#thinking about having that many neighbors around

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Brat by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Spanking, Choking, Dom!Terry Richmond, BDE, Bisexual Female Partner, Compersion Fetish, BDSM Play, Urophilia/Watersports.

Summary: Sasha is a brat. On purpose. Now Terry is mad. Big mad.

Word Count: 6.7K

"I'm still, I'm still wet here tonight

So I will make you cum through the night

Will you touch me? Will you go deep in me?

I will in the sheets

I will, I will, I-I-I will"

Teyana Taylor – "WTP"

The cops were called to his home

Terry worked overnight duty on base, and his desk phone rang at ten-twenty. His neighbor Roderick, a fellow marine, hit him up with news that a noise complaint about his apartment brought out the local police. It was the second one that month.

"Your girlfriend has a bunch of women in your place again…the music is blasting and the cops are talking to her right now."

Terry rubbed his forehead. His jawline tightened. Sasha knew better than to have a bunch of people in his place when he wasn't there without letting him know about it ahead of time. He'd recently given her keys to his apartment six months ago as a reward for being a good girl. Here she was, fucking up the privilege already.

You see, Sasha is a brat.

On purpose.

It's a quality that titillates Terry, and yet it frustrates him, too. Sasha can't help it. Her nature is to be desirable, a supreme fuck, and well…a rule breaker.

Terry met Sasha at a wedding in Bayagoula Parrish, Louisiana. Both were part of the wedding party, he as a groomsman and she as a bridesmaid. He wore his military dress blues to match the groom. Sasha's beauty angered the bride who felt she eclipsed all the other women in the wedding party. He appreciated it because they'd been paired with different people to walk down the aisle, and he had the opportunity to watch her stroll in after him. Sasha displayed her shapely figure, which could be quite distracting. Her legs were fantastic, especially in heels and a high slit dress. She was top heavy too, and the off-the-shoulder dress made every attracted eye dart back and forth between thigh meat and the big juicy melons bouncing as she approached the altar. The tangerine orange of her dress enhanced the warm cognac color of her skin. He couldn't pull his eyes away from her. She was pure fap material for guys who couldn't pull her, which happened to be many at the reception. Samuel, who partnered walking down the aisle with her, strutted around thinking he was the shit with her displayed on his arm. But it was a wrap once Sasha lined her gaze with Terry's at the altar. Fireworks.

The two of them together oozed sex appeal and thoughts of sex. They complimented each other's energy. He had an assertive, domineering personality shaped by his years in the marines. Equal parts controlling and nurturing, he could overwhelm the ladies within seconds of meeting them. He already had the women there swooning over his voice. A gaze from his alluring eyes in any direction set hearts fluttering. Even the older women tee-heed with girlish enthusiasm interacting with him. He knew his power to attract and weaponized it as needed.

Sasha was a natural pleaser. Not to be mixed up with an overall people-pleaser, or a tiresome PickMe, her desire was to satisfy her lover, and they in turn would naturally gift her the moon, with a necklace of stars to match. She came off bubbly, warm, and endearing…the type of woman receptive to romance from an Alpha type. Male or female. He sensed she needed a little bit of spoiling with firm discipline to keep her in check. Pleasure and punishment. A heady combination he wanted to offer.

One bridesmaid joked about Terry and Sasha looking like human versions of Scar and Nala from The Lion King. His devilish green eyes and her equally cat-like eye shape gave testament to it. Their instant chemistry was like an electric current running through a socket. Everyone around them sensed the incredible magnetism they carried in proximity, like static electricity zapping them.

She sat down at the same table and immediately started flirting with Terry. After a few drinks, a deeper connection blossomed. Her voice turned him on. Everything sounded erotic the way she enunciated certain words, as if she wanted to make love to his ears. They chatted each other up, lightly touching hands and arms, whispering in each other's ears. Her breasts kept brushing against his arm, turning him on further as he fantasized about sucking on them with her sexy legs thrown over his shoulders. She brought out a feral competition in a lot of the men who interacted with her on the dance floor. What impressed him the most was how she complimented women there constantly, hyping them on their clothes and make-up. She was a girl's girl and danced with some who men passed over by streaking to the dance floor because the DJ was excellent. Sasha rallied a group of women into doing the YaYa, a Creole line-dance making a resurgence in those parts because of Beyonce's Cowboy Carter album.

He didn't want to get sweaty in his military uniform, but Terry couldn't resist a good, soulful line dance with a bunch of Black people. Bayagoula had some slim pickings for Black women since it was a majority white town, but since the bride was Black, Terry and a host of other Black soldiers hoped she had enough Black female friends coming to town available for some good times. He silently thanked the wedding planner for placing Sasha next to him. They shared a slow dance, and he loved having her breasts resting against his chest.

As the evening continued, they cozied up even more.

Sasha kissed him first right at the table. The lights in the venue had lowered for after-dinner partying, so Terry took advantage, purposely grazing his fingers against her right breast where he'd thrown his arm around her shoulder. Their table was empty and the dance floor was full tilt boogie. Nibbling on her earlobe, he whispered filthy things he wanted to do to her. He lowered his hand and slipped them up the slit in her dress, sliding her panties aside, fingering her with shallow thrusts. She let him finger fuck her, begging for him to go deeper.

Sasha started playing with Terry's dick under the tablecloth. Everyone else was too drunk and too occupied with dancing. No one paid attention to them. She got his dick so stiff that he dragged her to the nearest restroom and fucked her. Lifted her onto the sink, hiked up her dress, unfastened the upper part of her dress and released tits he now adored. It didn't take long for him to spill into the condom. Their foreplay at the table had them rearing to go.

His dick was too big and heavy to fit all the way inside her pussy. The last two inches, visible at the root, moved up and down as he ejaculated. He loved how she handled his meat. He packed so much length that her pussy squirted from the pressure of being stretched to capacity. She peed on him, too. He pinched her big nipples, obsessing over them already.

"I'm taking you home with me," he said.

His dick kept pulsing cum, and he shivered as the last orgasmic surge pushed through his dick. Even his nut sack jumped at the pleasure of release. Sasha gave off soft babygirl energy, and he wanted a woman like that. He'd only known her for five hours and already claimed her as his.

"Okay," she said, with her legs draped over his arms.

Terry turned her around and lifted her breasts. He watched his reflection in the mirror bounce them in his hands, getting off on the weight and size. His dick finally started going down, and Sasha peeled the condom off. He turned to urinate in the toilet and she held his dick for him, guiding the stream into the bowl.

"You like watching me do that?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Hmmm, into watersports?"

Her sloe eyes twinkled with delight.

"I used to watch my brother's college friends pee in our backyard when they were drunk. The sight of dicks out in the open like that…squirting everywhere…yummy. I get wet just thinking about it."

"What if I pissed on you? Would you like that?"

"Yes, Daddy…I would play with my pussy while you did it."

He grinned. She already understood his expectations. He whispered in her ear that he wanted a good girl, an obedient one, and she knew exactly what he meant. A submissive that catered to her man.

She shook his dick and used one of the soft paper towels to clean his tip. Then she dropped to her knees and sucked him off for a final cleaning. He wanted to bust a load on her face, but they'd been in the restroom long enough.

He scooped her up and drove back to his apartment.

They began a committed relationship soon after.

Terry dominated her life. Told her what to wear, what to cook for them when he worked hard all day supporting them both. Sasha flitted from part-time job to job like a bee gathering pollen whenever she was bored, not in a rush to find a career like Terry had done. He was a big bad marine with a jacked body, a tatted sleeve down one arm, and a sculpted face. He liked her being home, and she liked being there spoiled by him. His pay grade and rank allowed him to provide a comfortable life for her.

There were other rules, of course.

The apartment had to be pristine clean and her pussy had to be ready when he came home. He dealt with loud, tense, funky, gritty, and abrasive men all day. His home had to reflect the opposite vibe, and he needed to sink into her softness in the evening.

She greeted him at the door after work, looking dreamy in heels and clothes he liked to see her in, like short skirts and sexy dresses to show off those legs. With a cocktail in hand and deep welcoming tongue kisses, Sasha played her role. He brought home flowers every Friday, and at least once a week he bought her presents. She liked bracelets and expensive perfumes in fancy little bottles. He bought her books on whatever new hyper-fixation she had. One month it was soap-making. Another month it was origami, and he suffered through an apartment full of little flying cranes and odd-shaped butterflies. It made him feel good to bring her something special just to witness the sparkle in her eye and the squeal she let out each time. That was often more arousing than foreplay.

On the weekends, when he had to stay on base or travel out of state for additional work-related training, they agreed that she could have a female lover over for girl time. They'd brought other women into their bedroom on various occasions, and Terry sat next to Sasha as she had sex on the king-sized bed. He never indulged in the other women with her, preferring to watch and jerk off. Some might say he was a cuck, but that wasn't it. He had a compersion fetish. Sasha's happiness at having him as a boyfriend and still indulging in sex with another woman gave him pleasure mentally. It stimulated him, no doubt, to watch his woman go at it with another beautiful woman, but he never did a threesome by sticking his dick in someone else. Sasha was enough woman for him, plus, not every outsider was into the things that he liked to do to her. Like breath play with choking, and of course, the golden showers.

Sasha played the submissive well, pampering herself during the day in preparation for his coming home. Terry gave strong Daddy energy, and it brought out the softness in her. His father raised him to be a stern patriarch and southern gentleman. Women were to be taken care of and the expectation was for them to please their men like sweet southern belles.

Sasha was sweet and one hundred percent southern…but a brat, nonetheless. And brats don't always do what you tell them.

She'd purposely leave crumbs in the kitchen for him to find after work. Or she'd forget to make the bed the way he liked. Sometimes she ordered take out instead of making him the home-cooked meals he expected. That's when Terry would fume and take off his belt, lifting her up and taking her into the bedroom to get spanked until her ass cheeks were a deeper shade. When he finished striking her backside, he'd rub cooling blue gel all over her rump, simultaneously soothing her and chastising her.

"Why do you make me do this to you?" he'd lament. "You know I don't like punishing you. I want to come home and have peace. You're my peace, Sasha."

Those searing green eyes would narrow and his brows stayed furrowed, correcting her behavior.

She loved that shit.

However, on the day he had to leave for a weekend base stay several hours before Roderick called him about the police at his place, Sasha (purposely):

1. Forgot to pick up his dry cleaned dress blues on time the night before when he asked.

2. Tossed his clean clothes in drawers without folding them.

3. And God forbid, mixed his unpaired socks in his underwear drawer.

His jaw grew rigid, and he spoke to her through gritted teeth.

"Didn't we talk about this?" he said with an exasperated tone.

"Who cares? Everything is clean. I'll get your dry cleaning today. Don't have a cow," she said, scrolling through pages of fashion on her tablet, hoping he'd snap.

He always took the bait.

His hand went gently around her throat, and he pushed her against the wall.

"What did I tell you about talking to me like that?"

A dangerous smirk twisted his lips to the side. Sasha pouted.

"It won't kill your clothes to not be perfect. I washed and dried them and put them away. That's good enough. Deal with it."

"You know we have to have order in this home. I tell you this every day, Sasha, an orderly home denotes an orderly mind. Fix it."

"You fix it."

He sighed and glanced over at the clock on the wall. His work day started in thirty minutes. He had to be on base in fifteen or risk being late. That was simply a no-no.

"Go straighten out those drawers," he insisted, with more bass in his voice.

He pushed her toward the dresser and hurriedly went to their walk-in closet to grab and fold his old dress blues. He liked to have them on him in case the upper brass needed him to appear ready at a moment's notice for any occasion. His new uniforms needed cleaning before he would wear them. Sasha strolled past their bureau.

"Sasha, I'm not playing!"

He buttoned up the shirt of his duty uniform. She sashayed toward the bedroom door, switching her hips in her babydoll nightie, big titties bouncing, not having any plans for the day except eating chocolate bon bons and shopping online or doing whatever she wanted at her whim because he wanted her to.

"Sasha!"

She ignored him. He snatched her up, throwing her across his lap on the bed. Yanking her nightie up, he pulled the matching panties down and swatted that ass. He gave an even number of spanks on each cheek, careful to soothe as well as punish so as not to harm her tender skin. She yelped and refused to apologize for back talking, making him more upset…and his dick hard.

He added some harder smacks under the jiggling booty cheeks, and she got the message, jerking on his lap and hissing from the sting of genuine pain settling in. He held her down with one arm and heated that ass up, stopping before she needed their safe word. Her disobedience and disrespect resulted in an unscheduled spanking session today, although they had scheduled sessions for weekdays and weekends.

He refused to use the cooling gel on her. She needed to feel the pain of punishment for at least an hour. He'd give her more after he returned home from work.

Terry looked down at his protruding dick nearly blasting a hole through his work pants. Sasha stared at it too, licking her lips. This was what she wanted. He'd ignored her earlier in bed when she wanted dick at four in the morning. The night before, he'd dragged home exhausted from combat drills. He chose to crash out instead of pleasing her. Her hand rubbed on his muscle-toned thighs and traced lines on his tatted bicep, but he was not in the mood.

She chose to make him late. Just to get back at him. He came harder when he was angry or irritated. Down went his zipper… and her knees. He fished out his dick and stroked hard and fast.

"Selfish little brat," he barked. "Making me fucking late!"

She pulled down her nightie, revealing his weakness, and he stared at her breasts. He moaned out loud when she plucked at her nipples and circled her pretty manicured nails around the edges of her dark areolas, reminding him visually of how big they were, and how much he loved that about her.

Pre-cum spilled out of his deep slit, and she used it as a lubricant to tease around her sizeable nipples that stood out like fat, juicy blueberries. His sack was heavy with cum. Sasha licked her lips. Smacked those big melons together, and he blew his load all over her pretty face. She brushed back her wild, wavy hair and continued shaking her titties for him.

He panted and shot another hot rope across her tongue. She jumped up and placed herself on the bed, spreading open her labia for him to see the wet pink of her dripping pussy.

"Fucking slut!"

His eyes became mere slits of angry jade. He grabbed his cell and called his boss while shaking off his pants. A credible lie fell out of his mouth as he plunged into her. He bought an hour pretending to have a dead battery in his car. Tossing the phone on the bed, he fucked Sasha as deep as she could take unsheathed. He grunted, and she threw her arms across his shoulders, satisfied that she got what she wanted.

Anger guided his thrusts. When he started getting too aggressive, he switched to eating her pussy. That helped calm him down. She was insatiable. He should've paid more attention to that quality about her after the first night he fucked her. Sasha loved his dick and craved it at all hours.

Terry sucked and licked her clit, forcing breathy moans out of his woman. She rocked and rolled her hips, her vulva laid out like a summer nectarine: smooth, juicy and sweet. Sasha soaked his lips and chin. His facial hair became a sticky mess with her excess.

He spooned her on his side and parted her cheeks with his dick alone, sliding in and stretching her properly. Terry fondled a breast and pounded her down until that juicy pussy clenched around him. He kept fucking because he knew she needed more.

"Oh, Daddy! I'm sorry! Don't punish me like this!" she screamed, clutching onto the covers.

She wasn't sorry. She wanted that deep Daddy dick.

Sasha said it like a mantra over and over, "Oh Daddy…I'm sorry! Oh, Daddy…I'm sorry! Oh, Daddy…"

He groaned and hit the side of her walls to really make her feel it, and spurt a geyser of cum, still angry that he was late. But busting a nut that hard was worth it in the end. She gasped, her legs jerking wildly at the intensity.

Rising from the bed, he looked down at his brat. She took her fingers and peeled back her labia, letting him see the big creamy mess he made inside of her.

"Wait until I get home Sunday!" he snapped, lifting his pants from the floor.

She pissed him off.

And he let her.

He grabbed his small work duffle, and the garment bag he stuffed his old uniform in and slapped her thigh.

"Fix those clothes in the drawers," he grumbled.

After he left, she teased him mercilessly with several bathroom selfies of her voluptuous breasts and pancake areolas. Her big nipples stuck out hard, and she knew he would suffer at work seeing them all weekend and unable to touch them. During his lunch break, he went into a restroom stall and recorded himself urinating. Using his pelvic muscles, he made his dick twitch and spill urine on the seat. His penis was still big while flaccid, and moving it as he splashed into the toilet would excite her. He shot off the clip to her and later, during another break in his car, she sent him video clips from her smartphone of herself fingering her wet pussy and sucking on her nipples while she watched his video on her tablet. Sex was their shared passion. Their best form of communication.

"You were mean to me today," she texted afterward.

He jerked off in the car, re-watching her squirt all over herself. His dick was the object of her affection when she watched him piss. To her, it was just as sexy as watching him ejaculate semen. It came from inside of him, therefore it was precious to her.

She sent more photos of herself looking down at the phone with her breasts hanging with her tongue partially sticking out. He fucking loved her, and immediately sent her a sweating face emoji with hearts, and couldn't wait to fuck her like a goddamn wild man.

Back at work, he did some emergency drills and then took his place at the duty station, overseeing lower ranked soldiers.

Roderick's phone call shattered the routine of his evening. He couldn't leave work to deal with her, so he had to suffer the entire weekend.

Sasha didn't know that Roderick notified him of the cops. She kept sending him loving texts. Asked him what he wanted for supper on his return home.

"I picked up your uniform, and I organized the drawers properly, Daddy," she texted.

He ignored it, pretending to be busy.

She never mentioned having a gathering at his place that weekend. Technically, it was their shared residence, but his name was the only one on the lease. That meant any problems that occurred with the cops reflected on him in the complex. It wasn't a rarity to have the police called around there for noise ordinances. It was predominately military living there, so close to the base. Lots of parties occurred. But he'd never had them called on him until Sasha moved in. He didn't want that reputation, and he didn't want to dump her like he did his last girlfriend, who stayed out of pocket with him until he had enough. She was disobedient in other ways, but not enough to bring the authorities his way. His reputation and moral character around town was everything to him. He'd hate to let go of amazing pussy and fat titties. Terry was already thinking of putting a ring on Sasha's finger after only six months of being together. Babygirl was that perfect.

Except for when she acted out in ways he didn't like.

Sunday couldn't come fast enough.

He'd have Monday and Tuesday off. Plenty of time to course correct Sasha.

After showering and shaving on base, he drove to his complex in the early evening without telling her the exact time he was coming back.

He crept up the stairs to his second floor. The onsite apartment manager taped another yellow noise complaint notice to his door. He pulled it down and read the warning while sliding his key in. Stepping inside, the living room lights were off, but the bedroom and hall lights were on. She'd cooked something because the odor of something good still wafted in the apartment. He kicked off his shoes, already upset that she wasn't there to greet him.

Dropping his bags and the warning notice on the couch, he padded to their master bedroom.

Sasha was sucking down another woman's box on his bed.

Jasmine.

Both women were oblivious to him being there.

Terry sat down on the side chair in the room facing the bed and watched them go at it. Sasha had a small vibrator inserted into her vagina that also stimulated her clit. It was a cute little pink toy that hummed along to their sex play. His irritation from the notice simmered in the back of his mind. It took him a few minutes to settle into watching his woman and her side piece. Their moans and soft murmurings lulled him into arousal.

He started playing with his dick, pulled it out all the way along with his balls. Smearing pre-cum all around the bulbous head, he took slow strokes up and down, staying underneath the thick ridge. Sasha's pussy looked so pretty, with the pink toy snug inside of her. Her lover thrashed her head back and forth. He fisted his dick faster, smacking on his balls, wishing her pussy could go all the way down on him.

Jasmine came in Sasha's mouth and his lady love's pussy throbbed with a powerful orgasm. Sasha smacked her lips and moaned as her pussy took the internal vibrations. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Daddy," she sputtered, shocked to see him sitting in the room.

Jasmine lifted on her elbows and grinned.

Terry stood and dragged Sasha by her foot to the end of the bed. He pulled out the small vibrator from her pussy and jammed the tip of his dick against her vulva and nutted all over it. Sasha squealed with delight at the man-handling and Jasmine stared with envy. She longed to suck and fuck him, but that would never happen.

"Come lick up his cum," Sasha said.

She smeared it all over her clit and Jasmine settled between her thighs, lowering her head to lick like a cat lapping up milk.

Terry pulled off the rest of his clothes. Sasha kept her eyes locked on his, ignoring Jasmine licking her way to glory. When most of his semen went down Jasmine's throat, he climbed onto the bed. Jasmine scooted over, giving his large body precedence. His dick bobbed and Sasha whimpered in expectation.

"So glad you're home," Sasha said.

Terry carefully placed his thumb and fingers on the sides of her neck. She relaxed under him.

"Jasmine, I think it's time for you to go home," he said.

Sasha blinked twice and her eyes darted over to Jasmine, disappointed that he didn't want their favorite voyeur staying for their lovemaking.

"Now, Jasmine."

Jasmine quickly left the room. They heard her scramble into her clothes and leave the apartment.

"What's wrong?"

He liked the hesitant tone in her voice. It threw her off.

"Do you enjoy living here with me, Sasha?"

She tried to sit up. He held her down by the throat. Still gentle, but gripped tight enough to let her know she wasn't getting up. Pushing his tip into her, she sucked in a breath and he squeezed the sides of her neck, careful to count out the seconds she could handle before easing the pressure. The opening of her pussy throbbed around him. He slowly pushed in, each inch parting her slippery walls. Jasmine made Sasha frothy and wide open for him. He stopped and squeezed her neck again, giving shallow thrusts and counting to her limit before releasing the controlled grip.

"Can we keep going? Do you need a break?"

"No Daddy, I can take it a little more. I'll tap you when to stop."

He pushed in to her limit, thick and heavy. Her pussy lips looked like a swollen vise around his girth, with the last of his inches unable to go in. Each time he pushed forward or pulled back, she gripped him with her walls, giving him the friction he dreamed about all weekend waiting to come home.

He began fucking her slowly, his hand clamped on her neck.

"Ready?"

She nodded and he pressed his fingers in again with gentle pressure, heightening her pleasure. Her eyes went glassy with lust. Although he choked her with their breath play, her pussy choked his dick and he released her neck to rock his hips into her with a steady rhythm.

"You feel so fucking good…taking care of Daddy's dick…"

He started kissing her, thrusting his tongue in her mouth, letting hers slide against his until the erotic sensation of their lips feeling raw and sensitive to the connection overtook him. Kissing her was life itself. He pulled back from her, still stretching her pussy, but not pumping into her.

"Roderick called me about the cops being here again. There was a warning notice on the door. What do you have to say about that?"

Her eyes widened, and she bit her bottom lip.

"How come you didn't tell me before I left about having people over here?"

"It was impromptu. A few friends, and then…a few more friends of friends…it was a wine and cheese thing and then…the cops showed up."

Terry pulled all the way out of her and left the bed.

"Do we have to talk about this now? Can we finish this and talk later?"

She breathed heavily, upset that his dick wasn't plowing her.

"What do you think will happen if I get another notice?"

She pressed her lips together for a second.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

"You said that last time two weeks ago."

"You won't have to worry. If I want to have a gathering again, I'll do it at Jasmine's. Please, Terry, don't be upset."

"What do I like more than anything at home?"

His hard dick pointed toward her and Sasha's eyes kept losing track of his face by focusing on his erection she wanted back in her guts.

"Peace and calm."

"My neighbor shouldn't be calling me about you. That means it disturbed him, too, and probably a lot of other people. If I get a third notice, the manager will break my lease. You know what that means? He can ask me to move. I picked this complex because it's close to my job. The job that takes care of you, and allows you to be my good girl. You've put our housing in jeopardy. Before I left for work, you were acting out and I didn't have time to really put you in your place. I've been super busy this past month and I think I've been letting you get away with too much. But I'm going to get back to proper discipline. No physical contact at all."

Her mouth dropped open.

"What?" she said.

"Spanking won't do this time. You don't get to have me until I think you get your behavior together."

He walked to his side of the bureau and pulled out lounging pants and a t-shirt. He strolled into the bathroom. She followed with panic in her eyes. He stretched his back and stood in front of the toilet. She reached for his dick to help him urinate, but he slapped her hand away.

"No," he said. "You don't even get to watch."

He arched an angry eyebrow, and she pouted. He ignored her breasts and the fat pussy he'd just been inside of that enticed him to cave.

"Out!"

She scuttled away like a little crab who sensed danger on sand.

He relieved himself and changed into his house clothes.

"I would like my dinner in half an hour," he called out.

He went into the spare bedroom where he set up a mini-gym and desktop computer. He checked sports updates before opening a porn app. His balls ached wanting to cum inside Sasha, but he searched for Black women masturbating and found one using a vibrator with large pussy lips that excited him. Fisting himself, he left the door open so Sasha could hear him and seethe. She slammed the kitchen cabinet doors and let some silverware clatter onto the table to show her anger at not getting his dick. He chuckled.

"Fix that attitude. This is your fault for being irresponsible," he called out.

His porn play pal had nice tits and a soft belly. He came into his hand.

"Your dinner is ready," Sasha called out.

He cleaned his hands in the bathroom and walked into the dining area with his mouth salivating. Smothered chicken and rice with French green beans drenched in garlic butter. Homemade and piping hot.

"This looks good, baby. Thank you."

He sat down and she sat across from him. They said grace together, and he stuffed his face, licking his fingers and complimenting her cooking. That perked her up, and yet she still stared at his chest in the tight T-shirt, and admired the sleeve tats.

