since i came to the realization that i was falling in love with Jack, and now i’m leaned against the doorway leading into his bedroom, watching him pack for a roadie. the heart fluttering and stomach butterflies have long since vanished, leading me to believe that my traitorous heart got the memo that he and i will never be more than best friends.

“you’re sure you don’t wanna bring a friend out to the game? you can bring Luke if he can get away from UMich for a weekend.” Jack’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts and i give a slight shake of my head to clear my thoughts.

“i don’t know, i’ll let you know. i already talked to Luke but he said he has his own games this weekend. maybe i can find someone to come out with me, but you know i’ll be there regardless.”

“i would be sorely disappointed if you weren’t there. you know how happy it makes me to see you in the crowd.”

and as if a flip switched, the heart flutters were back.

“i’m your biggest fan Jacky, of course i’ll be there. no matter if i have to go alone or not.” i moved my way fully into the bedroom and picked up his messily packed bag, flipping it over and scattering the clothes on his bed before idly folding them and placing them right back into the duffel bag.

“you know you don’t don’t need to fold my clothes, right? i can do it myself.” Jack folds his arms and hits me with a half smile.

“obviously not, you still pack like a teenage boy. you’re gonna end up with wrinkles in all your shirts.” i roll my eyes and sit on the edge of the bed as i continue to fold.

“you love me.” he retorts, finally joining into the folding. my heart skips a beat once again, and i know that he doesn’t mean it in the way that i do, but my hopeless romantic side doesn’t seem to understand that.

after dropping Jack off at Prudential Center to catch the bus to the airport with the rest of his teammates, i’m laid in bed on the phone with my friend, Emma.

“the game is on Saturday, if you wanted to fly out with me. Jack is willing to pay for your flight so that i won’t be alone. but if not, that’s cool. i can go on my own.”

“yeah, i can go! although, i’ve gotta say; you’re really sure this guy is JUST your best friend? i mean, what “just friend” is willing to pay for someone to fly out to one of his games JUST so you won’t be alone?”

“that’s just the kind of person Jack is. he’s exceptionally sweet. and he has this protective nature. he doesn’t like the idea of me going to games alone because he knows how people can be. he’s so thoughtful and always prepared to help in any way he can.” i can feel the smile gracing my lips but no matter how much i try, i can’t will it away. i always get happy talking about my best friend.

“you’re in love with him.” Emma singsongs and i can hear her smirk through the phone. “i can tell by your voice. you get the same airy lilt that my sister gets when she talks about her husband. like you would do anything for him. like he hung the moon in the sky just for you.”

“he’s my best friend, Em. i’ve known him since i was an awkward little girl with lopsided pigtails and gap teeth. obviously i would do anything for him. just being his friend makes me immensely happy.”

“but you want to be MORE than friends. you can’t fool me. i’ve been where you are right now. you love him, but you don’t think he feels the same way. but i can tell you right now that any guy that would go through the lengths that he does to make sure you feel happy and safe, definitely loves you in more than a friend way.”

oh no, i’m falling in love again.

my sigh is loud and clear. rolling onto my side, i place my phone on speaker on-top of the pillow next to me.

“you need to tell him how you feel. or better yet, just kiss him.” Emma speaks again.

“it’s not necessarily just that i don’t think he feels the same way, although i do think that observation is wildly inaccurate. it’s the fact that it could ruin everything if i made a move and i was wrong. he’s my best friend and i can’t afford to lose him.”

RELIEF

the off season has officially arrived, and the thought of having Jack to myself for a few months has me more excited than i’d care to admit. we arrived at the Hughes lake house yesterday, meeting Luke who was already here, and Quinn and Trevor both arrived this morning.

We were all sat outside around a fire now, the guys all drinking beers and reminiscing on past summers spent here.

“oh, remember when Jack was dating that Stacey girl that was renting that house down the street a few summers ago? god she was awful.” Trevor’s voice was a few octaves higher than needed, due to the alcohol in his system, but it mattered little to the others because Quinn and Luke laughed along with him.

“oh c’mon you guys, she wasn’t that bad!” i could spot the red tinge to Jack’s cheeks from my spot beside him, the firelight sharing an orange glow to admire him in.

“uh dude, yeah she was! she was so jealous of y/n that she pushed her off the boat!” my eyes get wide and i start shaking my head at Trevor, dragging my hand in front of my neck in a stop motion, but he just kept talking. “and don’t you remember all those nasty things she said about her? girl was just plain awful!”

i look back up to Jack just in time to see the frown that takes place. he looks towards me with furrowed eyebrows.

“wait what? why did you never tell me any of this?”

“oh shit did you not know?” Quinn’s laughter cuts off and he looks genuinely concerned. “y/n, i thought you told him when you told us.”

i shake my head and avert my gaze down to my feet but Jack has other plans. grabbing ahold of my chin, he moves my head to look towards him again.

“i didn’t say anything because i didn’t wanna ruin your relationship or sound like a jealous bitch. and you guys eventually called it quits anyways, so what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is that you didn’t tell me sooner, y/n. the big deal is that i would’ve tossed her to the curb immediately if you had told me she was acting that way. YOU wouldn’t’ve been the one ruining the relationship, SHE would’ve.” his voice is sharp and kind of daunting, contradicting his soft gaze pointed on me. i can see the worry in his eyes and know his next words before he says them. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine, Jack. it was a long time ago. can we please just forget about it?” i sigh and muster up a smile before turning back towards the fire. “do you guys remember the time we saran-wrapped Luke to his bed while he slept?”

“YOU WERE IN ON THAT?! I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND!” Luke’s words make the other three guys all burst out in laughter.

“who’s idea did you think it was, Moosey?” Quinn is hunched over in laughter at the memory and i’ve slowly started scooting forward in my seat in preparation for what i know will come next.

“oh i’m gonna get you for that!” Luke shoots to his feet and that’s all it takes for me to set off like a race horse.

i can hear his footsteps not far behind me, chasing me into the house. i shut the back door behind me, in order to save me a few precious seconds and i run straight into the living room, leaping behind the couch and settling into a hiding spot between the sofa and the wall. i can hear Luke bound into the room before he moves onto the next room, but then i also hear the footfall of the other three coming in from outside as well. no longer than ten seconds pass before Jack’s head pops up above me, a large grin spread across his face.

“hello there.” the shock makes me jump and i laugh and poke his nose.

“shhh, don’t let him find me.” Jack pretends to think, nodding his head and tapping his chin with an index finger before-

“LUKE! SHE’S HIDING BEHIND THE SOFA!”

i let out an incredulous gasp and pop back up into a standing position, ready to run once more, but Jack wraps his arms around my midsection, keeping me planted in the spot.

“i thought you were my best friend! how could you betray me like this?! our friendship may never recover! i don’t think we can ever be friends again after this!” my mockery and jokes come to an abrupt pause when he takes a seat on the couch, pulling me down to fall into his lap. i can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and i look away, hoping he can’t see my blush from this angle.

“you can’t get rid of me that easily. we’re soulmates, y/n, remember?” and cue the butterflies once more. “you said that when we were 10. i didn’t really understand it at the time, but now i think you might’ve been right.”

oh, i’m falling in love.

i can feel his breath fanning my ear, and i peek over my shoulder to look at his face. our eyes lock and i know my entire face must be red and spotted from my blushing, but the look in his eyes makes me feel like the most beautiful girl alive right now.

his eyes flicker down to my lips once. twice. and one final third time, before he starts to lean in. and with a mind of their own, my lips follow until they graze his. the kiss is light at first, nothing more than a peck, before he finally captures my lips with his. his arms loosen around my middle and his hands trail to settle onto my hips, turning me mid-kiss to fit better on his lap. i pull back, leaning my forehead against his, and a wide and breathtaking smile graces his lips.

“i’m falling in love with you, y/n. i think i have been for the past eleven years.”

#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jh86 x reader #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl fic

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gallusrostromegalus · 3 months ago

Note

I'd love to hear about Aunty Chihiro, and, by extension, what exactly was going on with Orihime's parents

Chihiro Inoue is the MUCH younger sister of Orihime's father. In fact, Chihiro was only about four years older than Sora, and the two of them were close growing up- more like siblings than cousins, because Sora was left with his grandparents so often by his neglectful parents.

The problem with Sora and Orihime's parents was that they were... Not up to the herculean task of parenting and didn't know how to cope.

They weren't stupid- they were actually both quite bright and did well in school, but both of them had little to no impulse control, emotionally volatile were intensely self-centered (mostly as a means to cope with the poor organizational skills and emotional disregulation). None of those are sins, but they did make for two high school sweethearts who married and had a baby immediately and the stress of an infant overwhelmed them and they never recovered, hopping from one self-destructive coping mechanism to another until at age 17, Sora Inoue ran away from home with his two-year old sister, Orihime.

Chihiro turned out to be instrumental to their survival- She was taking a gap year before college and when her baby cousin called her at 1 AM in tears because he didn't know how to take care of her even babier cousin and they were sleeping under an overpass-

Chihiro Inoue, Force Of Nature, was downtown and herding them into the car within the hour.

They stayed in her apartment for the first year while Chihiro got Sora his Emancipated Minor status and a few months later, convinced her brother and his wife to give up custody of their daughter to their son, argued with the magistrate to get it done, set Sora up with an office job and got Orihime enrolled in Preschool.

She and Sora stayed close, but while she was finishing her degree in agricultural sciences, she met a charming young man and shortly after graduating, married him and moved up to his family dairy farm in Hokkaido.

She kept in close contact with her Baby Cousins, with Orihime often going up to Hokkaido during summer breaks to get out of the city heat and play with her aunt and her growing swarm of children.

When Sora died as a result of the car accident ten years later, Chihiro would have taken Orihime in in a heartbeat but - She had five children of her own, And - The Very Charming Man she'd married had made some exceptionally shitty decisions re: Money, fidelity and his general treatment of Chihiro, So - She was in the process of divorcing him and - Forming a sort of feminist Commune Of Women Wronged By That Guy Specifically with the four women he cheated on her with and their children to run - The Dairy Farm in Hokkaido, which The Formerly Charming Man's parents had left to HER rather than their shithead son.

So Chihiro was in no position to take on a grieving 12-year old.

Chihiro holds IMMENSE respect for the Kurosaki family, who did their damndest to save Sora and immediately took Orihime in and coordinated all the paperwork between Orihime, the local relevant governing bodies and Chihiro. Isshin never asked for any kind of compensation and was bewildered when Chihiro offered it to him because "that's just what you do in this kind of situation?"

She's also very fond of Ichigo, who has always been a perfect gentleman, if a bit moody but he's a teenager, and compared to how insane Chihiro was as a teenager, he's a saint.

Psychic Bullshit runs in the Inoue family too, so Chihiro almost fails to notice anything odd about Kon, the cat who talks, and routinely forgets that most people don't see ghosts, so she doesn't get why Ichigo is sou grouchy about-oh, right. Sorry Kiddo.

Eventually, it was simplest to get Orihime her own place- Rent in karakura is remarkably cheap for urban Japan, mostly because of all the unexplained deaths the city has, and Chihiro didn't want to uproot her niece from all her friends and the very good schools she'd gotten into.

So the agreement was that Chihiro would pay Orihime's rent and living expenses "Provided you keep your grades up, because you're smart as hell and if your grades tank that means you're in serious trouble and need my help so I'll come get you right away baby"

Orihime is in close contact with her aunt and cousins- they talk on the phone at least once a week and Orihime often goes to see them during summer and winter breaks.

More Importantly, Auntie Chihiro comes down every September 3rd to Celebrate Orihime's birthday with her, and every October 3rd, Orihime takes the bullet train up to Hokkaido to celebrate Chihiro's Birthday.

...Orihime seems a bit distant and distracted during her Birthday, and awfully sparse with the details about the "Summer Trip" She and her friends from school went on. It seems like the trip ended up being kind of a downer because someone in management at the camp or whatever decided to quit very dramatically right at the end? And Ichigo got pretty badly hurt?? but Orihime insists that everything is fine and she's looking forward to seeing all her cousins and the cows next month!

So it's VERY SUSPICIOUS when Orihime fails to turn up at the station a month later, and calling around to all of Orihime's friends leads to various non-answers- Chad and Tatsuki just say they didn't see her at school today, Uryuu hangs up on her in what sounds like panic, and she only gets the Kurosaki household's voicemail.

So Chihiro Inoue, Force Of Nature, takes the train to Karakura.

Her first stop is the Kurosaki household where she discovers that Ichigo and more worrisomely, Kon have also vanished off to Parts Unknown, and she turns her wrathful gaze upon Isshin Kurosaki.

He folds like a deck chair.

Turns out HE's not sure what the hell is going on either, just that Ichigo made friends with some girl called Rukia earlier this summer and she's involved in the organization that is responsible for dealing with all the ghost-monsters and Ichigo may have joined it too also the entire gang of kids went to the land of the dead maybe Ichigo doesn't tell him anything these days, you need to ask Kisuke, he's the one that knows what the hell is going on-

Kisuke Urahara has all of 0.03 seconds warning before Chihiro Inoue literally kicks the door of Urahara Shoten in and demands to know where her niece is.

This is deeply surreal for Kisuke for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that Chihiro Inoue looks EXACTLY like Orihime, but about 20 years in the future and terrifyingly SHREDDED. The Woman is wearing a MEGA MILK shirt without a hint of Irony and the only thing Kisuke can look at are her biceps as she lifts him up by the collar and indicates that he'd better start giving her some answers or she is gonna break that stupid cane off in his ass-

Kisuke Urahara, Noted Coward, directs her to the Basement.

Down there, she discovers Ichigo is undergoing some sort of horrific John Carpenter's The Thing-esque transformation under the supervision of a gang of badly dressed lunatics being lead by a man with the stupidest haircut she's seen in her life.

Shinji Hirako is reminded of the Utterly Terrifying Kirio Hikifune, and immediately levels with her.

Chihiro is Very Disappointed that Orihime told her none of this, but really, the girl has never REALLY been in trouble before, of course she panicked. But where IS she?

Ichigo and his assorted inner spirits are having a great deal of trouble deciding who is horse and who is king but the sudden Booming Demand for Orihime's exact location in a voice meant to put the Fear Of God Into Bulls and other livestock makes Ichigo's imaginary friends all dive for cover, sorting out who the horses are rather nicely.

I have not actually figured out HOW to end this scene yet, but it ends with Chihiro agreeing to stay in Karakura and keep watch over Ichigo's body and family since Kon seems to have been abducted along with Orihime. ---

There is a MUCH later scene in which Chad's Uncle Jaime De La Rosa, who came up to surprise Chad because he got invited to a veterinary conference in Karakura at the last minute, is wandering around Karakura wondering WHY THE HELL everyone is asleep when he spies a horrible pale figure with a terrible twisted smile that can only be The Devil Himself, and some fucking gringo who won't shut up with him.

But before he can distract The Devil Away from Chad's friend with La Chancla, The Devil is Geta'd with enough force to actually throw him off balance, and a beautiful woman with the proportions and unbridled fury of a Valkyrie sprints up and starts battering The Devil with her other shoe whilst bellowing the most vile invective Jaime's Good Catholic Ears have ever heard.

Naturally, he immediately falls in love.

Shortly therafter, and exhausted and panicked Chihiro Inoue, in tears because she can't get the crowd of alarmingly powerful ghosts to let her see her niece, finds them being parted like the red sea by the wrath of a very small man directing them with a fury and speed not normally seen outside of livestock auctions or automatic weapons in both Japanese and Spanish, getting the chaotic mess sorted into a triage, the start of peace negotiations, and Orihime Delivered to her arms in under ten minutes.

Naturally, she immediately falls in love.

#an elephant is warm and mushy #aeiwam #bleach #bleach fanfic #Chihiro Inoue #orihime inoue #ichigo kurosaki #kisuke urahara #isshin kurosaki #gin ichimaru #sosuke aizen

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eddieslunchbox · 8 months ago

Text

desire

summary: you've never been kissed and eddie has been crushing on you since the day you met

18+ [bestfriend!eddie x female!reader]

contains: hurt/comfort, mutual pining, fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, brief mention of alcohol, swearing

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first time writing for eddie and I'm excited to share him with you! this is very self-indulgent but I hope you like it. please consider reblogging/commenting if you do, my blog is brand new! enjoy ❤

There’s a romantic comedy playing on the television, something you picked up from Family Video for your bi-weekly movie night with Eddie. It was your turn to pick, and after sitting through a terrible slasher film he claimed to love, you wanted to get him back with a movie you didn’t necessarily have interest in, but knew would make him squirm in his seat.

He grabbed the snacks while you got the movie, and you met up at his trailer after Wayne left for work, the sun setting beyond the horizon and leaving a cold autumn breeze in its place. A routine that had been kept for almost six-months straight.

A bowl of popcorn sat between the two of you, an open bag of sour patch kids resting against your thigh and a half-empty bottle of beer was clasped in Eddie’s hand, resting lazily on his knee where he sat on the opposite side of the sofa.

You always looked forward to these nights, but today you felt particularly resentful about your choice of film, the two main characters falling in love mere days after meeting. It’s cheesy and cliche, and not all that realistic. You know that. But it makes your chest ache with longing for something you’ve never had.

And now, unbeknownst to you, you’ve been watching the movie play out with a pout sitting on your face while Eddie has to bite back his smile each time the male protagonist kisses the girl that looks a little like you if he squints hard enough.

The two of you had been best friends since high school and now you were spending most of your time in college while Eddie worked at an auto shop, which left your get-togethers pushed to the weekends unless one of you showed up at the other's place without warning after a long day. You’d also been crushing on him practically since the day you met, but had kept your feelings to yourself, ignorant to the fact that Eddie also had eyes for you for longer than he was willing to admit to himself.

You’ve watched him go through a handful of relationships in the time you’ve known him.

From hearing the disbelief in his voice when he scored a date with Chrissy Cunningham and seeing her hanging off of his arm around school for four months, before you all graduated and she broke it off with a voicemail left on Wayne’s home phone and headed off to university in Indianapolis; to random hookups from his evenings spent at The Hideout that you encountered in awkward meetings when you showed up at his trailer to spend the day with him, finding girls in his clothes sipping coffee that they helped themselves to while Eddie snoozed for another hour.

Eddie has been your best friend for five years. Six in only a couple of months. And he has been with a total of nine different women.

Not that you’re counting or anything.

His relationships never bother you. Not really. But the nagging thought in the back of your mind every time you think about him, was that you haven’t been with anyone.

You’ve had nothing more than a brief conversation with boys in required discussion groups in college. And other than the frequent hugs you receive from Eddie, the furthest you’ve ever gone with someone was a kiss on the cheek from one of your girlfriends that was slightly too close to the corner of your mouth, and left your body erupting in tingles.

