lonenymphaea

Qifrey looked up at him, gaze penetrating over the rim of his glasses. 

“You know why I have to,” Qifrey said. Of course Olruggio knew why. He just didn’t like it. You wouldn’t like it. Was it necessary? Maybe, Olruggio wasn’t sure. He only just learned about the threat that Qifrey was scrambling to neutralize. 

After Senaka’s visit to the atelier and your reluctance to explain it, Qifrey pulled Olruggio to the side. Told him that there was no client, no job. He’d been looking for a brimcap who’d been leaving evidence of themself to everyone in Kalhn, sloppy spells and taunting sigils. They wanted to be found but didn’t want to make it easy. He’d been keeping a secret from him, and you, for at least two months. 

Olruggio would say the reveal spiked his irritation but he could only sigh. 

“Are you going to tell her what it is?” Olruggio asked. Qifrey often purposefully negated information, not out of malicious intent or psychotic manipulation but rather the paranoid belief that not knowing was sometimes better than knowing. He meant well, Olruggio knew that, despite not making the best decisions.

“Of course I will, she has to be the one to activate it.” Qifrey said it like it was obvious, like a tracking necklace was some casual gift made of nothing but sparkling red gems and a loving touch. 

Olruggio sighed but pulled up a stool and fell onto it. He grunted as he held out his hand, asking for the contraption. He knew he had no other option than to look at it. Qifrey was going to give it to you either way, the least he could do was make sure the thing didn’t shatter after one use or burn your skin where it would rest against your chest.  

Olruggio plucked a loupe from the edge of the desk, squeezing the cylindrical piece between brow and cheek to hold it in place in front of his eye. Qifrey moved the spotlight above them, casting a concentrated glow over Olruggio’s hands.

“What is it exactly supposed to do?” He asked, rotating the piece in his fingers. The weight was good, comfortable. Not too large, not too small. It was warm from Qifrey’s touch. He’d done well with designing it. 

“A part of the seal is sketched on the gem and on the back of the fauceting. When you press it,” he reached over and gently popped the gem into place with a soft click. It flickered briefly before puttering out. “It glows, and triggers two rings to tell the wearer that something is wrong.” 

Olruggio popped the gem out of its placement with the back of a wooden tool. He raised it to the light to examine the spell. 

“It needs to be inscribed.” He said. He ran his thumb over the back of the gem and the markings smudged. “This ink won’ hold, ah know it’s used for painting like this but the constant friction will wear it down in days, whether it’s activated or not.” This ink couldn’t handle the heat of the body like it could outdoor temperature. Paired with the elements and human sweat it was bound to dissolve.

Qifrey peered under the light. He rocked forward a little for a better view. “I trust you.” He said simply. Olruggio glanced at him but didn’t reply. He reached for the searneedle pen, plucking it from a glass holder and activating it. It hummed with heat. 

Just as he was about to press the needle to the back of the gem, Qifrey’s hand snaked underneath the table and settled on Olruggio’s closest thigh. The gesture was casual and Qifery made no comment as his long fingers squeezed gentle.

Olruggio was suddenly having a very hard time concentrating. 

His finger twitched and he willed himself to focus. This sigil was sensitive and the slightest mistake would ruin everything. 

Qifrey’s hand rolled tortuously, caressing Olruggio’s leg. Olruggio gripped the pen tighter, the steady hand of an inventor nearly unravelled by a touch meant for a lover.

It only took only minutes for Olruggio to inscribe the spell, even with his distraction. 

Olruggio placed the finished gem on the table, before reaching for the metal bed it would sit in. Out of the corner of his eye, Olruggio could see that Qifrey was watching him work, rather than watching him. As if he were unaware (or good at masking) the fact that he was practically groping him. But Olruggio made no attempt to remove the touch. He actually adjusted towards it, his thigh moving just a tad closer to his friend.

When he finished searing the patterns into the metal Olruggio couldn’t put the necklace back together fast enough. He shakily placed the gem into its housing and pressed down. 

Click.

Buzz. A long drawn out ring and a small light pillared in the bowl on the table. It wiggled before straightening, pinpointing the location of the pendant. Qifrey smiled, “They work perfectly.” 

When Olruggio released the contraption the buzzing stopped and the light faded. He handed it to Qifrey. Qifrey’s one hand remained on his thigh but he used his free one to take the piece. 

“I trust you with her, you know.” he said casually. He held the gem up to the light, watching the candle lick at the shadows of his fingers and dance along the back of the pendant. The red gem pulsed beside the flames, rolling shades of red and orange, dancing in time with the flickering candle.

Olruggio didn’t know what to say, that damn hand on his leg was already making it hard to think, so he gave up on even trying to talk.

“Olruggio, has she said anything to you?” Qifrey asked suddenly. The question jolted the other man back into reality, only a little less dazed by their bodies being so close.

“What?” Olruggio asked.

Qifrey hummed, “ah, I mean, has she shown any interest.”

“In what?” Olruggio questioned. Qifrey looked at him like you would look at a wounded dog, with nothing empathetic understanding. Was he? Olruggio’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to respond, but Qifrey smiled gently and spoke before he could get the next words out. 

“Nothing,” Qifrey said, “Do not worry, my friend.” 

The word friend was heavy, falling from his tongue with something adjacent more to that of a lover. Olruggio’s heart pulsed, he felt sweat bead at his brow. 

Qifrey was married. He was married to you. But the way he spoke to him, the way he has spoken to him, dug a hole in his heart that he has never been able to fill. Never been able to satisfy, and he had no right to even try and fill it. 

Qifrey was married and he was married to you and he should have pulled away when Qifrey placed his hand on his leg, but he didn’t, Qifrey never does anything by accident, it’s always calculated, this was no different, right, 

and when Olruggio held you beside him at the market the other day and when your hands fell to his chest after waking up, they left the same heated touch as Qifrey’s did now, grounding, rich, addictive, but Qifrey was married and he was married to you and Olruggio knew he had no right to get in between that, but Qifrey was suggesting that he could just—right, right, right—?

“Master Qifrey? Are you awake?” 

Olruggio nearly jumped out of his skin. Qifrey pulled his hand away, the weight of him now a ghost, the heat of him gone. “Yes, Tetia? Another nightmare?” 

“...yes…” she said, defeated. 

“I am coming, my dear. Let me clean up and I will help you settle back to bed.” Qifrey shuffled about the room, pulling on his evening robe and dropping the necklace in the bowl with the rings. He slipped out of the room silently, only looking back at Olruggio once, a glint in his eye. 

“I mean it, Olruggio, I trust you with everything.” 

When the door clicked shut behind him Olruggio let out a shuttering breath and rubbed his face with a trembling hand, barely concealed by his work. 

“Fuck.”

That necklace haunted him for the rest of the night.