He punished her for a month.

Sasha stayed on her A-game. Clean house. Clothes put away properly. Bed made so perfect that he could bounce a quarter on it. Uniforms pressed and already placed in his garment bag. She'd gone to the apartment manager and explained the situation with the loud party. Sasha claimed to be his house sitter who didn't know the rules about no loud noises after nine at night. Terry was pretty sure she jiggled her tits and flirted with the male manager. Her legs in some stiletto heels would do the trick easy. The manager actually ignored the second noise warning…and the first, clearing Terry's apartment record.

In bed, she suffered from wanting to curl under or around him, but he stayed on his side with his back to her. She knew better than to seek out Jasmine for respite. It wouldn't be a satisfying, playful romp when she yearned only for her man's affections. She thought it best to accept the dry spell.

Meals…impeccable.

Cocktails at the door…refreshing.

Terry slowly started showing her physical affection with a kiss on the cheek goodbye in the morning. He brought home flowers and gifts again with kisses on the forehead.

He ended her punishment by walking into the bathroom as she smoothed unscented body butter all over her naked body after a shower. She stared at him in the mirror as he stood behind her. He circled his hand around her throat, forcing her to turn her face to the side so he could kiss her.

Sasha moaned into his mouth and broke into tears of joy.

"I won't disappoint you gain," she whispered into his mouth.

"That's all I want from you, baby. Follow my rules."

He continued kissing her, lifting those glorious breasts.

"Will you fuck me now?" she pleaded.

"Of course."

Sasha whimpered at the deep rasp of his morning voice. She leaned forward, and he entered her. Cupping her breasts, he fucked her hard and fast. Her pussy squelched, and she cried, her tears of happiness wetting her face.

"I'm sorry, Daddy…sorry, Daddy…sorry, Daddy…!"

"Pussy so fucking good…I missed these big titties…tight pussy…oh babygirl…fuck Daddy's dick!"

He studied her expression in the mirror.

"Want Daddy to punish this pussy?"

"Yes!"

"Take this dick then…take it…take it babygirl…oh you're taking it deep…oh shit! Oh, shit!"

She still couldn't take him in all the way, but it truly felt like he got in deeper than he'd been before. Her eyes looked up to the ceiling, then rolled back. She squirted everywhere, soaking his dick.

He ejaculated hard enough to make him lift onto his toes. He dropped to his knees to smother his face in her ass and pussy, wanting to feel the back rush of his cum dripping out of her.

His bladder poked at him. He drank an extra glass of water for the occasion.

"Get in the tub, baby," he said.

Sasha yelped with excited anticipation. She climbed into the tub and he handed her a towel that she folded as a knee cushion. Once she was comfortable, he rested his balls on her mouth and she sucked them while playing with her clit and pussy lips.

"Let me hear that wet pussy, Sasha."

She flicked her clit and used her three middle fingers. He stared down at her, reaching for a heavy breast.

"You ready, baby?"

She hummed with his nuts in her mouth.

"You'll be my dirty little slut? Huh, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy…yes, I'll be your dirty little slut…"

"Oh, let me hear that pussy talk, Sasha!"

Sasha whimpered, and her tone was on the edge.

"Daddy's 'bout to give you what you want…get ready…oh…get ready…"

"I'm still your good girl!"

Her tongue slid up and down the underside of his dick, her words warm on his skin.

"Sasha…baby…fuck…dirty little slut letting me do whatever I want!"

Terry took a step back, and Sasha kept pleasuring her pussy. She tilted her head back. A hot stream of urine flew out of him and splashed all over her breasts. Holding his release for a longer period made the sensation of voiding his bladder sweeter. It felt almost as good as an orgasm soaking her.

Sasha's glassy eyes looked far away. She was in her pleasure zone, cumming so hard she couldn't even speak anymore. He drained himself all over her tits, and she slumped back with loud pants.

"Goddamn, that was fucking good!" he shouted to the ceiling.

His aftercare was tender with her.

He used the shower nozzle to rinse her off first before he cleaned her with honeysuckle body wash. Helping her stand up, he rubbed her vulva, thighs and backside, then lathered up her tits. He rinsed her off, then stuck the nozzle back up high and joined her in the shower for a long rinse with hotter water. They kissed as heat steamed around them, his arms cradling her.

"I don't like punishing you like that. It hurt me not to touch you for a month, baby," he hummed in her ear.

She hugged him tight.

Back in their bedroom, they made slow love on the bed. She rode him and he praised her…worshipped her body.

"I love you, Sasha."

"I love you, too, Terry. I want to make you happy."

"I want to make you happy every day. You're really the boss of me. Everything I do is for you."

"I know. I'm yours, Daddy. Let me take care of this dick."

He held his legs wide open, and she rode him backward, perched between his thighs at an angle. He let her slide up and down to the depths she could take and watched her pussy work his length. She slid back to sit on his face, where he slathered her folds with a wide, wet tongue.

They finished with him on top of her, declaring his undying love. He came all over her breasts, and hugged her tight under the covers, playing with her nipples and making plans for their future.

Terry cooked them a late brunch and cleaned the kitchen himself. Sasha washed clothes and looked up a movie for them to go see. All was well until he went to his sock drawer and found unmatched pairs with underwear mixed in.

"Sasha!"

She sauntered in, carrying one of his belts folded in her hand.

"Shall I assume the position?" she teased.

"Once a brat, always a brat," he said.

He chased Sasha around the room until he caught her, snatching the belt away and pushing her down on his lap.

Terry taught her a new lesson.

And, of course, she loved it.

Tag List:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

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@blackburnbook

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[threeacttragedy]

Entry 20: The One Where We Take a Course in Rear Window Ethics

Oh, hey, hey – you’re back!

Yes. I, uh – we need to – uh... What the hell are you doing with that Exakta VX camera fitted with a 400 mm Kilfitt lens?

Come here. See those open windows across the courtyard?

Uh, yeah…

Well, I’m trying to zoom into that apartment –

Wow. Because that’s not creepy as fuck.

Oh, don’t be so modern. This is New York City, 1954. It’s fine.

Yeah, okay. I need you to focus for a moment. Seriously – put down the zoom lens. Headquarters called and wanted to know why Dorothy was still in Oz. You know we were told to take her home.

No – actually we were told to throw stones at that wannabe Wizard. And we did. Kind of. Okay, whatever, but surely you can feel the shift. At the very least we’ve infiltrated the base camp with a bunch of flying monkeys. They’ll take care of the rest. God, there’s one in there –

And we were supposed to help Dorothy find her way back home.

Meh, don’t worry about Dorothy. I don’t think she’s ready to go home. Even after the ping-pong bullshit of the past few weeks, she’s still standing on her own two feet. Although Toto continues to be a mild pain…

But –

But nothing. Dorothy’s had the power to get her own ass home this entire time. When’s she’s ready, she’ll go.

Okay, well, obviously you’re not going to be of any help as you seem preoccupied with spying on your neighbors. So, I’m going to need to borrow the hot air balloon. Where’d you put it?

Oh, it’s on the—wait! If you take our balloon, how am I supposed to get around? I’m not staying here indefinitely. There’s no air conditioning in this damn apartment!

How about I promise to come back for you? Maybe.

Damn you. Fine, I’ll go with you. Let me get my shit together. Here, hold my camera – and don’t drop it!

Hmph, this is heavy. How does it work? I just look through this and�� <points camera towards apartment across the way> Oh – this is interesting. What the hell did you say was going on over there? “…[S]tart from the beginning…Tell me everything you saw – and what you think it means.”

You know those days when you have no choice but to catch up on the work you’ve been blowing off for the past few days (maybe even weeks)? Well, last week, I was having one of those days. The work I’d been pushing down my list for weeks finally needed to be addressed. Regardless of how mind-numbing it was, it had to get done otherwise things were going to start going awry.

I’m one of those people who – when working on the mundane – has a mind that tends to wander every few minutes or so. I find myself Googling things like, “What is the fastest animal on the planet?” And, for your own Useless Knowledge, the cheetah’s land speed of 60+ mph doesn’t come close to the peregrine falcon’s dive bomb of 240+ mph.

Anyway, to keep my mind from wandering, I usually have something running in the background to force my brain into paying attention to two things at once – somehow that helps me maintain focus. The most popular “something” is almost always one of the many (quite possibly too many) British detective shows available for streaming. But, the other day, I simply wasn’t in the mood to rewatch Season 3 of “Dalgliesh” for the seventh time.

So, after a bit of scrolling, I put on an old movie I hadn’t seen in years: “Rear Window.”

The 1954 original, of course.

I’m rarely impressed by anything put out by Modern Hollywood, but the old shit – well, there are some legit classics out there, including this one.

One of the reasons I’ve always been fond of this movie is because you go into it knowing the “bad guy” right from the word “go.” I’m one of those extremely annoying people who can guess the villain within the first few chapters of a book, or within the first twenty or so minutes of a movie (like I said, I am rarely impressed by Hollywood). However, I will admit, one book did slip by me. Damn you, Agatha Christie. Honestly, though, the thrill I felt with being wrong was far more memorable than anything I’ve ever felt with being right. Good or bad, a surprise always leaves its imprint, doesn’t it? Plus, the hysterical elation my father must have felt – and later exhibited – knowing I was going into the final few chapters wrong – well, damn him, too. And, no, the book was not “Three Act Tragedy.” That one was quite easy.

Okay, enough about Ms. Christie. Back to Mr. Hitchcock.

As I sat busily typing away and listening to the dialogue of “Rear Window” playing in the far reaches of my office, it suddenly occurred to me that the parallels between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom were rather, well, thought-provoking. Here we have a man (and later his sidekicks) peering into the personal life of another human being. Our protagonist in “Rear Window” witnesses an event (a cover-up, actually) and sets out to prove it – all from the perspective of an onlooker looking in. Sound familiar? I thought it might.

So, welcome to your course on “Rear Window Ethics.”

Now, I cannot intertwine “Rear Window” with the Lukola fandom without dragging your ass into the story. Actually, I could – but it’s far more entertaining for me (and hopefully you) if I form a nexus between you and the movie.

Therefore, you, of course, get to align yourself with L.B. Jefferies (played in real life by Jimmy Stewart). If you’re still in this fandom, it’s because you’ve witnessed something you simply cannot ignore and you’re almost certainly hellbent on proving it at this point.

It’s very likely most of you entered the Lukola fandom alone. You watched some portion of the World Tour and became intrigued. Your mind began to wander, which sparked some urge in you to do some digging. Eventually your investigation led you to the Devil – sorry, I mean, social media. There you met like-minded junior investigators, and you’ve now found yourself chatting with these newfound friends and theorizing in the burrows of underground group chats.

So, about your sidekicks…

The part of “Stell-aaaaaa!!!!” (yes, that is my hat-tip to Jake) is given to your most “inventive” Lukola friend. You know, the one that has their own “theories” channel in your private chats; the one who scurries down the rabbit hole – not in search of the White Rabbit – but in search of the Cheshire Cat. Stella is the reason you think outside the box. In “Rear Window,” Stella (played by Thelma Ritter) is Jefferies’ nurse (Jefferies is injured and bound to his apartment; hence why he has so much free time to gaze out the rear window). This friend will throw anything and everything against the wall to see what sticks – even if it occasionally takes a deep-dive into how to cut up a body in a bathtub.

Next, we have Detective Doyle, Jefferies’ long-time friend (played by Wendell Corey). Doyle is quite possibly your spouse, haha, or anyone who side-eyes your involvement with this fandom. Doyle half listens to Jefferies’ theories and usually counters Jefferies with an alternative piece of evidence. But don’t fret, although Doyle teases Jefferies about his wild theories throughout the film, Doyle is, in fact, supportive of Jefferies and does comes around in the end.

I’m going to switch gears for a moment but not before acknowledging that, yes, I am aware I’m missing a player here. Don’t worry – she will arrive shortly.

Alright, on to our subject matter: Lars Thorwald.

Thorwald (played by Raymond Burr) is our straight-outta-Hitchcock-baddie who has been spotted by Jefferies trying to cover up the murder of his wife. The obvious parallels I’m going to draw between “Rear Window” and the Lukola fandom are (1) Thorwald’s crime being equivalent to the World Tour and everything that has happened thereafter, and (2) Jefferies’ obsession with proving Thorwald is guilty being comparable to the fandom’s obsession with proving Lukola is real.

Now, I’m going to get the ball rolling by fast-forwarding through the World Tour all the way up to where I last left you – the post-release of “Mis-Directed.” Recall that shortly before the book’s release, in a surprise turn of events, Luke appeared with Antonia at the Boss event held January 30. However, this was almost immediately negated by Luke snubbing Antonia post-event (and perhaps even more shockingly, Antonia’s mirrored lack of acknowledgement of Luke). And try as Nicola might, there’s no skirting around the innuendo made throughout that fan-fic of a book.

“Watson! Get up! There’s fuckery afoot!”

Who the hell are you?

I’m Dad. Who are you?

Ah, not that guy!

Yes, that guy. Of course, Dad has entered the room. After all I needed someone to fill the role of Lisa Fremont (also known as Grace Kelly). Lisa is your Lukola friend with the highest degree of common sense. She takes the “evidence” presented and looks at it with some realism. She is never going to take the Dwight Shrute Route and state something as “Fact,” but she is the one you rely on to delineate between what makes sense and what doesn’t. In short, this is your friend who understands human nature.

Alright, before I really get this ball rolling –

Since I’ve now added a third wheel (Dad) to the back-and-forth dialogue of my two wizard-chasing-balloon-riding-time-traveling-narrators, I suppose I should also give these two imbeciles names.

You first.

Uh, well, I’m Charley and that’s –

I’m Crowd.

Full credit for these two make-believe idiots is given to my dad. He created the personas of “Charley and the Crowd” for my two nieces a few years ago. They would show him their dolls and my dad would narrate what was going on in their stories. Of course, my nieces regularly corrected him with, “No, Papá, that is not what Barbie is doing!” Still, Charley and the Crowd stuck around, playing the role of two, usually counter-productive and sometimes ignored, news anchors at a Macy’s Day Parade-like event hosted by my nieces’ massive collection of L.O.L. Dolls.

And just for clarity’s sake, during the dialogue between Charley, Crowd, and Dad, actual statements made by Dad will be in quotations. Any statement not in quotations was added simply to move the story along.

Let’s begin (finally).

In “Rear Window,” every time Jefferies and his sidekicks present their findings to Detective Doyle attempting to prove Thorwald’s guilt, they are thwarted by evidence discovered by Doyle’s investigation. It’s a constant back-and-forth throughout the movie; however, regardless of how “solid” Doyle’s evidence is that Anna Thorwald is still alive, Jefferies remains sat on the hill that Thorwald killed his wife. It was this parallel – not the peeping Tom aspect of the movie – that piqued my interest last week. No matter what was thrown at him, Jefferies remained steadfast in his opinion Thorwald murdered his wife. Nothing budged him. I realized Jefferies’ level of resilience mirrored every diehard Lukola’s reaction to every piece of contradictory evidence thrown at them. Nothing budges them.

The tail-end of January and all of February was a bit wild in the Lukola fandom. I mean, there were a lot of narratives being thrown around only to be counteracted by another event. As I mentioned earlier, we ended January with the Boss event but that flame was quickly extinguished by Luke and Antonia’s complete lack of follow-up. Luke had the perfect opportunity to make it “official” with Antonia – to finally shut down the Lukola shippers – but he didn’t.

Crowd: Antonia not doing anything with it is the biggest tell, in my opinion.

I’m not going to spend much time rehashing the Boss event because I already discussed it in Entry 18 (link below), but I will touch on two things that I believe deserve an Honorable Mention.

The first being –

Charley: Why didn’t Antonia have her phone or even a handbag at the Boss event?

I mention this little detail because it was echoed at the BAFTA afterparty Luke attended with Antonia on February 16. In fact, I suspect this may be the modus operandi when Antonia attends an event with Luke – she is not given the opportunity to have a phone with her. One would think, at the very least, you would see Antonia entering and/or leaving an event with some kind of handbag or clutch. But we have pictures of Antonia entering both the Boss event and BAFTA afterparty without one. I will acknowledge we don’t see her leave these two events; however, if we rewind time, Antonia does not have a handbag with her during Papsmear.

Dad: “Well, that’s extremely odd.”

I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it before – at least not on this blog – that my dad has an eye for women’s fashion. My sisters and I grew up under his critical eye and, to this day, my father doesn’t know where he went wrong with my older sister. This is entirely why he was given the part of Lisa Fremont, the movie’s style icon in the form of Grace Kelly. The fact that Antonia is never seen with any type of handbag at these events sparked his interest.

Dad: “[It seems] they [at a minimum Luke] wanted complete control [of what Antonia could take away from the event]. No handbag. Nowhere to hide a phone. No rogue pictures floating about.”

Charley: Yes, it does seem that way.

The second event I wanted to mention was – although neither Luke nor Antonia liked the Boss grid post of the two of them entering that event together – Nicola did. Now, this wasn’t an immediate like. In fact, Nicola waited almost two weeks to like the post, on February 12.

Crowd: The day before Nicola went back and liked that post, that video was being dissected across social media.

Dad: Why?

Charley: Because it was suggested Luke said, “Let’s get this done,” as he walked inside the event with Antonia.

Dad: “I don’t hear shit.”

I will admit, when this video was initially sent to me, I didn’t hear anything except the background noise. However, when I was told what was allegedly being said, I was able to hear it. This very well could be the power of suggestion but the timing of Nicola’s like on this post is, at a minimum, noteworthy.

Once we leave the Boss event, we stumble right into “Mis-Directed.” I’ll post the links to my review of that book at the end. It is what it is – and it’s a whole lot of…umm, yeah…maybe Dad said it best.

Dad: “Either your Lukola thing is real, or Ireland is a psychopath.”

Crowd: Seriously, who let this guy in here?

I’m going to have to hard agree with my dad on this one. Not necessarily about Nicola being a “psychopath,” but the references made in the book are too on the nose for it not to be intentionally Lukola- and/or Polin-coded.

I’m also convinced this book was edited after the World Tour, with the most obvious example of this being demonstrated with the quote: “The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.” If our duo is to be believed, Luke and Nicola had no idea prior to the World Tour that the fandom would go wild over Colin’s fingers. But after the release of Part 1, any mention of “two raised fingers” would send the fandom into a feeding frenzy. And it’s such an extremely random bit of innuendo, I have trouble believing the author came up with it on her own.

Charley: When you think about it, if Antonia hadn’t shown up at the Boss event, the Lukola fandom would have taken the book as confirmation that Lukola was real.

Indeed, a hefty portion of the fandom would have done just that. The fandom was already convinced that Luke and Nicola spent the holidays together – even without direct evidence – because there was evidence that Luke and Nicola did not spend the holidays with Antonia and Jake, respectively.

Antonia appeared to be with family at Christmas and in the Maldives over New Year’s – without making even the slightest insinuation that Luke was with her.

Jake seemingly spent the holidays with Dylan B., as demonstrated by his pre-Christmas stories with Dylan in their (basically) adjacent hometowns – without Nicola, who, by her own account, was in Galway. Jake and Dylan’s Christmas stories were followed up with their jointly hosted New Year’s Eve party – at which Nicola was not present (as evidenced by Nicola’s comment to an attendee’s New Year’s Eve post: “Have the best night miss yous”).

Dad: “It is weird they [Nicola and Jake / Luke and Antonia] wouldn’t spend any of the holidays together. One? Sure, maybe. But all? No.”

But, even with that statement, my dad chose to play the role of Detective Doyle (a/k/a the Devil’s Advocate of “Rear Window”) regarding the holidays because –

Dad: “Misty [Antonia] was with her dance troupe. Jake was with his friends. Ireland was doing her thing. But no one knows where Thang [Luke] was. Everyone else has a trail except him, which is odd. He could have been with Ireland, but you can’t prove it, so what you have is not really evidence.”

Charley: Thanks, Dad.

But, let’s face it, my dad is right. There’s no solid evidence that Luke and Nicola spent their holidays with each other or anyone else. You can apply the same theory to the birthdays. The only “evidence” we have that two people did not spend a birthday together was Jake posting a belated birthday greeting to Nicola followed by Nicola posting what appeared to be an intimate birthday dinner for two, presumably from the night before. We can surmise Nicola’s birthday date was not Jake, otherwise he would not have posted the late greeting.

About Jake’s birthday –

Crowd: Oh, yeah, “hard launch No. 54” because Nicola used a red heart in her birthday story to him.

Charley: You mean the same one she used in a story for another friend just the other day?

Crowed: Yep.

Dad: “I don’t know what to say about those people [the Jakolas]. They need to resubmerge or something. There’s no relationship there [between Jake and Nicola].”

The Jakolas are banking this “hard launch” on the fact Nicola posted a birthday story for Jake, but not for Luke, and vice versa. These are the same people who will argue that Luke and Antonia not posting about each other’s birthdays is because they’re private – but, in the same breath, refuse to acknowledge Luke and Nicola may not post about each other’s birthdays because they’re private.

I believe it’s worth mentioning that no one from the Bridgerton cast except James Phoon posted about Nicola’s birthday on January 9. When Nicola acknowledged her birthday greetings the day after, she did not repost Phoon’s story nor did she repost fan-favorite JVN’s birthday story. And I should have placed bets on this next part – no one from the Bridgerton cast posted about Luke’s birthday on February 5. Surely, I’m not the only person who saw – and anticipated – the comraderie there.

What the Jakolas should have been focusing on with Jake’s birthday was the fact that it was Dylan and Becky’s boyfriend that were wearing matching “Jecky” shirts at their joint birthday party. No one else had that shirt except for the two people believed to be their significant others. Although I’m not fully convinced Jake is dating Dylan, I am one hundred percent convinced Jake would date Dylan over Nicola.

Charley: What’s next?

Crowd: God, there was so much shit going on in February! Uhh, let’s jump to Valentine’s Day. Nicola attended the IFTA’s with her mother and sister, and Luke attended a GQ dinner event alone.

This holiday follows in the same vein as the previously noted holidays, except it’s Nicola and (amazingly!) Luke that are both accounted for. Jake was presumed to be in Sheffield rehearsing for his play; and Antonia was nowhere to be found, not even at the GQ dinner.

However, Antonia does make a brief reappearance at a BAFTA afterparty alongside Luke on February 16.

Crowd: But it was a repeat of the Boss event. The next day, neither acknowledged the other.

Charley: And Luke was reported to have left the party after only an hour – without Antonia. He even posted a picture of himself getting into a car alone.

Dad: To me, “[i]t seems like Thang took his dog [Antonia] for a walk and left her at the dog park.”

Two days later, Luke – actually out for a walk – is papped getting coffee, alone. Is it horrible of me to say that the most exciting thing about these pictures was the untucked versus tucked shirt? I’m not even sure why I’m taking the time to mention this except I felt there would be some side-eye if I did not.

And to be honest, I’ve left out some details and minor events from the months of January and February because, if I were to add them, this post would be twice as long as it already is. For example, don’t get me started on sunburns, tan lines, and “sunny places.”

If we were in the movie, “Rear Window,” everything stated up until this point would run parallel to the back-and-forth between Detective Doyle and our Trio of Peeping Toms. Evidence is presented by the Trio, which is then countered by Doyle. Doyle’s evidence is dismissed by the Trio because, again, they’re hellbent on proving their case, so they continue theorizing and digging into Thorwald. All that leads up to the movie’s climax.

Charley: Have we finally made it to the SAG?

Crowd: Yes, yes, we have.

Charley: Dad – Dad – wake up!

Dad: Huh?

Alright, the fucking SAG awards. This would be about the point in “Rear Window” where Lisa gets caught by Thorwald rifling through his belongings in search of evidence. We’re in the audience biting our nails because Jefferies can’t do a damn thing to help Lisa except watch everything unfold. And that’s what we did with the SAG awards. The entire Lukola fandom was hyper-focused on Luke and Nicola – and they did not disappoint.

Forget all the drama we endured from the sideshow characters and the nonsense that came with them.

Forget Luke being AWOL for six months.

Forget everything except the “hug heard ‘round the world.”

The ice was broken; the champagne was flowing. Luke and Nicola’s joint SAG appearance was like the World Tour on steroids.

Dad: Can I say something?

Crowd: Fuck. What?

Dad: “It was their season, right? So, their joint appearance on the red carpet wasn’t earth shattering. Neither was them sitting together. It was their night to celebrate.”

Crowd: Who invited this wet blanket to the party?

Dad: I wasn’t done. “Their season has run its course, right? They’ve ‘graduated.’ So why are they the focus of mainstream media?”

Charley: <thinking> Because there’s something newsworthy there?

That is your climax. Not their SAG appearance – because everyone can have their own interpretation of Luke and Nicola’s behavior and those interviewers’ Q&A’s – it was the mainstream media going ga-ga over Luke and Nicola that sent the Lukola narrative tumbling out the window. If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll understand that reference.

By the following day, Luke and Nicola were everywhere. I genuinely appreciate the “Librarians” of the private group chats – those people who track and record every single post, story, like, non-like, follow, unfollow, literally everything – their job was grueling last week. The Sincerely Ignorant Lukolas who jumped ship months ago were frantically trying to climb back on board, while the Jakolas were desperately trying to find their Dramamine. The Defectors went silent except to remind their hive of hornets not to worry; that they will get “a reminder soon…”

Charley: A reminder of what?