But Eddie had game. He knew how to make a girl swoon. How to wrap them around his finger and kiss them until they were weak in the knees and red in the face.

You had seen him kiss a handful of times and were ashamed to admit to yourself that you had crawled into your bed with your hand between your thighs more than once, wishing it was you he was kissing and touching and making crumble with one particularly smitten look on his face.

He glances at you when you haven't said a word in over an hour, seeing the frown on your face and the crease between your brows that he desperately wants to smooth over with his thumb. You never had a great poker face, unintentionally putting most of your emotions on display, and he knows you have no idea you’re pouting.

“Did you run out of candy?” He asks suddenly, making you turn to him, the wrinkle in your forehead deepening in confusion. “You’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” you huff, plucking your aforementioned candy off the sofa and popping one into your mouth.

Your knees are pulled up to your chest, body leaning away from Eddie with your legs resting against the arm of the sofa. He knows something is up when your eyes don’t return to the movie, lips pursing as you suck on the candy in your mouth and stare at the bag in your hands, pretending to read the ingredients.

He quietly sets his beer down on the coffee table, moving the barely touched popcorn off of the sofa and clicking pause on the remote, filling the room with silence. You look up at him and he rests his arm on the back of the sofa, the palm of his hand pressing into his cheek.

“Are you going to keep pouting for the rest of the night, or tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, brow arching in question and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, dropping your candy onto the table and bundling your hands together in your lap.

“You’re a liar, is what you are,” he accuses.

You sigh, slumping further down into the sofa with your cheek resting on the cushion as you turn to meet his gaze.

His brown eyes sparkle in the dim light of the room, his usually untamed hair pulled back with a bun at the base of his skull, stray pieces falling softly to frame the sides of his face. He looks pretty. He always does, but your current state of mind has you looking away as your heart skips a beat, gaze falling to his chest which is covered with a well-worn Dio shirt.

“I want that,” you admit quietly, voice barely audible to yourself.

“You want what?” He questions, brows furrowing.

You flicker your eyes over to the television and he turns his head to look at the screen, the film paused on a scene of a girl lounging beside a pool with a fluffy dog in her lap, sipping on a bright purple cocktail.

“A dog? A pool- or do you want a drink? I can try and make you something but I don’t know what we have…” He trails off in confusion and you sigh, rubbing your hands over your face.

“Just forget it,” you mumble into your palms before crossing your arms over your stomach and tilting your eyes up to the ceiling.

Eddie feels clueless as he tries to work out your unspoken desire in his head, gaze shifting around the room until he spots the fictional couple on the cover of the rented VHS tape.

A lightbulb flicks on in his head.

“You want someone?”

Your eyes dart to him quickly enough that he knows he’s right before you give him a subtle nod of your head, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands as you feel your face grow hot.

“You will one day,” he assures you but you just shake your head, that being the last thing you want to hear.

Eddie knows about your relationship history, or rather, lack thereof, but you never talk about it. So he’s surprised with your next statement, his heart leaping into his throat and the energy in the room shifting.

“No one has ever found me attractive… or at least not enough to do something about it. It’s hopeless.”

He keeps a straight face but curls his fingers into a fist at his side, silently cursing himself for never telling you how pretty you really are. He thinks you’re the prettiest and most attractive person he’s ever known, but has never said a word out of fear that you’ll stop being his best friend.

“It’s not hopeless,” he says quietly. “The guys who haven’t made a move on you are pussies.”

His partially self-degrading comment was meant to make you laugh, but you don’t. Not even giving him a pitying laugh or a half-forced smile.

“No one has ever even glanced in my direction,” you say and he frowns.

“That you’ve seen.”

“Eddie…” you sigh, unsure of why you start to feel emotion welling up in your chest.

"Sorry."

“I just… I grew up surrounded by friends who had boyfriends, or flings, or were flirted with- kissed stupid outside of bars or on the bench behind school. And no one-” your words get caught in your chest and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat. “No one has ever even looked at me. Do you know how that feels?”

You look up at him but he doesn’t reply, his eyebrows threading together as he watches you bare your heart to him like this for the first time.

“To have guys look at everyone around you, but never you? To never have anyone like you enough to say something about it? To… to have maybe had three guy friends who never saw you as anything more, that you haven’t even spoken to in years?”

You know he doesn’t get it. Not at all. But it doesn’t matter.

“God, Eddie.” You scrub at your eyes when tears gloss over your vision. “I’ve never even kissed someone,” your voice cracks and falls into a whisper.

He immediately reaches forward to wrap his hands around your ankles and pull you towards him, swiftly maneuvering you to sit with your legs thrown over his lap and your head buried in his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, running his hand over your waist. You sniffle sadly. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

He knows that all of the potentially comforting words forming in his brain won’t make you feel better. Because he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be your age and never kissed.

You don’t want to hear that it’ll happen one day. You don’t know what you want.

Maybe comfort isn’t something that words would necessarily give you right now.

“I know that it’ll probably happen one day but… what if it doesn’t?” You whimper, curling into him as your vulnerability takes over. He holds you tighter to him, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what it feels like to be wanted. I can’t even imagine anyone wanting me. No one ever has.”

His heart feels like it’s going to crumble into pieces in his chest as he lets you talk out your feelings, his hand gripping your thigh tightly. You’re almost completely perched in his lap, but he can’t focus on how you feel against him when your tears are wetting the collar of his shirt.

“God I feel fucking pathetic,” you mumble, wiping your hand over your eyes and sitting up. “Sorry.”

“You’re not pathetic,” he says, making you scoff quietly as you dab at your cheeks with your sleeves, staring down at your lap. “You’re human. It’s pretty human to want to feel desired.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, sniffling back the remainder of your tears and lifting your eyes to find his pretty brown ones staring back at you.

There’s something different in his gaze now. Something you’ve only seen a few times. Something loving and soft, and so sweet that it makes your breath hitch in your throat.

Eddie figures that now is as good a time as any to potentially make a complete fool out of himself in an attempt to make you feel better. To make you feel like you’re worthy of being desired. Because god knows he’s been desiring you since the day you accidentally fell into his lap in the cafeteria after being shoved out of the way with a harsh shoulder by some prissy cheerleader on the second day of school.

“You’re beautiful,” he says so quietly that you almost don’t hear him.

“Eddie…” you mumble, shutting your eyes and moving to climb off of his lap.

His hand on your thigh tightens and you pause, his eyes tracing delicately over your features.

“You want someone to look at you,” he says, the corners of his lips quivering in a small smile. “So I’m looking, sweetheart.”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and you want to say something. To pull away and turn the movie back on, get off of his lap and pretend like you were never there in the first place. But the way he’s looking at you is something you’ve only ever seen him do with his past girlfriends or someone he’s crushing on. Never to you.

Your cheeks feel warm as he looks at you and you can almost feel his eyes as they trace over your hairline and down the bridge of your nose, past your lips and dropping down to your chest before meeting yours again. Your stomach twists with nerves as his hand leaves your thigh to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb smoothing across the skin of your cheek.

“Eddie,” your voice is a whisper, heart pounding in your chest. “Stop.”

He can feel the nerves radiating off of you but he doesn’t move, one of his brows quirking up in question. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t… I-” you stumble for a reason why you want him to stop looking at you like that.

You wrack your brain while he sits patiently for an answer, but you quickly understand that you don’t want him to stop. You’re just terrified.

You don’t have to speak to understand what could happen, with how he’s gazing at you and touching you so softly as if you’ll break under his palms at any second. Holding you in a way he never has before.

“Please don’t be making one of your stupid jokes right now,” you say, a plea that has his face softening and his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“I’m not joking, baby,” he murmurs, the pet name making your heart stammer in your chest. “You’re gorgeous. And I was too afraid to say anything in case you didn’t feel the same and left because you were uncomfortable around me.”

You suddenly feel like crying again, a wave of disbelief washing over you as you realize that your best friend and the person you’ve been silently wanting for almost six years wants to give you everything you were just begging for.

“I could never be uncomfortable around you,” you say and he smiles, hooking his arm around your waist and twisting you so that you’re facing him, your knees pressing into the sofa on either side of his hips.

“I mean it,” he said and all you can do is nod.

The position you’ve found yourself in is foreign in more ways than one, but especially with it being Eddie who has put you there. You feel slightly overwhelmed with your shorts riding up on your thighs and your skin cold where the metal of the chain on his belt presses against you. Rough denim scratching softly at your legs and a subtle heat radiating through the fabric that makes you slightly dizzy as you get a whiff of his cologne.

Your hands are clenched into fists around the fabric of his t-shirt and he can feel your heart racing where his palm is still pressing against the side of your neck.

“It’s just me, yeah?” He says and you swallow the sudden dryness in your throat. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

He knows you need him to make all of the moves right now and he’s okay with it, even despite the way his heartbeat is quickening to catch up with yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

His question makes your head spin and your stomach tightens. “I… I’ve never-”

“I know.” The gentle reassurance that falls from his lips soothes you and you give him another quick nod.

There’s still a hint of a smile on his face when he leans forward to brush his lips against yours.

He doesn’t kiss you right away, the tip of his nose nudging yours as he pulls back just enough to gauge your reaction. Your eyes are closed and your lips part slightly with a shaky sigh, hands unknowingly pulling the neckline of his shirt down to grasp for any semblance of reality as you sit in his lap.

He slides his hand to the back of your neck, guiding you forward an inch to meet his mouth, lips slotting against yours. His lips are soft and slightly chapped, and when a strand of his hair brushes against your cheek, you don’t bother to pull away even when it tickles your skin.

The hand on your neck is a grounding touch and you think you’ve never felt so safe and comfortable in Eddie’s arms before.

He can feel the way you relax into his kiss, your body slumping just enough to rest your chest against his and fingers untangling from his shirt to drop into his lap. You’re not breathing so he pulls away after just a few seconds, lips parting from yours with a quiet click and you immediately take a deep breath through your nose, your eyes fluttering open.

You think if your brain was working properly, you’d be worried that this was all a ploy for him to get your first kiss out of the way so you’d stop crying, but the only thing floating through your mind is how nice it felt to have his lips on yours.

His face is close to yours, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he sits with his eyes closed, the hand on your waist sliding down to rest on the top of your thigh. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he wets his lips before exhaling a long breath through his nose, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Shit,” he breathes, squeezing your thigh before tipping his head back to rest on the sofa cushion. “I really can’t believe it took me this long to kiss you.”

“You mean that?” You fight the urge to bring your hand up to feel your lips, wondering how long you might have to wait to feel his again.

He peels his eyes open and looks down at you. “You have no idea.”

You feel a smile begin to form on your face and you duck your chin to hide against his chest, fingers still trembling from clutching his shirt so tightly as you lift your arms to slink around his neck. He chuckles and curls his arms around you, tilting his head down and burying his nose in your hair.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, a shiver running down his spine as you slide your fingers into his hair, loosening the elastic holding it back.

He doesn’t care about his hair as your nose presses into his neck and your breath warms the skin beneath his shirt. “Did I do alright for your first time?”

Your face goes flush at his choice of words and he fights back a moan when you press a quick kiss to his neck before lifting your head, unable to hold back the coy grin that sits on your lips.

You nod and he smiles, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.

“Yeah? Think it’d be okay if I did it again?”

“Please,” you say and he wastes no time in kissing you again.

Your hands blindly tug the elastic band out of his hair, sliding it onto your wrist and tangling your fingers into the mess of curls at his neck. His lips drag over yours in lingering kisses that make your stomach twist with heat, tasting a hint of the candy he was munching on earlier in the evening.

You’re consumed by the new sensation of his lips moving against yours and the frizzy curls hooked around your fingers, the thick of your thighs resting on his own with a silent invitation to scooch your hips a little closer to his if you wanted to.

Eddie is kissing you. Keeping his advances small but addicting, pushing back a smile each time he feels you chase his lips when he pulls back. You can’t get enough.

So you don’t really notice when he relaxes back against the sofa, resting his hands on your soft thighs with his fingers dipping just below the edge of your shorts. You let out a quiet noise against his lips as your chest comes to rest on his, your arm getting trapped beneath his shoulder and the cushion. His nails press softly into your skin at how pleased you sound, his arms erupting in goosebumps when you unintentionally tug at his hair.

You’ve been letting out quiet gasps between every kiss he plants on your mouth, your lungs stinging in your chest, yet reluctant to pull away. It’s only when you feel the tip of his tongue nudge against your bottom lip that you pull back, resting your forehead on his and panting to catch your breath.

“Too much?” He mumbles, sliding his hands over your skin.

“Not at all,” you breathe, swallowing hard and letting out a soft laugh. “I just couldn’t breathe.”

Eddie smiles, tilting his chin forward to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. You lift your head and your eyes instantly fall to his lips, now slightly swollen and a darker shade of pink.

It’s hard for you to think straight, to wrap your head around the fact that you just had your first kiss, and second, and third, and fourth… all with Eddie who is looking at you now like you hung the moon just for him.

As much as your insecurity is wanting to take you away from this moment, you know that he isn’t that good of a liar, and if he really didn’t want you like this in at least some capacity, you’d be able to see it in his eyes. But all you can see is the sweet, loving gaze of your best friend as he lets you settle, no matter that all he can think about now is kissing you stupid for the rest of the night.

You’ve gotten further than you ever thought you’d get and you mindlessly pull the tangles in his hair apart, wetting your lips and taking a deep breath. “I like you, Eds. A lot.”

You figured he might make a teasing comment at your admission, but he just smirks and lets his eyes fall closed as you play with his hair. “I like you too, sweetheart. Have for way too long.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and slide your hands from his hair to drag down his chest, his stomach twitching beneath your innocent touch.

“Do you want to keep watching your movie?” He asks, glancing at you and you shake your head. “You sure?”

You think this is the happiest you’ve ever been, and Eddie feels the same- just happy that he could be the one to make you feel truly wanted for the first time. He wishes you would’ve confided in him about your lack of romance earlier in your friendship so you wouldn’t have missed out on so many years silently pining for one another. But he thinks this will do just fine.

“I want to keep doing this,” you quietly admit and he lets out a soft groan as he brings his hands up to his face.

“You’re gonna be the death of me…” He drops his hands to his sides. “Wanna get comfy in my room then?”

He chuckles at your eager nod, patting your thighs and moving to sit up. “Hop up then, baby. We can clean up later.”

You get up and he follows suit, grabbing your hand and interlacing your fingers to drag you down the hallway with an urgency that makes you laugh the entire way into his bedroom.

#writings #eddieslunchbox #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie stranger things

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rikkii0 · 2 months ago

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the smaller the better ⋆˙⟡ gojo x flat chested! reader

you were as pretty as a deer.

that's the first thing gojo thought about you when he first encountered you at a frat party on a boring friday night. you looked so out of place with the pretty black skirt that reached your ankles and that cute white frilly top that shaped your body perfectly.

but when he approached you, he was surprised to see that you were not interested in him in the slightest. a boy like him who had every girl falling at his feet desperate for him to even look their way, was struggling to understand why you weren't doing the same. and just like that, you became everything he's ever dreamed of. every single movement of yours just made him fall in love over and over again.

god, he met you how long ago? four months, four months have passed since he was blessed to have seen you straight from the gates of heaven. and since those months, he hasn't slept with anyone. not the girls who had the body of a model or a pornstar or even the cheerleaders.

for months, the boy has been trying his luck knowing you weren't really into boys like him, especially because of his frat boy status. the first thing he does? he left the frat house and put the overloading amount of money he just has laying around on his bank account to good use and bought himself an apartment not far from the school's campus.

news spread like wildfire at said campus. the most popular boy from the frat mysteriously leaves not knowing that you were the reason. and after seeing how determined he was, you decided to give him a chance.

it started with you giving him your number.

"oh uhm - this is my number.. I know you've been asking around for it so I decided to just give it to you myself."

he was on cloud nine that night and he made it his job to send you good morning and good night texts at the same time each day. 6:00 in the morning and 9:00 at night, hinting at what he wants to do with you.

remember when I mentioned how he hasn't slept around since he first met you? his streak just upgraded to month five and he realized that he probably wouldn't be getting laid by you any time soon due to your shy nature. and on his part as well, he wanted to take his time with you because he truly liked you.

you soon began getting comfortable around him. him being your only friend and you being his after he got dropped by all his frat bros. you recently noticed that you looked forward to his daily texts, pictures of him at the gym or food he somehow figured out you liked, and cute puppies he'd see on his morning run. you loved and cherished every gift he bought you and every forehead kiss he'd give you after each of your classes.

when he joined the soccer team, you were the one to get his jersey after every game. people connected the dots together and it didn't take a genius to figure out that the satoru gojo was smitten.

seven months have passed since you both met and you both haven't gone farther than innocent kisses and hugs, all started from him. he was itching to just ask you to be his girl but he wanted the moment to be perfect.

"baby!" you heard a familiar voice call out behind you before you got the opportunity to open up your dorm. his expression lit up the moment you turned to look at him. every bit of his cocky look he once had was replaced with a much softer expression that was only reserved for you.

"hi baby.." he learned forward to give you his usual forehead smooches.

"hi!" you responded with a kiss of your own, landing softly on the tip of his nose. you hesitated in asking him to come into your dorm, afraid that things would escalate and your biggest fear would happen, him seeing you topless and seeing that you didn't even fill up an a cup.

"can I come in? missed you and I wanted to watch the new episode of that series we were watching the other day."

you felt your palms grow sweaty. "oh yeah sure."

gojo was attached to you like a magnet, wrapping his arms around you. he left a lingering kiss on your cheek, pulling away with a grin.

"you look extra pretty today, babe. like extra extra mega pretty." his hold on your waist vanished as he made himself comfortable on the bed. thats when you decided to try and speak out a bit about your insecurities, wanting to rip off the bandage before you both even began to date.

"you think so? I feel weird.. I think I just chose an outfit that doesn't compliment my body" you mumbled, closing the door behind you before looking down at your shoes. they were brand new mary janes that he allowed you to purchase with his card that now belongs to you because he would rather die than let his pretty girl waste her adult money on something he can easily afford.

gojo furrowed his brows as you expressed your doubts about your outfit. he quickly shook his head disagreeing with whatever nonsense you were spitting. "dont say that y/n"

his tone got serious before softening his face. "you look beautiful, even more in that outfit." his hands reached out to grab your waist as you got closer to him, wanting to pull you in between his legs.

"just thought my flat chest ruined it."

it was silent for a minute before his gaze turned dark. the idea of you even being insecure was like blasphemy to him. "you're not flat babe." he assured, sliding his hands down the hem of your skirt just to squeeze you ass.