“Have you lost your mind, Qifrey?” You hissed. It was late, well into the evening, and the three of you were sitting in the living room. You’d been restless for the better half of the week. You could barely sleep and every little thing made you jump. Qifrey’s soothing hums and delicate caresses did nothing to ease you into the realm of dreams. You’d jerk awake every few minutes, the faint sound of phantom thunder and the rattle of the brass door knob rocking you from sleep. 

Your nerves were fried and Qifrey suddenly telling you that he was going to the great hall to do some research, burnt out the last bit of stable light you had. 

Olruggio sat awkwardly on the floor when you shot up from the couch, watching you carefully. 

“Darling—” 

“Do not ‘darling’ me, husband. You can’t just leave with all this going on!” You kept your voice low not wanting to wake the children, but the power behind it, the irritation was clear. 

“I have to do this,” he said gently, reaching for your hand. You pulled back, and Olruggio could see the flicker of hurt that darted across Qifrey’s face. Part of him felt bad, but another part of him didn’t. He’d warned him this would cause a rift the longer he hid it. 

“You have people in this home who need you here,” you said. You tried to not let your lip tremble. From the frustration, from the fear, from the anger. “We need you here. I need you here.” Your voice faltered. 

“What if he comes back, Qifrey? What if he takes one of the girls from us.” You don’t know combat magic like they do, you never had the interest to learn, and you certainly never had the need to. Regular witches didn’t have the need for fighting. 

He opened his mouth to speak and you cut him off when the realization struck you, “he’s going to come back, isn’t he? How long have you known?” Out of the corner of your eye, Olruggio dipped into his work and you knew you’d discovered something you shouldn’t have. 

Your husband sighed. “You don’t have a client do you, Qifrey?” 

“No, I do not.” When a lover slips out of bed in the middle of the night to dip away to privacy or when they stay out working late again and again, the conclusion is rather simple. A secret lover, a midnight rendezvous.

Yours was not so simple. You had other worries, stranger ones, because when your husband did exactly that it meant he was putting himself in danger not slinking off to have an affair. It just always takes you a while to realize it.

“How long?”

“A few months. The first time I recognized it was him we were at the market.” It’s been weeks since that day. He’s known for weeks and was only telling you now?

Olruggio was not spared your wrath, “you knew too, didn’t you?”

“…for only a week o’ so…” he mumbled, shrinking to avoid your fire. He was scared of those flames. 

“Out of all the stupid things both of you have done!” Your eyes burned from frustration. Tears prickled the back of them and you struggled to keep your voice steady. 

Here you were, beating yourself up for hiding a palm quire for a week and your husband knew about everything for months. You’d done the same thing yourself, in all honesty, but the bubbling irritation that all three of you seemed incapable of asking for help and now wanting to worry about each other was a testament, in your mind, as to why you were together. 

“You didn’t tell me, you didn’t warn me!” You gripped the front off your night gown, the robe over it heavy and suffocating, “what if he took one of our girls! I could have seen him anywhere, he’s clearly following us. I would have known to avoid him, to tell—our girls you two. Our children!”

Days of little sleep and constant anxiety burst from you in a waterfall of tears. You gripped the edge of the couch to keep yourself from collapsing, the world was blurry. You could saw Qifrey, a mass of white and grey, reach for you but you stepped back to avoid him. Stumbling. 

Warm hands fell to your lower back, supporting you and keeping you from falling bottom first into the glowing hearth. “Aye, let’s sit.” 

“I don’t want to sit,” you grumbled. Nonetheless you gripped Olruggio’s sleeve as he helped you settle onto the couch. He crouched in front of you as you sniffled, your mind was racing, running circles around every scenario you could think of before stopping and starting over again. 

You stilled when a small wooden box was placed in your lap. Qifrey’s long fingers titled your chin up and he delicately pressed a handkerchief to your cheeks, dabbing at stress-dampened skin. “I am sorry, my love.” He said carefully. He ran pacifying thumbs over your cheeks. “I did not want you to worry.” 

“Too late for that,” You bit out weakly. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, the kiss was a shadow, a statement. You returned it weakly. 

Olruggio watched the two of you quietly. It hurt him to see you like this. His hand twitched with the desire to comfort you. He wanted to place his hand on your knee, just to tell you that he was here, but he froze when Qifrey kissed you. A harsh reminder that it was not his place to do that. 

“It will just be for a few days,” Qifrey said quietly. Your breath hitched, but you let him explain. “Senaka is a brimcap. There were whispers of one hiding in Kalhn, and I was trying to track him down. The last thing I ever wanted him to do was come to our home.” 

“and you’re certain he’s after?” You grabbed the box, the edges digging into your hand.

“Coco. Yes. ” He said. Olruggio shifted back and settled on his bottom, bringing up a knee and resting his arm on it as he propped himself up. He stayed silent as you spoke. 

This was not Coco’s first encounter with the Brimmed Caps. That poor girl had seen them once every few months since arriving at the atelier. The damned book she was given haunting her day and night. You’d thought they’d taken a break from chasing her, you’d hoped they’d given up but clearly that was not the case. 

“I need to do more research. You said a storm hit when he arrived, yes?” 

You nodded.

“I think he is manipulating the weather, those weeks of storms weren’t just an unusual rainy season. That was an attempt to keep everyone indoors.” 

“So, he could snoop out the residents?” Olruggio said. 

“Yes, precisely.” Qifrey said, as he reached for the box. “Residents would only leave for necessities, which allowed him to watch and observe. I suspect when he realized we did not live in Kalhn, he needed to find another way to smoke us out.”

He pried open the box with a gentle pop, and your eyes widened at it’s contents. 

Settled comfortably a small satin cushion was a pendant, bright red and sparkling, it was connected to a golden chain. 

He lifted the piece from its storage. He placed it in your hands, guiding your fingers to the facets. 

“What is this?” You whispered. 

You pressed into it and the pendant clicked, two bright red lights followed. Qifrey flipped his hand over to show you his fingers and situated beside his wed band was a thin gold ring lined in gemstones. They pulsed with light and the ring vibrated gently. Your eye caught Olruggio’s hand as he revealed his own, same color, same shape. 

“When I heard of Senaka’s whereabouts I wanted to make something you could contact us quickly and discreetly in the event of an emergency. A portable windowway would not do. This should work, however.” 

All those nights of him hidden away he was working on this. You caught Olruggio’s eye who returned it with a sheepish avoidance. 

You gripped the piece between your palms as he added, “You will not be alone. Olruggio is staying with you.” Your eyes flickered to the dark haired man, he smiled at you. “Aye, you’re stuck with me until he gets back.” He bravely reached for your hand and you gripped it, allowing Qifrey to slip the necklace from your fingers. 

He eased the chain around your neck, and the pendant settled just above your breasts, glowing softly across the cotton of your pajamas. Qifrey kissed the side of your head, placing his hand on top of yours and Olruggio’s.

“He will keep you perfectly safe, darling.” 