Crowd: Oh, that there are two side characters floating about.

Well, lo and behold – right on schedule – a random picture of Luke and Antonia in an elevator surfaced the day after the SAG awards. The problem with the picture was that it was dismissed by Lukolas almost immediately. The account that dropped the picture on X was suspicious. Antonia’s hair and clothing seemed “so last year.” The Lukolas were far more focused on Luke and Nicola liking anything and everything to do with the SAG that day than to pay any attention to the “same old song and dance” about Antonia. Even Nicola liking Jake’s very bland “Nicola” comment on her grid post was dismissed with a “shooing” wave of the hand and an uninterested half laugh.

On February 25, the “insinuation” pictures were at it again. In fact, it was a rather busy day. An event host posted a picture of what appeared to be Antonia perfectly centered at an L.A. hotel pool. The story was reposted by the hotel itself. In fact, that’s the only reason the picture was found by the fandom. A new elevator picture of Luke and Antonia dropped; however, it, too, was dismissed fairly quickly, regardless of it being dropped by a different, less dubious X account. The Lukolas just didn’t give a fuck about Antonia. Luke was the subject of a blind that insinuated he had spent most of his time at the SAG looking in a mirror. And the evening was rounded out by something that would have rocked the boat in June 2024 but had little effect in February 2025 – Nicola followed Antonia on Instagram and vice versa!

Oh, shit – Jefferies just lost his grip and fell out the “Rear Window.” But he didn’t die! So, that’s a plus.

The following day, February 26, Antonia started to remove tags from her Instagram account including the “Soho” New Year's 2024 picture of Luke and his friend group, which included Antonia. And Nicola responded to the “mirror” blind about Luke with “I can confirm this is 100% not true [laughing/crying emoji].” So, interestingly, we had Antonia backing further away from Luke and Nicola stepping up to defend him.

Crowd: So, where do we go from here?

That’s a good question. The thing I’ve learned through this “course” is that the Lukolas are now unmoved by the shenanigans happening around them. You can serve Antonia to them on a silver platter, and they’ll flag down the waiter and ask them to return her to the kitchen. And you won’t find Jake anywhere on their menu (hence why I didn’t even bother to mention Jake’s play).

Dad: I think “the whole thing has run its course.”

It really has. The Lukolas are tired but unyielding. At this point, they just want their version of Thorwald to confess. The narratives running parallel to each other (i.e., Lukola vs. Jakola vs. Lutonia) can’t go on much longer. One of them is going to crack under the pressure.

Remember, “Three can keep a secret…”

P.S.

Dad: “Is Ireland still wearing that ring?”

Me: Yes.

Dad: “Then why did you call me?”

Me: <deep sigh>

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 2 // (12.1k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 2 | << Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

Day 3

You decide to continue cleaning out the gardens this morning, once again trying to get ahead of the midday heat. As you head towards the road, the morning chorus of birds in the trees bring a sort of serenity to the neighborhood…until you notice Sukuna’s yard looks anything but peaceful, wrecked once again. 

It’s not surprising considering how loud things were over there last night. It didn’t keep you up per se, but you definitely could hear the loud music and cars engines revving all night long. The man definitely did not seem to want to keep a low profile that’s for sure considering the neighborhood already had it out for him. Thank god for earplugs.

What is the point of cleaning up yesterday if he just trashed everything less than 3 hours later? 

You throw your earbuds in, get on your knees, and start pulling weeds. It’s tiring and uncomfortable, but you figure if you do a little at a time each day you’ll have something good to show for it by the time you leave. Attempting to try and decipher the ways of the immature, cute, bad boy across the street wasn’t something even your advanced schooling could help with.  

After some time, a shadow appears where you are working, blocking the sun temporarily.

“You’re up early tomato girl,” Sukuna’s playful voice sounds from behind you. 

“I could say the same thing. Seemed like you had a late night. Don’t you have stuff to do during the day?” you chide at him, taking out your earbuds and setting your weed pile to the side so you can turn around. 

He’s in shorts and a t-shirt with a backwards hat smothering his wild hair, red eyes hidden by a pair of shades. He’s smirking down at you and you notice he’s holding a pair of hedge clippers.

“Sweets, I’m a dealer with a suspended license, what do you expect me to be doing all day?” 

“I don’t know, counting pills. Counting money? How should I know?” you retort. 

“You’re cute for thinking that’s what I’d do all day,” he teases. 

You just roll your eyes in response, you honestly don’t care to know, it’s not something you want to know anything about at this point.

“I’m going to clean up some of these shrubs,” he gestures to some plants on the edges of the garden.

“Oh that’s not necessary-“

“I know it’s not, but I’m a grown adult who can make his own decisions. Also tired of these people who won’t get the fuck out my house, I’d rather be around someone I actually enjoy.” 

“Why do you have people over if you want them to leave early? Drugs and booze aren’t exactly conducive to people getting up and at ‘em in the morning,” you tease him as he starts working on a bush a few feet away.

“They’re my childhood friends, but they’re some degenerates who don’t do shit all day. They always promise they’ll be out by 8, but it never happens,” he sighs as he prunes his way around the shrubbery.

“Hey Kuna what’re you doing out here?” you hear a girl’s voice from the road. You look up and see two girls walking your way. They look pretty hungover, must have been some of the company from last night.

“I’m helping my neighbor with some yard work, are you all going to be leaving soon?” 

“Yeah, we were just about to go. Just wanted to see if we could buy something before we leave,” the other girl smiles at him. 

“Go ask Toji or one of the other guys, I’m busy,” he responds bluntly, not looking up from what he’s doing. 

They seem to take the hint and walk away, leaving you both alone again.

“Do you let girls sleep with you in lieu of paying?” you ask.

He bursts out laughing. 

“Fuck no, I’m actually pretty picky about who I’ll sleep with. Just never know their true intentions, especially because I’m weak for some good pillow talk. Haven’t been with anyone in a while now that I think of it since I got in trouble with the law again, maybe I’m paranoid of undercover shit or something.”  

You just nod in agreement, a surprisingly astute and mature response coming from him. It makes sense, but you’d expected him to be more free spirited and reckless. His pillow talk comment makes you internally laugh, you can totally see that being a thing, he’s so emotional and expressive after all. 

As you both continue working, your mind wanders back to your conversations with Cam last night. He’d ripped into you about Sukuna answering the phone while on your walk. 

He’d never let you have guy friends, so being around a random guy yesterday definitely set him off worse than usual. You did feel a little guilty about hanging around Sukuna, but it felt good at the same time, you enjoyed his company. With Cam not here, you had more freedom than you’ve had in ages, so you were keen to take advantage of it for a few days.

“Lemonade break?” you nudge his side as the heat starts to distract you.

“Yeah, fuckin’ brutal out here,” he runs his fingers through his hair.

You go retrieve some glasses and find Sukuna leaned back against the trunk of an old oak tree. You sit next to him, passing him an ice cold glass.

You both sit in silence, letting the cold liquid quench your dry throats, enjoying the soft breeze in your shady refuge. Sukuna’s hat is off, tufts of his pink hair dancing in the wind districting your gaze. 

“Do you think you’ll come back here after your grad school?” Sukuna asks once you’ve both cooled off.

“I haven’t decided yet. I love the area where my school is, but I do miss my family and friends here. Just harder to find a job ya know?” 

It was one of the reasons you’d moved away, to have a better opportunity at research opportunities and post graduate options for your chosen degree. 

“That’s valid,” he responds, stretching his long legs out on the grass in front of him. “Do you still have a lot of friends here?”

“I do, but a bunch of them got married pretty quick and already have a kid or two. Only a few of us are still childless,” you laugh. 

“Figures, seems to be the way things go around here. I remember my mom saying something about how no good girls will be left if I wait to settle down, but it seems like there’s still some goods around,” he turns his head to look at you, sunglasses pushed up on his head now.

“I like to think I’m pretty decent,” you laugh, averting your gaze as you feel your cheeks heat up.

“Better than the crew who I hang around,” he snorts.

“I mean that’s not saying much,” you joke with him.

“Oh please, you know what I meant,” he huffs.

“I could set you up with a decent single friend or two,” you nudge his side.

“Two? Shit, that’s just asking for trouble,” he picks at the grass between his legs, tossing it at you absentmindedly.

“They’re nurses, they’d take good care of you.”

“I’m sure they would. Maybe one day, tomato girl,” he laughs. 

“A gift for you,” he leans your way, presenting what looks like grass to you.

Except it’s not grass, it’s a four leaf clover. Some good luck in his future perhaps?

“You don’t wanna keep your luck?” you giggle, laying it in your palm so both of you can get a better look. 

“Eh, you might need it more, I’m already pretty lucky I live the life I do and haven’t gotten in more trouble.”

“I’ll cherish it forever,” you smile at him, leaning against his arm, the bark of the tree starting to hurt your back. 

You both watch as people slowly trickle out of Sukuna’s house, the line of cars parked on the side of the road disappearing after another hour. 

“You want some more vegetables?” you ask him.

“For meeeeee?” he gasps, giving you a fake surprised look.

“Yes you goof,” you laugh. 

“What’s your offer?”

“There’s some radishes and jalapeños over here,” you get up and point to some plants you had been weeding around.

“Well sure if you’re offering,” he smiles, navigating his way carefully through the garden and cutting a few of them off. 

“I’ve got some stuff to do, but would you wanna come eat dinner at my place tonight? I was gonna whip up some stuff with the tomatoes and I can go ahead and make some stuff with these too…you know as a thank you for sharing,” he says as a faint blush appears on his cheeks, spreading to his ears.

“Oh? Sure, why not. Want me to bring anything?” you respond, feeling a little flutter in your chest.

“Bring your favorite wine,” he grins at you. “I’m gonna start cooking at 5, feel free to come by anytime after then. Sounds good?”

“Um, yeah, that sounds great. Thank you,” you suddenly feel all flustered. It’s just dinner with your temporary neighbor.

In his house…but he can’t drive…so this makes sense right? 

What if Cam finds out? 

There’s no way.

You deserve this though. How many times has the man cheated on you and gaslit you into oblivion until you truly believed you were the reason for his infidelity and abusive actions, like no matter what you did it was never good enough?

You deserve to have one nice night with someone who is kind to you. Eating dinner with a friend is not wrong. Hell it’s not like you ever get to go out with your friends back home because of his controlling nature.

“If it’ll put you in a bind with…him, you don’t have to,” Sukuna’s voice jerks you from your thoughts as if sensing your inner turmoil.

“Huh? No, it’s fine. He cheats all the fucking time, god forbid I have dinner with a friend,” you retort, unsure if you are responding to him or trying convincing yourself. Probably both. 

Sukuna grimaces but quickly replaces it with his trademark smirk. 

“Great, I’ll see you later then,” he turns and walks back to his house. 

As you watch him walk away, your inner self is doing cartwheels in excitement. It’s almost like…

You like him. Crushing on the neighborhood delinquent with the mysterious red eyes and the fine ass tattoos adorning that shredded body. The kind hearted boy who’s captivated you in three short days. 

Nah, you can’t be. Like you said, it’s been three days, you hardly know him…right?

***

You were staring at yourself in the mirror, analyzing the third outfit you’ve tried on. It’s not like you brought that many clothes, but you want to look put together and like you put a little effort in!

You can’t even remember the last time you were giddy and excited for something, and that makes you sad, realizing just how shitty your relationship situation is back home, slowly bleeding the life out of you. 

You grab the wine bottle of choice, some popsicles for dessert, and lock up the house, leaving the light on in anticipation of coming back after dark. The walk across the street and up to Sukuna’s porch is over quickly, noticing for once his car seems to be the only one in the driveway. 

You knock on the door and wait, suddenly wondering what it’s going to look like on the inside. You figure it’ll either look like a frat house bachelor pad, or sleek and clean with nice furniture that could only be afforded with drug money.

You’ll soon find out as you hear heavy footsteps on the other side before the door opens up to Sukuna in an apron overtop of a t-shirt and shorts. It catches you off guard seeing him domestic like this, but it quickly fades as his excited smile greets you.

“So glad you came tomato girl, right this way,” he says, holding the door open for you. 

“Nice apron,” you tease as you place the bottle on the counter. The inside is leaning more towards sleek and sophisticated. Black kitchen table, black chairs, black living room furniture, black cabinets, some type of stone countertops, and so on. It’s not what you expected, but you can’t deny he has good taste.

“Tch, thanks. These tomatoes are really juicy and I was worried about getting them all over me,” he laughs, moving to the other side of the kitchen island to fiddle with some pots on the stove.

“So what’s for dinner chef?” you sit at one of his bar top stools across from him, scanning the area around you. Everything seems very neat and organized, you’d never suspect someone with a record lived here if you walked in without knowing him.

“My appetizer, if you will, is chips and pico de gallo. Made the chips myself, aaaaaaand, the pico features your jalapenos and tomatoes of course,” he pulls a bowl out of the stainless steel fridge and places it in front of you. Chips were already out on the counter.

“Wow you make your own chips?” 

“Damn straight, no bagged chips here,” he points his wooden spoon at you playfully. Something about this big strong man wielding a wooden spoon around in this animated way makes you giggle in amusement. Never a dull moment with him.

You take one, dip, and eat, the satisfying crunch loud in your ears. It’s so good, better than any other chip or salsa you’ve had lately.

“Soooo verdict?” Sukuna rests his elbows on the counter and stares at you with wide eyes, eagerly awaiting your response. His backwards baseball hat hides some of his unruly pink locks, giving him an almost frat boy aesthetic.

“Delicious! I’m impressed,” you say, emphasizing the warmth in your words, reaching for more.

“Sweet,” he mutters with a grin. “I know it doesn’t really go with the chips and pico, but I’ve got some homemade tomato sauce going that we’ll eat with meatballs and pasta. The theme of tonight's menu is tomatoes after all, regardless of the meal classification, so I think it fits,” his eyes twinkle with excitement. He seems proud of himself and it’s oddly heartwarming. 

Your mouth is watering because it all sounds and smells so good. This is the last thing you expected him to be doing, whipping up meals from scratch in the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Actually, yes. First pour us two glasses of your wine, and second, come stir this sauce for me, I need to cut this pasta up.”

“Homemade pasta too?” you gasp.

“Duh, you think I’d feed you inferior boxed pasta?” he smirks as he fishes a wine opener out of a drawer, uncorking the bottle and procuring two glasses. 

“I mean most of the time, men aren’t serving me anything except disappointment, so even boxed would be impressive,” you laugh. 

“Well you’re in for a treat then sweets,” he winks and passes you his spoon. He opts to pour out the wine and sets a glass next to where you are standing. 

Sukuna busies himself with pasta, meatballs, and even some garlic bread while you stir his sauce.

“That’s probably fine now,” he eventually reaches over you to lower the heat, his chest lightly pressing against your shoulder. He’s definitely got some height on you so you don’t even need to duck out of his way.

“Come with me,” he grabs your wrist and drags you towards the back door. Out on his deck you realize there is an abundance of fresh herbs in clay pots.

“You get the basil, I’ll get the parsley,” he instructs, showing you how to properly remove the leaves. 

All of this just keeps surprising you, it makes the butterflies form in your chest again. At this point they might as well just take up refuge there. 

How can you be falling for someone with a record? A drug dealer for god sake! It seems like it has bad idea written all over it. Plus he’s said himself, he doesn’t do long term stuff. 

“Hey!” Sukuna’s voice snaps you back to reality, “I asked if you need any help?”

“N-no, I’m good, I think I got enough,” you stutter, almost convinced he can hear your thoughts. 

“Yep looks good to me,” he answers after coming over to inspect your haul. 

Once back inside, it’s only a little while longer before Sukuna starts plating everything. You are about a glass and a half deep into the wine so you’ve settled at the kitchen table, eagerly awaiting the food.

“Eat up!” Sukuna exclaims as he sets the plates down, joining you at the table.

“Sukuna this looks amazing,” you smile, “thank you again, this was so nice of you.”

“But of course, anything for my neighbor,” he responds. 

“Cheers,” he holds out his wine glass which you gladly clink against with yours. Just as he’s about to take a bite, his phone rings. His playful demeanor instantly turns to one of annoyance.

“One moment,” he gets up and answers.

“What?” he barks into the phone. 

“You absolutely will not come over here, in fact, you can tell everyone that if anyone comes over here tonight I will put a fucking bullet in their leg, got it?” he says in a commanding tone which makes you jump. 

He tosses his phone on the counter and rejoins you.

“Sorry about that,” he sits down like it’s business as usual.

“You can just flip that side of you off and on at will huh?” 

“I have to. Makes it less likely that people will fuck with me,” he explains as he digs in, “it’s just a facade though, like I’d never talk to you that way…unless you wanted me to,” he says with a sly grin.

You practically choke on your food at the bold comment. Up until this point he hasn’t taken his flirty, carefree attitude in that direction, but it churns up some type of feeling deep inside of you that you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Easy there,” you laugh, kicking him lightly under the table. 

He just shrugs with amusement and takes a long sip of his wine. 

“So when people come over here, are they picking up or what?” you decide to probe at him, the wine making you braver.

“Sometimes. I don’t keep much product here. Mainly people come by to drop off cash or get assignments. I’ve got people who report to me who handle most everything lower level like deliveries and sales. I deal with more high level stuff: managing the finances, figuring out markups and pricing, and coordinating with the wholesalers. I am the boss after all,” he grins, twirling some pasta on his fork. 

“So what’s the plan when it inevitably all blows up?”

“Excuse me? Do what now?” he chuckles while hitting you with a questioning side eye.

“You heard me, I feel like this can only be successful for so long right?” you reiterate.

“Oh ye of little faith,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Well, I guess that would mean I’m either dead, or locked up.” 

“That’s pretty extreme. So there’s no backup plan?” 

“My parents’ inheritance I guess. I’d go back to college with it and get a degree in something I suppose,” he muses.

“What made you drop out?” 

“Honestly my grades were shit. I was in a frat and wasting my parents money partying and fucking off, so they stopped paying and I moved back here. Got involved with my old high school buddy, Toji, with this shit and well here I am, the fucking king.” 

“Interesting. I was just curious,” you set your utensils down, plate completely clean.

“How about you though,” his crimson eyes bore into yours intensely, piercing you so sharply it catches you off guard. 

“What happens when your situation blows up?” he continues.

“What are you referring to?” 

“Your loser boyfriend. The odds aren’t good for women in abusive relationships.”

“It’s not technically abu-“

“Ima stop you right there and call bullshit on that tomato girl. I’m speaking the truth and we both know it. So again, what happens when your situation goes south.”

Your mouth is completely dry, no one has ever spoken about it in this way. 

“I guess similar to you, I’m either dead or in jail,” you retort, causing him to smile with amusement.

“Clever. I like that. Hopefully it’s neither, or at least if you’re in jail it’s cuz he’s dead,” his eyes flick back up to yours. You stare into his gaze, lips partially open as you process everything.

“That sounds so morbid but it may or not be a possibility I’ve mulled over in my mind,” you add.

“Well if you need an accomplice, you have my number,” he laughs, taking your plate and his and dropping them in the sink before coming back to join you.

“What do you say, do you think I should leave this all behind? Start over?” he says in a low tone, swirling the wine around in the glass and watching the liquid slowly settle out. 

“It’s not my place to say Sukuna.”

“Would you like me more if I did?” 

You cock your head at him with intrigue, unsure of what he’s getting at.

“I’d like you just the same. I like you for you right now. That’s why I’m in your house.”

He sighs, tapping his fingers on the table, staring up and away from you both.

“Let’s say, hypothetically, I wanted to settle down with some lucky lady. You think I’d have to stop to have a chance at that?”

You pause, hanging onto his words before answering. Is the wine making him say this stuff? You both hadn’t drank that much…

“I’d say it depends on the lady. If I was going to get with someone like you, yes, I’d probably want you to leave that life,” you give him a playful smile, “but I’m sure there are women out there who’d be content to support you in this life and not expect you to change.”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“What about me though, should I leave the man who’s holding me back?” you challenge him.

“Tch, is that even a question?” he rolls his eyes, reaching to rest his hand on yours. Your heart is pounding, thrumming in your ears, making you almost shiver in anticipation. 

“It is, I asked you after all.”

“Then yes, you should.”

“Would you like me more if I did?”

God is it the wine making you say this stuff? 

Sukuna arches an eyebrow in a wordless response, his gaze slowly moving to meet yours before shifting down to your lips and darting back up again.

“Whether you’re with him or not has no bearing on me doing this right now.”

In the moment it takes for your ears to convey his words to your brain, he kisses you. Your eyes widen in surprise, it must have happened in seconds. He’s standing up now, one hand on the table, the other gripping your chin and tipping it up while his soft lips envelop yours. 

The butterflies you’ve become painfully aware of the last few days ricochet around your insides like fireworks in the night sky as you lean in and kiss him back. It doesn’t stop there though, he’s pulling your chair out, cradling you against his chest while you cling to him, lips still locked as he moves towards his living room. 

He falls back into the couch, positioning you so you are straddling him. 

“Sukuna I-“

“Shhh, don’t talk, not right now,” his voice deepens, observing you through lidded eyes. 

And then his large, strong hands are in your hair, gripping your cheek and the back of your head as he pulls you into another kiss.

His lips crash against yours. It’s consuming, claiming, completely losing yourself in him as you force your tongue into his mouth. Sukuna groans against you, meeting you halfway, his soft tongue dominating yours as he deepens the kiss. Your noses brush against each other clumsily as you familiarize yourselves with the other’s movements. 

You feel almost out of practice, you can’t recall the last time Cam kissed you like this. His style was moreso fuck with the most minimal amount of foreplay, and even that was a generous word to describe it. If you do suck at this, Sukuna appears to have no qualms by the way his arms are wrapping around your back, pulling you against him, and devouring the shared air between you.

Your hands find his hair, dragging his hat off so you can thread your fingers through his soft strands. The scent of his shampoo wafts into your nose as you ravenously kiss him back. You shift yourself, groaning as you feel his hard bulge pressing against your groin, catching your clit even through the extra layers. 

“Fuuuck,” he moans into your mouth, starting to nip at your lower lip as his hands wander down to your ass, rolling his hips up to meet yours.

You haven’t felt this alive in literal years, so drunk off the way he nibbles and sucks at your neck while you grind yourself against him. You can feel yourself soaking through your panties, hoping he can’t feel it through his shorts. 

“Lemme go get a condom,” Sukuna whispers, his breath hot on your neck, eliciting a sharp whine from you as the image of what’s to come infiltrates your mind.

Wait, a condom? For sex? He wants to fuck you, god know you wanna fuck him too right now.

But you have a boyfriend, what are you even doing? Acting like a whore? Cam will be furious, you’ll be in trouble-

You start to panic, pushing yourself back from him abruptly.

“What are you doing? You know I have a boyfriend!” your voice cracks as he quickly removes his hands from you, leaning back into the couch to give you the space you were wanting.

“That piece of shit doesn’t deserve that honor,” Sukuna growls in response, his eyes flaring up in irritation.

“You’re taking advantage of me while I’m away from him, you’ve been putting these bad thoughts about him in my head this whole time. You’re no better than him. A criminal, a bad person,” you start to ramble on, freaking out at the thought of the fallout. If he found out.

Sukuna’s eyes flash with pain, your hurtful words piercing through his heart. 

“Right…,” he finally utters, averting your gaze and biting his bottom lip in discomfort. 

“I’m leaving before you turn me into more of a slut than I already am,” you push off of him, leaving him alone on the couch.

“You’re not being a slut! You’re allowed to be treated with fucking respect by someone,” Sukuna retorts, standing up as he follows you to the front door. 

You whip your head around to face him, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m a cheater, no better than him.”

“Is it really cheating when the person who’s supposed to love and respect you is constantly unfaithful and could even be doing so right now? You say it yourself, you don’t even know if you’re exclusive or not. Please, let me show you what a decent man can do, how you should be treated,” his eyes are so full of raw emotion, his hand pushing on the door next to you, partially caging you against it, but still allowing the option to leave. 

You look away from him, tears in your eyes. Everything is so confusing right now, the desperation on his face, the longing for him in your heart, the fear of Cam. It’s all just too much and you need to get away from all of it right now.

You pull the door open, and Sukuna doesn’t stop you.

“Good night Sukuna,” you stutter as you open the screen door, hearing it slam behind you. You move quickly to your parents house, never looking back towards Sukuna, unaware of the way he watches you leave full of hurt and confusion.

For the first time in his adult life, he was considering giving it all up. 

All of this. 

For you. 

The desire to be a better man, the man you never had, the man you deserved, was coursing through his veins. He thought you had felt the same way, what else could you have possibly meant by those questions? It felt like you’d kissed him with such passion and desire, how did this end with him staring at your back as you walked away from him?

Had he read the whole situation this badly? 

No, you had wanted this just as much as him. You break down with the realization as soon as you get inside, back sliding down against the door as you erupt into a sob on the floor. What’s wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just have an ounce of self esteem and break things off for good, let yourself be taken care of by a good man, one who’s been nothing but kind and helpful since you met him. 

You both go to sleep that night thinking of the other, of the night that could have been yours together. 