"but my chest.. like I dont even wear bras toru.." you never really fit into any of the bras at any of the intimate stores you'd go to. victorias secret was your biggest opp, especially when an employee suggested you to go to the old navy across the store, saying how they might have your size in the kids section after failing to find a bra in vs. "its so humiliating being nineteen and not being able to even have an a cup.. im like a negative a cup!"

a sigh came out of the pink tinted lips of the boy in front of you. he listened as you vented about your insecurity he never knew existed. "listen to me."

he made you look at him.

"your body is perfect love. absolutely perfect."

his hand slipped up your shirt, making his large palm grab ahold of your breast. "I will not allow you to trash talk about my beautiful girlfriend."

but you weren't even dating and you somehow convinced yourself that the reason he hasn't asked you the big question was because of your chest size. "you dont understand satoru! I dont feel like a girl and I definitely dont feel like your girl!" you pushed his hand away from your chest sighing in frustration as you joined him on the bed, laying on your tummy.

gojo sat up straight, moving to sit right next to you, running his hand up and down your back in a comforting manner. "I do understand." he replied softly.

"you're beautiful in every way. ive made it so clear, pretty baby."

he leaned down close to your ear.

"you're my girl." gojo murmured against your neck. you allowed yourself to relax under his touch, letting out soft sighs as he rubbed your back, one of your favorite things he'd do as it made you sleepy. the frustration got to you and you couldn't help but cry a bit.

"im sorry.. I dont know why I said all of that." his expressing softened further as he noticed you struggling with your emotions.

"its nothing to apologize for hun." his hands worked their way up your torso, gripping at the end of your top that was also bought using his money, pulling it over your head setting it neatly aside before placing soft heated kissed along your spine.

"look at you.."

his hands now moved under you to massage your breasts all while you hummed allowing him to position your body however he'd like until you were on your hands and knees. cold palms rubbed against your ass, spreading your cheeks apart to get a good look at that tight wet pussy that he's never seen before, only imagined.

"you're just so fucking perfect." he couldn't take his eyes away from your dripping cunt. you felt the mattress shift as gojo moved behind you, his body taking over yours as he pulled you back against him. thats when you felt the outline of his hardened cock through his sweatpants.

"fuck-" he groaned rolling his hips against you. "not even gonna even bother using protection, I want to feel all of you."

he pulled down his sweatpants, allowing his thick and long cock to spring free. the tip was an angry shade of red. he groaned as it slapped against your clit making you squirm.

"your tits? fucking gorgeous. your ass? could make me cum all day. you know how many times ive imagined this? been wanting this for months."

a low moan escaped his lips as he slid in the tip into you. it stung a little for you due to being inexperienced. any thoughts of your insecurities were immediately taken right out your pretty head when he slammed straight into you.

a loud scream escaped your lips before a hand covered your mouth.

"shh.. be quiet baby." his hips rolled against yours, the sounds of skin on skin echoing all throughout your dorm. he grabbed the back of your neck and pushed you down, forcing you into an arch that only made him grip your hips tight as every thrust happened. his pace quickened as he heard your muffled sounds.

"taking me so good.." he leaned down to catch a sight of your small breasts trembling as he pounded into you.

"they're the cutest.. my girls.."

his words made you clench around him, making his cock twitch inside you as he mumbled about how he was going to break you.

"hey.. how about I get you pregnant so those pretty breast could grow? you want that?" fat tears streamed down your cheeks as his thrusts became harder.

the hand that was covering your mouth moved to spank your ass as he moaned. you yelped as he spanked you repeatedly.

"oh fuck.." you cried out holding onto your bedsheets before he roughly turned you over gripping your torso as his pace didn't slow down. his tongue licked at your nipple as his other hand fondled the other tit.

"gonna.. gonna cum...!"

"go ahead baby." he let his spit fall down right on your nipple before continuing lapping at it. you complied and allowed yourself to finish, he followed soon after filling you up with his warm semen.

he pulled back, not taking his cock out yet, watching you come down from your high. he looked at you like you were the prettiest girl alive.

because to him you truly were.

“..so uhm can we get married now?” he asked.

taglist 🏷️ @entr4p3 @and-s0me0ne @travelerth @luvvzai

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wordsofelie · 1 month ago

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🍧just like that

bokuto koutarou x f!reader

words count: 1.2k

When you first met Bokuto, he was a teenager. Loud, awkward around girls, convinced he could win a fight against a bear if it came down to it. The kind that devoured bowls of rice bigger than his stomach and laughed like he was the only one in the room.

Still, you fell in love with him. It was in the way he was too honest with his emotions. In the way he treated strangers like friends and teammates like family. In the way he saw the world—great, kind, infinite.

You started dating in the final semester of your last year of high school. He asked you out on the festival day.

“I like your hair like that.” He declared out of the blue even though you were carrying heavy boxes. Your hair was up in a ponytail, and there was sweat dripping from your forehead. Your heart skipped a beat, and at this moment, you knew that if you turned him down, you would regret it for the rest of your life.

He left for Osaka a few months after, while you stayed in Tokyo. Long distance was never a problem, not when the person on the other end always made sure to finish his calls with sweet words and loud ‘I love yous’. Despite starting his professional career and becoming a promising player, Bokuto was the best boyfriend you could ask for.

Ten years have passed since then.

There have been highs and lows for sure, but nothing dramatic. You remember a few mismatched expectations, a handful of miscommunications, but that’s all. You moved in together two years ago and, for the most part, it had been easy. Soft. Full of delicious meals, long mornings in bed, shared clothes, and the certainty that this is what you want forever.

Simply perfect. Well—except for the past month.

You can’t say when or even how it started. Maybe it was your new job that drained you more than you expected. Or maybe it was Bokuto’s frustration after losing the world championship. Or maybe it was both.

Usually, you’d say you were each other’s anchors. Steady and always together. But lately, you’ve felt like you were tugging away, and at times you even wondered if you weren’t going in complete different directions.

You never imagined you'd really fight with Bokuto one day. Yes, he could be clumsy—mixing whites and colours in the laundry, deleting tax emails by mistake, showing up an hour late to medical appointments (even though you wrote it down on the fridge in bright letters!). But those things meant nothing compared to all the joy he gave you; those could even be endearing.

But what happened today wasn’t endearing.

You snapped for something you can’t even pinpoint now. He yelled back. You called him an asshole, and he slammed the front door on his way out.

You waited for him to come back only to find yourself alone for the last four or five hours. Tonight’s meal has turned cold, and you miss him now.

You’ve never gone this long without fixing things. The only times you didn’t hear from him for more than an hour were when he was having a game, or when he was on the plane. Never because you were mad at each other.

You don’t realise you’ve bitten your lips so much, your mouth tastes like metal. You’re slumped on the couch in his hoodie with a melting tub of ice cream on the coffee table. A thought goes through your mind, telling you how cliché and desperate you must look. It’s almost laughable. You’re even watching some k-drama about a girl chasing her childhood friend who doesn’t know she loves him.

“She should have told him,” you groan at the TV like an old lady getting angry at the news. “Before he left.”

You think you might cry at some point, for the fight or the silence or the fatigue that you have both been enduring. And you regret every word you said to him. Gosh, if only you could rewind the last hours. You never used to be so vulnerable, so raw with your feelings. You were the kind to keep everything locked tight, but Bokuto cracked you open over the years—gently, patiently. How are you supposed to feel better without him?

The door opens and it startles you.

You fumble for the remote to turn off the TV, but in the rush, you knock over your tub of ice cream. It drips down your jumper.

“Shit,” you whisper, pressing a hand to the stain.

“Oh—wait, I’ll…find something.” Bokuto’s voice sounds like he has been crying.

He kicks off his shoes and disappears into the kitchen. You hear the clatter of a drawer, the rush of the tap, then his hurried footsteps as he returns with a sponge.

He drops to his knees beside you. You catch a trail of waterdrops behind him, following the path he took. The sponge is the wrong one—this one is meant for scrubbing dishes, not cotton—but you don’t correct him. You just watch the way his hands tremble slightly, how his brows pull together in worry.

“It’s fine now Kou,” you tell him.

You pull the jumper over your head and toss it aside. He tries not to look at you, but fails. His cheeks turn red at your almost bare chest. You find it cute, the fact that, after nearly a decade, he still gets flustered like it’s your first summer together.

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry again.

So instead, you clear your throat, and he finally lifts his head to meet your eyes.

One of you has to talk first, yet you can’t seem to collect your thoughts to form a sentence, an apology. You feel stupid, so immature. How do people usually make up with each other? How do they regain one’s trust? And how are you supposed to show him how much he matters to you when you’ve let him down. All of a sudden, everything seems incredibly complex, too complicated—

“I like your hair like that,” he admits.

Your brain stops. The sentence is all it takes for your muscles to release. You move an inch towards him and fall into his arms; he steadies himself, and hugs you back—tight and warmly. His hand finds the back of your head, burying into your hair (messy, up in a quickly made ponytail).

“I’m sorry for calling you an asshole,” you whisper.

“And I’m sorry for leaving,” he says as he presses his lips to your temple. “I don’t ever want to leave like that again.”

“You better not,” you murmur with a pout.

Of course, making up with him is that simple. That evident. Like it’s always with him. How could you forget?

“What were you watching?” He asks after a few minutes.

You try to act as if you weren’t hooked on the series, as if you hadn’t been binge-watching the entire season. “Ahh… just some stupid k-drama.”

He reaches for the remote to turn it on again, “I’ll watch with you.”

“Wait, I’ll go warm up the food first.”

He smiles, and you kiss the corner of his lips. Just like that.

a/n: i went to ed sheeran concert and the song tenerife sea inspired me haha

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #bokuto fanfic #bokuto kotaro #haikyuu bokuto #bokuto x you #bokuto x reader #bokuto x y/n #bokuto koutarou x you #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto koutarou x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu fluff #bokuto fluff

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johnnysuhbmarine · 2 months ago

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Out of Time

Pairing: Chenle x reader Description: You'd be lying if you said feelings weren't caught within the thirteen years of friendship you had with Chenle, but even when you both wanted to be more, you agreed to shut any idea of it down - his future marriage was already arranged as part of a business deal, there was no point setting your hearts up for breaking. So, why is he on your doorstep begging for a chance just three months before he has to go back to China? Content warnings: Arranged marriage au but not with each other; rich kid Chenle; swearing; they have sex, and while no actual smut is written, it’s not exactly glossed over, either; fluff; angst; there is no happy ending to this part but there is in the second one Word count: 16,362 A/n: If you knew how long I’ve been working on this idea, you wouldn’t believe me…but now that this first part is out I’m actually really happy with how it’s come together. Posting this today to celebrate @fullsunstrawberry's last day of class for the semester!!…though this ends in angst so it’s not the best gift I’ve ever come up with 🫠 Anyways, please enjoy, though who am I to tell you what to do…as always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. Take care of yourselves, I love you Read part two here!

Your childhood went by too fast. Though, you assume that’s the only way it could feel when it’s the sole marker of the time you were able to have with Chenle. The two of you grew up together, but through conversations you felt you were too young to be involved in, you both knew that you wouldn’t be able to continue with said friendship in adulthood. The thing about Chenle was, he’s lived with his aunt, right across the street from your parents, in a small Korean suburb since he was five years old. However, where he spent the first four years of his life, and where he would eventually be summoned back to, was with his parents in Shanghai.

There was nothing wrong about his parents. In fact, for most of childhood, Chenle only had positive things to say about them, a wide smile adorning his face whenever he thought of seeing them again. The entire reason he was living with his aunt was because his parents wanted him to experience a normal childhood, so really, they had his best interest at heart. That being said, they did not care about whether or not Chenle would have a normal adulthood. Instead, they were waiting for him to fall in line, learn how to eventually take over their multimillion dollar company, and with that, play his part…and accept the fact that his future marriage, to the daughter of one of their business partners, has been arranged for him since the moment he was born. Finding this out, Chenle no longer had loads of nice things to say about his parents. He lived with a constant resentment towards them since the start of high school, but you were always his one beacon of comfort, where the weight of his future could fall off his shoulders and he could just be a kid again for a little while longer.

It was the summer before freshman year of high school when your parents and his aunt sat the two of you down at the dinner table and explained how Chenle’s future was going to pan out. You were just fourteen years old, having Chenle suddenly upset and arguing about who he’d be marrying felt so wrong, the problem seemingly so far away. You were kids, but because of that moment, you both grew up too quickly - Chenle by force, and you because you refused to let him go through it alone. The real world, outside of school and pickup basketball games in someone’s driveway, now weighed heavily on the two of you, and the only thing you could promise was that you’d navigate as much of it as you could together.

The one thing his parents agreed to compromise on was that, rather than having Chenle fly back immediately after high school graduation, he could stick through that last summer with you, and eventually head back to China when you left for university. That’s the exact period of time that the two of you were in now - almost a full three months where the plans that have been talked about for years were now facing you head on. Stupidly, you try to forget about it, pretend it was just some normal summer, like your best friend wasn’t being ripped away from you at the end of it. You were setting yourself up to be blindsided by the inevitable passage of time, but it was all you could think to do if you wanted to hold onto any chance at smiling this summer.

It was the day right after graduation when Chenle hopped across the street and rang your doorbell. It was the middle of the day, your parents still at work, so you had to be the one to slide off the couch and check who was at the door. Normally, Chenle would text you before he came over, and you would have the door already unlocked for his arrival so that he could just barge in and join you on the couch…or immediately grab your wrist, drag you through the kitchen for two glasses of lemonade, and then out the back door for another basketball match. The last thing you expected him to do was ring the doorbell out of nowhere, but more confusingly, when you open the front door to face him, he’s pacing back and forth. His mind seemed to be going a hundred miles a minute, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this distraught before.

“Chenle?” You prompt, tilting your head at him still making circles in your front walkway. He snaps his head up and stops moving, seeming not to have heard you actually open the door yet and instead leaving him to get surprised by your voice. As he takes in your bewildered state, he does his best to calm himself, correctly assuming he was the reason for it.

Now, his body faces you full-on, but he still can’t meet your eyes, instead looking towards the ground and sucking on his bottom lip as he figures out what he wants to say. Eventually, he gives up, shaking his head and bringing his gaze up to you with an agitated sigh. “Any way I put this, I come off as an asshole, so please forgive me,” he finally says all at once.

You furrow your brows at him in confusion, your return question bearing a much lighter tone than his own. “What’s up, Chenle?”

He darts his gaze off to the side, biting on his bottom lip again. Though, this contemplation period hardly lasted a second before he’s dropping his head and spitting out his words through one rushed exhale. “Can I be selfish for one summer? Before you go to college? Before I move back to my parents' house? I know we both agreed to be smart enough not to get involved…but before I have to be someone else’s, I want to be yours - even if it’s just for one summer.”

To say you were thrown off was an understatement, but not necessarily because of his confession. It was no secret the two of you developed feelings for each other. Your parents knew it, his aunt knew it, you knew it, he knew it - there was no use in pretending said feelings didn’t exist. However, being sixteen with those feelings and knowing what you had since you were fourteen made the situation less than average.

You and Chenle decided the best thing you could do was flesh everything out. So, one random day of sophomore year, you did. An entire evening kicking yourselves for catching feelings, laughing at the fact that it seemed inevitable, and then deciding that the best course of action now was to try and forget about it. You were not the daughter of his wealthy parents’ wealthy business partner, and the two of you quickly learned that there was no changing his parents’ minds on the arranged marriage. There was no reason to try and pretend an outcome could exist where the two of you could work, where you wouldn’t get hurt. It was both, a pro and a con of being forced to grow up - dumb decisions that your childhood was waiting for you to make were never made, and it was so hard to tell which dumb decisions you actually missed out on.

Chenle was right, the two of you agreed to be smart enough to not get involved, but a part of you was mad that you never took the chance to be a stupid high school kid. It seemed entirely out of left field for Chenle to address the situation again just three months before the beginning of the rest of your lives kicked in, but you’re glad he did.

“One summer for us to make some stupid decisions and break our own hearts?” You echo back, and any trace of hope on Chenle’s face fades away. That is, until you look back at him with a smirk, leaning against your doorframe casually. “Yeah, what the hell. Let’s do it,” you say, and when Chenle whips his head back up to face you in surprise, you can’t stop your smirk from turning into a full smile.

Chenle shakes his head quickly, as though to get rid of all the thoughts on how to respond to a refusal that never came, and instead an easy smile reaches his own face as he looks back at you. “Great! So, can I take you on a date?”

He’s completely serious as he replies and this is where you’re most taken aback. “Oh, starting off with a date?” You only had three months to be together, and to be quite honest, you thought Chenle was going to skip past all the initial dates and dive right in, knowing that you wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he immediately had you pinned against a wall. You seemed to have greatly underestimated the character of your best friend though, because he shoots back with a sure nod, genuinity filling his next words.

“Well, yeah. I don’t want this to just be a physical thing. I want to be able to say that you were my first love. You were always meant to have that title. I want to remember you that way, not as some no-strings-attached summer fling.”

You immediately drop your head to face the floor. Chenle must have grown up some more when you weren’t looking. All at once, you don’t know what happened to the loser you grew up with, who learned to shut off his feelings and fill all that space with basketball instead; but now, here he stood, making his intentions very clear in that he planned to spend the summer falling in love with you, and outside of the shock you’ve felt throughout this entire conversation, a new feeling erupts in your stomach - butterflies.

You look back up at him, regardless of how embarrassingly red you could tell your cheeks were, and a smile reaches your face as soon as the two of you lock eyes. “A date it is,” you say with a nod before stepping back into your house some more and actually letting him inside for a bit. “I’ll have to actually get out of my pajamas,” you say with a laugh. “Any idea of where you want to go?”

Chenle bites on the inside of his cheek before shaking his head. “Well, you know I can take you out on a really fancy date, and if that’s what you want, we can do that. I mean, that’s sure as hell what you deserve…but I was thinking maybe we could just go out to our favorite ice cream shop and then play some basketball.”

Your cheeks puff out in a smile. “So, you wanna hang out?” You tease, and Chenle is quick to shake his head.

“No! I wanna go on a date with you! I know we get ice cream and play basketball a lot, but now I want to do so while also knowing I can go up and kiss you whenever I want.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Oh, now we’re kissing on the first date?”

Chenle just stares at you in disinterest. “Three months, y/n. That’s all I get. I’m not exactly looking to take things super slow. Besides,” he continues, throwing a sly smirk your way as his own brows raise. “You’re the one who’s been wanting to kiss me for the past two years.”