Qifrey sought out Olruggio’s gaze over the crown of your head, the two stared at each other, speaking silently in that unique way only they understood. 

“Perfectly safe.” 

He pawed at the darkness, hands grabbing nothing but water. It flooded his eyes, filled his lungs, and he just spun and spun and spun as he was sucked into a blight of agony.

He could hear you, see your shadow above the rim of the pool, reaching for him but he couldn’t move. And when hands, that were not his, not Olruggio’s fell on your shoulders and pulled you back—

Qifrey’s eyes popped open and he inhaled deeply as he was pulled from a rather unsettling dream. It meant nothing, a whirl pool sucking him down into unfathomable darkness with no means of escape. It was normal for him. He traced the veins of the wood beams above him, the sheets of the canopy that surrounded his bed swayed gently in the earlier morning light. The sun had barely risen, illuminating the room with shades of orange and yellow. The sweat on his brow dried with the cool morning air. 

Senaka had been on his mind since he’d fallen to sleep. The mystery of the man and the threat he held over them a haunting lullaby.

“Hmm…” you were curled at his side, head resting on his chest. He brought a hand up and gently brushed your hair from your face. You slept peacefully, finally, after nearly weeks of unsettled rest. Your gown, skewed and uneven from adjusting in your sleep. The rays of light caught the pendant around your neck, reflecting the gem across your chest. You’d not taken it off since he’d given it to you. He was happy for that, it eased him, if only a little. His ring sat securely on his finger.

He glanced at the wall clock opposite of the bed, it moved thoughtlessly, hands on 7 and 6. He sighed. 

He needed to get up, but he didn’t want to disturb you. He always found sweet satisfaction in how you clung to him at night, hand desperately clenching his night shirt and nuzzling as close as you possibly could. 

He tried to slide from underneath you but you whined. He smiled and kissed the top of your head, hand caressing your cheek as he tried again. He evaded your touch the second time and managed to leave the bed without tripping. You groaned and rolled, pawing the bedsheets. He crouched when your eyes cracked open, looking for him blearily. He thumbed your cheek, “I am going now.” he said gently. 

You hummed, half aware. You knew he was leaving this morning but the exhaustion sat so deep in your bones that you barely had the energy to speak. “Come back soon?” You muttered, burrowing further into the pillows. “Of course,” he said softly. He kissed you delicately, and all you could do was hum in satisfaction before being lulled back to sleep. Thank goodness. He was sure he’d be able to leave if you begged him to stay again.

Qifrey rose and dressed, pulling the curtains to the canopy closed just before he left the room.

He stood in the kitchen now, tucking bread and dried meat into a sack. Checking to make sure he had enough ink and parchment for spells. 

“Goin’ away for a while are yuh?” Olruggio leaned against the wall, watching him casually. His accent was thicker in the mornings.

Qifrey continued packing, “I hope for just a day or so. I won’t be long.” 

“Aye, like I’ll believe that.” Olruggio hummed. Qifrey’s plans always derailed in one way or another, and Olruggio was always prepared for that inevitability. Qifrey, from the way he was packing, was too.

Qifrey’s face was set in melancholy, “She will get lonely.” 

“Well, that means you’ll ‘ave to hurry back.” Olruggio said. It wasn’t often that you were separated from Qifrey but it always felt like the weight of the world was suddenly crushing you when he wasn’t around. 

“Will you stay with her?” Qifrey asked. He stepped in front of Olruggio who righted himself, straightening to his full height as he looked up slightly at the taller man.

“We already talked about that, I’ll keep the girls safe too.” 

“Olruggio.” Qifrey said. 

The dark haired man raised a brow, “Hm?” 

“When I spoke to you that night, when I first started drafting the seal.” 

“Yeah, wha’ about it?” Olruggio asked.

“I told you I trust you with everything. With her.” Olruggio remembered. The night was not easily forgotten.

“If she needs anything, wants anything. You do it.” Qifrey paused, rolling the next words in his mouth to taste them before saying, “If you want to give her anything, you’re more than welcome to. I’m sure she’d like it.” Olruggio’s breath hitched and his eyes darted to Qifrey’s lips before catching the man’s bright blue eyes.

Olruggio muttered the phrases to himself, lips mouthing the movements, trying to understand exactly what he meant. He couldn’t possibly—?

Qifrey didn’t break eye-contact as he secured the bag around his chest, and grabbed his cap off the hook by Olruggio’s head. Olruggio followed his movements. They were steady, assured. When he pulled his arm down he paused, glancing at Olruggio’s lips just before he leaned in and brushed his against Olruggio’s cheek instead. It was so light that if Olruggio wasn’t paying attention he would have thought it was a brush of the breeze. 

“I will be back soon.” He placed his cap on his head, “Stay safe, Olly.” 

She was always so quiet. A soft voice, paired with soft steps and an even softer temperament, left her not forgotten but easily camouflaged. She could slip in and out of a room without being noticed, even with that bright hair of hers. 

“What are you working on?” She asked, tilting her head. 

You reached for her and she stepped forward. You brought her between your legs, leaving your knees to hover near her hips and you jerked your chin over her shoulder. You pointed at the lever and Richeh, fully immersed in your explanation, pressed her palms into your knees as she leaned back. 

“Your music player from Master Qifrey?” Her small hands plucked at your skirt.

You hummed in acknowledgement, “It’s broken, look,” you reached around her and turned it, the player sputtered. Richeh tried it herself, “we can fix it.”

“And do you have an idea of how?” You asked.

She hummed, her lips pursed as she leaned in to examine it, “…no.” 

You chuckled, ruffling her hair, “well if you come up with anything, let me know, okay?” Richeh seemed rather engrossed in trying to repair the thing. With her chin on her hand, she studied the smudged sigils that lined the side of it. Volume, speed, and time related spells that kept the thing going without much human interaction. That was as much as you were able to decipher. You weren’t sure if she would understand more, but who knows? She was bright.

“Let’s not ponder too much,” you said, fondly placing your hand on her head, “We’ve got somewhere to be.” 

As if on queue you heard incoherent hollering from the girls' rooms. You both looked up and watched as Tetia trapeze down the steps with a bag in her hand and a grin on her face. 

“Give that back!” Agott yelled. She came rushing after her, face flushed. 

“But I wanted to see!” Tetia cried out as Agott descended upon her. “It’s so pretty, you never make stuff like this! Coco was making one similar yesterday, right? A little ink bag.” The statement only made Agott flush. Coco came stumbling after them, her hands shaking placidly as she tried to calm the two.

“Tetia, that’s Agott’s,” she looked nervous, eyes darting between the girls. You raised your brow curiously. While they did fight, it was extremely rare. Families always had their quarrels and if you knew anything about sisterhood you knew that sometimes they were something vicious. Even if it was just over a little ink.

Tetia, thinking it was better to cause more of a ruckus than end it, darted to the opposite side of the table to avoid Agott, the meager ink pouch held in her hand. From what you could see it was decently constructed if not a bit uneven and patchy. 