Day 4

It’s a little harder to get out of bed today. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky, yet here you were festering in your own gloomy thoughts. The only thing forcing you up was that the pets needed taking care of, it’s not like they did anything wrong in all of this.

The humidity is through the roof this morning, probably the worst it’s been since you got here. Normally that combined with a bluebird day means thunderstorms in the afternoon, so you decide to walk Macy in the morning to try and get ahead of it. 

You glance across the street towards Sukuna’s house. No extra cars were around and all the shades were still drawn. Based on the last few days, you’d have expected to see him at some point in the morning, but with what happened last night? No shot. That was probably the last of your interactions with him. 

As you continue your walk, you can’t help but feel guilty about everything. You’d felt scared, even terrified at the thought of hooking up with him even though you’d wanted to with every fiber of your being. The irrational fear of Cam finding out and you reaping the consequences had clouded your judgement. 

“Has he hurt you?” you recall Sukuna asking.

Yeah, he has. Your mind wanders to a dark place, recalling the most recent time he was physical with you. You’d gone out with your grad school classmates for beers one night, which in and of itself caused a blowout fight because three of them were guys. Guys with long term girlfriends and fiancés you had tried to remind him, but he wasn’t having it.

The night had ended with you and two of your male classmates being the last of your group after others had left. There was nothing remotely sketchy or inappropriate going on, just friends talking about life and plans after school. Cam however had decided to take matters into his own hands and show up unannounced, furiously locking eyes with you from across the room as the two guys sat across from you.

Things only got worse for you as he made a scene in front of everyone and practically dragged you out of the bar and into the alley, both of you yelling at each other. The fight only ended when he backhanded you across the face, accusing you of being disrespectful and using his favorite line: “and you wonder why I go looking elsewhere when you constantly act like this.” 

This. Merely existing and trying to defend yourself.

This behavior had instilled a crippling fear and anxiety of never truly knowing where he would show up. You wouldn’t put it past him to find you here. Your hometown is your one safe haven, hence why your location sharing has been off. But you can’t wipe the events of that night from your mind, no matter how hard you try.

You take a left down another road that ends with access to a creek, a place you’d loved playing growing up.

Would Sukuna even understand if you explained all this to him? It shouldn’t be his burden to bear, he probably is just looking for a fun fling, not a girl with baggage as far as the eye could see. Hell you wish you could just have a fun, no string attached night, but the devil on your shoulder can’t just let you be at peace.

You sit down in the grass and let Macy off the leash to play in the water. She loves swimming, and seeing her frolic around in the stream makes you happy for a change. Oh to be a dog just doing what you love, no romantic relationships in sight. You pull a tennis ball out of your bag and toss it into the water, watching Macy swim out to it before bringing it back. 

You repeat these motions until she’s had enough, scampering over to you and falling onto her side, panting in the heat. 

“Tired you out huh girl?” you laugh as you ruffle the damp fur on her neck. You both rest for a while longer before you begin your trek back to the house. Sukuna’s house is still devoid of activity as you head back down the driveway.

You give Macy a quick rinse off outside to get the mud and dirt off of her before letting her back in and preparing some lunch.

Turning on the TV after eating, you decide to have a wallow at home kind of afternoon given your mood. You’ll just binge something and gorge yourself on comfort snacks. 

Macy starts whining to go out after about two hours, so you get up to let her out in the yard. As you lay back down, sleepiness suddenly hits you and you drift off on the couch.

BOOM!

You are jolted awake by a loud noise, scaring the shit out of you. You look outside and notice dark grey clouds covering the sky. 

Great, the afternoon storms you’d predicted have come to fruition. The wind is gusting and rain begins to pitter patter on the roof as another roar of thunder shakes the house.

You know Macy is scared of storms, so you call out to her, trying to find her inside. After checking all her usual hiding spots, you are puzzled that she’s nowhere to be found.

Oh my god. 

You remember now, you let her out and then fell asleep!

You throw on your sneakers as quickly as you can, charging out into the yard as another round of thunder makes you cringe away from the sky.

How could you be so fucking irresponsible! 

Panicking, you run around to the back, hoping by some miracle that she’s there. You are only greeted by the wet deluge that pours down on you as the sky opens up, the fat raindrops splattering onto your bare skin almost mocking you at this point.

This is so bad.

You run up towards the street, frantically calling out to her, your voice completely drowned out by the rain, wind, and thunderclaps that have your ears ringing at this point.

After traversing one end of the street, despair starts to sink in. You are freezing, drenched from head to toe, not even knowing where your tears begin and the raindrops end as rain cascades down your face. As you come back towards the house, you see Sukuna’s out of the corner of your eye.

Maybe he’ll help you.

You literally have nothing to lose, so you bound towards his front door, happy to escape the rain under his front porch.

You bang on the door loudly.

“Sukuna! Sukuna it’s me, can you help me!” you yell over the storm, doubting he can even hear you and if he could, if he’d even want to be in your presence. He has no reason to talk to you again.

To your surprise, the front door opens and you are met with the moody version of the fun loving guy you’ve hung out with the last few days. His face quickly morphs into one of concern, opening the door and coming out to join you.

“Jesus what are you doing out here?” he inspects you, brushing water off of your face and arms.

“It’s Macy, I need your help. I accidentally left her out and then the storm started. She’s terrified of them and I think she’s run off,” you are fighting back tears, voice shaking with fear and likely from the chills that are currently wracking your body as the wind slams into your drenched body.. 

“Of course, lemme put some shoes on,” he responds without missing a beat, disappearing momentarily before coming back outside with a raincoat.

“Go back to your house, let me look for her,” he says gruffly, tucking you under his raincoat, arm slipping around your waist and guiding you out into the yard. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, listen to me please, it’s not safe to be out in this,” he says seriously as lightning streaks across the sky. 

“Gimme your car keys, I’m gonna take your dad’s car.”

“What about your license?”

“Hence why I’m taking the other car, no one will know it’s me,” he scoffs, obviously getting annoyed being out in the rain. 

You unclip your house key from the car key, giving it to him. You stand glued in place, staring at him as if paralyzed on what to do next. 

“Go the fuck on inside!” Sukuna has no patience at this point, dragging you to the front stoop and shoving you towards the door.

Time seems to pass at a sluggish pace as you wait. Five minutes turns to ten and before you know it, thirty minutes have gone by with no sign of the storm letting up. 

You almost go to call Sukuna when you see headlights coming down the driveway. Jumping up, you move to open the front door and almost collapse in relief as you see Sukuna carrying a sopping wet Macy in his arms. 

You rush upstairs to get some towels in preparation for the soaking wet mess that is about to come through those doors. You hold the door open for Sukuna to squeeze by you, standing on the doormat, water running down his legs and soaking the rug.

His pink hair looks darker now and completely is plastered to his face, eyes barely perceptible from being hidden by his wet strands.

“Oh my god, you found her! Are you ok?” you dab the towel at his face, wiping his eyes and cheeks before getting his neck and arms.

“As good as I can be,” he mutters, leaning down so you can towel off his hair. 

“Let’s get this mutt to the bathtub and dry her off,” he says. You untie his shoes and help him kick them off before leading everyone to the bathroom.

Not long after, Macy is as dry as she can be and trots off to hide under the kitchen table, tired from her little adventure.

“Thank you so much Sukuna, I-I don’t know how I can ever repay you. That was so selfless. Truly, thank you again,” you look up at him as he heads back towards the front door.

“Don’t mention it, what kind of man would I be to let a girl run around in the rain by herself. I’m gonna go now, stay dry tomato girl,” he ruffles your hair before disappearing out into the storm.

As you watch him walk away, your heart drops into your stomach. He went out in the fucking storm for a girl who hurled all kinds of accusations at him just the night before. Such an unselfish act, putting you first when he had no reason to.

You wish he’d stop, wish he’d turn around and come back. You want him to stay. Your heart burns with the need to be with him, be close to him, to apologize for everything and explain yourself. Hanging out together meant more than you realized judging by the pang of emptiness you felt as the day dragged on without him, like a part of your routine was missing.

A second chance. It’s now or never, seeing how he’s almost halfway up the driveway.

Your legs move before your brain can even send the command. You rush up the driveway, the pavement slick beneath your feet, lightning flashing in your peripheral as thunder reverberates around you. You reach for his arm, fingers slipping on his rain-slicked skin, but you do enough to get his attention as he turns around in shock.

“Get back inside! Are you purposely trying to drown yourself today!” he enunciates loudly over the storm, irritation plastered across his face.

“Come back, come back please,” you throw your arms around him, pressing yourself into his chest, your cheek plastered against the drenched fabric of his shirt. 

You stare desperately up into his face, the lightning illuminating his crimson eyes. Eyes that look troubled, as if trying to decipher your intent, trying to decide if you mean this or if you are just going to rip the rug out from under him again. 

The rain drips down his pink bangs and onto your cheeks as he looks down on you, seeming to study every part of your face.

“You know I want to,” he mutters, voice deep against your ear, “don’t do this to me if you don’t really mean it.”

“I want you Sukuna. Please, let me try again. I’ll explain, just come back inside,” you choke out, fingers twisting into the waterlogged fabric of his shirt.

In response, his lips find yours, enveloping you in a calm reprieve as the storm rages around you both. Nothing else matters, just his arms around you as you convey the desperation that exists for each other. Each brush of your noses dislodges the rain from his lashes and hair, showering you with droplets warm from his body heat. 

He picks you up, hooking your legs around his waist and intensifying his movements. He forces his tongue into your mouth, clashing with yours, exploring the softness of your cheeks and following the ridges of your gums. 

He strides back towards the house, devouring you, lips welded to yours as the wind blown rain pelts both of you.

The cold air indoors sends shivers down your skin as he opens the door, all your senses suddenly present again as the walls shut out sounds of the chaos outside.

“Where,” he groans against your lips, water dripping from both of your clothes and pattering against the hardwood floor.

“Downstairs, guest room,” you utter against his lips, fingers digging into his jaw tattoos as if clinging to him to shelter you from the storm in more ways than one.

Sukuna wastes no time traversing the staircase, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him and pressing you up against the wall, both of you groping and grabbing, tearing the wet shirts off of each other and letting them drop to the floor.

You both pause, his forehead pressed against yours, chests heaving from a combination of your passionate kissing and the chill air that suddenly hits your damp skin.

“I’m freezing,” you giggle, causing him to snort in amusement. You trace his chest tattoos with your finger, feeling the hard muscle beneath you.

“Yeah why don’t we dry off and warm up,” he plants a soft kiss on your cheek as he moves you both over to the fireplace on the other side of the room, setting you down gently on the carpeted floor.

You turn on the propane fireplace while he grabs some towels out of the attached bathroom, joining you in front of the heat.

You’re down to a sports bra and shorts, feeling a little self conscious at being so exposed, but the heat of the fire radiating against your bare skin is a welcome relief. 

Sukuna peels his shorts off so he’s just in his boxers and you take one of the towels and start to dry him off, working from his upper shoulders and down his back. You chase the small rivulets of water that’d collected in the dips and valleys of his back muscles, tracing the ink that follows a similar path. You move to each leg, encountering tattooed rings around his thighs that make your breath hitch, before turning him around to get his front side. 

You end up taking your sweet time as if memorizing the ridges of his chest and abs as you drag the towel down towards his waistband. 

He sits down on the floor, giving you easier access to towel dry his hair. You can’t deny that he looks cute with his pink locks hanging down in his eyes, but he’s soon running his fingers through his hair to give it his slicked back appearance again.

He in turn does the same for you, sliding your shorts off so you are down to your bra and panties, respectfully drying you from head to toe, not missing how his eyes burn a trail down your skin as they rove over every exposed inch like a spotlight in the dark.

Finally, he launches the towels at the wall, leaning forward to kiss you again as the fire illuminates the room, crackling flames dancing in the reds of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry Sukuna,” you say as you both pull away. His mouth twitches, eyes flicking towards the floor before looking back, willing you to continue.

“Last night, those things I said, you aren’t a bad man, you aren’t a criminal, you weren’t doing anything wrong. I wanted everything you were giving me, I was just…I just got scared. I panicked,” you say quietly, staring into the flames.

He takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles in a comforting pattern.

“Cam, he has a history of showing up where I am unannounced and giving me hell for it. I don’t know, I just had the thought of him finding me, finding us-“

“I know I asked you this once before, but has he hurt you? Like beyond just words?” Sukuna interrupts you. 

You slowly nod your head, looking down in shame, feeling the tears start to build up behind your eyes.

Sukuna tips your chin up, sorrow in his gaze, caressing your cheeks as his thumbs catching the  damp streaks that inevitably form.

“It pains me to hear that, truly. You know you don’t deserve it right? It’s never justified, and it’s never, ever, your fault,” he says softly, pressing gentle kisses into your forehead. 

“I’m sorry too. I came on really strong, and I should have been more attuned to your feelings, knowing the things you’ve been through. Even if he did show up right now, I wouldn’t let him hurt you, wouldn’t let him lay a finger anywhere near you. You’re safe here with me. I promise.” 

“I know,” your lip trembles as you absorb his words, basking in their meaning. They are more heartfelt than Cam has ever given you, coming from a man you’ve known for such a brief time, even though in this moment it feels like you’ve known him forever. He’s someone you could predict, you can anticipate how he would react to things. Harming you was not a possibility.

“Why me though? You deserve to be with someone without all this baggage, wouldn’t it be easier to just have some fun with a woman that you don’t need to tread lightly around wounds that you never caused?” 

He takes your hands in his, watching how your fingers tangle with his before looking back up at you.

“And I don’t have baggage? I’ve been arrested three times now, move drugs for a living, and have a rap sheet longer than some people’s obituaries. Don’t paint me like I’m a saint, that opioid crisis they are always spouting off about? I make money off of it, people overdose and die because of what I do, what I provide them. The only difference is my baggage is self-inflicted while you never asked for yours.”

“We both can’t change what’s happened in the past, but we can change things for the future, we can help make each other better. Look, I-I know I’ve only known you for what, four days? Which seems like nothing, not even a corporate work week, but you’ve completely turned my life upside down. I know it probably sounds like I’m talking nonsense, but you’ve made me want to change everything, give all this up, and be a better man. 

And those four days, I want them to become 8, then 16, 32, 64 and continue doubling indefinitely into some number that I don’t even fucking know the name of, until I can’t even remember how it all began, just that it began and will end with you.” 

You swear you stop breathing, the air trapped in your lungs threatening to burst. Sukuna, the man you didn’t know you were looking for, found you on the same street where you started your life’s journey having grown up just 10 miles away from each other. Always so close, but never knowing it, you’d been like satellites in each other’s orbit, never finding each other until you needed each other the most. Two broken souls, using shattered pieces from the other to fill the gaps, forever binding yourselves together. 

“Sukuna,” you take a long pause, “I think I love you,” your voice quivers with fear as you utter such vulnerable words.

“And I know I love you.” he hits you with that boyish grin as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before giving you a loving kiss, a kiss that has both of you grinning into each other's mouths, giddy with the excitement of what’s to come.

“I want to continue where we left off last night,” you whisper as you trail soft kisses down his tattooed jaw, earning a soft moan from his throat.

“I’ll follow your lead, go at your own pace,” he sighs as you move to his neck, licking and sucking at his skin, taking your time getting attuned to everything about him.

It’s different being with someone you trust. Normally you’d rush into the main event, hoping to get it over with so you could get away from Cam. Emotionless sex to try and buy his favor for another few hours at best.

But now, you are at peace to just reclaim moments like these, feeling safe enough to actually take the time to appreciate every facet of Sukuna’s body and showing him how much you appreciate him.

You guide him to his back, the flickering flames still providing much needed warmth as your hot kisses make their way to his collarbone. 

“Is this too slow?” you pause, worried you’re taking too long.

“Not at all, love it,” he responds with reassurance.

You continue your exploration of his body, tongue gliding through the ridges and valleys of his muscular physique until you reach the waistband of his boxers that look like they are about to burst from the bulge in their confines. You lightly stroke him through the fabric, earning a sharp groan from Sukuna as his erection twitches under you.

He feels fucking massive, but you’re determined to find out just how large as you coax him to lift his hips. Sliding them off, his hardened length comes into view and springs back against his abs. 

“Holy shit Sukuna,” you giggle in surprise. That’s going to…take some work.

“What?” he grins, palming himself as he sits up to look at you. 

“You know what,” you brush his hand away so you can take over.

“I knowwww, I’ll help you though if you decide you wanna go that route,” he exhales as you wrap your fingers around his thick shaft, slowly pumping his length.

“I do very much want to go that route,” you whisper in his ear as you pump his cock faster, thumb running over his defined head and dragging precum along his skin to help you glide more easily.

“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, throbbing in your hand as you grip him tighter, loving how vocal he is with each stroke of his cock.

“You’re gonna have to stop if that’s what you wanna do,” he teases, looking up at you through lust filled eyes, reaching out to grab your wrist reluctantly. 

You giggle as disappointment shows on his features when you stop gripping him. 

He strips you of your remaining layers, both of you now completely bare to the other. Picking you up, he moves you to the bed, laying your head down gently on the pillows as he sits back to admire you.

“So fucking perfect,” he sighs as he runs a hand from your neck down to cup your breast, thumb rolling your nipple until it hardens under his touch. He returns the favor to you, kissing and nipping all over every inch of your body, as if mapping it out and committing it to memory. 

“Sukunaaaa,” you say his name between breathless moans as his tongue rolls your nipple in his mouth, the other being worked by his skilled hands. Your hands are in his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he continues his ministrations. 

“Can I eat you out?” 

“Holy fuck yes,” you answer quickly. Considering how fucking good his tongue felt on your body, you could only dream of how it would feel against your soaked core.

You didn’t have to wait long because seconds later his head is between your legs, hair tickling your inner thighs. He’s licking long stripes from your entrance to your clit, already making your hips buck in anticipation.

“You’re sooooo wet already,” he murmurs against your cunt, lapping up everything he can before he dives in for more.

“So-sorry, just, haven’t had this in ages,” you stutter, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

“Fuck, don’t apologize. Also what a sorry excuse for a man to not go down on you,” he grumbles before he starts devouring you.

It’s so messy, so sloppy, the wet, lewd sounds almost echoing off the wall with the way he plunges his tongue into your cunt. His nose brushes against your clit, making you cry out from sheer bliss at the way he’s practically worshiping your pussy, making you feel so fucking good. You can’t look away, his blown out eyes locked onto yours, watching and observing your every reaction. You feel like you might actually rip his hair out with how hard you’re digging in, but he doesn’t seem to mind, doubling down on his efforts every time you rake your nails through his scalp. 

All his attention moves to your clit, alternating between swirling it with his warm tongue and flicking against it in a way you didn’t even know you needed. You grind yourself against him, seeking even more of that perfect friction. 

Maybe you’re extra sensitive because your loser boyfriend never attempts to make you finish, but you feel the orgasm fast approaching and you have no desire to slow it. 

“Sukuna, keep going, I’m close Sukunaaaa,” you whine, losing yourself in the moment. Each perfect drag of his tongue pushes you closer to the edge, a feeling you haven’t felt in god knows how long. 

One last flick from his skilled tongue is your undoing as the orgasm tears through you, crying his name over and over as your hips buck wildly against his face. Sukuna holds you in place when you try to push off, seeing to it that his mouth never leaves your clit as each hot wave of pleasure rolls over you, making you see stars, remembering nothing but the way his name leaves your lips.

He kisses your core one final time before he moves up to kiss your lips. You feel like dead weight, relishing in the post orgasmic bliss as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Damnnn you taste so fucking good,” he smirks, sitting back up, cheeks glistening with your arousal, even covering part of his chin tattoos.

“Ummm I can get used to all of that, that felt fucking amazing,” you sigh, staring up into his darkened eyes. 

“You’ll never go without again,” he grins.

“I’ve got condoms in my toiletry bag over there,” you point to the bag on the dresser.

“Don’t needa tell me twice,” he leaps up, tearing the bag open which has you giggling in amusement at his eagerness. 

“Damn girl,” he holds up the roll of four condoms, letting them dangle from his hand. His naked, muscular body looks fucking divine as the light from the fire flickers against his skin in the dim light.

“I know it seems like a lot, they’re just leftover from buying some while trav-“

“Nooooo, seems like not enough considering you are here for five more days,” he gives you that boyish grin, making your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. The idea of having sex with him four times makes your pussy clench with excitement.

“Might not even be enough for tonight.”

“Sukuna!”

“Relaaaax, I’m joking, sort of.” 

He tears one off and puts the corner in his mouth, quickly rejoining you. As he lays back down next to you, his hand slides up your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against your entrance.

“I said I’d help you,” he mutters through the foil as he slowly pushes a finger into your soaking cunt. It’s sooooo deep, deeper than you could ever reach. 

He works a second one in, gently thrusting in and out, feeling the stretch transition to pleasure with each drag of his digits against your walls. You groan as he curls his finger to prod at your spongy sweet spot, stopping to stroke it a few times.

“That’s it huh?” he gives you a toothy smile, eyes almost rolling when you clench around him.

“Fuck I need to feel that on my cock,” he gasps, quickly pulling out and tearing the packet open with his teeth. He slides it on with no hesitation, nudging his way between your legs.

You feel his tip at your entrance for just a moment as your eyes lock one more time. You give him a small nod and with that, he thrusts his hips forwards, easing his way inside. You both gasp, you at the sudden stretch and him at the feeling of your velvety walls clinging to his tip.

“Hold onto me,” he utters, waiting until you grip his shoulders before starting to work you open with short slow thrusts, letting you adjust as he sinks deeper and deeper. Now you understand his request because your nails digging into his skin is the only thing to counteract the intense, full feeling his thick cock gives you. 

“Fuckkkk baby you’re so goddamn tight,” Sukuna groans as he finally bottoms out, giving you a deep kiss as he pulls all the way out and slowly thrusts back in. You swear you can feel each vein on his shaft through the fucking condom dragging against your walls with how snug of a fit he is.

“I don’t know if I’m tight, you’re just so fucking big,” you chuckle against his lips.

“Ummm, you’re tight, trust me on that sweets, I think I’ve been in more pussies than you,” he jokes back at you while giving you slow, deep strokes.

“And I think you’re big, I’ve had more dicks ins-“ 

“Okay I believe you!” he shoves his hand over your mouth and you both erupt into a fit of giggles.

Sex with Sukuna just feels fun. Playful even, just like his general personality. There’s no pressure to perform a certain way, all the self consciousness you were feeling earlier just melts away, as you both take everything in stride and enjoy getting used to and learning about one another. 

After a few more slow thrusts, you beg him to go faster which he happily obliges, angling himself towards your sweet spot which has you moaning his name.

“Kunaaaaa yes! Just like that,” you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as his cock head kisses you in just the right place over and over.

“Yeah? Right here?” he grunts, speeding up his movements even more, causing your eyes to roll. He hooks your leg behind his waist, plunging himself even deeper into your tight cunt as he drives you harder into the mattress. 

You forgot how good sex could feel, sure the physical was good in its own way, but the emotional security while doing it with someone you care for is unmatched.

You’re truly able to let yourself go and get lost in the other person, forgetting about everything except for each other. That’s how it was with Sukuna right now, trusting him to give you what you need and being open to you telling him what you want.

“Can I be on top?” you whisper in his ear.

“Fuck yeah, get on girl,” he nips at your neck before pulling out, propping himself up on the pillows.

You wanted to feel in control and selfish for your own pleasure for a change, and Sukuna was the kind of man to let you have that. Not like he cared either way, you looked fucking great riding his cock, his eyes glued to the way your tits were bouncing in his face while you angled yourself in just the way you needed.

“That’s it baby, fuckin’ use it, use me,” his hands rest on your hips, letting you be in control while his strong arms help to steady you, the perfect team player. 

“Can you take the condom off?” you whine, wanting to feel all of him.

“Huhhh? Really?” his eyes widen and you swear you feel him throb inside of you.

“Yeah, I’m on birth control,” you slow down and roll your hips a few times while waiting for his response. 

“Shit I’m probably gonna bust in two seconds, but fuck it, I’m willing to take that chance to feel all of you, raw and gripping me like that,” he says, lifting you up, pulling the condom off, and tossing it on the floor.

You realign yourself and take him to the hilt in one go.

“Holy shit! Fuck! Ah-shit,” he hisses, head falling back hard against the headboard with a thud, eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling.

“Oh god are you ok?” you snort at his dramatic response. 

“Maybe, I don’t fuckin’ know, but god fuckin’ move baby,” his eyes are locked onto where you are both connected, mind only focused on one thing. He feels too damn good, his perfect cock gliding through your walls, tip just kissing your cervix as you start to feel the pool of desire within you heating up again.

You become needier, bouncing faster, angling yourself so that his fat tip hits your sweet spot, feeling yourself gushing from the impending climax. Sukuna looks like he’s barely holding on, focusing so hard on…something, probably something strange to keep his composure. His fingers are gripping you so hard, likely leaving marks on your skin.

“I’m gonna cum, help me,” you whine just as the orgasm consumes your movements and you clench around him with no control. Sukuna, being such an attentive partner, takes over thrusting into you from below, letting you ride out the high as your vision goes white from the hot waves of pleasure convulsing throughout your body.