Your mouth drops into a gape as you swat at him, only succeeding in making him laugh like a dolphin, and while you made fun of his laugh whenever you could, it was also your favorite thing in the world. A certain warmth fills your chest at the sound of it as you simply shake your head. “Whatever. You’ve been wanting to kiss me for the past two years as well. Don’t even pretend otherwise.” He’s still getting over his laughing fit as you finish your sentence, leaving you to just roll your eyes at him as you turn and walk upstairs to your room to change, the front door still hanging open for him to eventually follow you through.

When you come back downstairs after getting ready, Chenle looks you up and down with a smile. “I’ve always liked that skirt on you,” he says casually. You let out a light laugh.

“I know. You weren’t very secretive about it,” you reply playfully, causing a light dusting of pink to cover Chenle’s cheeks.

“Is dating you just going to be a nonstop period of you teasing me?” He finally asks in return. His words make you freeze, though. You only had three months but he was serious about it, serious about you, and you couldn’t help thinking about how great the hurt would be for both of you once it was over.

You shake out of it, you had to, and instead send a wink his way as you rush out the door without him. “I guess you’ll have to just wait and see,” you banter back, and Chenle rolls his eyes before following you out and doing your part in locking up behind him.

While you were exchanging greetings with the worker on the other side of the ice cream parlor’s bar, Chenle was just continuously poking at your arm. “What?” You finally snap as you turn to him, though no one would ever be able to pick up even the slightest bit of irritation with his antics based off the smile on your face as you looked at him.

Chenle draws in a deep breath as a confidence booster before spitting out his words all at once. “I know we normally get our own milkshakes and finish them, but if you wanted to do that thing where we get one milkshake and put two straws in it, we could.” He was completely serious as he spoke, and you bite your lip to stop the wide smile from coming onto your face at his attempt to truly make this feel like a date.

Instead of letting him know how cute he was, you resort back to messing with him. “Hmm…less ice cream for me, though,” you say, pretending to contemplate his offer.

“I can buy us another one after that!” He quickly responds, and you can see the typical energy begin to flow back through his body as he relaxes some more. “We can just keep ordering milkshakes to share! I mean, what’s a couple of $5 transactions on a black card?” He continues rambling but you break out into a laugh, immediately getting him to stop and stare at you in bewilderment because nothing he just said was a joke.

“Breaking out the black card for our first date?” You ask, looking over at Chenle as though you were something like impressed. He does not see what the big deal is.

“Of course, anything for you-” That’s where he breaks himself off, his head falling into his hands on the counter as he finally cracks. “God, I feel like a loser,” he groans, but a fond smile paints its way across your face in response.

“You’re not a loser,” you reply calmly, but Chenle shakes his head in his hands, his next words coming out covered in defeat.

“But my face is red and I’m saying stupid stuff.”

“It’s cute,” you reassure him gently, but he is quick to quip back.

“You’re cute.” The statement rolls off his tongue effortlessly and you jump back a little in your seat, eyes wide.

“Woah, lele. I didn’t know you could actually be sweet to me,” you say back, feigning astonishment.

Chenle finally lifts his head up out of his hands to drag his troubled gaze over to you. “Do you see what I’m talking about? I’m a loser! I didn’t mean to say that,” he groans.

You just furrow your brows. “So, you don’t think I’m cute?” You ask playfully. Chenle squeezes his eyes shut, taking an extra long breath before peeking one eye open to look at you and practically whisper his response.

“Yes, I do.”

An easy smile spreads across your face as you take in the fact that Chenle genuinely complimented you, though you were glad to see it pained him to admit it because that meant this was still your Chenle after all. You immediately turn your gaze back over to the worker, who pretended to be super invested in cleaning the counter as your conversation with Chenle drew out, and then you order just one milkshake with two straws. After, you move your gaze back over to your best friend.

“You can just be yourself, you know? I’ve liked you for years already, you don’t have to try and win me over now.”

Chenle sucks on his bottom lip, sighing. “I know but…you deserve to feel romanced and loved, and I want to do that, I just- it’s not my strong suit. My parents just bought me things and then shipped me overseas. A pretty weird love language if you ask me.” He ends with a small laugh, and you’re relieved to see the tension in his shoulders fall as he does.

You shoot a fond smile his way in response. “I know, and that’s okay. Look, these three months for us to be together is just a change in the title of our relationship. There’s not much else that has to change. I won't hate you for struggling with how to express love. I know you like me, that’s enough.”

“Stop being so good at making me feel better,” he says with a weak grin. “I already feel like I’m not good enough for you.”

You roll your eyes, placing one hand on top of his at the counter, getting him to meet your serious gaze. “Lele, you make me happy - that’s more than enough. Plus, you’re rich,” you add, and Chenle lets out his own laugh as he rips his hand away from under yours.

“Oh, whatever,” he replies with a scoff, but the atmosphere is instantly lighter as your laughter is only broken up by the milkshake being slid in between the two of you, immediately redirecting your attention to the shared directive of sucking that down as fast as you could.

As Chenle got his card back after paying for all your rounds of milkshakes, he turned to you with a hopeful grin. “Do you wanna go back and play basketball in our street?” He asks, causing a similar smirk to spread across your own features.

“You know I do, but can you take it easy on me now that we’re dating?” You suggest playfully, though surprise was the last feeling that came to mind when Chenle’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“Absolutely not,” he replies quickly, causing you to sigh. “If anything, I gotta go harder on you now that we’re dating. I don’t date amateurs. You gotta keep up with me.” Your face falls into shock as you lightly hit the back of your hand against his forearm and the two of you break out into laughter again.

“Hey! Thirteen years of pickup basketball does not equate to me being an amateur. I’m a seasoned pro,” you try to say seriously. Chenle raises his eyebrows at you in a taunt.

“Yeah? We’ll see about that. What do you say, loser has to buy-” He cuts himself off from going over the terms of the bet as he turns his attention towards the countertop in disbelief. “I guess I just bought all our ice cream. What are we supposed to use as a bet now?” He speaks as though his hopes and dreams were ruined. You just shake your head fondly at him, sucking on your bottom lip to try and hold back a smile.

“Come on,” you say, moving to grab his hand in yours and pull him away from the counter. “We’ll figure something out. Let’s go before it gets dark.”

Chenle shoots you a look as though you were crazy. “Y/n, it’s summer. We have like- at least five more hours before it gets dark.”

You stop in your tracks, turning back to him with a smirk. “Well, my bad. I just wanted to spend as much time with my boyfriend as possible,” you reply, and Chenle ducks his head as blush covers his face. Though, with one gentle squeeze of your hand, he’s the one now pulling you out of the ice cream parlor and towards the car to go back home.

As always, the two of you started off with a game of horse. It’s typically how you would decide who gets first possession, though you’ve stopped seeing a point to it because Chenle wins every time. At least, that’s how it normally goes. Today, standing in Chenle’s driveway, it was you who was crushing Chenle in horse. With you still at ‘h’ and Chenle just tacking on an ‘s,’ you let out a laugh. “I thought you weren’t taking it easy on me,” you taunt, and Chenle whips his head in your direction seriously.

“I’m not!”

You raise your eyebrows at him as you move to take the ball from his hands and shoot your next shot. “Okay well then, whoever you are, can you go get Chenle back for me?” You ask, turning back to him after successfully making it. “I miss him. He’s your height, looks kinda like you, is good at basketball-” You tease, and Chenle cuts you off as he turns fire red, grabbing the basketball and readying himself to shoot from where you just did.

“I’m good at basketball!” He argues before taking his next shot…and missing. He turns around to meet your raised eyebrows and groans. “A game of horse doesn’t even matter! All it means is that you start off our actual game.”

You shake your head at his antics as he picks up the basketball and passes it to you because somehow, you had first possession today. These ‘actual’ games were where you tended to perform better, but it was the same for Chenle of course, so you still typically only took one out of every twenty games from him.

Though, it seemed Chenle’s poor performance in horse did nothing to actually warm him up, because his game performance was no better - possibly worse. You watched as the famed Lele Curry missed every shot he took, acting as though nothing happened every time he retrieved the ball for you. You wait until he misses an easy layup before finally shaking your head at him from the other side of the driveway.

“Lele, come kiss me,” you say plainly, and Chenle immediately stops in his tracks as he turns towards you.

“WHAT? Wh- wha- why?” He fumbles out through something of a shocked yell, getting you to just roll your eyes at him playfully.

“Cause I have a feeling it’s gonna get you your basketball skills back,” you reply with raised eyebrows, greatly contrasting Chenle’s furrowed ones as he looks back at you in question.

“Huh?” He gets out, causing your shoulders to bounce up and down lightly with a small chuckle.

You look up to face him fondly, the teasing lilt out of your tone. “Look, we’re dating now, we just talked about affection, it’s on your mind and messing with your game, so you should come kiss me and get it over with,” you state as though it were no big thing. It was a big thing to Chenle though, because he just learned you could read his mind. Of course he was thinking about kissing you, it was all he could think about - you were you, after all, and Chenle really really liked you.

You watch as his adam’s apple bobs up and down with a hesitant swallow, but as he looks back up at you, the tension in his shoulders falls. He crosses the driveway to end up directly in front of you. Slowly, his right hand comes up to cup the side of your face, an action that you easily smile into, and Chenle takes a moment to run his thumb over your puffed out cheek as his nervous gaze runs over every inch of your face. “I don’t know how to kiss but- but I promise I’ll do it just right if you let me.”

“Chenle…”

“May I?” He asks quietly once his eyes finally fall to your lips.

You nod your head, caught off guard for a breathless moment at the recognition of this softer, shyer side of Chenle. You had kissed a few guys throughout high school, but you knew he hadn’t kissed anyone before. Once the two of you found out his marriage was arranged, he gave up completely on high school relationships or flings, and meanwhile you tried to kiss as many guys as possible in an attempt to get your mind off of it. None of them ever meant anything, but this one did, and Chenle knew it, too. He wanted to do everything right, but he didn’t even know what ‘right’ was, and any time he didn’t know what he was doing, he fell shyer, more hesitant, always so uncomfortable with unknowns that he tried to just slip away instead. He hardly let you see this side of him because he always wanted to present his best self; but he was soft with you now, because he cared enough about you to admit he was clueless - that the thought of kissing you made his head spin but it wasn’t even something he could truly picture.

“You may,” you answer softly, and Chenle slowly leans into you.

It started out as the lightest kiss in the world, a kind of gentleness almost uncharacteristic of your best friend if you didn’t know all his layers already. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips, but you refuse to break so quickly; so instead, you pin your focus on deepening the kiss - pressing back into him, establishing a healthy rhythm sucking on his bottom lip. Chenle’s hand that wasn’t cupping your face soon flies to your waist as he begins to match your pace. As he got more comfortable with the feeling of his lips against yours, he got more desperate for it. You figure standing in the driveway of his house is not where you should teach him how to use his tongue, so with one last soft kiss, you break away.

Your gaze instantly falls to the ground beneath your feet, a cheesy grin across your face that you try to cover up. “See, now you’ve kissed me. Nothing else is going to be as scary as that,” you say playfully. “Now you’re good. You can kiss me whenever you want. Alternatively, you never have to kiss me again if that’s what you want-” You immediately cut off your words as you finally bring your gaze up to make eye contact with Chenle, only to realize he’s staring at you with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. “What’s that look for?” You ask, suddenly worried you did something wrong.

Chenle shakes his head in an attempt to gather his thoughts, mouth opening and closing in hesitation as he looks you up and down. “Um, I like you…a lot. Like, a lot,” he says as though he were out of breath. The wide grin comes back to your face as you let out a fond laugh.

“Ha! That’s for another time,” you promise, instead bending down to pick the basketball up from the ground and place it in his hands. “Now turn around and shoot,” you continue, nodding your head towards the basket behind him. He does as asked, turning around and not even taking a moment to regain his footing before shooting and immediately making a nothing-but-net basket. You drop your face back to the pavement with a knowing nod. Then, you walk the one step back to meet him again and place a soft kiss on his cheek. “There’s my Chenle,” you claim softly, and watch as his ears turn a deep shade of red.

Biting on his bottom lip, he shakes his head, unable to say anything in response. Instead, he moves to grab the basketball again, passing it to you since he just scored, and you know you’re about to get your ass kicked in pickup basketball.

That was, in fact, exactly what happened. The only difference between this and the games that occurred before you started dating, is that now throughout the game, Chenle would sometimes turn around after making a basket and tell you a play that good deserved a kiss. You would roll your eyes every time but you always obliged - each soft, casual, ‘proud of you’ peck leaving Chenle with the biggest grin on his face.

Your pickup game finally ended when his aunt got back from work, forcing you both out of the driveway but more importantly, breaking the two of you apart from your quick kiss as you scramble into the grass. As she pulls into the garage and turns off the car, she steps out to meet you two still on the side of the driveway. “Well, something’s certainly changed in the time I’ve been at work, hasn’t it?” She says with a playful smirk. You and Chenle drop your heads in unison, but his aunt just lets out a warm laugh, nodding her head towards the door. “Come on, kids. I’ll make us dinner.”

Matching smiles spread across your faces as you rush to follow her inside. As she started cooking, you and Chenle did whatever you could to help around the house where needed, but eventually you were told to just sit and rest a while as opposed to crowding the kitchen and making things more difficult. So, TV remote now in hand, you leaned into Chenle on the couch and he hooked both arms over you instantaneously.

Chenle’s arms around you, the smell of home-cooked dinner, and a basketball game on the TV, there was something so natural about it - as though Chenle’s arms have been around you your entire life, as though you’d have them around you, to come home to, for the rest of time. You knew the idea of it would never be true in the long run, but right now it was as real as it could get - and the second you could convince yourself to simply exist in the present, that fact was enough to make everything okay. You’re sure Chenle could feel it, because at the very same time that peace crashed over your body, Chenle squeezed you slightly tighter to him, placing a small kiss to the top of your head before resuming his task of acting super nonchalant about having you in his arms.

The two of you explained everything to his aunt over dinner, and any disheartening thought she may have had about the situation, she kept to herself. You all had collectively gone through that song and dance all those years prior when the news of Chenle’s arranged marriage first broke. She knew you didn’t need to hear that speech again. Instead, she smiled warmly, claiming that if any two people deserved to be happy together, even for just a little while, it was you guys.

You excused yourself after dinner, figuring it was probably time for you to head home since you haven’t seen your parents all day. Chenle immediately stood from the table with you, gently lacing his fingers with yours and leading you to the door. “I’ll walk you home,” he says casually, but you just shake your head at him.

“Lele, I live right across the street. It doesn’t even take twenty seconds for me to get home,” you reply playfully. Chenle just squeezes your hand in his slightly tighter, and when he speaks again, it’s much more somber in tone.

“Three months, y/n. I’ll take a few more seconds anywhere I can get them,” he states quietly, and his words seem to have hollowed you out so that all you can do is nod your head. Chenle smiles at your acceptance before getting hit with another thought and immediately pausing. “Oh, wait!” He exclaims as you take the first step out his front door.

You turn back around to face him in question, watching as he runs through the house before coming back into view with a hoodie in his arms. “For you,” he says with a bright smile as he holds out the hoodie for you to take. You just raise your brows at him with a smirk.

“Chenle, it’s summer. What am I gonna need a hoodie for?” You ask playfully in return, though your traces of banter didn’t reach Chenle, and instead every feature on his face falls into a pout. You let out a fond laugh at the sight of it, moving towards him to take the hoodie from his arms with a light kiss on his cheek. You immediately slip it over your head, and the sheer comfort of it answered your question of what you were gonna do with a hoodie in the summer - wear it any chance you got. You look back at Chenle, who was stuck staring at you in his hoodie as though you were a goddess. You just pray your face doesn’t show too flustered in the moonlight and grab his hand to actually start on the walk across the street.

As you get to your front door, Chenle tightens his grip on your hand to pull you back some more, now just standing idly on your front porch. You study his figure curiously, watching as he tosses around thoughts in his head so loud you could almost hear them. His gaze eventually falls to the ground but he finally finds his voice.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be great at ever telling you how I feel. It’s hard for me to articulate anything even closely related to feelings. There’s so much in my head but I don’t know how to tell you everything…how much you mean to me. But if today taught me anything, I’m much more comfortable with showing you how I feel. That doesn’t seem as foreign to me for some reason. I can show you how I feel - I want to. I hope it gets across, though. I hope you know every time we kiss…” He drags off, and his eyebrows immediately furrow in irritation that this was just another example of him struggling to put his feelings into words.

You give a fond shake of your head as you stare back at him. “Chenle,” you let out softly, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand, still intertwined with yours.

He finally looks back up at you with resolve. “What I’m trying to say is that if one day, you get fed up with all my emotions being expressed physically rather than verbally, I can stop. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t have to kiss you all the time. I can try- I can try to…I can-” This time, he’s cut off by your lips on his, and he melts right into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, you place a hand on his cheek, nodding your head lightly. “It gets across, lele. Everything you’re feeling, it gets across. It’s never gonna be too much; we have a lot of time to make up for, I know. So, whenever you want to kiss me, I want to kiss you.”

In return, Chenle gives the most bashful smile you’ve ever seen. He moves a hand up to guide your own back down from his cheek before studying the way your two hands fit with each other so naturally. All hands were meant to be interlaced with another, he thought, but his were specifically made for yours. You look at his soft features with a grin, squeezing his hand gently in yours and getting him to train his eyes back on you in a rush. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says surely, causing you to laugh some before nodding your head.

“See you tomorrow,” you softly return as he takes the first few steps back towards his house. You stand and watch until he finally reaches his own front door; turning back around to see you still outside, he gives an exaggerated wave in your direction, and you didn’t need to see the huge smile on his face to know it was there. You move your hand up slightly to wave back to him, hoping the yellow street light wasn’t enough to illuminate the clarity that had immediately washed over you as you clocked that you only had three months left of his exaggerated waves and huge smiles - the butterflies that had occupied your stomach all day were no match for the void that made its presence known now. A heavy breath escapes you as he finally turns the knob and enters his house, leaving you with nothing left to do but the same.

As soon as you opened the door, the change in atmosphere was striking. The warmth of your parents’ laughter filled the kitchen as they were cleaning up from their own dinner, your dog entirely too wound up as he jumped around waiting for teased scraps from your father’s plate. The pit in your stomach didn’t go away, but instead became more pronounced as another strange feeling added to it. Your parents had much longer than three months to be together; you wondered if they could fathom it - if they could ever wrap their heads around the amount of love shared between the two of them throughout all these years. You wondered if you would ever be able to wrap your head around the idea of loving someone that many years, knowing it wouldn’t be Chenle on the receiving end of it. You hated remembering why the two of you originally promised not to get involved with each other - you hated that those reasons made more sense than ever.

You didn’t realize the door practically slammed shut behind you until the rest of the house fell quiet in response. Your mom makes eye contact with you in the front entryway before smiling brightly and returning to the dishes. “Hey, sweetie! Were you over at Chenle’s?”