“What is going—” You tried to gather their attention but their bickering drowned you out. 

“Give it back, Tetia!” 

“But it’s cute! I want to show Master Qifrey.” Agott’s face was lit aflame.

“Children.”

“Tetia!” Coco squeaked. Now the pink haired girl was pinned between Coco and Agott and she simply found it amusing. Your voice fell on deaf ears and you sighed as you felt an oncoming headache. “My lord, childr—” 

“Girls, enough.” All of the children froze, including Richeh who clutched your skirts silently, as Olruggio’s voice commanded them from afar.

“What is goin’ on?” He asked. He moved casually from his perch, descending the stairs and approaching you with a basket in hand. You thanked him appreciatively, it was a woven piece you’d often used for groceries and had broken just a few days ago when you were lugging herbs in from the garden. You’d tripped over a rouge brush buddy and stepped on the handle, cracking it right in half. 

You thumbed the newly woven wicker as you watched him. 

“N-nothing, Master Olruggio.” Coco started, trying to keep the peace. “Tetia just—!” 

“Tetia took my things and won’t give them back!” Agott accused pointing at the girl. 

You always admired how Olruggio handled the girls. Both you and Qifrey had a bad habit of letting them get away with things. You were stern but when they looked up at you with those big puppy dog eyes you tended to buckle, and it worked on Qifrey more often than it did you. Olruggio though, the girls had to work to get him to side with them. Olruggio didn’t put up with the bickering and the pouting, he made them stand tall and speak confidently when they wanted something. While he disciplined them far less often, respecting how you and Qifrey were raising them, when he spoke up it meant the children were uncharacteristically out of line.

He ignored Agott’s yelling and Tetia’s whining as he tied his cloak around his shoulders. He nodded towards the two who weren’t creating chaos, “Richeh, Coco, go get yuh coats an’ caps.” The two scurried off obediently. 

“Rain shoes girls, the ground is still soft!” You called after them.

Olruggio reached for your cloak, where it lay draped over the banister. He approached you while addressing the girls that remained. 

“Tetia, should yuh have taken Agott’s things withou’ permission?” He asked. He shook out your cloak and unbuckled the front clasp before stepping in front of you and swinging it around your shoulders. Your immediate reaction was to tell him he didn’t need to do all of that, but Tetia interrupted you. 

“N-no, but—” 

“There are no ‘buts’,” Olruggio said, he brushed away the dust at your shoulders and adjusted the fabric that draped over your front. “Tha’ is not yours.” Tetia handed the small pouch back to Agott who quickly shoved it into her pocket. 

“Agott,” Olruggio said, as he placed your cap in your hand. It’d been sitting on the coffee table. “Do we yell like that when there’s a problem?” 

“...no, sir.” 

“What should we have done?” 

“Get an adult…” she kicked her toe against the hard wood, gaze low.

“Good, now apologize t’one another an’ go get yuh things. We’re leaving shortly.” 

You smiled softly as you watched the two girls offer each other defeated apologies before they left to go gather their cloaks and caps. You looked at Olruggio, “thank you.” 

He shrugged, “they’ve been testy lately. Bein’ cooped up in here has done ‘em no good.”

This spring season has been wrought with storms, and you all, more often than not, have had to stay indoors. Today was one of the only clear days the atelier had seen in weeks and thank god, because you were down to your last loaf of bread and a block of cheese that was starting to grow a second life. You needed to head to Kalhn…for both home goods and your sanity.

When the girls were ready and the carriage was secured you all piled in. The wide seats accommodated the children comfortably. You and Olurrgio sat directly across from one another, while the girls split themselves into two beside you and him. When Olruggio tapped the roof, the pegasus jolted and the carriage soared through the sky. The girls spoke amongst one another, much calmer than they were moments ago while you struggled to un-twist the embellishments of your cloak. You sighed in frustration, the tassels had some how managed to hooked themselves carelessly to the buckles.

Olruggio’s large hands settled over yours and gently pulled at the threads.

“Where is Master Qifrey?” Agott asked. 

“Meetin’ with a client, he’ll catch with us in Kalhn,” Olruggio said, not looking away from his work. When the tassels fell away he mumbled in satisfaction. The sound made you pause and your eyes caught his as they lingered on your skin that poked out of your collar. When you adjusted your shoulder, the image of your flesh falling away, he cleared his throat and moved to look out of the window. You observed him for only a second before smiling at the girls. 

“Now, would we like to play our game this trip?” 

Tetia cheered, “Yes!” 

You laughed and pulled a set of lists from your pocket, handing each child a page. “Remember, you should all work as a team.” You gave Tetia and Agott a pointed look, “and?” 

“Whoever finishes the list first gets to pick something from the Starry Sword!” Coco said cheerfully. 

It was a simple game, the girls would race against each other in groups of two to gather all of the items on their list with a limited amount of money. There were never penalties for ‘losing’ but there were rewards for finishing first. You only ever did this when they were willing to. It was a fun activity that taught them time and money management along with speaking and navigational skills. They’d have to talk to vendors to get the best deals, keep track of their cash, pick the right produce and work together to do it all in a decent amount of time. In the future, when they started working with their own clients, they would be far more prepared to negotiate with the more…stubborn ones of the bunch. 

“Tetia and Agott,” you started “you will work together today.” Both girls nodded, expecting it. 

“That leaves you and me, Richeh!” Coco said. 

“Yes.” Richeh replied. 

A little game never hurt anyone.

The market was packed, nearly shoulder to shoulder, clearly you weren’t the only ones who thought it was a good idea to take advantage of the nice weather. Olruggio helped you down from the carriage and just as the girls were about to disappear into the fray, he whistled, “Oi, yuh have two hours and we meet at the park. Understood?” They saluted him, all grins and giggles before ducking into the sea of people. 

You chuckled and thanked the man, “a bit of peace and quiet?”

“With this crowd, hardly.” He grumbled. He stood close to you. Heat radiated off of him like a furnace but it was surprisingly comforting in this atmosphere. 

“How much money did you give those kids?” He asked as you weaved in and out of the masses. The front stalls were the most crowded but it started to calm as you got closer to the city center. 

“Hm…enough.” You said playfully. You always gave them a little extra cash to buy themselves something. You knew what each of them would come back with. Tetia would be carrying a small bag of chocolate. Richeh with a new trinket. Coco with a little accessory for her brushbuddy and Agott would come back with nothing. She hoarded her cash until she saved enough to get something big. 

“Yuh spoil ‘em,” he said. 

“As if you don’t?” you countered, he looked away. You see what he does for them. It’s often small. Extra servings at dinner, letting them get away with things that Qifrey wouldn’t, offering them contraptions that solve problems that are unique to each girl. He tried to act aloof but he loved seeing them smile and he loved seeing them safe.