“Fuck oh my god you’re so fucking perfect,” he growls, staring up at you with awe as you start to collapse against him, catching you with his strong arms.

“It’s a miracle I lasted through that,” he chuckles as he starts to roll you both back over, locking your legs around his waist as he slowly starts to rock into you again.

“Do you really love me?” you say softly, staring up into his eyes.

“You know I do,” he groans, his rhythm starting to get sloppy.

“Mmm, I love you too Sukuna,” you sigh, feeling him throb inside of you.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, where do you wannit?” he utters through gritted teeth.

“Inside.”

“Shit.”

“Fucking deep inside Kuna, want you to fill me up,” you moan, rocking your hips against his.

“Goddamn girl, gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groans and with one last impossibly deep thrust, he unleashes his hot load, hips stuttering as he pumps thick ropes of cum into your pussy. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck as his body finally begins to still, his hair tickling your skin as you cling to him, melding both of your bodies together. Your chests heave against each other as you catch your breaths, Sukuna’s large body pinning you beneath him. 

“Thaaaaat, was fucking awesome,” he finally exclaims, moving to lay at your side, pulling you snug against his chest.

“You have no idea,” you sigh with contentment, snuggling up to his warm body. 

You doze off and on while pressed up against him, his heartbeat thrumming against your cheek and his fingers tracing lazy circles on your upper arm. 

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” you give him a sheepish smile as you sit up, turning to look at him.

“Tch, l just came inside you and you’re concerned that you fell asleep on me?” he teases, eyes lighting up. He looks genuinely happy and it makes your worries wash away.

“Shut up! Just…didn’t know how you’d be acting after all that.”

“I personally adore knowing I fucked you so good you passed out,” he grins, pulling you on top of his broad chest.

“I guess you did huh, body isn’t used to it I suppose,” you say as you rest your chin on his pecs.

“Hmm, that’s okay, thought it was cute having you fall asleep on me. You’re welcome to anytime,” he replies, his warm words making you want to bury yourself in his chest again.

“Oh I ordered a pizza while you were asleep, it should be here soon,” Sukuna says.

“Thank god!” you are starving and haven't even thought about dinner.

The doorbell rings and Sukuna gets up to grab you a fresh towel to clean up with.

“I’m sorry I should have done this earlier, I can come back to help you clean up,” he says as he searches the floor for his shorts.

“You’re fine, I’ll be up in a bit,” you wave him off, but appreciate the concern.

You clean up briefly and then pull on some sweats and a hoodie, trudging upstairs to join him. You realize you are pretty fucking sore right now, legs feeling a little shakey as you climb the stairs.

The storm must have stopped while you were both downstairs, the last traces of daylight rapidly fading into night as you peek out the window. Sukuna is in the kitchen getting plates and also a glass of water for you. He gives you a drive by peck on the lips before sitting down next to you.

“So what’s the plan,” Sukuna blurts out as he tends to do, he really has zero filter when it comes to saying what’s on his mind.

“What plan?” 

“The plan for you and me.”

“Well I don’t know the plan, but we can make one together,” you chuckle, “what’s at the top of your list?”

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he says bluntly, taking a big bite of pizza while you almost choke on yours. 

“Damn okay tomato girl, don’t puke all over yourself in disgust at the thought,” he teases while you slap his arm, trying to regain your composure. 

“No! It just surprised me is all. Can you do a long distance relationship? I still have another year for my masters at least.”

“You’re worth waiting for. We can video call and shit too, and I’ll come visit you.”

“AND, while you are in school, I can go back to school too. Maybe we can be done close to the same time,” he adds. 

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah, been thinking about it since yesterday.”

“What do you think you’d want to go for?” 

“Probably something with car maintenance and repair. Actually seems to pay pretty well for the area and I already know a lot about working on them. I thought I could finish my business degree and do the apprenticeship at the same time. There’s so many online degree choices now, I should be able to make both work. God knows I have enough money.” 

“I think that is a great idea,” you respond, getting butterflies thinking about the future together. “My parents are going to be in for a shock.”

“Ha, yeah they are. They’re usually alright with me though, hopefully they’ll come around after hearing our plans. No way I’m worse than Cam. Which by the way, you technically have two boyfriends right now, playa,” he winks at you, making you snort in response. 

“I haven’t technically said yes to you yet,” you tease as you pinch his tattooed cheek, “and yes, I will be your girlfriend Sukuna. I’ll also send Cam a breakup text after eating then block him.” 

“Good, I don’t like being the other man.”

“Popsicle?” you ask, getting up to raid the freezer.

“Yes ma’am!”

One popsicle later, Sukuna has whisked you back downstairs and has his head between your legs again, eating the “real dessert” as he called it. He stops to let you send your breakup text, saying he wouldn’t let you cum until you were only his, but after that, the man is all over you until the early morning hours when you finally tap out, unable to keep your eyes open anymore.

Day 5

You awaken the next morning to Sukuna’s arms wrapped around your body and legs tangled in yours. It must be late considering the way the sun is beaming through the window. 

You groan with discomfort, your whole body feels sore and you are absolutely famished. 

“Sukuna,” you say sleepily, shaking him.

“Hmm? What?” he responds in a sleep raspy voice, sitting up and shoving his hair out of his eyes. 

“So hungry.”

“Lemme go get us some donuts.”

Your mouth waters at the thought, a local shop in the area makes apple cider donuts that you miss so much now that you live out of the area.

“What about your license?”

“It’ll be fine, I drive all the time and it’s not an issue. I just gotta be a good boy and not drive crazy,” he laughs. 

You feel yourself about to fall back asleep so you don’t argue. He crawls over to you, planting a soft kiss on your lips before getting up.

“I’ll be back in a bit, why don’t you sleep a little more, you look…quite rough,” he snickers.

“Wow I wonder what could have possibly caused this?” you roll your eyes at him. 

“Hmm I wonder?” he jokes, throwing on a shirt and sweats that he got from his house last night. 

“Love you tomato girl…friend,” he looks so proud of himself for coming up with that, making you groan.

“You are…something,” you burst out laughing, “love you too, see you soon.”

He comes over and gives you a big, crushing goodbye hug. 

“God I wish you could stay a little longer,” he nuzzles his face into your neck.

“It'll all be okay,” you thread your fingers through his hair one more time before he leaves you to bury yourself in the sheets again, quickly letting sleep consume you once again.

You are jarred from your slumber by your phone ringing. You sit up, disoriented, realizing it’s almost 3PM, much later than Sukuna was supposed to be back. Maybe he was upstairs letting you sleep.

You pick up your phone to answer. 

“Hello?”

“This is a collect call from an inmate at the Southeastern Regional Jail, press 7 to accept.” 

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 15

Synopsis: You’re angry at Red Hood, not Jason.

Notes: so, this got really angsty at the end. I don’t know what happened. I knew ya’ll where so excited to have our boy back, and everything with Jason is fine, but Red hood… it's rough. Anyway, I guess, enjoy?

Masterlist

When you woke from your nap, you did a mild pick-up of your apartment (not really, just moved things around so it looked more organized), then you sat on your couch to watch TV. You hated it. Your mind would lose focus and wander to other things, things you didn’t want to think about. It led to you staring at your hands far too many times, picturing blood that was no longer there.

You noticed that your knuckles were dried out, cracking a little. It was odd. In the three years you’d lived in Gotham, you never had an issue with dry skin, considering it was an island on water. You rub at the chapped skin and realize you’ve been overwashing your hands without thinking about it. Neither the girls nor Jason had mentioned it, although with how you keep your apartment, you imagine they didn’t think anything of it. You were having a serious Macbeth moment that worried you, but what else could you do?

At the usual designated time slot, you unlocked your window and waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly three o'clock in the morning, you startle awake on your couch. You practically jump over to the window, having heard a noise on the fire escape, but you find nothing more than one of the neighbor's cat on the fire escape. It blinks at you before scampering up the stairs on the escape. You sigh and accept that he isn’t coming tonight.

The upset that had simmered over the past few days returns. You collect his jacket from where it hangs by your door and march to your window. You shove it open, shivering from the cold air, and toss the jacket onto the escape. There was no reason for you to hold onto it. If he wanted it, he could come and get it because obviously, he didn’t want to talk to you, so you didn’t want to talk to him.

You went to bed upset and tossed and turned for the rest of the early morning. By seven o'clock, you gave up on the idea of sleeping. You paced around your apartment before you came to an understanding with yourself. Cass and Steph were right, you couldn’t stay at home forever. That, and you really needed a distraction, even if it was only for four hours.

****

Jason had been worried on patrol all night. Steph and Cass had reported to him that overall, you seemed okay, if not a little overwhelmed in crowded places. He was shocked when they said they had taken you shopping, surprised you willingly left your apartment. He was mostly happy to know that you were on the up-and-up of your traumatic experience much faster than he would’ve thought. Or at least a little bit. They had told him that while you hadn’t rushed them out the door, there was a certain relief on your features as they were leaving, no doubt about finally having an evening for yourself after constantly having people around.

It’s the reason he didn’t show up that evening, at least that you saw. He had stopped by in his old way, across the street on the roof, around one in the morning. He could see your TV running and spotted the lump that was you asleep on the couch. White noise, he assumed. The TV would be better than silence. He didn’t even check the window, just threw a longing glance at your apartment before moving on his patrol, you constantly in the back of his mind. You clearly needed the time alone, which is why he was surprised when he received a text from you about mid-morning.

You: I’m going to work today walk me home?

He didn’t even respond; just picked up the phone and called you. You answered immediately.

“I only tease you about technology, I know you know how to respond to a text.” Is the first thing you say. Jason can feel the tension leave his shoulders just at the sound of your voice. He shakes his head and refocuses.

“Sweetheart,” had he paused, he would have heard the audible pleased sigh that escaped your lips at the name, “are you sure you're ready to go back to work?”

“I don’t really have a choice. I already called Jackie and told her I would come to work half a shift.” You're clearly making up a reason not to back out, dependable.

“I’ll call back and tell them you changed your mind.” He states, not wanting you to force yourself into it.

“Worry not, I haven’t changed my mind.” You tease. The lilt of your voice when you get like this was something Jason hadn’t realized he missed. You were doing better if your attitude was anything to show for it. After a moment of silence, Jason caught up in the sound of you getting ready for work, you repeat the question you had texted.

“Will you come walk me home?” He answers quickly, easily, despite how tired he was from his night of patrol and bad sleep (worrying about you).

“Course. What time do you get off?” There’s a clatter on the other end of the line (a surprised drop from how quickly he answered), and he’s about to ask if everything is okay, but you respond, rushed, about when you get off.

“And what time do you go in? I can walk you to work, too.” He offers. He hears you suck in a stuttered breath all movement stopping.

“It’s okay, Jay. Daylight hours, I’ll be fine.” You reassure him. Jason wouldn’t admit it aloud, but his stomach fluttered at the way you said Jay. You had never called him that before and even though it was just a shortened version of his name, you said it so sickly sweet that it got to him.

“Alright,” He concedes only because he knows you might berate him if he asked if you were sure about it. He manages to keep you on the phone until you're nearly to work, idle silence mostly filling the space between you two. He enjoyed learning that you talk to yourself sometimes as you get ready, and you will share whatever you see with him as you walk, a dog, some trash on the street, or a motorcycle that made you think of him. You had rushed a goodbye to him just as you opened the door to Jackie’s. He eyed the time. Four hours to waste.

Jason only lasted three hours before he showed up at Jackie’s. He parked his bike in its usual spot in front of your building and tried to take his time walking. It didn’t work. You were walking by with a plated muffin as he opened the door. Your eyes lit up when you saw him, and you greeted him happily.

“Jason!” You held the plate away from your body as you leaned towards him, and without thinking, he pressed a kiss to your temple, hand on your shoulder to steady you. When he pulls back to really look at you, he finds your under-eyes puffy and your eyes red, like you’d been crying. He’s about to ask you about it, but you were off to drop the muffin. He hesitates at the door, wondering if he should sit or wait for you to come back. You stop at the table and start talking to the customers. He takes that as his cue to sit down.

He brought his book like always, considering he was early anyway. He reads, periodically glancing up like you'll materialize right in front of him. He becomes focused on his book when you appear. You set his designated drink on the table and sit down in the booth next to him, sliding until your touching, thighs and shoulders pressed. You sag against the seat, and he nearly does the same. He turns his head to look at you, an odd angle, but he doesn’t want to pull away. Your hand wiggles where your thighs meet, and without a second thought, his fingers curl around yours.

“Hi.” Your voice is drained, but you look happy as you settle your chin on his shoulder to meet his eye.

“Hi,” he replies, and before he can ask you his question, you answer.

“I’m okay,” you say with a grin.

“Then why do you look like you’ve been crying?” He brings his free hand to press at your cheek, thumb rubbing at the delicate skin under your eye. Your eyes flutter, and you pull your face off his shoulder and out of his hand.

“Darla brought her granddaughter in.” Your eyes start to water again. “She was so cute and just so small,” your hand leaves his to show him, “Her little head fit in my hands.”

Jason nearly laughs at you for crying about a baby, but the way you pout at him makes him stop. He pats your thigh as a means to comfort you.

“Okay, but you seemed high-spirited when I came in,” he says. You roll your eyes and bring your hand up to swipe at a tear.

“Because Darla brought her granddaughter in,” you say it like it’s obvious, like he’s just being silly for asking the question. He gives you a look, and you shake your head.

“Between Darla and baby Claire, the girls, and you, it was a good reminder that life is long and not just the now. Not everything is bad, there’s still good in the world.” You add, picking at your cuticles. Jason understands now, maybe a little too much. He had spent a year trying to take over Gotham and get back at Bruce. A year with nothing good shining through the darkness. Focusing just on the bad will do that. You seem more even-balanced than he ever was. A silence settles between you two, it's not awkward, though. You stop picking at your hands and settle your head on his shoulder.

“I think I'm tired, too,” you murmur. “It’s making me a little sensitive, I think.” The silence returns, your hands threaded with Jason’s again, and he almost thinks you’ve fallen asleep until the door dings, and you’re up and out of the booth and in record time.

The next hour is spent easily. You’d return and sit for a little while and then leave to attend customers before coming back again. At the end of the work hours, you slide next to him, now apronless. You settle against his shoulder again, reading the book with him. At the end of the chapter, he closes the book and looks at you.

“Ready?”

 “As I’ll ever be,” you answer, sliding out of the booth and working to zip up your jacket. It's a new one, Jason thinks, having never seen it on you before.

“New Jacket?” Your hands stutter your movement at the question.

“I lost my other one, had to drag this one out of storage.” You mumble. Jason thinks for a moment, trying to figure out where you would have lost your jacket. He had seen you wearing it about a week ago before he remembers. When Red Hood pulled you out of the warehouse, he had given you his leather jacket because you didn’t have one. If you had been walking home, you would have been wearing one, which means it's either still in that warehouse or in a police evidence locker. Jason felt guilty for a moment, like he should have gotten you a new one so you didn’t have to drag one out for storage. One that had clearly seen better days based on the melted hole on the sleeve near your wrist.

You don’t give him time to question or offer because you're already headed for the door. He’s quick to rush ahead of you to open the door. You give him a smile with a scrunched nose like you might tease, but you keep your mouth shut. Once out the door and walking down the street, your gloved hand slips into his pocket where his hand was. Fingers curl together in the warmth of the pocket, and Jason has never been happier.

If he was completely honest, the almost two days away from you were ridiculously hard. You were like a drug to him, and his withdrawal made him antsy, waiting to see you again. Enough so that Damian had pointed it out while they were taking down an arms deal. Damian, who is so much like his father when it comes down to the mission. Jason had denied anything, but Damian had just given him a deadpan look that reminded Jason of when Damian was a baby in the league. He pulled himself together for the rest of the patrol.

Walking with you is much like walking with you on the phone, idle silence, and pointing at things of interest. The walk was slow, even though you looked tired and no doubt ready to be home. Once you reached your apartment building, Jason realized why.

“Thank you for walking me home, Jason.” Your touch slips from his, and you sway on your feet, unsure. You were really tired, exhausted even. It irked you that you only worked four hours and felt like you did a double shift. It probably didn’t help that you had practically bawled your eyes out when Darla brought in her granddaughter, a reminder of where life had started, how far you’ve come, and how far you have yet to go. She had shaken her head at you and let you hold the little girl longer than necessary.

Being so tired, you just wanted to sleep, but you didn’t want Jason to leave. During the time the girls were with you, beyond curiosity, you hadn’t really thought about him, but the moment they were gone was a whole other story. Without distraction, you had become conscious of a Jason-shaped gap in your chest.

You knew you liked Jason, that wasn’t news to you, but this was different. It was a tender, nearly guilty feeling. You felt like, perhaps, he was just indulging you and your affections in the last week because you had been through something traumatic. It's why you were not inviting him up to your apartment (and subsequently into your bed). You wanted to, desperately, having already come to terms with the fact that you sleep better next to him. But you can’t do it, not if he’s just gentle and sweet on you because that’s what you need right now.

He stares at you, and you shift on your feet. You feel like your old way of things are filtering back in. He turns without a word to his bike, same spot as always, and you think he’s going to leave without saying anything until he turns back to you. He holds a rectangular box, only a little bigger than your hand. He holds it out to you expectantly, a slight pink on his cheeks. He speaks as you take it and open it.

“I’m always more than willing to walk you to and from work, but if you're insistent about guilt-tripping yourself out of asking me, at least you’ll be able to protect yourself.” You glance up to glare at him for the guilt trip comment, but it falters when you see his knowing look. Inside the box is an unassuming smaller black box with grip grooves on the side. It kind of reminds you of an old Nokia phone. You pick it up and turn it over in your hand, confused.

“It’s a taser,” Jason says, your whole hand hold changes to two fingers holding it away from you. Jason laughs.

“It’s not a gun, sweetheart,” he takes it from you and edges into your space to show you how to use it. A button on the side to start the electricity startling you and he explains where to aim if someone grabs you and then he’s handing it back to you.

“And it’ll fit in your bag.” He adds like he’s trying to sell it to you. You glance at the said bag, then at the taser, then at him. He seems a little flustered, and it makes you grin; the tender, less guilty version of your feelings works its way across your body.

“Thank you, Jay,” his flush deepens slightly in a way that makes you want to tease him just to see how dark the red would get (or perhaps to see how low it would go), but you reel yourself in. You do stand on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek that he seems pleased about.  He nods and pulls back to get his helmet.

“See you later?”

“yea”

He climbs onto his bike, and you take an appreciative glance, having forgotten how good he looked on his bike. He waves at you, and you return the gesture before he’s gone. You sigh as you climb the stairs into your building. You were in deep with this boy, and you had no idea what to do with it.

****

You did manage to take a nap, longer than you expected. Long enough to keep you awake in the middle of the night, which you had not planned. You’re sat at your island, sipping a warm lemon water trying to lull yourself to sleep when you hear the creak of the fire escape. Your whole body freezes. You know it’s Red Hood this time, the noise more obvious. You don’t know why you thought the cat yesterday was him. You hear a knock on the window.

You don’t move from your spot, instead taking another sip of your water, back still facing the window. You wait for him to leave. You had left his jacket out there the night before. There was nothing else he needed here.

He knocks, and you feel your upset and anger flare again. Why can't he just leave you alone? Can't he tell you don’t want to talk to him? You hear the squeak of your locked window opening, a cold breeze drifting in, and then the window closing. You finally turn to glare at him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The jacket you had left outside is already draped on the back of a chair at the dining table. His helmet is off but still in his hands. You wish he had kept the helmet. His normal, hard-set features are that of a kicked puppy. Thank god his eyes were covered because if they weren’t, you would probably have folded at the sight of them. He suddenly seems hesitant, frozen mid-motion, to set his helmet down.

“What?” his voice is quieter than you think you have ever heard. Your chest aches. You missed him in the past four days, but you wouldn’t let that deter you. You were angry and rightfully so; he got you kidnapped.

“I said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I left your jacket outside and locked the window so you wouldn’t come in.” You regret the way you're speaking to him. This isn’t like you, but your outrage oversteps your regret.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he says, slowly setting his helmet on the dining table. You glare at the harsh red metal.

“I’m fine. Get out.” You say flatly. This was hurting you more than you’d like to admit. Red Hood was a friend, a good friend, but his presence led to the disaster that was that night in the warehouse. You got kidnapped because of him, and he didn’t even save you; you saved yourself, and you weren’t proud of it.

“It’s okay if you’re not. You killed someone. That’s not something you just get over.” He says. It wasn’t lost on Jason the fact that you hadn’t told anyone what happened with Ted Jackson. He had talked to Cass and Steph about it and had a long conversation with Bruce in Cave about it that Barbara had inserted herself into regarding what she knew from her father, unofficially, of course.

He takes a step forward, and you take a stunned half-step back. You press yourself against the island, despite him being nowhere near you. Your hands curl around the counter edge, and Jason can see your nails digging underneath. This had been what he’d been worried about. Every time he had badged you about how you were doing as Jason was him, trying to goad you into talking about this. He had worried that you had locked it away in your mind as something to deal with later, but he had already seen spurts of it leak into the way you reacted to things. Despite being hopeful that you would talk to Red Hood about it because he already knew, Jason is sorely disappointed when you just repeat your words.

“Get. Out.” Your words are hard, but your voice shakes as you speak them: “I want you to leave and never come back.” Your eyes are watery, but the rest of your features are set harshly. He’s surprised by it. He didn’t think you could look so…cold.

“Sweetheart,” he offers the name softly, trying to coax you into talking, but you cut him off, voice louder than before.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You point an accusatory finger at him, “You don’t get it. I want you out of my apartment, and I want you out of my life.” There’s a light streak of tears slowly moving down your cheek. Jason doesn’t like the way this conversation feels; his heart hurts in the way you speak to him, especially after knowing the blissful touch of your affection. He has to remind himself that you're talking to Red Hood, not to Jason.

“Listen-” He tries again, but now you’re wound up.

“No, you listen! A man is dead, and it’s all your fault his blood is on my hands.” You present your palms like the blood was still there. “I don’t want you here.” Your words are harsh as you yell, despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. Jason feels suddenly inept that he can't comfort you, can’t press into your space, and wipe away your tears. All he can do is stand there and watch you.

You were right, He thought to himself. If he had been quicker, gotten to you faster, saved you like the alleged hero he was, you wouldn’t have to be dealing with this. Regardless of his years of training, he hadn’t saved you. Sure, you were alive, but you had taken a life. Something you never should have had to do. And while he was proud of you at the time (part of him was still proud of you for it, but that was his secret), he’s upset with himself for even letting it happen.

“Okay,” he resigns as he digs a hand into his pocket, “but before I leave, I have something for you.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Your voice is weak and choked, and he hates it. He pulls out the locket necklace he had Barbara make for you, and he presents it, holding it by the chain.

“Jewelry won't fix any of this.” You sniffle. He sighs at your comment. He wants to step closer to you, to hand it directly to you, but he won't. He pops open the locket to show you the button inside.

“It's an emergency alert,” he meets your reddened eyes, “you were taken, and I couldn’t find you fast enough. If something happens, press this button and someone,” he doesn’t offer himself, “will come find you and help you, one of the bats. We’ll all get an alert that you're in trouble.”

He places it on the table and picks up his helmet, sliding it on, pulling on his jacket. You haven’t said anything else, only staring at the gold locket.

“Wear it, please. If not for my peace of mind, then for yours. I’m sorry… for everything.” You still don’t say anything. He takes that as his cue to leave. Out the window and down the street, he doesn’t even wait on the roof to watch you lock the window.

He was genuinely hurt, if not a little surprised by how the evening went. He had planned to talk to you about what happened, to help you deal with it all, to give you someone to talk to. He hadn’t expected you to blow up at him like that, hadn’t realized how good you were at hiding your inner turmoil from the people around you. He understands, he thinks, why you are upset.

However, it just made his plans that much harder. He wanted to tell you about being Red Hood. Not yet, but eventually. But if you hate Red Hood, carrying a disdain for him, what would happen if he did tell you the truth? He had told himself before that if you hated him for Red Hood or his feelings, then that would be fine, but now, seeing the blank glare you had given him the entire time. He doesn’t think he could do it. It might actually kill him if you looked at Red Hood and Jason like that. Maybe it just won’t ever come out. Maybe he could hide it forever, right? That will work out just fine, he decides

****

The moment you see his figure disappear from the fire escape, you break down sobbing. You collapse on the floor and curl in on yourself. You hate this, you hate this. This ugly, complicated feeling, you hate it so much. Why? Why did you have to feel like this? You thought everything was fine, that you were over it, that you were dealing. It’s okay if you’re not. Both Jason and Red Hood had said something along those lines. Your stupid Jar rattles, and you wish it was real so you could chuck it at a wall.

As much as you hated the way you were feeling, you hated yourself more for how you spoke to him, hated the way you just let the words slip out. Words spoken in anger were the ones most regretted. You didn’t want him to leave your life forever. You wanted him to come back, to be there for you. Even if it was just to judge your cooking skills and tease you about your pickiness.

He was your friend, and you didn’t have a lot of those. Of course, you chased him off, letting your fear of loss hide under a shield of anger. You can't let a good thing last. Better to make it bad before it’s gone.