Her question is coated with a smile and all you can do is start rambling to try and fight off the nauseous feeling that arose in response. “Guys, I made a really stupid decision and I know it’s stupid so I don’t need you to tell me again and I really don’t need you to be pessimistic about it because it won’t help.” You speed through your words in an instant and the look on your parents’ faces completely flip as they drop what they’re doing to go meet you still by the front door.

“Y/n, what happened?” Your dad asks in a panic, and you figure the vagueness of your statement meant they were currently assuming a lot worse than it was. You shake your head, but it doesn’t do much to dismiss their worry until you follow it up with words.

“Chenle asked me to be his girlfriend,” you spit out, and the tension in their shoulders drops at once.

“And you said ‘yes,’” your mom softly finishes in your place. You shoot your gaze up to her, bringing their notice to the tears in your eyes as you respond weakly.

“I couldn’t say ‘no.’”

Your mom lets out a fond sigh, nodding her head as she throws an understanding smile in your direction. “I know,” she replies, coming up to wrap you in a hug where you finally let yourself bawl your eyes out.

“We only have three months to be together but- but we wanted to be together,” you explain as firmly as you could through tears. “And we should’ve just pressed on these three months like we have our whole lives, I know it’s stupid-”

“Y/n, it’s not stupid,” your mom cuts in seriously. You lean slightly out of the hug to make shaky eye contact with her, then darting your gaze off to meet the encouraging look your dad bore and only getting more confused. You pull back from the hug entirely, now doing your best to collect yourself again so you could have a real conversation.

“I’m gonna be really hurt three months from now, and it’s not Chenle’s fault, it’s mine-” You could only be mad at yourself for so long before your mom cuts you off again.

“It’s not your fault. Sometimes, what makes a decision seem stupid is that there’s no one to blame for its consequences. It’s not gonna be your fault, nor Chenle’s…and it’s weird when you don’t have someone to blame.” Your mom was always the voice of reason, but you figure this time she was taking the same approach that Chenle’s aunt did. The inevitability of you and Chenle was the least of her worries. Her main goal was to keep you from jumping off the ledge before you could even enjoy it.

“I think Chenle blames his parents,” you rebuttal thoughtfully, and your dad just lets out a laugh before he responds more sincerely.

“Yes, but I think he hates his parents enough for the all of us, so we shouldn’t add to it.” Chenle’s disdain for his parents was more than evident, and your own parents never had the nicest things to say about them either - even though they kept their thoughts to themselves, you knew it. There wasn’t a single person in the suburb who understood where Chenle’s parents were coming from; with the quality of life being so starkly different, you figure no one ever would. The sucky thing was, you knew Chenle’s parents were thinking the same thing about you all, and it’s why everyone but Chenle has kept their opinion to themselves - it wasn’t worth it to do otherwise, an understanding could never be made between two different worlds.

You take in his words with a flash of your eyebrows but eventually let out a heavy sigh. “...he shouldn’t hate his parents,” you admit solemnly, thinking of your own family and wondering how heartbreaking it would be for both sides if you viewed them the way Chenle views his.

Your father ducks his head, his thoughts running parallel to yours. “No, but that’s not for us to worry about. I’m just glad you don’t hate yours,” he says with a smile, and you finally move your gaze back up towards your parents, three pairs of uncertain eyes exchanging thousands of emotions between them.

“Is everything gonna be okay?” You finally ask, your voice much weaker than you would have liked. Your mom shakes her head in mystery, a thin-lipped smile giving its best attempt at comfort.

“I don’t know, but was today okay?” She asks in return.

“Yes,” you answer immediately, but then your face turns more contemplative and you shake your head. “No- it was so much better than ‘okay’ you wouldn’t even understand.” Your words come out coated in fondness. You figured it was the first step towards realizing how bittersweet these next three months with Chenle were going to be, how nostalgic you would soon feel for memories you were in the middle of making.

Your mom’s smile widens at your words as she moves to brush over your cheek with her hand, ensuring the two of you make eye contact as she gives the only advice she thinks she can at this point. “Then let’s try not to worry about if everything’s gonna be okay in the future, and focus on the fact that everything is so much better than okay right now,” she says softly, leaving you nodding your head against her hold. It eventually falls into a tight hug before you get embarrassed and excuse yourself to make your way to your room for the night.

It was a few hours later when your parents walked in to say goodnight. Your dad went first and then waited at the doorway as your mom took her moment to kiss the top of your head and bid you goodnight. Before she could take a full step away, though, you caught her hand in yours. Her face whipped back around to meet your soft, wavering gaze. “He kissed me today.” Your tone made it sound as though you had a million thoughts in your mind, but it was clear not even one would manifest itself into more words right away. Your parents both give a warm grin, and as your dad leaves from your doorframe to let the two of you have a moment, your mom joins you sitting on top of your bed.

“Yeah?” She encourages softly. All you can do is nod before frustration reaches the surface and you end up shaking your head decidedly.

“Mom, I don’t want to kiss another guy ever again,” you say, looking up to make sincere eye contact with her. “I want it to always be Chenle,” you continue firmly, and your mom just lets out a defeated sigh.

“For three months, it will be,” she says with a weak smile, trying her best to bring any sense of hope to the situation.

You pull your bottom lip in between your teeth, both coming to terms with the situation and not being able to believe it all at once. “And that has to be enough. How do I make that be enough?” You ask helplessly, the sight of you torn up like this chipping away at your mom’s heart.

“I don’t know, but you’ll figure it out,” she replies, and you figure that’s all anyone would be able to say to that. These are your circumstances, and regardless of if it feels unfair, all you can do is the best you can do; spending these three months trying to resolve a grief that hasn’t even hit you yet was definitely not your best course of action. With the smallest of laughs that still comes across as jarring in the fragile moment, your mom speaks up again. “I would say you could kiss him like every time will be the last, but I can’t have you sucking his face off…his parents would not be thrilled about that,” she teases, and you’re finally able to crack a smile as well.

With one last kiss to the top of your head, your mom gets up and heads towards your door again. “Remember,” she says, turning back over her shoulder to look at you. “Today was really really good. Tomorrow will be, too; and the day after that…and the day after that. So, no stress for at least the next three days, okay?”

Your smile widens on your lips at the silly promise, but it did its job in removing what felt like the entire weight of the world from your shoulders. “Okay.” Then, with one last smile, your mom was out the door.

The next week was spent with you and Chenle not seeing more than an hour of separation from each other unless you were sleeping. Though you couldn’t say this for anyone else you hang out with, you never got tired of Chenle, never oversaturated from his energy; so, spending all this time together was hardly a task - it was just how you were meant to be. You think Chenle held the secret to it all along, the reason you never got tired of each other - though you doubted he was even aware of it, every time he looked your way, it seemed to be with a fresh set of eyes, like it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on you. You could see it in the glaze of softness that took over his stare for a millisecond. How could you ever tire of each other when every glance gave the illusion of no time having passed at all. The only problem you could anticipate is how shocking it would be when these three months were up, if each passing day still consisted of the butterflies from the first.

It was at the end of this first week when your mom lingered in your room while saying goodnight to you again. You eyed her curiously as she sat down on your bed rather than the typical lean-over to kiss the top of your head. She gives a small laugh as she meets your gaze, then starts her words with a light sigh.

“Y/n, your dad and I have been talking,” she begins, and the color drains from your face.

“Uh oh,” you reply, unsure of whatever it is they came up with but knowing it typically never boded well for you.

At this, she laughs again, shaking her head with a grin. “No, it’s nothing bad. It’s just-” she breaks off, looking as though she couldn’t believe what she was about to say, and once you heard her words, you understood the look on her face completely. “We know how this is gonna go. You guys are eighteen year olds who like each other a lot, the situation only made more dire because there’s a strict end date. We figure you’re gonna want each other as your first time, right? So, just please be safe about it, okay?” She moves to make eye contact with you again, seemingly proud with how she articulated everything, meaning she’s completely surprised to see your jaw dropped.

“Wait, what?!” The volume of your voice jars even you, but you could not believe her words. “Are you telling me you and dad came to the decision that Chenle and I could have sex?! Me?” You question, pointing up at yourself as though your mom didn’t know who she was addressing. “Your daughter? Permission to have sex with Chenle?” At your crazed tone, your mom just lets out another small laugh and a shrug, morphing the atmosphere into something much more chill than you could imagine.

“I mean, you’re eighteen,” she replies nonchalantly, only getting you to gawk at her some more.

“I’m like- still a kid to you guys!” You shoot back, remembering how many times the idea of that played into their many rules for you - curfew during high school is 10:00 but hey, that first summer once you’ve graduated, go crazy, it seems!

Your mom tosses the concept of you being a kid around in her head before returning her gaze to you with a slight smirk teasing at her features. “Eh, I lost mine at, uh- well...younger than you, so eighteen’s honestly looking pretty good.”

“What?!” You exclaim again, this piece of lore about your mom baffling you more than anything else you’ve heard tonight.

You watch as she winces, reliving the truth of what she just said, but her eyebrows eventually raise as she turns to you with a cheeky grin to contrast her serious gaze. “Yeah, don’t tell your father about that one. I’m pretty sure he thinks I lost it at nineteen…” She drags off, and you let out your first laugh of the night.

“I can’t believe this,” you say, and your mom’s smile meets your own as she shakes her head and continues with her actual point.

“Look, some people see being eighteen and an ‘adult’ as a reason to never need their parents’ permission for anything ever again. So, I’m glad that you still want our approval for certain things but, here it is. Just be safe and we’re good,” she says casually, and you just drop your head with a laugh of disbelief.

“Okay-” you begin with a nod, but your words are cut off as your mom seems to light up with another thought.

“Oh! Just please do all that when we aren’t home. Your father and I do not need to-” She cuts herself off abruptly but continues to open and close her mouth as if searching for words to describe exactly what her and your dad don’t need to be around to hear, but you just nod your head with another laugh.

“Okay, okay, I got it. Don’t worry,” you conclude, finally motioning for her to let it go and actually bid you goodnight. With a laugh, she relents, walking out of your room and leaving you completely bewildered…and with news to tell Chenle when you see him tomorrow.

However, when you did see Chenle the next day, the conversation with your mom was the last thing on your mind because your little romantic surprised you with a date to the zoo, saying that you had to go right away before it gets too hot and all the animals hide in the shade of their habitats.

The first hour of the zoo experience was completely normal - snow cones that turned your hands into a sticky mess, which Chenle refused to let you wash off right away because he kept sticking your hands together and pulling them apart again with the biggest smile on his face; and then walking around the entire place actually holding hands, splitting your conversation between genuine facts about the animals and trying to see who could get the other to believe the craziest lie they could come up with at the time.

It was when you were at the prairie dog habitat that things took a turn. You and Chenle were reading the fact sheet when you heard the little girl next to you ask her mom what was happening with the animals. You whip your head back up to see the prairie dogs in a compromising position and immediately hit Chenle on the shoulder to get him to whip his head up as well. The two of you try your best to hold in laughter as the parents with younger children rushed to find another animal habitat to keep their child entertained with. That was when memories of last night came flooding back to you and you turn to face Chenle in an instant.

“Oh, hey! You know my parents said they’re chill with us having sex,” you say quietly enough so that just Chenle could pick up on your words. Expecting a reaction similar to yours when first hearing the news, you were stunned to see that when Chenle turned his head over towards you, his face was completely flat aside from his raised brows.

“So, what are ya thinking? You wanna drop down right here and do it?” He asks neutrally, beginning to eye the floor before scrunching his nose and looking around for a better spot.

“Chenle!” You gawk, and all it takes is one look at your exasperated face before he finally falls into a bout of laughter.

“I’m kidding, princess. God, who do you take me for?” He jokes with a disappointed shake of his head. Though, as you calm down with your own dramatic eye roll, he slips his hand into yours again, bringing them up to kiss the back of yours before dragging you off towards another habitat.

Hand-in-hand, the two of you walked around the rest of the zoo before heading out for a casual dinner. It wasn’t until Chenle was dropping you off at your front door that, in an effort to keep you in front of him a little longer, he remembered the topic he probably shouldn’t have just dismissed earlier in the day. “Oh, hey, before you go,” he starts, and you instantly remove your hand from the door knob to turn back around towards him. He makes serious eye contact with you as he continues. “About what you said at the zoo-”

You raise your brows with a grin but he shakes his head as soon as he spots your smile. “Not the part about all elephants being recognized as ordained ministers,” he clarifies, and you can’t help the small laugh as you remember your attempts at animal facts today. “But about us,” he continues seriously. “If I want anyone to be my first, it’s you, but I don’t wanna rush into it just because we’ve been told we can. I mean- I just got used to being able to kiss you and hold your hand-”

“And call me princess,” you add with a smirk, not letting him get away with the new pet name that easily. Chenle drops his head bashfully.

“Yeah, and call you princess…” he echos, falling more thoughtful with each word. “And I wanna be able to relish that a bit more before- well.” He shakes his head, getting frustrated at how poorly he was able to articulate everything on his mind. “I wanna be able to be there,” he finally says with resolve, looking back up to make eye contact with you again before continuing. “Be present…and if I still can’t fathom the fact that I get to kiss you right now, I don’t want to try and wrap my head around even more,” he finally concludes with something of an embarrassed laugh to try and lighten the atmosphere that only he thought needed lightening. You just smile sweetly back at him.

“I get it, lele. Hey, I wasn’t the one suggesting we drop to the floor and do it in front of the prairie dog habitat,” you remind him, causing him to face the ground again as he lets out an actual laugh at his own past actions. When you pick your words back up, it’s with sincerity. “If one of us isn’t ready, then nothing’s happening. I’m good to take it slow. We wanted to do this right, yeah?”

Chenle nods his head as he lets out a sigh of relief, as though he expected the two of you to not be on the same page for the first time in thirteen years. Though, when he looks back up at you, it’s with a firm smile. “Yeah.”

You shake your head at it all, your smile alone revealing how endearing you found him despite your best efforts to keep it hidden. You press up on your tip-toes and lightly kiss the top of his nose before moving down to catch his lips easily with yours. “Goodnight, Chenle,” you say once you finally pull back. Chenle’s face is as red as ever, and you knew he wasn’t kidding when he said he still can’t fathom the fact that he gets to kiss you.

“Goodnight, princess,” he replies in kind, getting your own face to flush as he turns to walk the few steps across the street to his house.

A few more dates and countless pickup basketball games later, and it was already the one month anniversary of the day Chenle paced around your front porch and begged you to forget about what’s happening in just two months now. Knowing Chenle, and how much he loved spending his parents’ money while he wasn’t under their rule, you were half expecting him to greet you today in a suit and take you out to the fanciest restaurant he could find. Instead, Chenle barged in through your front door that afternoon with something much less proper on his mind. “Y/n, it’s been a month,” he points out, and you turn your head to face him from where you sat on the couch.

“Yeah?” You acknowledged, waiting to see where he was going with this.

“I think we should have sex,” he states plainly, and you throw your head back with a laugh before you can even think about it.

“Just like that, huh?” You tease, looking over at him once again with a huge grin, not at all as serious about this proposal as he was.

He puts his hands out awkwardly, as if making sure you stayed put and would hear him out. “Look, I’ve been doing a lot of reading on the subject-” he begins, and you cut him off with another laugh of disbelief.

“Oh, I’m sure you have,” you joke, finally up on your feet and rounding the couch so you could stand face-to-face with him.

He shakes his head in the meantime, a look of annoyance on his face, all overwritten by a huge grin because it was you he was annoyed at. “Shut up,” he quipped with his own small laugh before continuing with as much seriousness as he could. “What I’m saying is, I think I could make it the best day of your life.”

Your eyebrows shoot up immediately, and it’s hard to keep the tease in your voice when the rest of your face betrays you with a huge smile. “Oh, yeah? Well, I’m sure with all your nerdy research, you’re practically a pro by now.” Chenle opens his mouth to bark out some confirmative response, or more likely beg you to stop with the teasing. Though, before he can do any of that, you just shake your head, grabbing his hand in yours and, with the knowledge that both of your parents were still at work for the next few hours, easily guiding him to your bedroom without a second thought. “Come on, big head.”

Chenle smiled brightly at the back of your head as he followed you up the stairs. “I’m so lucky,” he responds, the sarcasm not doing any good at covering up how much he genuinely meant that statement…if only Chenle knew how lucky he made you feel.

Ever since then, it became clear that sex with you was going to consistently stay at the forefront of Chenle’s mind. He was absolutely obsessed with the opportunity to know you more than he already did after the first thirteen years of memorizing you as his best friend. Each curve of your body was something sacred for him, and he took every chance he could get to indulge in it some more. Two weeks after your first time, Chenle met you at your front door with the same gleam in his eyes as ever.

“Hey, baby,” you say, leaning in to quickly kiss him before moving back so he could actually step inside your house. “What do you wanna do today?”

“Sex!” He immediately answers, his tone as though he were a kid asking for candy. You drop your head with a small laugh.

“Not today, lele,” you reply, and Chenle’s brows shoot up in question, though the playfulness is still coating his every move.

“Was my approach wrong? Let’s go from the top, I’ll make my words more sophisticated,” he jokes with a smirk.

You finally give a solemn shake of your head. “No, Chenle.”

His demeanor immediately shifts as he falls into concern. “Okay, what’s wrong?” He asks, placing his hand softly on your cheek so he can guide your eyes back to his own. You meet his worried eyes and immediately dart your gaze away again, laughing softly in embarrassment.

“Nothing. I just started my period today,” you explain, and Chenle immediately lets out a sigh of relief as you watch understanding wash over his figure. You pick up at the end of his sigh and continue with your answer. “My cramps are always the worst on day one.”

Once sure you weren’t breaking up with him nor banning him from ever fucking you again, he easily slips back into his usual manner with you; in this case, instantly getting on your ass. “Why didn’t you tell me?! I would’ve brought over your favorite snacks and your microwavable stuffed animal you always keep at my place and-”

You cut him off, shaking your head with a small smile. “I don’t need all that, though. I just wanna be with you.”

Chenle renders completely still for a moment. For a man who seemed to struggle with words, yours always ended up hitting him right on. He moves to instead wrap you in a tight hug, a contrasting gentle kiss placed on the top of your head as he just held you there for a moment. He finally moves to instead kiss your cheek and pull back a bit. “Movie night, then?” He suggests lightly.

You flash a soft grin in his direction, eyebrows raising as you stare back at him. “Will you hold me the whole time?” You ask seriously in return. Chenle rolls his lips inwards to hide his smile, though he can’t hide the light dusting of pink now covering his cheeks and tips of his ears.