You opened your mouth to tease him further but a young man crashed into you nearly sending you to the ground if it wasn’t for Olruggios fast reflexes, “Oi! Watch where you're goin'!” The boy didn’t stop but you figured he wouldn’t. You patted Olruggio’s arm as he balanced you back on your feet. 

“Y’alright?” You hummed in response. You were a little startled but not harmed. You heard annoyed cries from the crowd as the kid continued his race. Crowded, indeed.

“Let’s just get off the street,” you said, searching for a stall you recognized. Ah, the repair shop! You grabbed Olruggio’s wrist and tugged him along. He followed without any protest. When you pushed back the curtain you were greeted by a portly man with oil stains on his forehead and an unruly beard.

“Hi, darlin’, what can I help you with?”

“I’m looking for a crank, for an old record player.” 

“Ah,” he wiped his greasy hands on his apron, “let me see if I have some, it's been awhile since I’ve sold any. You know how big it needs to be?”

You grimaced, “uh, no, unfortunately.” 

He chuckled, “that’s alright just give me a sec.” He disappeared behind the counter, tucking into a room that was piled high with gear and gadgets. 

Olruggio observed a cuckoo clock in the corner, it chimed at the 30 minute mark. “What do you need it for?”

“The record player in the living room broke, I’m still trying to figure out the spells used on it but the manual crank needs a replacement. It only plays for a few seconds before it dies.” Olruggio hummed, “ah, an’ do you know what yer doin’?” 

You chuckled, “no but I was gonna guess until something worked.” Olruggio chuckled and the sound made your chest ache. 

The older man slipped back into the room, digging through a rusted bucket of spare parts, “I don’t think I have what your looking for, must have sold the pieces and forgot. I’m sorry darlin’”

You wave your hand casually, “it’s alright.” 

“Try Louis at the end of the street, he’s got parts for instruments. He may have it. Don’t tell him I sent you through.” You smiled and nodded offering him a gentle thank you for his time before stepping back to it into the market place. Bummer, you’d simply have to wait to fix it then. Something was bound to crop up eventually. 

“Off to get the food then,” you said, Olruggio used his body to carve you a path. You didn’t really notice but the crowd did, they parted for him like water.

“Are you alright with stew this week? It’s been awhile.” You’d wanted to make some during the rain storms but you didn’t have the ingredients. You needed bones for the broth and the last time you cooked a full chicken was weeks ago. 

Olruggio grunted, “you know I’ll eat whateva’ yuh cook.” 

You smiled and held up a head of cabbage, “if I get some bacon will you make those things again.” Olruggio rolled his eyes, “yeah, just put'em in the basket. I’ll buy.” You silently cheered. You were a well enough cook and actually did most of it out of everyone in the household but there were some dishes that only Olruggio and Qifrey could make. Not because they were difficult but they always tasted so much better made by their hands. 

You tapped your chin as you continued down the line, greeting familiar vendors with a warm smile and waving at the little ones that sat stationed in the back. The produce looked divine, surprisingly. The wet weather did little to deter their growth. You plucked tomatoes and carrots from one stall, apples from another. Your favorite flour for dough and some spices for seasonings. You bartered with a gentle tongue and made enough deals to save you some cash.

“Y’okay if I step off for a second. Want to check that place out.” He nodded towards a newly opened contraption shop, run by a younger woman and her father. They made easy to cast contraptions readily available for the public. Olruggio had talked about wanting to visit a few weeks ago. 

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be here.” 

When you reached the end of your list you spent a moment looking over the wine at Mrs. Hannah’s stall. She was an interesting woman with only one eye and a pesky cat but she did make the best liquor in Kalhn and you knew the boys were running low. 

Qifrey doesn't drink as much as Olruggio does but you knew he liked to partake every so often. You turned the bottle over in your hand, a little to expensive. 

You wondered when Qifrey was. He left the atelier much earlier, before the girls even woke. You'd seen him just long enough to get a kiss good morning and a kiss goodbye before he slipped out the door. Him taking a client is extremely rare given his obligations to the girls but he said it was an opportunity he simply couldn’t pass up. When you tried to pry the information out of him, he smiled sweetly and told you not to worry.

Which, honestly, made you worry. A little.

While you were examining a bottle of rich apricot wine you felt a tap on your shoulder. Your head turned. At first you thought it was the boy from before, coming to apologize for the ruckus he caused, but it clearly wasn’t. 

“Name's Senaka.” He said confidently. He was a few years older than you based on the smile lines that decorated his face, but still relatively young with warm brown eyes and slightly crooked teeth.

You offered your name politely but didn’t say anything else. 

“So, Hannah’s homemade wine?” He mused, “the stuff’s strong.” You caught Mrs. Hannah taking a long drag of her cigarette as she watched your exchange. 

“Um, I don’t really drink. It wouldn’t be for me.” You said.

“My girls love a good drink,” he laughed, his smile was charming but that’s all you would give him credit for, “the two of them can put me under the table with how much they can gulp down.” You paused, ah. You knew where this was going. “They’ve even hoping for another drinking buddy, since I can’t keep up.”

He was trying to recruit another wife.

It wasn’t unusual for witches to take more than one partner. It’s an old tradition that can be traced back to the end of the war, where witches would tie themselves to multiple families to ensure the security of their legacies and the safety of their practice. While many of those unions still existed and were legally recognized, they were significantly less common. 

No one really wanted their marriages to be treated like a trade. Your hand for mine. His hand for hers. The magic stays in the family, the power comes with the name. The lifestyle does attract a manipulative lot who often took advantage of the system to gain things for themselves. Whether it be more money, more power, more sex, there was a benefit to the exchange that was almost addictive.

While you'd never thought about adding a third to your marriage and Qifrey has never brought up the possibility, you wouldn't be against it if it were the right person. 

“Are you married?” He asked. 

“Yes.” You said, picking up another bottle. Peach, delicate, sweet, light. Discounted. You reached for the cash in your breast pocket and handed it to Mrs.Hannah. A small black, yellow eyed cat popped up when she went to take it, his tail caressing your wrist, blessing the exchange.

“Hm, children?” 

She handed you your change, it’s twice what it should be but from the glint in her eye you knew she did it on purpose. For your troubles. 

“A few.” 

He whistled, “wow, must be a happy marriage.”

“Very.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he chuckled “so I’m not surprised that you—ah.”

You squeaked when a hand slid along your lower back and settled on your hip. 

“Everythin’ alright, honey?” You looked up and nearly choked. Olruggio observed you casually, as if approaching you like this was the most normal thing in the world. His fingers were stretched across your hip; they didn’t press or poke, but they felt like lead weights. Have they always been that big? 

“O-oh,” play along you thought to yourself, play along. The ring on your finger glints as you point at your basket. “Look at what I found, your favorite!” Olruggio casually reached for it with his other hand, making sure to pull you in a bit closer as he examined the label thoughtlessly. 