You sat on the floor, having your own personal pity party for longer than you're proud of. By the time you stood up, your hips ached from sitting on the hardwood floor. You throw a longing glance at the locket but don’t pick it up or go near it. You drag yourself into your bed and curl into a ball. You feel cold, sad, and ashamed. Ashamed for yelling and letting your emotions get out of hand. You cry yourself to sleep, wishing you could take everything back.

Additional Notes: I am so sorry about that ending. That was so rough. Anyways, next week is a filler chapter with Jason. Yay for complicated feelings. Thank you for reading. Let me know what you guys thought! <3 <3

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant

[decrepitdeer]

*crawls from my grave and shakily holds up this drawing*

Here.. Baby Franco and Joanne... After months of it being a WIP...

School struggles combined with art block is a BITCH.

Anyway! Franco's and Joanne's first meeting in New Orleans when they were around 8 yrs.

Franco stuck around to listen to Joanne singing, who went by the nickname "Jo" at the time. She noticed him and Franco, not really knowing what else to do at that point, complimented her. Joanne was very excited by this. She was from a small town and all of the people that directly complimented her were the people that she already knew. This was the first time a total stranger complimented Joanne without pre-existing bias.

Her first fan, you could say.

A nice moment and all that, but it was given all kinds of new meanings when they met again years later at Sinyala...

For more cute stuff about the drawing itself:

It took me ages to decide what kind of hairstyle I should give Joanne. I wanted her to look like she's from the country, but I also wanted something a bit fancier than just simple braids, so pigtail loop braids it is! (Most sources say that the hairstyle originated in the 1940s)

Little Franco has snaggle-teeth now. Silly and cute little headcanon that seems so right, I don't make the rules. It's possible Joanne gave him a nickname based on this, and that it may or may not come back in a devastating way...

Joanne (on top of gushing about the compliment) could also be yapping about Franco's eyes and how they remind her of a baby calf. I like to think one of her neighbors back home was a farmer that had cows and he would let Joanne and other kids to come and look at the newborn calves.. Anyway, Joanne wouldn't have meant it as an insult. She is just blunt and sees nothing wrong with being compared to something that cute. Franco didn't take it that well, assuming that he was being made fun of :(

I also know this was supposed to be cute things but allow me to wound you this once; Franco is instinctually raising his arm to block a potential blow... I'll just leave it at that.

Ugh they make me so ill, I have so many ideas for them it's not funny anymore-

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 7 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 1.3k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader, toxic ex-boyfriend x reader

notes: i apologize for andy. he's a horrible person but it's needed. no good story is complete without a conflict 😅

things had suddenly gotten weird, but interesting in y/n's life.

she and andy began dating again in secret & for so many reasons, it was wrong. the main reason being their messed up past. but part of her felt it was wrong because of quinn.

it didn't feel right to hide something so monumental from the one person she told everything to. she spent all week wondering how he would react when he found out, mainly questioning if he would be angry, upset or disappointed. or perhaps even all three.

so when quinn came home, it became even more difficult. she had promised she'd spend the day with him when he got back but how was she going to do that without telling him about her new relationship?

early the next morning, y/n and abby met quinn in the garage. he helped abby into her seat and y/n felt something tugging at her heart. they got in their own seats and quinn began to drive.

"we watched the game the other night. i'm so proud of how you played, quinn."

"thanks. i knew you'd be watching so i tried to play my best."

"you're a great player, honestly. you didn't need to try too hard."

"thanks again. not sure why but your opinion means a lot to me."

"same." y/n looked at him and smiled.

"so what else did you guys do while i was gone?"

"i spent a lot of time with bella. she's great. i love her." abby grinned as she watched the scenery outside her window.

"yeah. she's pretty great." quinn smiled and turned towards y/n. "did you have to work a lot?"

"um, no. i had dates."

"dates? as in plural?"

"yeah."

"who was it? anyone i know?"

"no. met him while i was working." y/n looked out the window.

"oh. what an odd place to meet someone." quinn chuckled lightly and kept his eyes on the road, trying his best to hide the hurt on his face.

while they were on the road, his teammates had convinced him that y/n had feelings for him and they proceeded to convince him to ask her out on a date when they got back. but hearing this was like a hard blow to his heart and ego.

his teammates were wrong and he hated how it was making him feel. he didn't think he would be able to have feelings for someone since his last girlfriend broke his heart.

but regardless of his unreciprocated feelings, he still cared about y/n and considered her to be his best friend. he would still do anything for her.

y/n looked over at quinn in time to see what she assumed was a flash of hurt on his face. the guilt started eating away at her. everything felt off and she hated it

the first place they went was the restaurant they always went to when it was the three of them. the wait staff always assumed they were a family and they never corrected them.

but today was different. after three people commented on how cute their family was, quinn corrected them.

"actually, we are not together. she's just my neighbor."

"oh. i'm so sorry." the waitress pulled out her pad of paper and took their order. while she was gone, quinn helped abby with the maze of the placemat. y/n smiled at the sight.

an hour later, quinn was pulling into a parking spot in the lot of his favorite mini golf place that also doubled as an arcade. y/n climbed out and by the time she made it around the car, quinn already had abby out and was holding onto her hand. he was perfect & y/n nearly hated him for the way she was starting to feel.

"what should we do first? mini golf or the arcade?"

"mini golf!!" abby cheered and began tugging on quinn's hand. he chuckled and followed her. after he paid, he turned to y/n.

"you coming?"

"what? oh. yeah. i'm right behind you, quinn." y/n shook her head and followed her daughter towards the first hole. she watched as quinn taught abby how to play the game. turns out, she was a natural and didn't need much help. she even started a friendly competition with quinn.

y/n felt her heart swelling with joy over what she was witnessing. something andy would never do with abby. not because she wasn't giving him an opportunity to do so. but because he genuinely would not be caught dead making a fool of himself.

it was the main reason why she was starting to regret her decision to date him. and it was the reason why she found herself falling for quinn instead.

later that night, they were walking up the stairs to their apartment. quinn was carrying a sleeping abby and any other man y/n knew would've been complaining. but not him. he was special.

"today was the most fun i've had outside of hockey in a really long time. thank you."

"it was my pleasure quinn." y/n smiled when they reached their floor. "abby really loves spending time with you."

"i love spending time with her too. she's a great kid." quinn glanced at the sleeping girl in his arms and smiled. "you did a good job raising her."

"thanks. it was difficult but i figured it out."

"well i'm not surprised. you're a smart woman, y/n." they reached their apartments and quinn gently handed abby over. she didn't wake up as he opened y/n's door for her. he followed her inside and waited for her to get abby to bed.

when she came out a few minutes later, she grabbed two glasses and poured a little bit of wine in each before handing quinn one.

"thanks." he took a sip and smiled. "i missed you while i was away, you know??"

"oh." she looked at him. "i actually missed you too. kinda hard knowing that you weren't across the hall to talk to when i had a decision to make. and trust me, i faced a few tough ones."

"really? like what?"

"the guy i've been seeing. i wasn't sure when we started going out and i wanted nothing more than to talk to you. maybe you could've talked me out of it."

"yeah, maybe." he downed the rest of the wine in his glass and smiled. "who is it?"

"promise you won't hate me?"

"i could never hate you." he placed his hand on her arm. "you can tell me anything. i would never judge you."

"okay. um...it's andy."

"andy? as in your ex & father of your daughter? the one who hurt you in multiple ways?"

"the very same." y/n could sense the judgement in his voice so she avoided his gaze just as he dropped his hand from his spot on her arm. "i knew you wouldn't like it. that's why i didn't want to tell you."

"it's not that i don't like it. it's just that i don't understand why you would want to start dating the guy you had to fly across the country to get away from." quinn stood abruptly, causing y/n to flinch. "he hurt you, y/n or are you forgetting that?"

"i'm aware of my past with that man. and i promised myself i wouldn't let my guard down until i saw some actual change that could be permanent. and that's what he did, quinn." she sighed. "i'm aware that it may have been a terrible decision but i'm not the type of person who can hurt someone. and i like giving people the benefit of the doubt. maybe he really has changed."

"yeah. maybe." he looked at the door. "i should probably go."

"quinn, i-"

"i'll see you tomorrow."

before she could respond, he was already out the door. she knew it was a bad idea to tell him.

----------

tags: @alwaysclassyeagle @justagingerliving @marroonwitch @hwalllllllelujah

[kirrafoster]

apartment complexes could be so amazing if it weren’t for capitalism and the manufactured fear and hatred of other humans

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

WHSIKEY IM NOT ANSWERING YOUR ASK IM SO SORRY

[crispyjenkins]

welcome to cj/crispy's bi-yearly ptsd rant about fireworks, you are all safe and valid here and i am mentally giving out juice boxes and animal crackers

[upsidedowngrass]

you ever think about how, on top of the other assorted traumas the main cast had to endure, they now have to deal with the fact that they know what the afterlife is like, and it sucks?

i DO and i think about it a LOT!!!

as is. probably expected. i think abt it the MOST wrt liam. because the way i see it, he does NOT like dying at all and he also KNOWS what it Really looks like. he KNOWS that theres nothing actually there, and all he knows of the waiting room is 1. a radio that is basically a device that is most likely to just get you killed, and 2. if you dont use the radio, you are trapped Forever. thats. not a pleasant way to view what awaits you

i actually think that eventually the waiting room would come to look like Something for liam years later once he gets home, and that it just looking as it truly is to him largely has to do with the immediate traumatic experiences he was going through all the times he saw it (something something, the waiting room showing you what you want or something you miss etc, but him not having anything to go off of because hes not thinking of much and is a bit detached from the stuff he COULD be thinking about, blah blah blah. my ideas on what determines if you see smth ARE a bit rough bc its so vague tho i also tend to think it has smth to do with if you were 'supposed' to die at that moment, like how stones knowledge of stuff clearly favors certain events over others. its hard to explain and i dont wanna derail this post. its not completely relevant) and that, once he Dies dies itll be Okay! but i think the fact that he knows what the waiting room can be at its worst would probably assume that, when he dies, everythings gonna suck for ETERNITY and id. imagine that is a very haunting thought process to have. i think death scares him a LOT because of this (he SAW julien, and i think the idea of that happening to him and no one ever helping , since it was so unlikely for julien to be saved anyway) and its. probably one of many things hes gonna HAVE to work out in therapy or smth . the guy went through TWO situations where he was trapped somewhere for Possibly Forever, the idea of that being what hes doomed to experience For The Rest Of Time is probably Not Pleasant and Not Helped by his other trauma

the other characters i think have a very different view of it, but not necessarily in a 'better' or 'worse' way . but its because all of them DID see soemthing in the room (or in amelias case, likely wasnt there long enough to even know WHAT she was looking at, let alone assess it.). bryce eventually saw it for what it was yeah, but he def KNOWS what it Can be. for bryce, then, i think its also. complicated? because it seems to be a tipping point for him in the series. and i think its because, when things go wrong and theres no Direct Person To Blame, hes like. almost sluggish? idk how to describe it, its almost similaar to how liam responds to things being fucked up, but feels fundamentally different, and hes just kinda There. if i had to guess, that has to do with his preexisting trauma and how he responds to it, but he generally comes across as if hes in shock the Whole time. the fact that he Died, For Real is uncomfortable to him, but it doesnt seem to mean Much wrt what the room is Showing him. i think the fact that its 'not real' is irrelevant, and i think thats ALL him. because its the exact thing he would Want to be real. id imagine its very dreamlike. and most people jsut Go Along with things in their dreams

even when he comes to see the room as it is, it seems to have more with the fact that him and liam had to work together for a WHILE. we dont know how long they tried to get to stones world (other than that they were killed More than 20 times), but its safe to assume they Didnt realize theyd be able to get BACK home (given bryces surprise at teh san francisco note). so when they actually find stones world its like. bryce DOES care abt liam, and has the whole time (with him going up the smokestack being the biggest indicator. 'i want my car keys back,' as many have pointed out is. a reason, but an obvious excuse). the notes ARE saying something, texty JUST found something important. but liam is upset to not have gotten ANYTHING out of dying 20 times, and while bryce was mostly just Going Along before, now it seems like theres an Actual possibility they could stop airy because they just DID, and liam DOESNT notice it??? and i think, then, his primary goal becomes something the room cant replicate, not really (side note, that we dont see what bryce sees because its a Show. and i think many people assume Right when texty brought them back that he saw it was. but i think it Stopped showing the suburbs AS he was talking to liam, hence the surprise! i imagine it was visually similar to when a setting changes in a dream. but thats not important to this post). from here, he doesnt seem more OPTIMISTIC, but it seems like hes more. content? determined? which i imagine has to do with 'thought he was dead Forever, and was in shock' -> 'thought he was dead Forever, but might be able to help the other contestants! which is good!' -> 'hes NOT dead forever. but like. he STILL can help them!' which i think is a weird combo of Good News and a New Goal RIGHT after smth Super Fucked Up

anyway, the conclusion that tangent was supposed to visualize is that. i think the waiting room might be. mostly positive to bryce??? but in the same way someone might think positively of something saving them from smth fucked up. like that isnt to say the bryce likes it but i think its a complex appreciation?? im not sure. he talks a lot abt how he doesnt want to throw everything away Again, and i think the waiting room almost Contradicted everything about that? like. dying SHOULDVE been the end of everything. but it??? wasnt??? it ultimately didnt help anything substantially, but like. he went through All That and came out alive, somehow? endorphins were probably also at play

but then also it DID lead to him dying 20+ times. so its certainly not just positive for him. but i think overall this would make how he feels about the waiting room. pretty complex? and probably confusing for himself. given that he saw it as it was for a relatively short amount of time, and the two didnt take too much time trying to figure out WHAT the room even WAS, i dont think itd be easy to connect everything together. and it wouldnt be unreasonable for him to assume that itd be the suburbs if he ever went back, or that if it WAS that orange and pink place, maybe thats not fully bad? but eeither way, itd certainly be disorienting to think about. i think the idea of it not having been Real would be confusing and maybe a bit upsetting, but he doesnt strike me as caring TOO much if its 'real.' though i think the idea of spending the rest of existence in something Fake would also be. unnerving

charlotte also definitely saw Something. its never clarified WHAT, but the fact that she saw something is Clear. and i think shed probably be affected by it in a more subtle way, because she NEVER saw it as it was. as far as she knows, when she died, she was shown something (and likely someone) that she wanted to go to, so i think shed see it as mostly a positive place. a very desirable place to be!!! but that has little to do w how shed feel abt dying itself. because i think the idea of death not being smth Bad would be comforting, but also the act of dying itself would be the unsettling in itself. that, and the fact that she can be brought back Easily, potentially. which ALSO isnt necessarily negative but also i think would be Weird to think about. that you can be somewhere great forever, for the rest of existence, but at any moment that place could be taken away. Really, its not that much different from the trauma of the plane (though, given her life beforehand, the idea of being taken from someplace definitively Good might be more unique to her having died) but its likely smth that would Still impact her

amelia then is the most complicated to figure out out of the four? bc we dont even know how much she SAW. it likely wasnt MUCH but like. she seems to know she Died, at the very least, and knows how temporary it Can be (however unrealistic that may seem) . as such i think her feelings on the waiting room are probably hazy, and what ideas she DOES have are closer to charlottes. most of what she knows about it would likely be based around what the others tell her. really, for amelia, i think the more haunting aspect is the Dying part. i think it affects her sense of self, and that having been brought back partially Didnt happen. that amelia died, and scenty was respawned. as such, i think the waiting room COULD be a negative concept for her, but only on account of it having been the last thing that the idea of amelia probably ever saw. that, or the first thing the idea of where scenty begins starts. just a extremely brief glimpse into somewhere dreamlike, and then a huge shift in self. i think post canon this feeling of having Died lingers a LOT, and what would haunt her about the afterlife has more to do with the idea of ANOTHER loss of self. which would also have to be smth Worked out in therapy or smth of that nature

basically i think they all would have verrry different thoughts on the waiting room , but even those among them that dont have a completely negative view of it wouldnt necessarily see it positively. and i think itd suck for them . SO bad. but i think someday it would maybe suck a little less!

[marvelsmostwanted]

There are people – some in my own Party – who think that if you just give Donald Trump everything he wants, he’ll make an exception and spare you some of the harm. I’ll ignore the moral abdication of that position for just a second to say — almost none of those people have the experience with this President that I do. I once swallowed my pride to offer him what he values most — public praise on the Sunday news shows — in return for ventilators and N95 masks during the worst of the pandemic. We made a deal. And it turns out his promises were as broken as the BIPAP machines he sent us instead of ventilators. Going along to get along does not work – just ask the Trump-fearing red state Governors who are dealing with the same cuts that we are. I won’t be fooled twice.

I’ve been reflecting, these past four weeks, on two important parts of my life: my work helping to build the Illinois Holocaust Museum and the two times I’ve had the privilege of reciting the oath of office for Illinois Governor.

As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next.

All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible: “I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.

My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the “rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.” It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the “tragic spirit of despair” overcome us when our country needs us the most.

Sources:

• NBC Chicago & J.B. Pritzker, Democratic governor of Illinois, State of the State address 2025: Watch speech here | Full text

• Betches News on Instagram (screencaps)

[tonycries]

Sweetener - C.K.

Synopsis. You, hit by your heat cycle and accidentally calling your best friend over in a daze. Choso Kamo, your utterly sweet best friend - and totally not an aIpha, right? Right?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Choso, heats, best-friends-to-lovers, pining, creampíes, bréeding, Choso goes FÉRAL, OMÉGAVERSE AU, overstím, knots, MARATHONS, making him cúm blanks, MATÍNG BÍTES, cúmplay, first times (Choso), pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem), proposals, p talking, pet names, swéaring. 

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“Open up f’me, beautiful.”

Choso Kamo was approximately four seconds away from kicking down your front door and tearing your apartment down in search of you. Or, at least, he would be if he didn’t know how much you’d huff at him afterwards.

Because it’s not everyday that his precious best friend wakes him up at 3AM with a hazy, six-second call. Mumbling nothing but an adorably sleepy “Cho— come over?” 

So what if Choso had instantly thrown on the first t-shirt he saw and broken about seven traffic violations on his motorbike here? 

“Come on, come on-” he’s hissing underneath his breath. Weight shuffling nervously between his two feet, he raps on your door once more. Twice. Thrice. “D-don’t make me use that spare key again.”

It was a half-threat - really, it was. 

But the louder your answering silence grew, the tighter his fingers curled around his own metallic key. Breathing out a low, “I’m- I’m coming in.” And slowly - ever-so-slowly - he’s cracking your door just an inch open before-

Oh. 

Oh. 

It hits Choso like a wave - hard enough to knock him down onto his knees. 

“What-” he’s gasping, heaving. Words tumbling out drunkenly in rasping ahs! that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even register the bright, blossoming pain sweeping his knees with the way his lungs felt like they were scorching - and Choso just couldn’t get enough. 

It wasn’t a new candle of yours, and Choso already memorized every one of your perfumes for this to be one. This was just so…carnally sweet. 

He was drinking in every drop, every ounce, every waft of that candied air inside your cozy apartment like he couldn’t breathe if it wasn’t that.

And something in the sugary scent makes Choso twitch. 

Oh, shit. 

Hastily swiping away a translucent mess of drool that’d somehow made its home by the rosy corner of his mouth, he’s straining out once more. For his sanity, more than anything. “Beautiful? Anyone home?”

Still no answer. 

Absolutely nothing. 

It takes him a few more sloppy seconds swimming his melty mind to even consider stumbling back up onto his two unsteady feet. Blinking away the bleary film over his gaze, Choso slams! your door shut with the back of his foot - cutting off the heady perfume from emanating into the corridor. 

Noise complaints from your neighbors be damned - he’ll apologize to them all personally later. 

But right now, something about the way that mysterious essence was all his, his, his scratched at such a dangerously primal itch in his brain. 

Shit- what was he even thinking?

Choso was here for you and only you. 

He’s running a jittery few digits through the sweat-dampened valleys of his hair, tugging in a stinging little pull to try and snap some sense back into him. Clearing the strangled mess in his throat, Choso smacks! his palms against his burning cheeks before calling out once more, “I’ll be coming in–”

Because it’s not as if Choso’s never been in here before - he has. Many, many times, in fact. And during every one of those hangouts you’d made it a point to pout about how he should really “let loose” and treat this home as if it was his own, too. 

Honestly, it was hard to feel anything but comfortable after knowing each other for so long - even despite those embarrassing, mushy feelings that he always drowned in around you. 

But that was a conversation for another time. 

And right now, Choso couldn’t even dream of any “comfort” when every step deeper into the saturated cloud of scent made Choso gulp. Every blink had his eyes watering even more - and his pants- fuck- Choso’s biting down on his rawly worried lower lip, eyes flickering anywhere but where he could feel his achy cock stirring. 

Something about this smell was so…hypnotic. 

And if he didn’t know any better then he’d have sworn he was practically floating down that familiar pathway to your bedroom. Feet padding down anxiously along the mahogany-covered floors, it was becoming so much harder and harder to breathe in the fragrant air without getting fucking addicted.  

Or, Choso swallows, one arm balanced on the wall, the other feeling for his thundering pulse. He probably already was. 

But what if you were sick? What if you needed help? Fuck, if he didn’t live every waking moment dancing along to your heartbeat.

That is, when he hears it. That.

Filtering from inside your bedroom…a moan. ”Ch-Choso–”

.

.

.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You didn’t know what you were thinking, forgetting to take your monthly dosage of suppressants - you’d blame it on all the time you’d been spending studying for finals with Choso lately, but you’d never put the fault on your sweet best friend like that.

After all, he was a fellow omega like you at the end of the day. Right? 

“Fuck” You’re scrambling to clasp onto a sodden sweatshirt of his on your bed, nose burying into the slightly sunny vanilla scent. You knew it was wrong to think about him this way, you knew it was made even worse considering his second gender. But- but fuck, if he didn’t have your hands slipping and sliding guiltily down towards the slick-lathered spot between your legs. Concentrated puffs of heat stifling from between your lips, “Ch-Choso–”

Honestly, you wanted him so badly you could reach over for your phone and call-

No, no, no, no - your fatigued eyes flick over to the winking clock by your bedside. 3:26AM.

You couldn’t call him over for help now. Choso was so sweet that he’d probably rush over in his pajamas and rack up a fair few tickets on his motorbike. 

Which was why you preferred to spend your heats without his help - it had been that way since you’d both presented back in high school. 

You’d met Choso after your family had moved to the cutest little suburb in Tokyo, stumbling across the tiny boy-next-door with wide honeypool eyes and a chubby hand that waved shyly your way. Even at the wise old age of eight, you remember thinking how he was so pretty. 

Pretty enough that something your health teacher had taught in your last school clanged throughout your mind - this boy was probably an ah…what was the word? Omega. 

A quiet, comfortable understanding - and it wasn’t something that the two of you never quite had to talk about too in-depth. At least, outside of sneaking the answers to pop quizzes on secondary genders, and giggling when another classmate sauntered to school with a garish bitemark on their neck. 

But, often, you wondered whether you’d ever see Choso with that type of mark. 

He never looked at another alpha - not even another omega, or beta, for that matter. You knew that society was stepping towards a more accepting environment for rather “unconventional” pairings - but Choso Kamo seemed well and firmly intent on rejecting every single one of them. 

Instead, staying by your side. Unpaired. 

Even when he followed you all the way to university - two peas in a pod, so tightly intertwined that most wondered whether you two were mated for life. And he never bothered to disagree - but then again, neither did you.

Even when the years treated him well and he grew so tall, so unfairly attractive. All prettily timid smiles, glinting piercings marrying his ears, and dark, droopy eyes tinged with the slightest kiss of dark eyeliner. Rivalling even the most cocky alphas on your entire campus with his sheer stature and ambience. 

Like he was right now. 

Towering at the very edge of your unlatched bedroom door. 

And only one word registers in your mind - alpha. 

Choso - a Choso that was so utterly real and in the flesh - jumps once those startled syllables spill from your mouth. 

Fuck, you didn’t even realize you said that out loud. 

Not until he’s slamming! one massively spayed-out palm by the side of your doorframe. Shattered pieces of wood crumbling beneath him, you’re unabashedly ogling the flex of his curvaceous biceps. Another hand covering the lower half of his handsome face, Choso rasps. He whines, “You called, m-my omega?”

Oh.

Your entire shivering body bolts upright, like you were being electrified with a thousand voltages of bliss that make your drooling cunt gush. Treacly wafts of pheromones clouding out from you all over again - and the look on Choso’s face is just drunk.

Thick lids so heavy that they were practically falling half-closed, it’s as if his entire body was flushed a prespired red. Lips all ruddied and laminated thinly with spit, his teeth were drawn back into such a wild snarl. 

Like he was about to tear something into bits and it might be you.

So…pretty. 

It almost hurts you to dart your eyes away in an urgent glance at your suspiciously open call log - did you…really call him in your haze? Fuck. 

“Y-you’re-” You swallow a few times - and even then, the words don’t come to you. They can’t. Too stuck on what a delicacy your best friend looked all slumped over by your doorway like he was begging for you. Like he’d crawled all his way to you and would do it all over again. “You’re an alpha, Cho?”