“Is that even a question?” His banter back is ruined by the sheer softness of it. Your grin widens as you grab his hand and lead him towards the couch in the living room. You lean into him easily and he doesn’t think twice before pulling you even closer, holding you even tighter, as your favorite movie begins playing in front of you. “We’re watching the Steph Curry documentary after this, just so you know,” Chenle suddenly speaks up, a faint laugh in his tone - a strange vocalic considering he was completely serious, but you realize it’s his attempt to be softer with you right now, figuring you had it bad enough with your cramps that you didn’t need his bluntness on top of it.

“I’m pretty sure we can both quote the entire documentary by now,” you banter back with a disinterested groan. Chenle looks over at you by his side with a playful gleam in his eyes.

“Exactly! Which means we have to watch it one more time to really make sure.”

You roll your eyes at him but relent without another word; you still had an hour and a half of the first movie anyways.

It was a little over two hours later when your parents got home from work to find the two of you seemingly in conversation, only to realize the movie in front of you had no sound and it was just you and Chenle switching back and forth quoting each line - neither of you cutting the other a break should there be a moment of hesitation…so half of the script was recounted in between laughs and over the other’s teasing. Needless to say, once the Curry documentary started, there had been significantly less cuddles than before, but your cramps, however painful they may have been, were the last thing on your mind. It was only when you sat down for dinner that reality came flooding back over you, suddenly making it hard to sit down again. Trying not to focus on the pain, you instead thought about how pain-free the past few hours have been. You hated that Chenle knew what would work so well…you hated that he wouldn’t always be here to make it work again.

After dinner, your parents made their way out back to enjoy the firepit and calm night. You and Chenle found yourselves back on the couch, this time old cartoons you used to watch during childhood taking up space on the TV rather than movies. You cuddled into him easily, and he did his best to love on you enough to make the pain go away again.

When your parents finally came back inside, the TV was still running but you and Chenle were asleep against each other, his arms wrapped around you protectively as the two of you shifted so that you were laying down on top of his figure rather than just leaning against his shoulder. Your parents just let out light sighs, sad smiles covering their faces as your dad turned off the TV and your mom laid a blanket over the two of you before texting Chenle’s aunt and letting her know that Chenle wouldn’t be making his way back across the street tonight. They weren’t sure if they were feeding the beast by letting the two of you spend the night together, but it was too hard on their hearts to impose a future reality when you guys were so at home living in the present.

The morning sun eventually made its way through the windows to disrupt the darkness of your unconscious state. Still refusing to open your eyes, you just turn your head so that you're facing away from the window. Though, that’s when a hand lightly trails through your hair to move it away from your face, and you realize you’re still against Chenle’s chest. At once, you blink awake, and when you move your gaze to look at Chenle, you can hear the snap of silence as his breath gets caught in his throat. He shakes out of it with a smile, once again running his fingers through your hair as he begins to speak softly. “God, I wanna wake up next to you for the rest of my life.”

Your face goes fire red and you immediately rush to bury it back in his chest. “Shut up,” you chide. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because I need you to know that,” he responds in sincerity, kissing the top of your head since your face was still hidden. “I’ll always want it to be you.” His soft confession served to be one of the most reassuring and sweetest things you’ve ever heard, and you knew he meant it wholeheartedly. However, while warmth took over 98% of your body, there was the other 2% overcome with a certain uneasiness. With Chenle claiming that he would always want it to be you he wakes up next to, it was the first time you felt a sense of pity for the girl on the other end of this arranged marriage with Chenle, because while you could never be her, she would never be you.

You push the thought to the back of your mind, sure anyone around you would call you crazy for feeling pity for his future wife. Instead, you pick your head back up and press a light kiss to his lips, and just like that, 75% of the rest of summer nights and early mornings saw you and Chenle asleep against each other.

All too soon, Chenle was accompanying your family as you moved into your college dorm. There was a week left before the first day of classes, and in between now and then, Chenle would have his fateful flight back to Shanghai. You had spent the past few nights crying yourself to sleep - well, if it wasn’t a night you and Chenle were spending together. All you wanted to do was be strong for him, your mind a constant loop of how sorry he looked as he asked to be selfish for the summer and indulge in his feelings. The last thing you wanted was for him to actually feel bad about it, to know how painful it truly was for you, when you knew he was going through the same thing himself. You didn’t need to add to the heavy weight on his shoulders imposed by almost every other figure in his life. So, you kept your tears to yourself. It wasn’t that hard anyways, being in Chenle’s presence meant a constant smile was on your face without ever having to think about it.

Once all your things were put away and you could pass as ‘moved in,’ you stood opposite your parents in the doorway to your dorm as Chenle used the bathroom. With a few words and quite a bit more unspoken ones, your parents made themselves conscious of the time on their watch and then bid you goodbye for a bit.

When Chenle came back out from the bathroom, he looked around for your parents, but his shoulders instantly fell once he failed to lay eyes on them. Instead, he turned to you in complete seriousness, pointing a thumb out to the side towards where your bed was as he looked at you with raised brows. “Can I be the first to fuck you on your dorm bed?” He asks plainly, and despite yourself, a loud laugh erupts from your chest.

“Chenle!” You chide, and the familiar big grin makes its way back across his lips.

“What? Isn’t that a thing?” He laughs off in question as though nothing were amiss. He quickly shakes his head, regaining his serious composure as he begins in his attempts at convincing you. “Regardless, I won’t get to experience it for myself so you should take pity on me. And I want this bed to be able to know me before any other college boy toy,” he states plainly, making you drop your head to hide the smile conjured up by his words.

“So glad you think that after you go back to China, I’ll resort to boy toys,” you shoot back monotonously. Chenle finally fumbles as he rushes to steer your mindset in a different direction.

“Okay, it came out wrong. That’s not what I meant,” he assures, but you stare back at him with raised, uninterested brows.

“Yes it was,” you reply immediately, but with the smallest peek of a smile from you, Chenle loses his tension again, ducking his head into his shoulders with a dumb laugh.

“I know.”

You shake your head at him to accompany the eye roll. “I hate you,” you say through a laugh, much to your dismay because you could not sell the bit to save your life. Chenle knew it, too, as he pops back up to look in your eyes with nothing but a tease behind his own.

“So, that’s a no to fucking on your dorm bed?” He questions, making it seem as though that were your least desired possibility rather than his own. His mind games didn’t need to work, though, as you shake your head with a fond smile this time, taking a step towards him to kiss his lips softly.

“I already told my parents to explore the campus,” you admit, and Chenle’s kissed lips turn into a childish grin that he had to calm down from before he could even think about kissing you again.

“Hmm…I think I like my bed better,” Chenle finally says, tossing your shirt back over to you as you both now sit up in your bed. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at his words.

“Well, I would hope so,” you tease. “Yours is a King as opposed to this Twin.”

Chenle shakes his head, dismissing your banter as he responds with more contemplation than the situation called for. “No, I mean, the bigger bed is nice but I don’t think that’s it. I think this one is just a little too squeaky,” he concludes with resolve. All you can do is laugh, leaning over to place a fond kiss on his cheek.

“You had high standards for plastic-covered springs,” you joke as you pull back. Chenle looks over at you with raised brows.

“I have high standards in general. That’s why I like you,” he responds, and instead of letting yourself get embarrassed by how flustered that statement was about to make you, you nudge him in the side with a roll of your eyes.

“Whatever. We both know I was too low maintenance for you to originally fathom,” you reply, and Chenle finally lets a huge smile break across his face.

“We were kids in a suburb and I came from money…there was a lot I couldn’t fathom,” he recounts seriously. You move your head to look over at him by your side, a soft smile on your lips as the playfulness behind your eyes begins fading to match it.

“I’m glad you finally came around,” you start with sincerity. “The suburb will be sad to see you go.”

Chenle lets out a heavy breath at your words, the weight of reality seeming to hit you both at the same time. He finally nods his head a little, not in agreement but something like contemplation. “Speaking of, I guess we should get back to it. Now that we moved you in, we have to move me out.” The words are bitter on his tongue. The two of you did an immensely good job at sticking to the present throughout this past summer, but now that the present involved the first steps of the dreaded future, it was hard to stay lighthearted. You did your best, though, responding with a faint laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure my parents have just about exhausted every way they can keep themselves busy anyways,” you point out playfully, and Chenle finally seems to remember he’s still sitting shirtless in your bed. He looks over at you, realizing he’s the only one to have fallen behind on getting dressed again, and with a matching laugh, he begins to remedy that.

“I can’t believe how chill your parents are,” he replies with a bit of awe as he pulls his t-shirt over his body.

You shake your head at him, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. “They’re not, they just like you.” Your reply is more serious again and Chenle swings his gaze your way with raised brows. You pull up your own to match, and a small smile plays on your lips as you continue. “If it was anyone else, they would’ve had me by the throat.”

Chenle takes in your cautious figure and furrows his brows, not at all seeing the consequences in the same light you were. “You like that, though,” he replies, nudging you in the side and getting the both of you to laugh. You shake your head, dropping it to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment.

“Sometimes, I wish you had a filter,” you banter back, but when you uncover your face again to look over at Chenle, his demeanor had completely shifted, as though your laugh had reminded him that he didn’t know how many more times he would be able to hear it.

“I’m sorry for having to leave,” he says miserably. “Your family has been so nice to me, all throughout childhood and now trusting me with you…” He drags off, his gaze moving across the bed beneath him and over to you, hair messy and lips slightly swollen from his kisses. He shakes his head. “Like this, and I’m just up and leaving.” You can tell he’s getting pissed at himself with every new word, but he doesn’t give you time to jump in right away. “I put you in a position where I knew you’d get hurt. I feel like an asshole.”

Gently, you bring both of your hands to cover over his own against his lap, and he turns his gaze your way at the contact, allowing you to see him physically break from his reverie and instead soften in your presence. “Chenle, you aren’t an asshole,” you reassure. “I knew what I was signing up for at the beginning of summer, and I told my parents exactly how this was going to go, too. No one blames you for having familial obligations. Not me and not my parents. They aren’t mad that you’re the reason my heart is gonna break in a few days, they’re just really really grateful you’ve been the reason behind the happiest three months of my life.” Your words carry enough weight, it was obvious that that’s truly how you viewed the situation. If possible, Chenle felt worse. He was the bad guy here, and you were reframing it for his benefit. He never felt like he deserved you, and had no clue how you managed to think otherwise for the past three months.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. You whip your head towards his face once you hear his shattered tone, and your lips part in disbelief. You always figured Chenle would be the strong one, but today’s proved to you that’s not the case.

“Hey,” you start, rubbing a thumb beneath his eyes before his tears could fully roll down his cheeks, an accompanying fond laugh to cover over your own heartache. “Don’t get all sad on me now, we still have four days until you leave.”

Chenle gives a weak smile, catching your hand with his own and bringing it from his eyes down to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to the back of your hand before shifting grips and giving it a tight squeeze. “Let’s go find your parents.” His voice cracks again as he speaks, and he’s finally able to let out an embarrassed laugh in response. You just nod your head, leaning over to grab your phone and find a well-timed text informing you they were waiting at a café on University Boulevard. So, with a onceover in the mirror to make sure the general public wouldn’t be able to tell you and Chenle just fucked, you led him out the door.

Once you got back home, you and Chenle hardly ever left each other’s sides…even less than normal. There was a shift ever since you moved most of your things to university, and everything started to feel a little more real as opposed to the way the rest of this summer felt like an escape from that reality. You both were running out of time, and you couldn’t do anything but be conscious of the fact. It affected Chenle the most, and you could tell from his first touch once the two of you got back.

Up to now, sex with Chenle was a full-on activity. It was rough, hot, and passionate to say the least - he would fuck you. However, the last four days, the air had completely changed. Now all his movements were softer, slower. He was trying to memorize you.

His eyes would become distant sometimes, and only he knew that it meant he was replaying the first day he met you - five-year-old him staring judgementally on the sidewalk out front of his aunt’s house as he watched you play with the water hose, getting messy for no reason and having the audacity to laugh with joy because of it. When you met his gaze, you motioned for him to come join you, to which he adamantly shook his head and decided he was never making friends with the kids on the block. However, as he turned around to go back inside, figuring some basketball could wait until all the messy kids were gone, cold water hit his back in a sensation that had him whipping around again. His first thought was to start spouting Chinese words that he heard his parents say sometimes after they got off business calls with ‘imbeciles of clients,’ but instead as he laid eyes on you, just a few feet away now, with a water gun in your hands and the brightest of joys in your eyes, he forgot all his words. All he knew was that he wanted to be friends with the kids on the block. Though, not even that, he just wanted to be friends with you. He swore in that moment you outshone the sun, and he wanted in on your warmth.

If Chenle knew then what he did at fourteen, he’s not sure he would’ve ever allowed himself to get close to you. However, if he knew then what he did now at eighteen, closer to you than he’s ever been, he’s positive he’d go through this heartbreak a thousand times if it meant he got to love you even once, and he wouldn’t have waited so damn long to love you in the first place.

The last day - the last time, the distant look in Chenle’s eyes wasn’t there at all. Instead, it was filled with non-stop whispered words of how much you meant to him, how much he adored you; his voice occasionally catching in his throat when he got too sentimental, and you’d be reminded of how hard it was for him to articulate his thoughts at all; so all you could think to do was pull him down for a kiss and swallow his words instead.

Then you blinked and it was already the day of Chenle’s departure. Your parents had been outside most of the morning helping Chenle and his aunt load the car up with his things. You took no part in it. Instead, you sat in your room, hugging your knees and staring blankly. The only tell that you weren’t frozen was the fact that you were chewing on your bottom lip, truthfully destroying it, but it was the only thing you could think to do to ground yourself at the time.

With a light knock on the door, your mom enters your bedroom and you move your head up to meet her gaze. “Chenle’s sitting outside. We got him all packed up and everything.”

You swallow harshly and your eyes immediately find your knees again. “I know,” you reply shortly, your voice hardly above a whisper.

A sad smile crossed your mom’s face, but when she saw you making no effort to move in response to her words, she let out a sigh. “Sitting in your room doesn’t stop time.” Her words come out flat, like a lecture, and you knew she was trying to juggle how to be both, a ray of comfort and an authority figure. “You still have to say goodbye.”

You shake your head to dismiss the bit of worry held in her tone as she gave you orders. She didn’t have to walk on eggshells around you, it was that you were the one mentally walking on eggshells around your heart. “I’m just trying to keep my emotions from running high,” you say monotonously, finally looking up at her. You watch her eyes widen as she notices the glaze of tears over your own, and shake your head again in frustration before dropping it back down to your lap. “The last thing he needs is to have to leave while I’m in tears. He’ll never want to go.”

Your mom rolls her lips inward, and suddenly she understands why you’ve taken solace in tearing up your own bottom lip before she walked in. Though, with a sigh, she speaks again with her best attempt at unbiased advice. “He already doesn’t want to go - but the fact of the matter is that when you look back on this moment days, months, years later, you’ll want to have said ‘goodbye.’” You shake your head immediately, she was wrong.

“No. I don’t ever want to say ‘goodbye’ to Chenle,” you claim with more force than you thought yourself capable of in such a fragile moment. You glance up to watch the outsider persona she tried to create instead fall away, and she just went back to being your mom.

She fumbled with her thoughts for a few moments, mouth opening and closing again as she shook away everything she didn’t want to say. Finally, she presses her lips to form a thin line, and then is immediately turning around to walk back out of your door. “You can wish him luck, then, but you need to go see him.” As her words come out, straightforward and not open for debate, you realize why she started walking away as she delivered them, because she wouldn’t have been able to face you and give such orders. Her words were still not what you needed to hear, and you both knew that, but she had to exert some authority and get you to at least do what seemed best in the long run; you figure that’s why it was hard for you to take in…you and Chenle didn’t have a long run. The concept of it hurt enough to pull you up from bed and out the front door.

Without a word, you sit down next to Chenle on the sidewalk, making a chair out of the step in the pathway leading up to his aunt’s house. He moves his head to look over at you, registering that you were next to him. With a breath, you turn to face him as well, a smile on your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes, though the tears once occupying them were successfully blinked back.

He ignores your smile of reassurance, instead just looking over you once and nodding his head minimally before facing the front again and leaning his head on your shoulder. That’s how the two of you stayed for a good five minutes. No words exchanged, just your light breaths and his heavy exhales as you run through every thought in your mind. You weren’t sure which ones to say, which ones would make things worse, or if any of them would make things better.

“Oh!” You startle as the first practical, rather than emotional, thought crosses your mind. “I still have your hoodie, oh my god let me go get-” Your move to get up and run back into your house is ruined by Chenle’s calm words.

“Keep it,” he says immediately, and you whip your head towards him in shock.

“What? Chenle, if I keep it, it’s almost guaranteed you’re never getting it back. We won’t have contact after this.” That was always the deal, he was getting a new phone and his parents were taking any trace of you out of it, blocking your number, the whole nine yards. However, admitting that you weren’t going to have contact after this present moment was incredibly bitter on your tongue. The words make Chenle tense up, too, but he just as quickly continues with a head nod.

“I know. So, keep it. It can be your hoodie, just please don’t forget that it’s mine.” He stops talking once he notices the sorrow in his tone, and you watch as he swallows it back before speaking again, this time with a touch of playfulness. “And even after you stop wearing it, you can give it to your first-born, Chenle, and then it’s Chenle’s hoodie again.” He concludes as though the entire thing made perfect sense, and you didn’t know how to feel with the fact that his banter made this conversation seem so normal. On the one hand, you were grateful when the familiarity fought off any last question of tears, but on the other hand, you hated knowing this was the last time you would get to have a normal conversation with him.

You settle with rolling your eyes rather than figuring out how to feel. “I’m not naming my first-born ‘Chenle,’” you reply, looking at him with raised eyebrows. You watch as a small smile overtakes his face, but it quickly settles into a grimace and then it’s gone.

“It was worth a shot.” He pauses for a beat before turning to face you, his new tone coming off as desperate, helpless. “Don’t ever forget me, okay?”

You shake your head rapidly as you reassure him. “I couldn’t.”

The two of you stare at each other again in silence for a moment. The time to say goodbye was upon you, which is why the conversation died, which is why you remember what your mom had said in your room, and thus you start with your wishes of luck. “You’re gonna do great, you know? Learning how to run a company and everything. No one’s more capable than you. I’m already incredibly proud of you, not because you’re gonna be a crazy successful business man, but because you’re you. So, when you set foot in your dad’s company, don’t lose that, okay? Everything that makes you Chenle. I’d be sad to see that go just for some bottom line.”