Senaka tried to speak again, Olruggio cut him off. “The good stuff, thank you.” He brushed his chin against the side of your head in such a way that the angle looks like he kissed you. His narrowed eyes catch Senaka’s over the crown of your head.

“Can I help you?” He asked but before Senaka could reply he’s interrupted again by your actual husband. 

“Darling, there you are! I’m sorry it took so long, I meant to join you all much earlier. But, look at this pen set I found. It’s adorable, perfect for the girls. Do you think—” He paused when he noticed how Olruggio clung to you, how you were tucked carefully into his side as the dark haired man looked at him over his shoulder. 

“There y’are,” Olruggio said, “come here. Our wife has a bit of stuff t’carry.” 

…our wife? Qifrey blinked. He looked between you and Olruggio. You knew he wouldn’t suspect anything untoward about the situation but you couldn’t help but be nervous under his careful eye. When he noticed Senaka, his face relaxed in realization. 

He stepped forward, slipping the package into your basket and grabbed for the handle. He pulled it away delicately and kissed your cheek. 

“It’s okay,” you tried to take it back but he held it out of your grasp.

“Let ‘im take it, honey.” There that nickname was again. You shivered. 

They slipped into this shared roll a little too easily.

Qifrey’s shoulder brushed yours and for the first time in your life you’re intimidated by them. Not in a way that caused you to fear or made you feel like you needed to cower. It was just…intense and the sensation that filled the pit of your stomach was something you wouldn’t even be able to share in a confessional. 

Olruggio’s grip on your waist tightened when the man in front of you examined you like you were a freshly purchased center piece. You felt Qifrey’s hand twitch against the back of yours. 

There was a sudden gasp and the tension snapped as you craned your head over your shoulder to find the source. 

A middle aged woman clutched her collar as your four children slid around a group of people, nearly toppling into a stray vegetable cart. You winced. No one was hurt and they missed the cart by a hair but the near crash made your heart skip. When they spied you, they rushed forward, crashing into the backs of one another as they skid to a halt. Agott, then Tetia, then Richeh followed by Coco, yelling and waving their purchases like victory pennants. 

Olruggio quickly dropped his hand and casually stepped away.

Qifrey smiled crouching to their level. He's well acquainted with their race, he's the one who created it. “and who won?”

“We did!” Both pairs yelled. You laughed, reaching over and prying them apart. You brushed the dust from their cloaks and smoothed down their wild hair,  “Oh, a tie?” 

Senaka was forgotten as you spoke, standing to the side of the family like a ghost. 

“Oh hello, sir. Did you need something?” Coco asked, ever observant. She greeted him kindly and he seemed to receive it well. He opened his mouth to speak but paused when he caught sight of her bright hair and cap. He looked back at Qifrey and then to her. “Nothing, my friend.”

Senaka’s gaze lingered on Coco. She tilted her head, inquiring silently as to why he was there. She doesn't recognize him and it doesn't seem like the adults did either. 

“No, he was just leavin’ weren’t yuh?” Olruggio said.

Senaka blinked, prying his gaze away from the girl and looking at you. “Yes, right, well…have a wonderful day.” He bowed with his cap in hand before turning, his cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the crowd. 

“Curious, I’ve never seen that pattern before.” Qifrey hummed. Most witches recognized each other’s cap designs. It was a calling card, an identifier. You knew what atelier they were a part of, who their teacher was, where they lived. But Senaka’s was unknown to the both of you. 

“Neither have I,” you said, watching the man leave.

“Master Olruggio, look what we got!” 

“You girls cause nothin’ but trouble.”

“It’s this contraption that Agott found,” Richeh said, “got it from the new store.”

“Let me see that.” 

From the book of young hoe: Thou shan’t wear a coat if it doesn’t match the fit.

When most people met Smoke, they automatically assumed that they knew what type of woman he would gravitate towards. When they envisioned Smoke’s significant other, they pictured a woman who was modest, quiet, and poised. What they weren’t expecting was you. 

Now, no one would ever step to Smoke and openly say anything unkind about you. Not unless they wanted to be packed up like a can of sardines. Because one thing Smoke didn’t play about was you. 

Smoke meets you at the gas station of all places. He notices you almost immediately. It’s really hard not to notice you in your short dress that clings to your curves like it’s painted on, or the loud clacking from your heels that are definitely a safety hazard. 

Or maybe it’s the warm and sweet vanilla perfume that wafts past his nose and lingers in the aisle as you pick up snacks. Smoke assumes that you must be coming back from a night out based on how you look. Your movements are a bit sluggish, but still graceful as you pick up a bag of Hot Cheetos. 

You seemingly don’t pay attention to any of the patrons inside the gas station, whose eyes follow you like bugs to a porch light. You blow large bubbles with the gum in your mouth before popping it to repeat the cycle. 

Smoke hates the way that his body instantly reacts to feeling your presence behind him. Your scent overwhelms his senses like you’re imprinting yourself into every atom of his being. 

He spares a glance at you once he pays for his things. He finds that you’re already staring at him with a pretty smile and mischievous eyes. You wave your pretty manicured hand at him before stepping up to the counter. Smoke chuckles lowly before waving back to you and heading outside to pump his gas.

You slide the snacks across the counter as you smile flirtatiously at the associate, “Azim, how you doing, baby?”

Azim blushes under your gaze, “I’m doing good, my darling. Was it a good night out?”

“It was amazing, my girls and I danced all night. Free drinks too,” you reply, blowing another bubble. 

Azim starts bagging up your items before peeking back up at you, “I’m glad to hear you had such a good time. Anything else you need, my dear?”

“Let me get $20 on pump five.” 

Azim types the amount in the register before giving you your total, “That’ll be $21.00, my love.” 

You smile at him, “Azim, I know you’re undercharging me.” 

Azim waves you off with a soft chuckle, “You know you’re one of my favorite customers. I have to take care of you. Family discount.” 

You tap your card on the reader before smiling and blowing a kiss to Azim, “You’re the best, Azim. Let me know when your wife is making some more of that baklava, so I can come through.” 

“I’ll have her make you a special batch. Come by on Sunday,” Azim calls out to you. You reply with a quick ‘thank you’ before walking out to your car. You spot Smoke standing at his car, pumping gas, along with a few other guys who are crowded around one car. 

Truthfully, Smoke could’ve been done pumping his gas, but he chose to pump slower in hopes of catching you coming out of the store. 

You open the door to your car to throw the snack bag on the seat before moving to start pumping your gas. It’s not lost on Smoke how cold it is outside, and you, in your tiny dress, don’t even seem to be phased by it. 

In fact, you keep pumping your gas and blowing bubbles like everything is copacetic. 

Unfortunately, Smoke’s not the only one who notices how pretty you look tonight. The guys surrounding the car all wolf-whistle and make noise as they catch you passing by. Smoke can see the predatory look in their eyes as they drink in your appearance. 