As if you had any doubt now. You could smell the sheer power on him, the thrumming strength threatening to rip through that clingy white undershirt of his. So transparently thin that you could still count every ridge of his washboard abs. And his velvety black boxers hung low-

“Shit-” he gulps. “Yes- fuck! Y-you’re an omega?” 

You can only nod. Brows raising when Choso plants another slam right onto your doorframe, indenting all slender lanes of his digits onto it this time. “And is that…mine?”

With a sudden inhalation, you’re snatching behind that sweatshirt of Choso’s that you’d still been holding. Heart thumping - but there was nothing more to say. What could you say?

Turns out, Choso is the first to break. “L-Let me prove it.”

You’re blinking, squeezing your thighs together at the bittersweet throb. You didn’t know what had your honeyed head reeling more - the sudden reveal of Choso’s secondary gender, or his answer. His sheer need. “Prove it?”

Choso’s head hangs low, chestnut bangs covering his greedy gaze, but you could tell that he was looking at you. Really, really looking at you. 

Words dripping with something you’d never heard of before. Hoarse. Tight. “Can I…can I come in, beautiful?”

You know you should say no to letting him inside your nest - you know it. 

But oh, how it looked like it was taking him every shred of will to keep standing there. To not fucking collapse at the way your gooey pheromones have him spellbound. And he likely would have had it not been for your small, trembling answer, “Yes.”

Choso whimpers - if there was ever a singular moment that would have him crawling back from the afterlife just to re-experience all over again, then it would be this. 

When he feels something in the back of his mind switch.

Senses sharpening almost painfully with one step inside your humid bedroom. Two. 

Until Choso’s stalking so languidly towards you like a predator cornering his prey, foot by foot. He takes his dreamy time prowling towards you - all the way up until your flushed best friend is looming across the foot of the bed.

There’s something vicious in his eyes. Something that has him salivating, “Can- can I?”

You’re breathing out, “Y-yes.”

Slow, sultry fingers unfurl out to draw a steady line along your ankle - he walks. Fingers blazing up your twitchy thighs, up your drenched excuse of shorts, up, up, up to smear that delirious line of your dribble. 

“T-tell me what you want, beautiful.” He pecks an innocent kiss on your forehead, then another to your throat - heaving in your perfumed air. “Anything- I’ll give ya hah- anything.”

His words are low. Hot against your face. 

And just about the only thing you can do is slither your unsteady hands down to toy with the hem of your pants. A sight that makes Choso swallow thickly with a rasping grunt. 

“I want you to…” you’re trailing off. Fingers dipping down to where you haven’t been able to satisfy for hours now. Your inner omega yelling - screaming that nothing was enough, but he might just be. “-touch me here, Cho.”

SWAT!

Instantly, you’re letting off a saccharine mewl at the way your hand is being oh-so-rudely thwacked away by one of Choso’s own. The slight sting throbbing - but not as much as your poor cunt is when meeting his digits. 

Sliding just between your cottony shorts- oh? Choso’s heart stutters. No panties? You really are going to be the death of him. He’s lingering a dewy stroke down your teary slit, honeying his ringed fingers in all your slick juices. 

For a second - just a second.

Lightning-fast, Choso’s trailing away with a slew of spatters left behind, and it makes his skin feel ten times hotter. Ten times dirtier in only the best way.

Even more so when those very digits end up slipping easily into Choso’s mouth. One by one.  Eyes trained darkly on yours, his long pinkish tongue ends up lazily lathering up and down up and down up and down every beaded gleam of your juices.

“Y-you’re so-” your voice cracks embarrassingly - pathetically, in a way that makes every copious ounce of blood in his body sprint south. “-filthy.”

Pulling off with a waterlogged pop! Choso’s tongue probes between his two long fingers, smacking his lips open and shut with the sticky dredges. And you swear you catch a whiff of smugness in his scent. Yet, he’s blushing, “All for you- only for you, my girl.”

And you can’t even complain - you can’t even tease him about the way that just another mere touch up against your feverish pussypound has Choso gasping. Eyes crinkling with something like delight and sheer awe.

Because he’s crashing his mouth into yours, suckling on your lips like his favorite berry lolly-

“Sh-shit-” Choso’s rich tone cracks into shattering lilts, and you can hear him laugh against your lips. Laugh. Humorless and crazed - pure desperation bleeding out with every swash of his intoxicating vanilla scent. “Beautiful— you taste even sweeter than in my ngh- dreams, y’know that?”

No, you didn’t - you didn’t even know that Choso dreamed of you in the first place. 

And you don’t get to pay it any mind because before you know it, the swirling edge of his rounded fingertips tuck just past where your puffy folds were pursing in a ready pucker. Cold metal rings making you gasp.

And Choso’s greedily snuffing out the sound with a sinking bite of his sharpened canines into your wobbly bottom lip. Drinking in every noise from his pretty girl. His pretty girl. 

Cratering dimples notching prettily at the ends of his lipbite, he’s practically begging them out with every slow gyration of his fingertips around and around your peaked clit. Tracing over every tiny ridge and sensitive bundle like he was trying to fucking memorize it. “H-has any other- fuck-” Ringing out a thundering growl at the back of his throat that makes your skin coat in tiny goosebumps. “-has any- other- made you feel this good?”

No no no - your inner omega purrs, and you can practically feel yourself groaning lowly at the back of your throat when you pull away. 

Trying - failing, when Choso’s chasing your kiss-bitten lips like he was hooked. Slurring after the syrupy strings of spit that smear the traces of your mouth, he’s meshing his lips in a dramatic smooch. Again. And again. And again and again-

“L-look how wet ya are…” And it wasn’t even a command, but you can’t help lolling your head down to blink at the way his pale wrist was glistening with all your laminated juices. Musing, “Gonna make ya feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

Two deft fingers pinch your clit. Hard.

“Ah! N-no!” Your spine bends into such a pretty curve off the bed, perfectly in position for Choso to slide his massive palm underneath and massage away your tensely knotted back. Your fingers are trekking up the clamoring hike onto his broad deltoids to feel the droolworthy jolt of his back muscles. Babbling belatedly, “N-no other alpha has made me feel s-so…”

So…what?

Hypnotized? Addicted? Gone?  

But whatever it was, the sight of you being ruined into a few shattered jumbles of limbs is enough to make Choso’s alpha hum. 

Whispering out, “Can I…” And with a steep inhale of the thick surrounding air, he’s gulping. “C-can I-”

Before you’re gracing him with an answer, you’re helping inch those sleep shorts down. Snailing an almost-blasphemous slicked coat that seeps into your skin. He’s twirling his thumb over the remaining excess left behind - not wasting a single drop. 

And it takes only one saturated hit from where your pheromones were the most concentrated - only one shy peak down at your drooling cunt - before Choso can feel his mind shattering. Gasping. 

The top half of his body all but collapsing on top of yours.

It’s not even on purpose the way he flinches at the thick curve of your thumb floating upwards to tenderly glide away the swab of drool that was flooding Choso’s mouth right now. 

His neat brows quirking upwards, heaving chest choppy - you’re so lustily trapped against the bumped-up planes of his pecs. Feeling the rumble of his heated words, “I-I’ve never…” 

Sounding so utterly worn-out already, Choso’s planting a few firm pecks at the corner of your chin. He’d meant for it to reach your lips - but he couldn’t. Too in a trance to even think about it. And as if to make up for it, he’s kissing your neck, the valley of your thighs, your tummy. Every and any inch he hasn’t been blessed with reaching for the past few years. 

Shuffling all the way until he was practically lips to lips with your sloshing pussy, eyeing down directly at the way your sloppy entrance was welcoming him with another fresh bout of clingy slick. Choso heaves in a long breath.

“Been waitin’ a looong time f’you, y’know? Can I make a mess?” Choso’s whining sweetly, greedy gaze still trained firmly downwards. Tenderly rubbing over your glossed-up folds, “Can I m-make you break?” And those grasping begs of his are barely even audible over the sheer squelching resonating from your slobbery pussy. Your jaw falls slack at how they only make Choso nod. “Y-you’re right- s-so right–”

Talking. And before you know it, the filthiest French kiss is being placed right on your cunt. 

He’s not even hesitating, not even easing you into it - because Choso Kamo has waited so long for this. And he was going to have his fill.

“This is what y-you taste like- this good?” Dragging the very pointed tip of his pretty button nose down your plump clit, he’s smushing it in place with a firm kiss at the very edge of your snug hole. “Th-think this cute cunt can take my fuckin’ cock, beautiful?”

So fucking impatient. 

You’re tangling one set of fingers into the stray strands of his hair, bucking up to drag a slow glide down the lower half of his pretty face. 

And, usually, with an alpha you could be expected to be snapped at with a snarling command. An instruction to just stay put. 

But Choso’s only letting his sharp jaw comfy against the silken sheets, head nuzzling drunkenly into your thighs when you’re pushing and pulling him as you please. Leveraging the vice-like grasp on his scalp to drive steady grinds just the way you like it. 

Whining, “Need you so bad, baby–” 

“Yeah- yeah, use me-” Choso snickers around a teasing bite against the fattened edge of one of your pussy lips. Sucking. “R-reach your pretty high on my face, omega- need you to cum all over me till I-I’m dripping.”

Fuck.

Was this really your nervous, sweet best friend? His words were so dirty, as if he didn’t even realize he was saying them. And they almost make you embarrassed. Shying way just an inch-

“Oh- no. No no no-”  His words come buzzing around your clit, and with a final bite of his elongated canines, Choso’s frantic. He’s scrambling. He’s grasping his powerful arms to loop your thighs and dragging you to him like some ragdoll down the protestingly creaky bed. “S’gonna go to waste- can’t- can’t let it.”

And it’s only about then that you’re dredging up the courage to angle your head further downwards - immediately hit with the sinful sight of Choso in heaven between your limp legs. 

His hair a disheveled curtain, eyes narrowed and smudged with eyeliner. Damply bleeding down onto the regal apples of his high cheekbones at the way your meady slick was reaching his blushing cheeks. It masks his coral pink lips, his jaw, his fucking chin. 

So sopping wet that it’s forming a little puddle down below him that Choso could never even imagine being disgusted by. No, in fact, he was disappointed with himself for not lapping it up even sooner. 

Pumpish lips jutting out in a pout, Choso’s pushing away the hair from his eyes sexily. “Wh-why are you runnin’ away- don’t run away, my girl.”

With a slight giggle, you’re veering your scent to tinge with something comforting. And oh, does it do the trick - because Choso’s eyes swoop downwards drunkenly. Almost closed, almost ruined, he’s huffing out a drawled-out mantra of your name, “Lock it.”

“Wh-what?” You’re choking out.

Soft palms massage gently down your legs, wrapping them around the back of his head. “Lock it.”

Oh.

That was a command, and it has your body pulling taut. Every sensory spot all down your skin screaming to obey - yet, this is something you would have done anyway. Ankles tying together, it’s jostling Choso’s hotly open mouth against your pussy so deeply that you wonder whether he doesn’t have to breathe. 

Whether he doesn’t even want to. 

Because your dear best friend looks so satisfied to die right in the heaven between your legs right now. And he would go such an utterly happy man, too. 

Rosy red lips rubbing rawly against your clit, you’re left a puddle of a needy mess when the roughened tastebuds of his tongue swirl in meticulous little circles. Cheeks hollowing as he sucks, your whines can’t even be heard over the most oozy squelches.

“Heheh- she’s talkin’ back ta me-” Choso’s sputtering out peck after peck. In awe. “She’s talking. Th-think she wants ngh- more.”

More. 

More, more, more. 

Choso’s beginning to think that your dripping pussy’s speaking for himself with the way that’s exactly what he wants right now. Teasing the mushy outer lips of your puckered hole with his fat fingerpads, before bullying in. Inside. 

You’re taking him so well - hips careening even further downwards when he’s feeding your greedy cunt with every long inch of his digits. Slow enough that you could count it - just about six, ringed inches all the way to his knuckles. 

Shit- it’s so hot inside, as if your pretty pussy was practically melting around him. Molding to his every shape as Choso’s driveling swirling around in rummaging little stripes down your gummy walls. Slow. Slick. 

Slender cylindrical intrusions that bump up deftly against your battered g-spots. The chilling stretch of his banded metal rings was too much. Your eager cunt is splattering out a pornographic little gush of your sweet, sweet juices all over again at the way he’s teasingly fondling over that magical spot. 

“J-jus’ a little higher, baby–” you’re spewing out. Deprived. 

And oh, Choso’s darkened eyes are practically lighting up. He doesn’t pull away from your bruised clit to answer - not even to breathe before vibrating out a keening, “Here?”

So desperate. 

Even needier than you. 

You’re blinking through large, globular tears that occupy the space behind your lids. Nodding, “A little more- jus- oh!”   

And Choso didn’t need to hear it from your lips. Hell, he didn’t even need to hear it from the way your snug channel was all but milking his fingers dry. Clinging on in a soppy kiss when he’s probing into your g-spot harder. Meaner. Because the way your intoxicating scent changes - concentrating ever-so-slightly makes Choso realize that you’re cumming before even you register it.

Slamming headfirst into your high, you’re plowing out a belated cry of “I- fuck- m’cumming, Cho. M’cumming, m’cumming-”

Sparks of white splinter your vision, and your knees find themselves just wrenching free from the lecherous comforts of the bed - but Choso won’t let you escape so easily. 

No. 

Barely batting an eye, he’s straining his biceps deadlocked around your legs. Pinning you to the bed until you could barely squirm, barely do anything but take his punishing little clashes against your g-spot head-on. Bumping in. Over and over. 

Choso suckles on your clit like his favorite little gummy, stretching and nibbling until you see stars with your orgasm. 

“Don’t run away-” he’s puffing out into your cunt, the very idea of parting with drizzling pussy making him yelp out a pained grunt. “P-please don’t run away- I promised to make a mess. O-one more f’me, beautiful?”

You’re just molten at his touch. Ravenous and overwhelmingly greedy for you as much as you were for him. Something carnal inside you screaming for more-

“H-hear her?” His eyes are drifting closed at the pulpy little noises your cunt mashes on. Dangling ear piercings twinkling when he’s leering even closer to hear. “Tellin’ me she’s gonna give her- hngh- alpha one more.” Fuck, Choso’s features decorate with the most blazing blush at his own words. How embarrassing. “Wontcha use my mouth all over again? I didn’t get fuuuuck- messy ‘nough last time…”

And as if to prove his point, Choso traces a slow glide of his worked tongue across the sloppily wet coating that drips down his lips. Just for a second.

Your veins bubble sensitively with need at the broken whine sounding from the back of Choso’s throat when you drag him even snugger between your legs. Puffs of leaky pheromones driving the two of you wild, making your hips stutter out a slurring pace up and down his face. 

“Th-this pussy is all f’me- isn’t it, my girl? S’all f’me?”

Even sloppier once you battle out a nod.  

Your cunt is extra slobbery because of your heat anyways, but Choso’s making such a mess on purpose. 

Eyes running away to the back of his head, tongue lolling out even messier. He’s planting such dousing draws of saliva, lathering your sweet spots mercilessly. And his fingers- oh, his fingers were relentless. Shovelling up in solid, wet nudges until you’re able to feel every circular indent of his digits on your g-spot. 

Every run of his manicured nails across where you’re sure you were beginning to get bruised. And every-so-often whenever his eyes glaze green with raw greed - with slight, stupid jealousy over his fingers - you’d peek at Choso plunging his digits into his mouth and sucking.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Matching the lecherous sound of your thundering heartbeat, you can feel yourself squeal at the overstimulating touches. Sobbing out the cutest little whines that make Choso chuckle, “Easy– easy there, my girl.” Letting your cunt free with a sodden pwah! only to spit. Once. Twice. A sticky wad of his thick saliva that blusters its way to coat your puffy pussy lips, “You’re cumming again, right? A-all over my face?”

You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard, but that wasn’t enough for Choso Kamo. 

He wasn’t satisfied until a slow pull of your clit right from between his pearly whites had you bawling out. The backs of your hands dipping upwards to hide your face - which he quickly, and calculatedly spanks away with his free hand. “M’gonna cum soon- ngh- please- Cho- don’ stop.”

Hah, if this was any other time then Choso might’ve laughed. 

Might’ve teased you until you were begging for him in that cute voice once more. But maybe it’s the way his alpha was clawing at his chest from the insides to give you whatever you want, maybe it was the way seeing you fall apart on your heat like this all over him had his cock twitching-

Because Choso only smiles - drunk. Dazed. “Cum f’me, p-please. Ruin me, ma’am..”

He was ruined alright. 

Absolutely sugar-coated with your overlaying juices - it’s dripping down his bed and disappearing into the now see-through fabric of his undershirt like a badge of honor. A badge to say that he’s made you cum for the second time on his mouth. 

That he’s made you squirt. 

Splattering out all over his face with every slurping taste - and yet, Choso still couldn’t get enough. Sweeping up the milky droplets, Choso’s boring his heady gaze right into your widened eyes when he’s leering his mouth agape to make you spy the way each splash slides down his throat. 

God- you’re seeing white all over again. You’re seeing spots, having you gulp in necessary gasps of the soiled air to once more regain your steady heartpace. 

“Ch-Choso-” you’re struggling, voice brittle and gone. Frantically trying to haul - to force - Choso from his favorite home between your cunt, to stop his greedy tongue. “S’enough- can’t cum anymore can’t- ngh-”

“But, beautiful–”

Shit- it would be so easy to get swept up all over again. Because Choso was parched, and he was still far from having his fill. 

Words tinting with a slightly commanding tone, you’re making something dark and primal rear its head when you manhandle him upwards with one hand in his locks, and another on his undershirt. So heavy but pliant. 

Up, up, up-

“Choso–” you’re mumbling out. And before you know it, Chosos hands had toppled you over into the cushiony mattress, and yours were tracing the edge of his too-tight boxers. Tugging. Needy. “I-I want these- off-”

“Anything.” He’s echoing, like it was all that he could right about now. Dewey brows scrunching up into something of a beg, you’re catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Deprived. “Anything f-for you-”

Fuck- in your currently woozy state you’re not sure if Choso removed his pants or if he ripped them off. Stumbling and tripping to let the few scarce tatters droop into the floor in a sullen pile. 

With a gulp, your fingers skitter across the planes of his useless undershirt - letting his pretty, bulging muscles peek out at you from underneath when you slide them off of him. Palms smearing in gluttonous little touches across his push pecs, down his rippling abs, down that lusciously dark happy trail and oh-

“S-something the matter, beautiful?” Choso’s heaving in a struggling gulp at the way your gorgeous eyes widen, maw slacking into a soft oh! Head tilting innocently, “M’your hah- best friend, you can tell me a-anythin’.”

“You’re just so…” Comes the whirling answer, your voice slow and alcoholic. He was getting drunk on your words already. “...big.”

Not only was Choso big - he was massive. 

The fat, rotund circle of his head ruddied a strawberry pink, gradiating all the way down his shaft to meet blend into his creamy base. He was so hard that it looked painful, visibly throb! throb! throbbing, bumpy lightning bolts of his veins hammering up at you cheekily. He was so pretty - thick enough that you’re feeling your cunt clench already. Even the burn of your stare has Choso’s reddish divot weeping out a few ropey spurts of pre. Making you dizzy with the incredible size and that musky vanilla scent of his. 

And was that-

Oh. Fuck.

It was.

Through the honeyed slew of precum pooling at Choso’s thick tip, you’re gasping at the slight wink of something metallic. 

Without thinking - without even breathing - you’re drifting your hand down to thumb those syrupy globules thin. Discovering the absolute treasure chest that was a studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the weepy edge of Choso’s shaft. 

“I got if for- you- Gotta a-another one, y’know-” His gentle rasp jolts you out of your sinful reverie, engulfing hands guiding your own to wrap around his flushed tip and peek under. Right on the slippery sliver of his slit, “A ngh- matching one. Th-thought you might like it…”

Oh- two. 

And, embarrassingly, you can feel the way your scent turns headier. Hypnotizing. Enough so that Choso can’t help the way he’s hanging by a bare thread, head falling into the crook of your neck to breathe in. “Y-you act so innocent but…” 

“But m’only l-like this for you.” He’s tucking your tender earlobe between his teeth. “P-promise. I haven’t even…”

Ah, a virgin. 

Sweet and absolutely gifted. 

And something about it was so cute the way Choso was acting exactly like it. Every wordless toy of your fingers up and down his sensitive glans, making him snarl a lipbite. Girthy length fucking up in shuddering slams into the cushiony tunnel of your palm. Weightily muscled abs flexing with heat when you’re running a thumb under his head to press down on that silver piercing. 

“S-so tiny- heh- your pretty hands are so tiny takin’ my cock, beautiful.” he’s giggling - giggling. Perspiration-simmered forehead knocking into yours, Choso’s letting his tired head loll there and bore into your eyes. “You needa ngh- fuck! Needa slow down, my girl, m’already so close jus’ from making out with yer sweet c-cunt out.” Already close. Just from eating you out. “Else m’n-not gonna be able to control it-”

“I can handle it–” you’re pouting stubbornly. Soft digits clenching even tighter around his cock, and shit, Choso lets his head fall into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. 

Finding himself growing more needy. More feral. Tight, hot curdling in his stomach building up and up.

“M’serious.” His lilting voice breaks, teeth skimming over the pulpy flesh of your sweetened pheromone glands. Nibbling. His incredibly shaky fingers wrap around your shoulders, “Please- ngh- please m’gonna break ya.”

And it’s like you wanted him to.

Dick twitching at those filthy fingers of yours - the way they only pump him faster. And faster. Tighter around the hefty base, more teasing up the slippery slope of his tip - like you were trying to milk out something delicious. 

And you can already feel the way your mouth lathers with a fresh coating of saliva, face inching closer and closer to the bawling peak of his swollen cock. Wanting oh-so-badly to taste the silver of his Prince Albert’s. 

“But I want you to, Cho.”

SMACK!

You’re left stupidly stunned when Choso’s behemoth palm coils like a tight shackle around your tender throat. Pulling you away from his achy cock in a flash, you’re being thrown around like his own personal ragdoll. 

And Choso snickers at the way you’re bouncing cutely on the plush mattress, legs drooping wider and wider agape with every sleazy second he really can’t help but leer over you. Wrangling those boneless legs of yours over his shoulder with a sharp click of his tongue. 

“I-I already told you, beautiful–” he’s bending down, down down to nose along your sweat-dotted cheeks, your skin stark hot against the icy chain of his silver necklace. Chest grumbling with a slight purr. “M’gonna make such a mess of you- can I?”

And that drunken look in Choso’s eyes made him look like he would absolutely shatter if you let your lips shape into a teasing no right about now. Like those warm, salted tears spattering from the corners of his half-lidded eyes and right onto your cheeks would only hasten. 

“Can I- please, my girl- jus’ wanna-” His lips wobble adorably when his sobbing cock glides a slow line between the mushy lips of your pussy. A graze for a graze of his mouth down your own. “-wanna make you mine.”

And just the tip - just a single fat inch shoved into your gummy hole is all it takes for Choso to whimper. 

You’re brushing over his precious cheek, “Ch-Cho, are you okay?”

And Choso can’t answer - hell, he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Because that gushing little clench of your clingy walls all around his sodden wet tip absolutely ruins him. Delicate rivulets of slobber streaming down the smiling edges of his tongue, he’s puffing out an open-mouthed, “No- fuck- d-do I look okay?”

He didn’t.

He seemed like he was burning up - fucked-out already, practically. Pecs rippling with a bolting flex, muscled body shirking with violent shivers when with a low keen of your name - Choso’s cumming. 

“No-” he’s crying out, head flailing backwards. Just from putting it inside for the first time. “No no no no- m’not s’pposed to- yet-”

But he was. Hips recklessly meandering again and again into yours - slight, tugging grinds of just his thickened tip like Choso was afraid of sinking into your heavenly pussy anymore. Like he knew it would break him even more. 

Have him flooding out voluminous ribbons of thick seed, splattering against your spongy channel, and smearing around in dripping vertical patterns with every one of his animalistic ruts. 

“Give it t’me–” you’re locking your ankles even tighter. Prattling out such filthy nonsense that you’re sure you’d get embarrassed about had you not been in your heat. “I-I need your cum, baby- wan’ it allll inside me-”

“Ngh-” Choso’s letting off a broken sound at the back of his throat, squeezing your own with that one hand of his happily making its home there. Blocking off your airway, your heady pheromones only struggle to waft out even more. Saturating. “D-don’t talk like that- n-not outta ya pussy, beautiful.”

“But I w-ngh! want it-”

He gulps, “A-are you sure?” Because this is his best friend - this is the one person he’d never even dreamt of having because that was too dangerous. Too fanciful. The one person he’d written about in every diary, and gotten teased for it by his family just the same. Perfect. 

Yet, you’re so stubborn when you’re in heat. “Mhm– wan’ you to…breed me.”

And he loved it.

Couldn’t get enough of it - or you. 

Choso’s scrambling up one of his jostling hands to latch your hips into a perfect almost-semicircle. Lower lip worried underneath his canines when he’s wiping his fat thumb over the dewdrops of seed treacling from your soppy slit. 

That digit finds its way rummaging between your lips, “Lock it.”

This time, you don’t need it said twice - you don’t even need it to be a command.