Chenle’s shoulders sink as he turns to face the pavement. “I’ll do my best for you,” he assures with a nod. You want to fill the silence again but hardly have a clue what to say. However, that’s when you see Chenle’s lips twitching and you know he’s in the midst of trying to articulate more of his own thoughts. When he does speak up again, his voice is surprisingly steady. “You know, I’ve been thinking lately. That’s all I could ever seem to do these past few weeks. You know I always struggled finding the right words to say, to let you know how much you mean to me. But lately I’ve found my words. And it’s stupid because it’s so easy,” he says with a scoff, and a wave of uneasiness washes over you as you see the smile he’s able to conjure up. “I’ve been saying it over and over again in my head and it’s so natural. I could’ve been telling you this entire time.”

That’s when clarity hits you and you jump to stop him from saying his next words - you couldn’t handle them. “Chenle, don’t-” You speak up in a rush, but he does, too.

“I love you,” he says firmly, finally bringing his head back up to look at you. His eyes are wide in sincerity, making sure you could see every emotion behind them, how much he meant it. “I love you, y/n l/n. I really do.”

Every last bit of strength you had vanished in milliseconds, and instead you bawled your eyes out sitting on that pavement. “You stupid kid,” you cry out, ramming your head into his shoulder. Underneath you, Chenle froze, and you realize he has no clue if you’re sad or genuinely mad at him. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” you add weakly, a hand coming up to clutch at his shirt. Chenle immediately softens, placing both of his arms around you as best he can. All this time, you had been mentally preparing to comfort him, to be so incredibly strong for him so that he could take his next steps and not feel incredibly guilty for doing so…but now he was the one comforting you as you sobbed in his arms. Chenle could figure out how to articulate his feelings but you couldn’t even get this right - he was stronger than you.

No more words were exchanged between the two of you. He held you in his arms as you tried to rid yourself of tears, but you couldn’t even accomplish that before his aunt gave the first gentle warning that they had to get on the road. Chenle felt you freeze in his arms, and he hated knowing that, regardless of how you wanted to frame it, he was the reason you were crying and torn up like this. If it was up to him, he would’ve never left you; but it wasn’t up to him, so all he could do was leave you with something - his hoodie, and the softest of kisses on the top of your head, getting you to finally pick your head up again so he could place more kisses across the span of your face, slowly but surely kissing your tears away until he made his way down to your lips…and there he finally faltered, letting out a heavy breath against your skin. A last kiss sounded horrible, did he even want one so clearly defined, or was it better for your last kiss to have been yesterday, being able to remember it as basked in love rather than tears. His inner debate was more like a war as his eyes roamed over every inch of your face - what to do? What’s best? Tears were still running down your face but he can't shake how beautiful you look right now…he loves you. How does he kiss you goodbye? How could he ever say goodbye? Does he not do anything at all? He loves you. Is a final goodbye best left unspoken? Unkissed?

His state of drowning in his thoughts gets cut off as you make the decision for him, leaning in to kiss him softly, and instead he’s drowning in you…and your last kiss. It was delicate and innocent, with the audience you had, it probably would have been weird for it to be any other way. Regardless, he still chases your lips after you pull back - that couldn’t have been it; but then the car starts and his eyes shoot open as they dart over to where his aunt was getting situated in the driver’s seat. Chenle whipped back around to face you and looked terrified, but the roar of the engine was a constant reminder of where he needed to be - he couldn’t put it off any longer. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out, instead it was just quick, heavy breaths and a scared shake of his head. None of that meant that he wasn’t in the act of standing up from the pavement, making his way to the car…leaving you.

Every step you watched him take as he left was another drop of poison in your bloodstream, a poison you should’ve built up tolerance for already given how many small doses it seemed like you were taking throughout the last three months. Though, you must be kidding yourself - goodnight kisses under the porch light before watching him walk the few steps to the other side of the road were nothing even close to poison; an antidote, maybe, to last you throughout the night and fight off the poison of when you were apart, but there were no more goodnight kisses to keep you going now. It was a different sting, your muscles tightened, you couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Though, you refused to watch him go, leaving it up to your tears to blur the sight of it. The scene in front of you was nothing other than a tragedy, an ending no one was satisfied with, not because it could’ve ended differently, but because it was always going to end this way. There was no crazy plot twist or invocation of Deus Ex Machina to change the narrative. No, just the same, sad, memorized ending of a story you forgot was your own. You played yourselves for fools, believing you could outrun a truth that only ever gained on you with each stride - that, together, the only thing the two of you needed was what you would never be able to have…more time.

#Chenle #Zhong Chenle #NCT Dream #Chenle fic #Chenle x reader #NCT Dream x reader #nct x reader #Chenle fanfic #NCT #NCT Dream fic #Chenle fluff #NCT Dream fluff #Chenle angst #nct dream imagines #nct imagines

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makixroll · 1 month ago

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SNEAK OUT DATES — jo ۫ ꣑ৎ

pairing . . . jo asakura x fem!reader

contents . . . richkid!jo , fluff , comfort , established relationship .

message . . . tysm to the anon who requested this!!! Ive always wanted to write for jo but couldn't think of smth that'll suit him ;-; hope you'll like this! 💖

With just a short message of "im here" from your boyfriend, you immediately bolted from your room, not even bothering to close it as you sprinted downstairs, unlocking the front door and went outside, spotting a tall figure of a man you were most definitely familiar of.

"Jo!" You whisper-shouted, being mindful of the neighbors who were sleeping at this late hour. Your boyfriend glanced at you, a huge smile now etched on his face.

"Hi, lovely." Jo whispered, greeting you as he ready himself from the embrace you were about to give him. He watched you run towards him, arms spread wide as he catched you. Jo's hands went in contact with your waist, lifting you up a bit as he spun you around, a soft giggle leaving both of your lips.

"Wanna go to my room?" You softly mumbled, asking him as you glanced up at him due to his height, your arms were wrapped around his neck like a koala as his hands never left the sides of your waist.

Jo shook his head, "not tonight." he mumbled, before leading you towards his motorbike that he rides in every late at night just to see you. Jo then lifted you up and made you sit on his vehicle.

"You sure I'm not gonna fall from this?" You asked, giving him a teasing smile.

"Mhm, as long as I'm here." Jo said in the most softest voice he could muster, giving you a soft glance as he caressed your cheek, which you nuzzled in.

"I missed you." He whispered, so quietly it almost went past your ears. A soft smile plastered on your face as you held his hand that was placed on your cheek, closing your eyes to enjoy the warmth of his palm.

"We just saw each other earlier." You replied in a whisper.

"Wasn't enough.." he whispered back, going closer to you as he rest his forehead on yours, closing his eyes in the process.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Jo asked so softly yet pleading it almost broke your heart, placing soft kisses on your forehead, and then your cheeks.

"You'll get in trouble, y'know?" You told him, talking about his strict parents that wouldn't let him do as he pleases.

"I won't, and I don't care." He replied, now staring at you with love circulating in his eyes. You let out a small sigh, putting your hand on his cheeks that were tinted pink due to the cold weather.

"One of these days, you'll definitely get caught by your parents." You commented.

You've been with Jo for five months already, and for four months, he has been sneaking around just to be with you late at night. Jo's parents were strict, he couldn't even breathe properly whenever he's at their house, it always felt like he's living a life that wasn't his.

Jo's parents were rich, like crazy rich. While yours were just average, just right. Enough to eat full meals everyday, just enough to buy things you wanted every now and then. But that wasn't enough, not for Jo's parents, at least.

Your boyfriend didn't care about your status, all he cared about was you, your feelings towards him, and how you made Jo feel like he could be himself whenever he's with you. He could breathe properly without thinking of his parents strictness. Jo thinks of you as his prized possession, his comfort in this cruel world. You were like an escape from his reality. Jo knew his parents wouldn't approve of you, but he didn't care about what they think. He loves you, and that's all that matters. Your love for each other is what keeps him going.

You two met at a prestigious high school during your senior year. You were a scholar, which meant you excelled in school and didn't pay even a single dime except for extracurricular activities such as fieldtrips and other events. While Jo, went there because of his parents who wanted him to have connections from different rich families.

He met you, inside a classroom you two shared. You were a breathe of fresh air. You didn't wear any stacked expensive accessories that other rich girls wore, only a simple gold bracelet that your mother bought you for your birthday. Then, Jo found himself entangled with you. Which led things now, him sneaking around from his parents just to see you, just to spend more time with you.

"I bought snacks, will you let me now?" Jo said in a hushed tone, bribing you as he gestured for the plastic bag that was on his bike. Your eyes sparkled, he knew your love for snacks, especially sweet ones.

"Hmm... throw in a cuddle and ten kisses and you got yourself a deal." You said, teasingly that made him let out a chuckle. Jo nodded his head, staring at you lovingly.

"Deal." Jo leaned in and captured your lips in a soft kiss, his kiss was slow and soft, filled with love, just like him.

"There, nine more to go." He mumbled, wearing a cute smile that makes you want to smother him.

"Is it too late to add an additional ten kisses to the deal?"

"It's never too late."

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whowrotethenote · 2 months ago

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𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞

A/N // Short story set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place five months after One of Your Girls.

I wrote the beginning and end at the same time and got a little lazy trying to connect the two. So, if it seems rushed towards the middle, that's why. The inspo for the short came from this anon. I didn't include the moments leading up to the actual appointment just because it will be mentioned and discussed in the next part, Desires. I hope you like it anon💗

Warnings // Angst // Adultery // Profanity // Themes surrounding pregnancy & abortion

Word count // 6k

Disclaimer // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist // Navigation

Tuesday, January 2, 2024

“Never have I ever…kissed a girl,” I announce.

Seven fingers up, standing strong in the lead, I read the room. Demi’s finger goes down, leaving her at four left. And then the unthinkable happens. Anthony puts a finger down taking a sip out of his Naughty Elf mug.

“Excuse me?!” Demi shrieks with her head cocking back.

He removes the mug from his mouth, revealing a smirk. “That’s right.”

“Now, you know we need a story time.”

“No story time.” He shrugs. “It used to happen all the time. How do y’all think I discovered I was gay? I had to experiment first.”

“Wait—so you’ve like dated girls?” I dip my head like it’s some grand secret.

“Yup. Kissed ‘em. Had sex with ‘em—” His uncovering of truths is cut short by us gasping in unison. He cracks up. “Don’t get me wrong—pussy is great. It’s just something about men I can’t shake. They’re terrible people but I can’t shake those bastards. What about you, missy?”

“Senior year in high school. Captain of the girl’s basketball team. Think Kehlani but a little thicker,” Demi explains.

“Mmm.” Anthony and I both hum in agreement.

“Understandable. And don’t forget that shot, miss thing,” he reminds her.

She throws one back before shooting her four fingers back up. On the floor of our newly rented Manhattan condo, we were getting lit off left over Coquito I brought from home—the crumbs of Christmas dinner—with our second round of Never Have I Ever.

The best ice breaker to ease Anthony into our world—who, if I’m being honest, needs no easing whatsoever. He fits right into us. The missing piece to our puzzle. So much so, I offered to let him move in when he shared that his lease was almost up. It was a no brainer. Within the last two months of his hire at the hospital, we became ridiculously close. Anthony is fun, wild, and he doesn’t give a fuck about what anybody thinks. Anyone who embodies those three characteristics is okay with me and mine.

There’s too much extra space in here. Every which way I turn, there’s an extra room that needs to be furnished and filled with personality. Demi and I are barely home as is. So, we let him take the lead on decorating the rest of the condo. All I can say is, that boy has taste. He made this place look like it belongs in a Home & Gardens spread.

In the living area that he garnished with cream and black accents—we all sit comfortably in front of the floor to ceiling window. The news talked of the snow sticking and to expect at least six inches by tomorrow morning. Flurries of white hauled down on the other side of the window, blanketing the city, prompting us to take full advantage of the fireplace for the first time.

“Okay, my turn! Never have I ever…” Demi’s eyes float up until the light bulb goes off. “Got my ass ate.” At the same time they put a finger down and reach for their drinks. Seven fingers still up, I wait for them to be done before Anthony’s eyes go wide.

“Wait—why are you still over there with seven fingers up?”

“Never happened,” I confess.

“Never?” His head dips.

“Never,” I confirm.

“Well, what about that Alpha from last summer?” Demi squints. “What was his name? Travis? Trey?”

“Terrell.”

“Yeah! Him. He gives me that.”

I shake my head. “Never did it to me. We didn’t do anything really.”

“And nothing from whoever you’re seeing now?”

I grin when all I really want to do is scream. “Who said I’m seeing somebody now?”

“Oh, come on.” He searches for Demi who gives him nothing. Picking up one of those cheap Christmas themed sugar cookies we baked earlier and plopping it into her mouth. “I see you getting texts and disappearing,” he continues. “Gifts and whatnot. You were gone a whole weekend a few weeks back.” His squints with the lower half of his face twisting in amusement. The wider his smirk, the deeper that pit in my stomach.

“It’s nobody, really.” I laugh, countering the heat capturing my face. Did I forget to mention that he’s very observant?

He shows his hands. “Fine. I’ll get out your business. Whoever he is, that boy’s got taste. That Chanel bag for Christmas?” He puckers his lips while shaking his head side to side.

“Ouu! We should make gingerbread houses. Let’s see what we got.” Demi shoots up from the floor. Our eyes snagging before she fully rises as I try to convey a thank you through my eyes. An angel, she is.

“Only thing in that fridge is eggnog and to-go plates. Good luck.” Anthony shouts while going through his phone.

Anthony is sharp and we’ve only just met some months ago. I don’t like this. Keeping secrets and hiding an entire portion of my life from the people that mean something to me. Not saying anything is too close to lying outright and that’s not who I am. That’s not who I want to see when I look in the mirror. Too many things surrounding him are not just unconventional, but immoral. Never mind that it's a secret hidden from the world, but what does his wife think when he takes extra days away and doesn’t rush home to her and their kids?

I try not to think about her too much. A stabbing—no burning courses through me whenever I imagine him with her and their flock of children. I picture a home full of love and comfort. Nothing like the one mine turned into after my dad got sick. I can see them cuddling on the couch. One of their youngest sprawled across their laps with the iPad. The oldest yapping on the phone in the kitchen to her friends.

She’s pristine and so well put together. She looks it. Always dressed nice in designer. That rock of a ring beaming in every photo. Only the strongest and most resilient woman could raise five kids while her husband came and went unexpectedly like a full moon. She’s nothing like me. I know it. I’m Lana—always late and tripping through life. Never knowing or even prepared for what comes next.

“You okay, friend?”

My eyes flutter and I snap out of the maladaptive dream at the sound of Anthony’s voice.

“Yeah,” I lie to him again. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

“Mm,” I groan flipping the duvet over my head.

The sun bullying me awake. My head—a constant pounding at my frontal lobe. My reward for another round of Never Have I Ever, Caresha Please and Drunk Uno. Since the week of Christmas, all I've done is fill my body with alcohol and it's starting to take a toll on me.

The laughs and muffled chatter that must be my roommates, travel through my room walls. I snatch the cover back down, one eye peaking at the digital clock on the nightstand.

3:12 PM

The fuck?

I know we wrapped it up pretty late last night, but I haven’t slept in like this since being a teenager. A blessing and a curse—my body’s natural alarm clock from years of morning shifts and morning classes, would usually wake me up against my own will.

The smell of sweet syrup and hopefully pancakes is what boosts me to swing my legs on the edge of the bed and finally stretch. Limbs sore and head still pounding, my slippers scrape against the floor in pursuit to the kitchen.

“Sleeping beauty!” Anthony beams. I eye their empty plates and a kitchen so clean it looks untouched.

“Don’t worry. Your food is in the microwave,” Demi informs.

“Why did y’all let me sleep so long?” I rub my eyes opening the microwave to be met with a full plate as promised. I slam it back shut and the buzz fills the room after I press the one.

“Girl, you’re on break and you have no work. What’s wrong with sleeping in?”

“Don’t want my body to get used to it.”

The plate is full and steaming as I carry it to the open stool next to Demi at the white marble top island. I’m halfway engaging in conversation, with Gossip Girl playing on the TV in the family room over. The metal of the fork hitting my plate as I scoop potatoes while biting into the beef bacon in rotation. Everything’s fine. It’s not until I take my first bite of the scrambled eggs that shit gets…funny. The smooth texture against my tongue at first and then the mini spasm of my throat as I attempt to get it down. My stomach turns once the smell of the eggs becomes too potent while it’s all I can focus on. The biggest thing in the room it becomes. I chew and chew—breath growing heavier and spit getting warmer with every rotation of my jaw.

The clink of the fork hitting the plate rings dramatically, halting Demi and Anthony’s conversation. It’s all a blur. One second I’m sitting there with them and the next I’m inches away from a toilet bowl. Gasping for air after letting out everything from last night and just a few second ago. The smell—sour and overwhelming, has my back hunching as another round ejects from me.

“Lana, oh my god.” Demi’s soft voice is over me as her small hand finds my hair. My chest expands rapidly as I cough and spit what’s left into the rest of it. Slamming the toilet, not being able to bear the smell a second longer. I blink hard to allow the sitting liquid in my eyes to fall.

A stack of tissue jolts into my line of sight and I take it. “Thank you,” I croak and cough again. I shake my head, registering in cloudy consciousness, that look she gives me. “Probably all the alcohol catching up to me.”

“Alcohol, huh?” Her voice fades out. I follow her line of sight to the decorative basket sitting on my sink. A case of L Organic tampons standing tall amongst the other junk inside. Just one left in the clear cylinder. Making it more than obvious that they’ve gone untouched for some time—otherwise, they’d be replenished.

Our eyes, like magnets, find each other.

Boxes and boxes tumble inside the mini cart hanging in the crease of Demi’s elbow. It looks like she’s doing inventory. She uses a forearm to swipe what’s left on the shelf into the cart. Two don’t make the landing and I bend to pick them up.

“Demi—you don’t think that’s a bit much, friend?”

“My ass.” Her eyebrows hike up. Boxes still rippling into the overflowing cart and still falling. The more I pick up, two more come down to the floor nearly hitting me on the head. “Some of these damn tests be lying. This is not the time to guess or play roulette.”

She stomps away from me on a mission. I place the handful of tests back on the shelf instead of adding fuel to her fire. Stomach empty and head full of the worst possible outcomes, I follow right behind her through the aisle.

No words needed to be exchanged as we stormed out the bathroom together, bundling up and ordering a unnecessarily expense Uber. After disarming and convincing Anthony that I had started my period and didn’t have any tampons left, of course. More lies.

What the fuck is even happening today? It all feels like the longest nightmare and it hasn’t even been an hour since I opened my eyes.