His body immediately goes into protector mode. Feeling bold, one of the guys starts to yell out in your direction, “Aye ma! Aye ma! Lemme holla’ at you!”

You roll your eyes and keep pumping your gas. You chose to ignore the ignorant man, who clearly doesn’t have any home training. 

It appears that audacity is on sale as the man yells out to you again, “Aye, girl! I know you hear me talking to you!” 

Still, no response from you. 

“Well, fuck you too then, you stuck up bitch!” 

Smoke doesn’t know whose head snaps over quicker—his or yours. He can see the anger filling your pretty face as you finally stop chewing your gum. 

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck out of my face with them cheap ass clothes and that fake-ass Cuban link. Wanna-be-rap-ass nigga,” you yell back. Smoke and all of the other men are stunned momentarily by the ruthlessness of your words. 

The wanna be who you just insulted doesn’t take the lashing well. Smoke catches the ugly expression that overtakes the man’s face as he moves around the car to start making his way to you. His homeboys have enough sense to try to stop him, but he roughly shrugs them off. 

Just as he’s about to make his way to you, Smoke stands directly in his path. The older man squares his shoulders and glares down at the younger man. The height difference, combined with Smoke’s quiet disposition, creates a sense of unease in the young man’s demeanor. 

“Nah, don’t get shy now. Whatchu’ was planning on doing, young buck? You thought you were about to put your hands on her?” Smoke questions, stepping up to crowd the boy’s space. 

The man in question opens his mouth to start stuttering. Smoke frowns, “Nah, don’t start stuttering on me now, boy. Tell me whatchu’ was planning. You wanna act bad in front of your boys, so let’s talk man to man. You wanna press her? Nah, you press me now, nigga.”

The man swallows harshly as Smoke can see the tremors racking through his body as he finally starts to recognize Smoke.

He holds his hands up, “S-Smoke, I ain’t meant nothin’ by it, man.”

“You ain’t mean nothing by it? Seems like you had your mind set before I stepped in front of you. You wanted to be a man when you were about to put your hands on her, but you ain’t a man now that I’m in front of you.” Smoke steps forward so the only thing that the young man can feel is his presence. 

He lowers his voice, “You listen to me, and I want you to listen real good because I don’t repeat myself. You ever talk to a woman like that or approach her like that again, ima beat yo’ ass as yo daddy should’ve. If I see you planning on pressin’ another woman, I’ll break every bone in your fuckin’ body and have you sippin’ on yogurt for the rest of your life. Don’t get yourself put on a t-shirt, boy. I’m sure Ms. Coretta ain’t prepared to put you in a casket. We clear?”

The young man is now openly shaking as he sees the darkness in Smoke’s eyes. It’s like he’s looking at something inhuman. He nods his head, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Smoke,” He responds, fear lacing the edge of his tone.

Smoke nods, “Now, I believe you owe her an apology.”

The boy looks in your direction, “I’m sorry, Miss. It won’t happen again.”

Smoke looks at him again, “Now, get the fuck out of here.” The young man scurries away with his homeboys in tow. Anyone in town knows that the Smokestack twins are the last men that you want to have beef with. 

Smoke turns to you before walking over. You blow a bubble before popping it, “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”

Smoke smirks, “Yes, I did. What were you planning on doing if I hadn’t stepped in or been around?” 

You shrug, “I was planning on getting him with this bear mace.”

Smoke lifts his eyebrows, “You know that’s illegal.”

You blow another bubble. Pop! “So is harassment, but these niggas act like the First Amendment entitles them to a response from me.” Smoke chuckles in response. 

You look at him, “So it’s Smoke, I reckon?”

He nods, “S’just a nickname. My real name is Elijah.” You hum while still chewing on your gum. You’d vaguely heard of the Smokestack twins. Anybody this side of the Delta had heard about the two men, but you rarely paid attention when people would go into detail about them. 

You only cared for gossip when it was something that intrigued you. Two men who put fear in the hearts of men in the South didn’t intrigue you. Yet, with Smoke standing in front of you, smelling like a grown man, you were now thoroughly intrigued. It didn’t help the fact that he was fine in a way that gave 90s. 

Smoke catches your hand on the gas pump, “Let me finish pumping your gas for you. It’s freezing out here.” 

You step to the side and let Smoke take over. Who were you to deny the services of a man being courteous to you? Smoke takes a moment to look at you up close. 

You smile before leaning on your car, “You wanted to pump my gas so you could stare at me?”

“M’just wondering where your jacket is,” Smoke comments. 

“At home, it didn’t go with my outfit,” you respond as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“So catching pneumonia in the ass is worth the fit?”

“Yep, you haven’t ever heard the saying ‘fashion is sacrifice’?”

Smoke chuckles, “Can’t say I have. Now, would you pretty please go sit in the car while I finish pumping your gas?” 

You roll your eyes before smacking your glossed lips, “Fine, since you’re so worried that I’ll turn into a popsicle.” You open your door before sliding into the seat. From his view, Smoke can see you typing on your phone. He finishes pumping your gas and places the gas pump back on the handle.

He closes the cap as you turn on your car. You roll down the window just as Smoke steps closer to lean down. You flash another pretty smile at him, “Thank you again for your help, Mr. Smoke.”

“Just Smoke for you, sugar. Or Elijah. Whichever you prefer.”

“Hmm..I guess I’ll call you, Elijah, then,” You said, still chewing on your gum. There’s a beat of silence that’s filled with your soft chewing and music from your radio. 

You lean closer to him, “Are you going to ask for my number now?”

“You know I’m too old for you, right?”

You blow another big bubble and pop it, “So? I like my men a little seasoned. Just hand me your phone.” Smoke slides his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. You start typing your number in before calling yourself. You save his contact and slide his phone back into his hand. 

“Do you always give your number away at the gas station?” Smoke questions. 

“I give my fake number out all the time. You should feel lucky that you have my real number,” You respond, flashing another cute smile at him. Smoke admires the way that the light dances across your skin and the faint glitter that he assumes is from some lotion. 

“Consider me honored. Drive safely and let me know when you make it home,” Smoke states, looking you straight in the eye. 

You smack your lips, “You checking for me already, old man?” 

“I’d just feel a lot better knowing that you got home safely.” 

“I’ll text you then, Elijah.” With that, you smile before rolling your window up. You drive out of the parking lot with Smoke watching your car. 

He enters his own car and sets off to go home.

Later in the night, when he makes it home and showers, he’s lying in bed, and he hates to admit that he’s waiting for the text from you. Finally, his phone vibrates in his hand, and he sees your name appear on the screen. 

You

*image attached*

I made it home safely

Smoke eyes the picture for far longer than he’ll ever admit. His gaze scans across your baby blue pajamas and the matching bonnet. A cute smile graces your lips as you snap the picture. 

Elijah

Let me take you out tomorrow for brunch.

You

Straight to the point, I like you. 

I guess I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for you😉

Elijah

I promise it’ll be worth it. 