Because Choso’s reigning up his own hand to pin both your ankles behind his head, and you think you’ll forever remember just how hot he looked this way. Biceps bulging with the strain, simmering with a slick sheen of perspiration, and his hips-

Oh, it’s like any and every slip of restraint in Choso’s hulking body snapped. 

Because with a loud, saturated squelch! you’re being filled up to what it feels like your lungs with every solid inch of his engorged girth. Inflating your tender insides, buttering your poor cervix with a thick stream of pre when he’s kissing it with a wet thwack!

“Oh- oh.” Choso’s head pushes into the crook of your neck, into your pillow until you were sure that it was soaked with tears of absolute bliss. “Th-this feels nothing l-like my ngh- hand. S’so much more heavenly-”

Yet, you weren’t in the right state of mind to be paying attention to the utter filth that was spilling from your innocent best friend’s mouth. Breath choking up in a lead ball in your throat, you whisper, “Ch-Cho…s’that your knot?”

Your slicked-up folds puckering up in a wet snog against the overinflated ring ballooning around his thick base. The sheer thumping circumference of it makes you squeeze-

“Y-yes–” he’s humming out. The sodden base of his cock thwack! thwack! thwacking your bruising entrance when he’s rutting in and out. Sloppy. Slow. Still trying not to see stars. “God- s’even softer than I ngh- imagined.”

And soft you were. 

This is what your sweet pussy felt like? This good? This should be fucking illegal, he was babbling out - but wouldn’t realize until much, much later. 

Being spearheaded open with every unapologetic rifle to fill you up, the leftover dredges of Choso’s seed trickle a slippery pathway leading him to ambush your g-spot head on. Stubbing his cool metal piercing into your sweetened bullseyes so hard, you swear you could feel the indenting divot of that sinful Prince Albert’s.

“There?” Mesmerized, his eyes grow wide. “R-right there?”

And he’s hot - so feverish. 

Glissading body on top of yours burning up with radiating heat, fracturing our rationality just as much as the sweet vanilla scent of his pheromones were. That tiny heart friendship charm on his necklace hitting your collarbones in a dirty staccato. 

You can feel yourself start to drool with how stupid Choso’s cock was fucking you, curling a few neat raking lines down his statuesquely muscled back. It makes him just arch his cock even deeper to jostle your snug insides riotously. 

“I-imagined about me a lot?” Ah, you’re finding it in yourself to smirk.

Something that Choso’s jackhammering out in quick, increasingly sloppy juts of his hips. Slathering the entirety of his cock with your slicked juices. 

“O-of course.” He’s shifting his eyes gingerly away from yours with a boyish blush. But now that Choso had started talking, he couldn’t stop. “Always wan’ed to f-fuck you through a rut or h-heat like this- to-” Couldn’t keep from hiking up a flattened foot to angle his pierced cockhead into every untouched inch inside you. The special upright curve of his shaft driving you mad. “-to absolutely ruin you and-” The hand at your legs hover right over where he was plummeting your insides with gluey kisses - your womb. “-and make you mine. Ours.”

Ours. 

God, just the mere act of confessing those embarrassing little words had Choso’s hulking body practically melting into yours. 

It’s like his abs were made of adhesive, massaging up and down your front. Drowning you into the plethora of wrecked sheets and him when he’s collapsing on top of you - but still going. Still placing pound after pound. 

“I-I want that too-” And you think you hear Choso sharply gasp, but you can’t confirm over your popping ears. “Always wanted it- ah- wanted you to fuck a baby into me, Cho.”

SLAM!

The slowly-splintering bedframe creaks when one particularly harsh rut has the headboard slamming into the wall behind. 

And that’s all he needed to hear. 

A baby - he wants a baby. He needs one - and this wasn’t just his alpha talking - and he was going to get it.

All that Choso thinks he ever could hear all through his honeyed mind for the rest of his life. Replaying it over and over in his mind like his favorite catchy tune. 

You don’t miss the way that he looks so in love above you, gaze practically heart-eyed and gone. Choso’s raw, swollen lips meteor shower your face with peck after peck - just in time with the collisions of his rounded tip into your sweet spots. 

“Boy or girl?”

“H-huh?” you’re questioning, barely-lucidly. 

“Boy or girl.”

And after those senseless little answers are falling from your lips, Choso’s brushing a hand over your lower tummy. Pushing. Hard. Until his twitchy knot was covered in buttery residues of cum, “Ah- a-always wan’ed a daughter with ya first. With your c-cute smile and ngh- eyes.”

Huffing out an embarrassed, “Choso.”

And he’s only scooping back in the leaky sediments of seed that he’s responsible for making a mess of. Turning a slow thumb right over your tight ring of muscle, “Gonna have my- ngh- style of course, heh- you’d be the best momma. D-don’t care if you’re my best friend, m’gonna breed ya until you’re overspilling, beautiful.”

You needed it so badly. Your heat turning up a notch until it felt like you were boiling from the inside out, candied scent drifting more. 

He’s giggling out, dark lashes batting without his permission. “M’gonna- ngh- take care of you-”. The hand caressing your elastic entrance flies upwards to get cleaned off by his own tongue - before prying your jaw sagging open to spit. “Goood fuckin’ care. N’ hopefully you’ll end up p-pregnant…hopefully.”

He’s encircling the dip in your waist and dragging you forwards to smack against his washboard abs. Unable to squirm. Unable to run away. “Gonna be the p-prettiest momma- the ngh- most beautiful.” Other hand restricting your throat so cozily that your vision tinges with black, “Gonna be mine.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words in mind.

The way your sopping walls were milking him for all he’s worth - so greedily - shoving Choso to tip over the edge, too. 

Choso’s letting his body sexily cave into yours, not breaking even a mere inch apart when he’s got you trapped and overfilled with every dollop of his cum icing your insides. And right now you could already feel the way your scents were mixing, the way Choso turns slightly cross-eyed- 

Before sharply turning to your glands and biting. 

Hard. 

His predatory canines break through your epidermis layer like butter, a crimson lipstain gushing from the wound and staining his lips a handsome rouge. 

And - only belatedly, once your omega’s snapping at you with her teeth bared - do you realize that it’s your turn to do the same. As if you would want any other. 

Locking your jaw to dig into his pale, dampish throat, Choso sucks in his cheek to muffle the slightest whine when you’re wringing him through every speck of bliss he could possibly ever feel in a lifetime. Furious cock stuttering out a few more lazy wisps of cum at the mingling feeling of finally being yours. 

“Not ‘nough-” He’s eyeing the leftover ring of cum painting his knot, “Can I fill ya up m-more? Please? Please- my girl.”

You’re pulling away with a woozy nod to rub your thumb over the dug indents of your teeth, gently soothing slow circles over the feral sting. 

Filling you up over and over with each pound, he’s fucking you into the mattress like he hates you. And he’s fucking you like every shuddering ram had a creamy ounce of cum pouring into your gummy walls. Glueing in wet splats against your g-spot, your cervix, like a second sloppy skin. 

Generous helpings of cum drifting into almost blanks-

“Heh- haaaah- y’know tha’s makin’ me still c-cum, beautiful.” Choso’s leaving sodden kisses on your own mark, your lips. “M’sorry m’sorry I- I can’t stop- I just- can’t.”

And it’s sheer animal nature in you that’s screaming at you that you don’t want him to stop until you’re sure it takes. That’s bending down a hand as much as deftly as possible to wrap around Choso’s slightly softening cock - that only tuts in impatience. 

“Wh-when I said inside-” You’re pumping his soaked base as much as possible, feeling the stiffening twitch at his tip buried inside you. “-I mean- inside-”

It’s like you’re being split-apart - like you couldn’t be any fuller if you tried. 

And, yet, only the very curvaceous top of Choso’s inflated knot had bullied its way in-between your lewdly stretched hole. Gaping a pathway so incredibly girthy that it makes you scrunch your brows, head tumbling backwards. 

“Oh- oh, my greedy, greedy girl.” But Choso doesn’t look one bit admonishing - not one bit. Slithering a hand down to your cunt, he’s steamrolling two thick pads of his fingers. Rubbing up against your squeamish walls, scissoring your tight entrance so amply open. “I can put it…inside. R-really, really inside?”

Oh, Choso doesn’t know what blessings he’s received in his past lives. But absolutely nothing could have prepared him for how swelteringly hot and cushy you were around his fat knot. 

Swallowing up the bulging circlet, plugging up your seeping slit safely so that you’re not spilling a single glutinous splotch of his cum. So that it will take. It’s such a tight fit. Such a burning stretch. You felt so full you could burst with every throb of his swollen knot probing your walls. 

Ah, you look so pretty this way.

And Choso’s half-wishing he had a camera to capture this moment. With his lips pressing a few syrupy kisses along every inch of skin he could reach. Somewhere near your tummy - so full and slightly inflated with the copious amounts of cum that were dumped inside you. 

He’s murmuring something drunken - something you probably weren’t even supposed to hear. But at the curious tilt of your head, your best friend chews over his lips nervously. 

And a giddy smile plasters across your face at the saccharine love in your best friend’s eyes - the way he was probably mulling over asking you out on a date. There was no turning back at this point, and your omega purred in agreement as you got ready to say yes. For him to say a sweetened- 

“Marry me.”

A/N. You show up at the next Itadori family dinner with a ring and Sukuna has an actual heart attack.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[hypocritic-trash-baby]

If somehow you haven’t seen by now, while the Super Bowl is being aired, Israel is striking Rafah.

The people of Palestine had been told to go there, they were promised it was safe.

And while this is happening, even though earlier several tags on Palestine were trending, only one or two are now.

I haven’t written any posts personally on Palestine myself. I didn’t feel I had anything to add here aside from reblogging and boosting whatever I can but please. We can’t forget Palestine or its people especially now.

This has gone on too long and gone much much too far MANY times and now is when we need to push harder.

Many of the heads of Western countries are either beating around the bush and wasting time, or outright denying the things the Palestinian people don’t have the privilege to ignore. They don’t have the choice to look away from their pain, or the pain of friends, family, neighbors, their country. And even through all of this they’re still trying their damn hardest just to live. And we all need to listen.

So now, especially if you live in a western country like I do, now we step it up a notch. Now is the time if you haven’t already to read up on Palestinian history. Listen to what the people of Palestine are saying. Hold firm on the boycott like never before. Any and every way you can donate, do it. eSIMs, aid, anything that will reach. Save as much evidence as you can. Videos, articles. Don’t let Zionists pretend all of this never happened.

Even if you think there’s nothing you can do, I’m telling you, keep going. Even if you feel you can only give a little, if we all give a little together it becomes much more.

Hit imperialism where it hurts. In the wallet. Follow the BDS instructions, find protests in your area if you can, boost as much information about Palestine as you can find, call your reps, and do not lose hope. The people of Palestine are not dead. They are holding on even through all this and we all owe it to them to do the same.

A Free Palestine will happen in our lifetimes. But it will be hard fought. So go out there and fight hard! The governments can’t hide from their own people forever. The companies can’t bleed cash forever. The people will win. So push until we do. Do not look away. Free Palestine

[ms-demeanor]

Wait, so you said that you can learn to trust others by building friendships, but how does one go about doing that? Wouldn't someone I don't know be creeped out or annoyed if I suddenly walked up and started talking to them?

Friendships are built of repeated low-stakes interactions and returned bids for attention with slowly increasing intimacy over time.

It takes a long time to make friends as an adult. People will probably think you're weird if you just walk up and start talking to them as though you are already their friend (people think it's weird when I do this, I try not to do this) but people won't think it's weird if you're someone they've seen a few times who says "hey" and then gradually has more conversations (consisting of more words) with them.

I cheat at forming adult friendships by joining groups where people meet regularly. If you're part of a radio club that meets once a week and you just join up to talk about radios, eventually those will be your radio friends.

If there's a hiking meetup near you and you go regularly, you will eventually have hiking friends.

Deeper friendships are formed with people from those kinds of groups when you do things with them outside of the context of the original interaction; if you go camping with your radio friend, that person is probably more friend than acquaintance. If you go to the movies with a hiking friend who likes the same horror movies as you do, that is deepening the friendship.

In, like 2011 Large Bastard decided he wanted more friends to do stuff with so he started a local radio meetup. These people started as strangers who shared an interest. Now they are people who give each other rides after surgery and help each other move and have started businesses together and have gone on many radio-based camping trips and have worked on each other's cars.

Finding a meetup or starting a meetup is genuinely the cheat-code for making friends.

This is also how making friendships at schools works - you're around a group of people very regularly and eventually you get to know them better and you start figuring out who you get along with and you start spending more time with those people.

If you want to do this in the most fast and dramatic way possible, join a band.

In 2020 I wrote something of a primer on how to turn low-stakes interactions with neighbors and acquaintances into more meaningful relationships; check the notes of this post over the next couple days, I'll dig up the link and share it in a reblog.

[libraford]

The word 'rural' is in the public consciousness again and every time people start going in about the 'rural values' 'rural way of life' I remember just how subjective that word is.

I have a friend that lives in LA. He considers Columbus, OH to be 'rural.' A population of over 900k. Thriving arts community, tons of culture festivals, every kind of restaurant you can think of, one of the most annoying college campuses ever, several smaller colleges, lots of queer spaces, comic book conventions, huge concerts... rural.

The town I live in considers itself 'rural.' 38k population. Arts festival every year, a small pride celebration, monthly gallery hop, big Halloween festival. Five ice cream shops, three coffee shops, a couple fancy bars, so many grocery stores. Huge library, conservation and sustainability advocates, queer spaces, a hospital, one private college. Rural.

The town we nearly annexed, but lost the deal considers us 'urban' compared to them. Less than 5k. They have a limited hospital, often send their surgeries here. Downtown has hardware store, bars, craft supply store, a couple grocery stores, pizza places. There's some farmland, but much of the square acreage is golf. Mega churches. The houses here are 500k. Most people drive ATVs. They have a handful of festivals in the summer.

A town I would often get sent to to cover their high school sports- a little over 2k. There's a Subway, a Domino's, Family Dollar. Some bars, some corner stores. Some local crafts. All the students grow up knowing each other, most of them stay there. But they have craft fairs and art galleries, still.

Less rural still than the town I go through to get there, population of around 600. Houses, farmland, post office, general store.

Who would still look down upon the town of about 400 that I would go to sometimes- post office. Gas station. Bar. The school is the only big thing there.

And yet still, I have seen towns with population in the double digits that have a church and a post office.

Even just looking at the numbers doesn't lend accuracy to what 'rural' actually looks like. Because this is what it looks like in ohio, but it's different in West Virginia- where your closest neighbor might be a mile down a hill. Or in Montana, where your town might be planned very tightly and your neighbors are very close, but the nearest grocery store is an hour and a half away. These are places I've been, friends that I've talked to. I've never been to Missouri or Alabama or Louisiana- I'm sure they have a unique experience of being 'rural.'

So my point is that when people talk about 'the rural experience' or 'rural values,' they are talking about millions of people across the entire country who all have lived unique lives- and who may not even agree on what 'rural' is.

Think about who is talking, and who is being talked over, and who isn't even being asked to join the conversation.

[eyesxxyou]

First Drink 🥃

🍺・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.2k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

or

Logan gives you your first drink

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, drinking, forced alcohol consumption, dubious consent, fingering, squirting, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

Logan is far from a holy man. He drinks too much, smokes too often, hasn’t even stepped foot in a church in his entire life. He’d like to think he’s a good man though, one who tries to make the right decisions when he can, but he knows that what he’s like to think and the reality of it all were two wildly separate things. For how could he be a good man when he’s got it out for you, a pastor’s daughter?

He didn’t mean for it to happen. Kind of stumbled into it as one stumbles into trying cocaine. That is to say, he didn’t stumble into it at all. It was a deliberate decision made with addictive consequences. You were his neighbor, a meek, kind little thing often wrapped up in your bible while you sit quaintly on the front steps of your family house. You were young, not too young though. Freshly turned 21. Yet you still wore your modest clothing and pretty mary janes with frilly socks.

Logan was a perverted man. There was no way to get around it. You were as kind and as innocent as any one person could be. You spoke to him kindly, you brought him lemonade while he was working on his motorcycle and all he could think about was how pretty you’d look in his lap with his large hand on your tummy, feeling the bulge of his cock nestled nicely against your womb.

It was one of these days when you brought him lemonade and sat with him in his garage that he turned to you, hands covered in grease and oil. “You’re 21 now, right doll?” Logan grabbed a towel from out of the waist of his jeans and used that to clean off his hands before grabbing the small crystalline cup of fresh lemonade to sip on. It was almost as sweet as you, not nearly as pleasing to taste.

You sat on a small crate with your knees close to your chest. The toes of your sleek, black mary janes pointed to each other. “Yes sir.” He liked that about you, how respectfully you spoke to him. It reminded him of how much power he had over you, how many years, how much authority. Oh, he is far from a holy man.

“You had your first drink yet?”

You were a sweet, little thing, flustered at the mere suggestion of drinking alcohol. “Oh, no sir. I don’t drink. My father would never allow it.” You and your tender sensibilities. You and your innocent nature. Logan thought about how easy it would be to have his way with you. You wouldn’t fight, wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t so much as make a peep. You’d be too entranced by the way his fingers slide along your tongue and his length snuggle sits way into the walls of your unused cunt.

Logan hummed softly. “You wanna?” He watched the way your eyes shifted as you considered it, a world within your grasp if you just had the courage to reach for it. He’d give it to you, all of it, a universe of worldly pleasures. Why restrict yourself now to go to heaven when you can have heaven on Earth right here?

“I shouldn’t.” Your voice is slow and unsure. All you needed was a little push and you’d tip right over the edge into depravity. That’s the thing about little girls like you, you long for a touch of what’s beyond you but you’re always too scared to get it.

Logan stood up to his staggering height, all legs and muscular torso. “Come on, no one will know but me and you.” He offered a hand to you and after a moment of hesitation, you placed your hand in his large palm and let him pull you up to your feet and guide you into his house. It was a world you had never before seen, rustic and dark, smelling so strongly of Logan you thought you might faint.

He had a whole cabinet for his alcohol, bottles of scotch, whiskey, and bourbon. Logan grabbed a bottle out of the cabinet along with a whiskey glass for you to sip out of. He poured some out and you watched with utter fascination. The golden brown liquid long kept from you for fear you may lose your spot in Heaven. Worldly pleasures such as drinking doomed you to Hell.

“Come here, doll.” Logan coaxed you towards him with two fingers as he sat down on his couch, legs open just enough to offer you a comfortable seat on his thighs. You trembled like a newborn deer, scared of this strange, new world you’ve found yourself in. He brought you into his lap, his hands resting on your thigh as he pushed the glass of whiskey into your hand. “Go ahead and try it.”

You looked into the glass, golden brown sloshing around. It didn’t look so intimidating, like drinking Coca-Cola. But it didn’t taste like Coca-Cola when you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip. It tasted bitter and burned your throat as it went down. “I don’t like it.” You pouted softly, turning to look over your shoulder at Logan. His fingers slowly began to gather the fabric of your skirt, pulling it up your thigh. “Just keep drinking, doll.”

You were a good girl. You did as told, entirely unaware of the way his fingers kept pulling at your skirt until it was entirely up your thigh. You felt his rough fingertips against your bare flesh and shivered as he traced figure 8s into your skin. “Mr. Howlett?”

“Shh, keep drinking.” Logan murmured as he felt up your thigh, closer and closer to your heated cunt. You writhed in his lap, simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused as you felt his rough fingers brush against the damp fabric of your cotton panties. The stuck to your pussy lips, wet and sensitive as he pressed his thumb to your clit through the fabric and began to rub. Logan took his free hand and pushed the cup back to your lips, tilting it to force you to drink.

Logan couldn’t help himself. You were here, splayed out before him for the taking. He’d be stupid not to take advantage of, take advantage of you. You didn't fight it, just as he had expected, like a good girl. “Spread your legs now.” He clicked his tongue and crooned into your ear.

Trembling, you shook your head. “I– I can't.” Your voice, all small and meek, only made his pants tighter. You could feel it, the bulge against your ass through his jeans. Or maybe that was the large buckle against his pelvis.

“Yeah you can. Open up, doll.” He shifted you slightly so that you were sitting on one of his thighs. He used his leg to part yours a bit further, skillfully. He’s had many girls in his lap, none as pretty as you.

Logan stroked your quivering cunt. “What a wet little girl you are. You been thinking about this, pretty girl?” He bounced you on his thigh and let you slide further into his fingers. A stifled whimper escaped you as you braced yourself against him. “Mr. Howlett– please.” You pleaded for your innocence, for your integrity. Most importantly, you begged for him not to expose your innermost thoughts. The sinful way you look at him, all muscle and hair and man.

Your fingers grasped at his wrist and forearm, nails digging into his skin. It wasn't like you were trying to move his hand, not like you could if you wanted you.

You gasped as he curled a finger into the side of your soaked panties and pulled them to the side. Your cheeks began to swell with the heat of embarrassment. Of course, you never expected to have any sexual experience before marriage so you hadn't shaved between your legs. Logan didn't mind at all it seemed, his finger dipped between your lovely lips and stroked in tender touches.

You squirmed in his lap, whimpering. “Mr. Howlett, I…I shouldn't. Please.” His thumb pressed on your puffy clit, pulsing with arousal, and you choked as the electrifying jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. You had ever been touched like this before, not even by yourself. Logan’s experienced fingers circled your leaking entrance, teasing at all the possibilities of pleasure.

“No one has to know, doll.” Grunted Logan. He felt the way your pussy fluttered, the whole thing aching with want. He eased a single finger into you, sighing out a sweet “Jesus” at the way your walls clamped down around him. You let out a squeal, back arching away from him, your nails sinking into his hairy forearm. Your entire body shivered. “Too big,” you murmured, “‘s too big.”

You were small, tight, and already complaining that a single finger was too much. How could he possibly fit his fat cock into your cunt? Logan was sure he'd tear you in half, his precious girl. “Relax, grab that bottle and drink some more, baby. It’ll help you loosen up.”

With a shaky hand, you reached out and grabbed the bottle off the table in front of you. You brought it to your lips and sipped at the liquid while Logan rubbed your hip with his free hand. “Good girl. I gonna keep going now.” You shook your head viciously. “No, no, no, ‘m not ready.”

He cared not for your concerns. Free hand pulling your legs apart, Logan curled pulled his finger from your gripping cunt before sliding it back in. You were all warm and soft on the inside, just like you were on the outside, even more so. You squeaked and squealed in his lap, his thumb attacking your clit in ferocious circles.

It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, being fucked with a single thick finger. You mewled, mind growing hazy as your hips rocked against your will. Logan knew you wouldn't be able to handle a second finger. He’d rupture your hymen and he wanted to save that honor for when he pushed himself into you and possessed you completely.

You were dripping down his knuckles. He fingered you so hard and fast, you nearly screamed as you thrashed in his lap. “Mmmh ah, ah… ngh.” Something wet trickled out of you and down Logan's hand, clear and dripping. A weak, little squirt, followed by a much larger one.

“I– I’m sorry, I didn't…” You panted out, whining. Logan cooed lowly in your ear. “Got myself a squirter.” He chuckled, a nice puddle on his leg and couch from your sweet show of pleasure. He curled his finger, messaging your soft walls in desperate search of that soft ridge where your g-spot lay.

When he found it, Logan smiled, chucking as you yelped and cried out, a rattling moan shivering up your spine. You tried to slow his hand, grasping and scratching at his arm. You fell back against his chest, legs splayed open while he took the time to abuse your pretty cunt. “You okay, doll?”

You whined vaguely, hazily, your body rolling then slumping, tensing then relaxing. “I– It feels weird.” Something was building within you. Something tight and breathtakingly beautiful. Tears pricked your eyes, wide and pretty, weeping with the brutality of your orgasm, pressing on the edge of unknown pleasures.

And it snapped like a rubber band. Everything that had been held back released all at once, ravishing your body to the point where there goes pointed in your Mary Jane's and your back arched. Shaking, you clawed at Logan's arm so hard you left bright red marks lining his flesh. “Mr. Howlett!”

“Shh, shh, don't want the neighbors to hear you, do you doll?” Logan slowed his hand, pulling his finger from your aching pussy. His entire hand dripped with your cum, sweet and creamy, some slick with your squirt. “Open up, little one.” He teased the tips of his fingers to your lips like he had that glass of whiskey. Coaxing your mouth open, Logan slipped his fingers between your lips and pressed his fingers to your tongue.

You tasted nice, sweet. Your body unmarred by the poison of excessive alcohol, smoking, or junk food. You were clean and pure, untouched by anyone but him. Logan loved it, knowing that he’s the first man to ever touch you. The knowledge was almost as good as an orgasm by itself. You were his, he possessed you. You were his before you were anyone else's.

When you stood, skirt falling back down to your knees, your legs trembled with the aftershock of your first orgasm. You let out a deep, shaky breath, trembling as you turned to look at Logan’s sitting figure. “M–M–Mr. Howlett.” It’s all you could manage to say to him, choking. You had been violated; your sacred temple desecrated.

And you liked it.

Logan hiked himself up to his feet from his couch and stood before you, towering. His hands on your hips, he pulled you in close to him. You braced yourself with your hands against his solid chest. Your cheeks were still wet with tears which Logan wiped away with the pads of his thumbs. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, doll?”

You were such a good, obedient girl. You nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”