My luck isn’t just falling short—it's nonexistent. The self-checkout is under maintenance. So we stand in wait, suppressing angst, as the younger cashier swipes the dozens of boxes with a constant beep. All different sizes, different brands adorned with different fonts. All with that same word somewhere on them that makes me want to throw up again.

I want to jump out my skin watching the young boy swipe and swipe, eyeing every single test like he’s shopping himself. Eyes hesitantly looking up at us across from him. Our eyes like daggers, pierced on his every move, as if he’s handling thousands of our hard earned money in his very hands. God, I wish he’d hurry the fuck up. Just as I open my mouth to say something, Demi is quicker.

“Your business—mind it,” she spits. Crossing her arms, pulling her black Chanel shades over her eyes as he nods frantically speeding his task up a couple notches. We came busting in this CVS, calling ourselves in disguise. Already bundled in puffer coats, scarves and beanies to protect from the inclement weather—we added shades that defeated their purpose, seeing as we’ve had them sitting atop our heads this whole time.

Resting my hands in the pockets of my sweats, I case the store. Some middle-aged folks in the aisles. A group of what looks to be college kids come walking up to the register. And the frail older man behind us in line, with a prescription bag and jug of water in his hands. I pull my glasses down immediately when he and I lock eyes.

After the ring up from hell, it took the persuasion of seven car salesmen for Demi to talk me out of taking all of the tests, right in the bathroom of that CVS.

“A drug store is not a place to crash out,” she tells me.

I opt to crash out in the back of this Uber’s truck instead. Bags full of tests like groceries stocked for the inclement weather the news promised us.

“I can’t be—” The shake of my head finishes my sentence like a period. I can’t even allow that word to flow past my lips.

“Yeah, no shit.” What the fuck am I gonna do? I can’t be. I just can’t. School. His family. My family. My god—his wife. My breathing picks up and suddenly it feels like the middle of July in the back of this man’s Ford truck. “Lana—Lana just relax. We don’t even know if it’s that yet.”

“What else can it be?” My face screws up. Tears hot and threatening to spill. “Sir, can you please turn the heat down?!”

“Sorry—sorry ma’am.” He eyes us through the rearview hastily. I didn’t mean to yell, but damn. The hot air from the vent was doing the opposite of calming me down like Demi suggests. Everything around me feels like too much. I snatch the LV scarf straight from my neck on the verge of suffocating.

“You two have been careful?” Demi’s eyes pierce mine. Careful. He’s careful with just about everything else, except that. He’s grown careless. Yeah, no phone around me but it feels too good to pull out. Call only from a payphone, but snatching the condom off in the heat of a wild night. “Lana?” She calls my name. I know she’s expecting an answer but I can’t say it out loud. NDA and shame both having a hand to my mouth.

In defeat, my head hangs until it’s buried in my hands. I can’t be.

A vivid and erotic reel of all the most recent times, secluded with him, flashes through my mind as I come to the painstaking truth that I actually can be. Before Christmas in Greenbay? Around Thanksgiving? When we went back to the Hamptons house—fire burning and crackling, laying on the living room rug, sweating all the extra left over energy out?

Every time I think I’ve pinned the exact moment it must’ve happened, I come up with a different more likely occurrence, until it seems every time might’ve been the time. It happens so often now—there’s no way for me to sensibly dig out when this catastrophe was born from the chemicals of careless lust and passion.

My stomach gets queasy. Tight and twisting like I’m preparing for the steepest drop on a rollercoaster. A foreign sound—something between a whimper and a groan leaves me.

“I think I’m gonna throw up again,” I strain.

“Please not in this man’s truck.”

“Yes, please,” the driver pleads. Eyes shifting from the road to the rearview mirror. His futile outburst earning him a glare from hell from Demi.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

My Dior bag vibrates between us. We exchange looks before I dig my phone out and sure enough, a text from an unknown number is the latest notification.

Vegas this weekend. He’s asking for you. 9543402985

Staring at the text on the screen, I fight the urge to throw up again. The timing is cataclysmic. My heart usually races for a different reason when I see those words.

Muscle memory has me googling the nearest payphone or Link kiosk. “Sir, I’m sorry but can you stop at Penn station really quick.”

“You gotta do that right now?”

“If not now, then when?” I turn to be met with her head shaking. “I’ll add the stop on the app,” I tell the driver.

Quads aching from stammering down three flights of steel steps—maneuvering through chunks of civilians like the most skilled quarterback—face burning from trying to regulate its normal temperature—I snatch the receiver off the hook.

It dawns on me hearing the gnawing dial tone, that I don’t have any quarters. No way in hell am I going back up all those steps to the coin machine. My head rotates to gauge my surroundings. Only a few feet away from me, a young boy—curly fro, no older than fourteen dressed in a Denim Tears sweatsuit—leans on the wall with a guitar in his hands. A more nineteen thirties, blues reminiscent rendition of Snooze emitting from it.

“Kid.” I step away as far as I can, inching in his direction without dropping the phone. “I know you got some quarters in there.” My eyes drop to his hat sitting at his feet. “I need five dollars in change. “

He looks between his NY Yankees hat and me with my hand out. “I want twenty.”

“What?!”

“Twenty or nothing.”

“How you want twenty and all I need is twenty quarters?” It's not like I’m short on money. In fact, I could make the kid’s day, Cashapp him five hundred dollars, and go on about my business. But something about him trying to hustle me, threw me left. Especially considering the day’s already unfortunate events. I’m already abundant in Ls. Two seconds from wilding out on the nearest person.

He shrugs. “And all I need is a twenty.” I sigh deeply. Patience dropping like the sand in a hourglass. “What I gain from giving you these quarters?”

“You won’t lose anything if you give me the quarters for a five. It's an even exchange,” I bargain. I can see the internal battle, watching his eyes shift between me and his hat. “Look—how about I give you ten.” I show him another five dollar bill. “And you still just give me the five in quarters. You gain five, little man.”

He squints and then counts the twenty quarters off before dropping them in my hand. “Bet.” He snatches the two fives from me and resumes his ballad.

“Punk,” I mumble slipping his quarters into the slot. I am well versed in the art of negotiation. Years of making a sucker out of my brother whenever he needed to just “borrow” money from my stash. Charged that ass interest too.

The line rings only twice before that silence signals connection. “Paul?”

“Alana, how are you?” Never been better. I just got cheated out of five dollars. I’m using a dirty ass payphone in underground NYC to call my famous fuckbuddy’s companion. I’m almost a month late on my period. And the dad is public married with five kids already, and old enough to be my father.

“I’m fine,” I tell the same lie two days in a row. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing down this way. Is it snowing over there?”

“Yeah—bad. I haven’t seen it like this in years.”

“Well, you’ll be relieved to know you’ll be on the west coast, where there’s no snow by this time on Friday.”

“I thought the show was in Canada?”

“It is,” he confirms. “He doesn’t plan on staying though. He has business in Vegas the next day so it makes sense to just leave.”

“I’ll be staying until Sunday?”

“Monday, actually. I’ll be sending over the flight and hotel details soon.” I nod as if he can see me. “You ever been to Vegas?”

“No.” Before him, I hadn’t really been anywhere.

“I don’t think it’s anything special unless you’re into gambling.”

“Good to know.” The conversation is static—robotic almost. Or maybe that’s in my head. Every pause feeling like a confession of some sort. Every word I push out feels like I should be saying something else.

“Anything else going on?” He pokes.

My mouth opens then shuts. My catastrophic possibility—likely to affect everyone around me, including the man on the phone—hanging tight on prison bars, begging to be set free. This doesn’t feel right. All the secrets. All the suppression. There’s no way I’d be able to do this in front of him after knowing whether I am or am not. So I decide right here that I won’t know.

Snow flurries land and melt on my face all at once as I jog back to the truck. “Thank you,” I tell the man for the unpredicted stop, right before he pulls off. Demi’s eyes burning on me like the brightest light in a room.

“I guess you’re leaving this weekend.”

I nod. A pause hangs between us. It’s louder than All I Want For Christmas playing on the radio. “I’m not taking those.” My confession breaks free.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I finally meet her gaze. Her eyes wide and brows lifting to her hairline damn near. “I’m not taking those,” I repeat. “The tests.”

“I’m confused. Did you just come on or something?” She looks me over as if the evidence of my period would be on the clothes I’m wearing.

“Demi—I can’t take those before I go. Imagine the two lines come up. I’m supposed to just go around him acting normal?”

“Or—hear me out—tell him the truth?”

My face screws up hearing such a simple anecdote that’s the furthest thing from simple. “You’re talking crazy.”

“What is so crazy about telling the truth? Unless you’ve already decided what you’re doing if the two lines do show up, and you just don’t want him to have any say?” Another lingering silence. It’s smoldering hot like the air coming from the car’s vents, yet again. “Wow.”

“We already know his verdict.”

“Oh, you’ve asked him already?” She laughs, but it’s vacant of any joy. “Great—just do whatever you want.” She turns her head to the window after throwing a hand up.

“Oh—you’re one of those?”

“I didn’t say all that.” Her eyes turn to slits from my accusation. An accusation I knew bore no weight. Demi is as liberal as they come.

Our eyes sharp and daring don’t leave one another. I’m the first to break. Internal strife too great already. I don’t need two battles. I won’t survive either.

“This is nothing to argue about.” I face forward. Catching the eyes of the driver who snatches his away in a flash. Nosy bitch.

“Not arguing. Whatever the results…I don’t think the decision should fall all on you.” Her voice, way softer than that condescending one from just seconds ago that made me feel smaller than a crumb. “And I think you shouldn’t be so quick to choose, either. Believe me—I get it. This is probably the worst thing that could happen. But the quick decisions are usually the ones we end up regretting.”

My nose flares. Chin quivering as I focus on the snow flurries sticking and melting to rain on the window. I hate when she makes sense. This whole thing feels like the end of the world. One of those situations that’s going to stick to me for the rest of my fucking life. Regardless, of the outcome.

What I imagined yesterday—their picture perfect family, doing what loving families do—I’d put a crack right down the middle. Our secret—our bubble fed in the dark of expensive hotel rooms and hours after midnight—would have no choice but to come to light. And I don’t think I am strong enough for that. Let alone motherhood.

Friday, January 5, 2024

I laugh to myself, watching in real time as he smugly grins down at Nick Aldis from the ring. Capturing his belt from Paul after just laying out Randy, AJ Styles and LA Knight like they were mere target practice to him. Just pawns on a board.

I shake my head. A fucking menace.

“Shitting me?” An outburst that nobody can hear after Nick informs Paul of the fatal four-way match to take place. I know Demi’s going ballistic back home. I stare at the phone on the nightstand provided by the hotel. I could call, but I know that’s probably going against something in the NDA.

Suddenly, a wave of dreariness hits me. Most likely an effect of traveling and all the stress. Although Google told me it was an early symptom of my unwanted event.

When I wake up it’s almost one in the morning. Still no Joe.

I shower again, wincing at the water hitting my chest. Usually a tell sign that my period is not far behind, but she’s almost a month late. Life has been moving way too fast, flashing by me. Holidays, traveling to meet him, semester ending—and I never stopped to register that I hadn’t touched a tampon in a month. My head has been gone.

On the plane ride, I decided to heed Demi’s advice. Slow the process of decision-making down by weighing everything first. Pros and cons. So far, the only pro I came up with, is that he’s well off and not afraid to splurge or share. My, you-know-what, would never have to grow content with financial struggles.

So far that cons list is longer than Santa’s naughty list when he ventures into O’block.

Child number six (I.e. the baby of the family usually forgotten)

Born out of wedlock

Most likely a secret for most of their lives. Not being able to tell the kids at school who their daddy is

Judgment

Balancing school and … you know what

Gaining weight from the cravings

Giving birth and all the things that can go wrong with that

More nausea

Going from an escape to an obligation to him

The cons just kept hitting me like all the dodge balls from the other team when you’re the last man standing on your side—until I was buried in cons.

I make my way downstairs to this hotel that sits in the heart of Vegas. Seas and lakes of lively people, all dressed up and most likely intoxicated. Loud and flashy. That’s all I’ll remember about Vegas. The people, the buildings, the scenery. In your face and in your pockets.

I eat for the sixth time since this morning. Sitting by my lonesome now at a slot machine. Pressing away and feeding the machine more money to keep losing—a too familiar tango, sort of a reflection for the relationship between him and I.

Vegas nights…this would be a decent theme for a prom. The committee at the hospital had been searching for ideas already, to start planning their annual charity prom for the kids who can’t make their own.

I reach into my purse, ready to text Demi and throw her the idea to get her opinion. I stop myself. I don’t have my phone. Right…

My shoulders slump with the release of a breath. I keep tapping. And tapping. And tapping. Until I’m damn near one with the machine, tapping like second nature while I get lost in my insecurities.

Is this what I want for my life? For my…

It’s lonely. It’s tedious. Searching for things to occupy my time until he shows up. Always wondering and worrying about what or who he’s doing when he’s not in my line of sight. It won’t magically change just because something or someone else enters the picture. Being a mother to his kid won’t suddenly usher in a new routine in place of him trying to get me in where I can fit in. It’ll be the same scenario. I mean, look how he treats the first mother of his children.

This is not what I’d want for me and mine. Even when my father was sick, he uprooted being a father as a priority. He was always present. Always doing what his body would allow. He never had to fit us in. Never had to juggle two households and a career. My kids don’t deserve chaos. A chaotic childhood will only make them susceptible to a chaotic life. Kind of like the one I’m living now.

All I’ve done is generate cons. There are no pros.

The glow of the TV is the only source of light in this massive penthouse suite when the soft click of the master bedroom door prompts my eyes to pop open from sudden slumber.

His large frame, a shadow so quiet, as he makes his way toward the bed where I sit up.

“I woke you up?” He whispers.

“Yeah, but it’s cool.”

He drops the duffel bag by the foot of the king bed where I stand to meet him. Spreading his hands out to invite me into his arms.

“Mm,” he groans into the hug. Simultaneously releasing a breath together, like he’s transferring all the tension in his body to me. But there’s no need. I’m already overflown with it. Wrapped in his big arms, it hides cowardly. Afraid to come out and show itself in front of him. That’s not the purpose I serve here. “Squeeze,” he instructs. “Tight, tight, tight,” he mumbles with his mouth right on top of my head. The grin sneaks on my face, not for show, as I grip his hard body as much as I can. Burying my face into his hoodie and sniffing in that familiar cleanliness that’s stained on him. The events of the week forgotten for no longer than the twenty seconds we embrace. SWV was right. The cause and cure.

“Everything alright?” He leans back a few inches. Eyebrows wrinkling and something of a smile dancing on his handsome face.

“Yeah.” I nod. Voice soft and unconvincing. “I’m fine.” Another lie. Three for three now. The slot machines downstairs would be blinging and flashing obnoxiously. His stillness lets me know he’s not buying the act. “—Just work things.”

“Okay. I’m gonna take a shower.” I don’t say anything, already knowing the announcement is an invitation. I let him do his thing before he enrages out the steam filled ensuite bathroom. Body dripping wet still—arms big and daring. I almost regret my decision to not join him.

We don’t have sex. The subtle bags sitting under his captivating eyes tell a story of restlessness. He did a lot tonight just on camera, so I can only imagine. My reading proven correct when he sinks his large frame beside me, welcoming me into his space with a hand to the back of my head until it’s comfortable on his peck.

“What did you do today?”

“Nothing really. Ordered room service. I watched Smackdown.” He elicits another smile from me despite the internal dread, reminiscing on his performance.

“Yeah? How’d you like it?” His large hand slides down to palm my stomach. A gesture that I usually ignore, thinking it was just comfortable for him. No different than the circles he draws on my hip at times. But this time I freeze up like a possum playing dead. Previous thoughts vacuumed right from me.

“Um…wait—what—what were we talking about again?”

His chest tightens under me from laughing. “Don’t tell me your memory is going before mine?”

“I’m not the one pushing forty.” I force a laugh. Grateful he can’t see that it didn’t reach my face.

“The show?”

“Oh, right. Big bully Roman. It was really good. They should have you teaching classes on heel turns.”

“Mm,” he hums sleepily. “Didn’t do anything else while I was gone?”

“I went downstairs for a little bit. Played the slots. And some roulette…”

“Didn’t know you liked to gamble,” he speaks ignorantly and somehow still knowingly. I’ve been gambling since I’ve met him. Gambling my time and the discovery of this whole ordeal. And now, a new stake has entered the bet. The roulette of whether I am or am not still spinning with no landing.

“No…I don’t actually…”

He fights the dreariness in his deep voice for a while longer. Talking to me about his first time in Vegas with the twins amongst other things. It’s not long before I hear the soft snores.

All I’ve wanted to do, for days now, is call my mom and tell her everything. Let the confessions roll from me like a ball down a hill nonstop. Release the angst from me to her, the way I’ve always done. Selfish tendencies of a child, I know.

But sadly, I can hear her now. Lana, what business do you have with a married man? A man whose plate is already full when there are men that will come to you with an empty one?

Tina Maxwell—previously Tina Floyd—is a proud woman. Philly born and bred—her, bullshit, and low maintenance, just don’t coincide. Her heart is the size of Alaska, but her pride and self worth can fit two more of that colossal state. Hence, why immediately after my father recovered and just couldn’t seem to raise his spirits back up, with no will to bring back the spark in his marriage after it laid stagnant so long—she filed for divorce.

I know people judge her for it. I was one of them. How could she leave a man that had just recovered from a battle of fighting cancer?

The older I get, the more the curtain protecting that answer on the board lowers itself. Life is too short to waste on anything or anybody. She loved and still loves my father. But love is fickle. It burns out too quickly. She gave him a chance and he didn’t want it. She did her duty as a wife and a mother to his two kids. Stayed bedside, overextended herself when he was too sick to work let alone get out of bed, showed up to every appointment and waited in angst through every procedure.

After choosing him for years, she chose herself. And she always does. The only things that take precedence over that, are her kids.

If she knew how I lay in this bed up under a man that belongs to someone else, while the strong possibility of carrying his child looms over us—she’d drop to her knees. And me along with her, too weak to stomach the look of disappointment on her face.

Whatever we have—or whatever I think we have—it’s dead. The sun shines on all living things and we’ve never even touched the light of day. So, I might as well lay to rest whatever is left or whatever is expected to come. I already know what he’d want. I don’t need to ask or consider.

He’s married. Happily or not is irrelevant because he’s not unhappy enough to leave. He made a promise in front of God and his family. She’s who he goes home to. He still comes in whatever luxury hotel room, whatever time of the night, relieving himself of that black band that he displays to everyone except me.

So, it doesn’t really matter what results come from those tests when I get back home. Just like us, it’s already done.

A/N // as always, if you read it or even a portion of it, i am forever grateful💗 feedback is welcomed.

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