You

It better be. I’m not afraid to leave you at the table by yourself.

From that moment, you became Smoke’s old lady, and everybody knew not to cross you unless they wanted him on their necks.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt take the clothes from the dryer and put it in a pile; you’ll get to it later

The age difference between you and Smoke takes a little bit to get used to on both of your ends, but honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. In fact, you keep Smoke on his toes every day that you’re together. It’s within the second month of your relationship that he learns that you’re a “young ho” as you had so affectionately put it. 

“Why you calling yourself a hoe?” He asked, a frown covering his handsome face.

You roll your eyes, “It’s not like that, Elijah. It’s more of a reclamation of a word for a positive cause.” 

“What I tell you about rolling your eyes?” 

You resisted the urge to do it again. The last time that you’d rolled your eyes at Smoke, he’d turnt you every way but loose in the bedroom. 

He chose not to elaborate on your new self-proclaimed title. He learned very early in your relationship that you were a real stubborn brat when you wanted to be. He liked to play the part of annoyed, but inwardly, he loved how much you tested his patience. 

Smoke was one of those guys who had a real strict program, and that program was applied to you, but he often let you off scot free most of the time. Stack would even fuss at him because of how spoiled Smoke had you. 

The next day, Stack and Smoke are sitting at the kitchen table together while you’re vacuuming in the living room. You cut the vacuum off, and Smoke expects you to walk up to the wall to take the cord out. 

But you don’t. Because young hoes don’t do that. Instead, you grip the cord and rip it out of the socket before dragging the piece over to you. 

Smoke and Stack both watch you. 

“Aye, why didn’t you just go pull it out?” Stack asks.

You smack your lips, “Why would I make all of those unnecessary steps when I can just do it my way?” You wrap the cord up and hook it onto the vacuum before leaving the living room.

Stack turns to Smoke, “You would end up with a young hoe.”

“So you know about it too?” 

“Yeah, it’s this new thing on Twitter and TikTok. Girls talking about stuff that young hoes typically do. Her ripping that cord out of the wall was a prime example.”

Smoke does typically watch you. It’s a habit, really, but now, he watches you closer for your young hoe habits. 

He comes over to your house on a Sunday and finds that you’re finishing up your laundry. You grab the warm clothes from the dryer in one big swoop and deposit them on the chair in the corner of your room. Smoke watches as you walk away without folding the clothes. 

“Baby, you just gone leave them right there?” He questions, looking between you and the pile. 

“Yes, Papa Bear, I’ll fold them later,” you respond. He wants to give you the benefit of the doubt and trust that you’ll fold them, but he has to keep an eye on you. 

Turns out, he should’ve let the doubt win.

When he comes back over the following day, the clothes are still sitting in the chair. Wordlessly, he goes over to the pile to start folding the clothes into neat sections for you. He even goes the extra mile to place them in their appropriate places. 

You give him a surprised look when you come into the room, “Aww, Papa Bear, you didn’t have to do that.” You press a big kiss against his lips, your lip gloss staining his lips, but quite frankly, he loves the sensation. 

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Smoke is able to catch more of your young hoe antics when it comes to clothing. You volunteer to put his clothes in the washer because you love taking care of your old man. 

To his honest defense, Smoke believed that you could handle the task, and truthfully, you could, but just in your own way. He stands up from the couch to go grab a water from the fridge. Once inside the kitchen, he catches sight of you in the laundry room with his dirty basket of clothes.

Now, Smoke is a man of habit. There’s a precise way that he likes to have things done. Which is why he’s honestly gobsmacked when he watches you load the clothes into the washer without separating any of them by color.

To top it off, you grab his expensive laundry detergent and pour way more than what’s required into the washing machine. You turn the machine on, step back with your hands on your hips, and have the nerve to look proud. 

You turn and catch sight of him staring at you in the kitchen. He fixes his mouth to comment, but chooses not to when he sees the bright smile on your face. 

You point at the washer, “Look, I got you all fixed up.” 

Smoke can’t find it in his heart to take this moment from you, so he just smiles in response before walking over to press a long kiss against your lips. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

Now, Smoke is old, but he didn’t think he was that old. But by the way that you’re looking at him and the ironing board, the nigga starts to feel like Morgan Freeman. 

“You don’t know what an ironing board is?” 

“Nigga, I’m not daft, I know what an ironing board is. I’m just trying to figure out why you would need one. Just iron on the bed.”

Smoke cuts his eyes in your direction, “No, the creases won’t hit the same.”

“Anyways. So what do you need this disinfectant spray for?” You ask, holding up the white bottle. 

“Baby, that’s starch.”

You frown and turn the bottle in your direction before reading it. You try to hide the embarrassed look that crosses your face before you hand the bottle back to him. You walk over to the ironing board that is still folded and fumble with it. 

You look genuinely perplexed by the fact that it won’t stand up. Anyone else would be annoyed, but Smoke finds it cute. You look at him with that whiny pout on your face, “Your ironing board is broken. Probably because it’s from the 90s.” 

Smoke chuckles before taking the ironing board from your hand and standing it up correctly. You look at each other in silence before you nod, “I got it loosened up for you. You’re welcome.”

With that, you walk out of the room, and Smoke figures it’s best to just let you have the win. 

Besides, his baby girl gets whatever she wants when she’s with him. 

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt use Apple Pay for literally every expense. We don’t use physical cards or cash anymore.

Smoke is old school.

He still carries around a wallet of cash and his debit cards. He only sets up Apple Pay on his phone because you insisted that it was more convenient. 

It is, but he won’t admit that to you. For you, you never have to pay for things when you’re with Smoke. In fact, he finds the audacity of you paying for anything outrageous. On the small chance that he isn’t there with you, he makes sure that you have the funds available for your needs. 

When he tries to hand you his card, you genuinely look perplexed, “What’s this for?”

He squints, “For you to buy your stuff. No limit.”

“That’s cute, Papa Bear, but I don’t even carry my own card around. I use Apple Pay for everything,” You said. 

“Just add my card to your Apple Pay, then baby,” Smoke orders, sliding the card in your hands. 

“Okay, thanks, baby,” you said, kissing his lips a few times. In response, Smoke slides your body into his lap and watches as you type the card into your Apple Pay and save it. 

This isn’t the only incident involving money with you and Smoke. You’re about to head out for a night with your girls when he stops you. 

“Come here before you leave, baby,” He demands from the couch. He and Stack are watching the finals while you go out.

“Sup ugly,” You state, slapping Stack on the neck. He frowns and twists around to pop you back when you step out of the way. 

Y’all are about to engage in another childish fight until Smoke glares at you both. Stack smacks his lips, “You better get yo girl before we be outside tussling.” 

“Ima mace you too,” You quip, as you walk to Smoke’s side of the couch. 

“See, I don’t even wanna play with you because I know you’re serious,” Stack states before turning his attention back to the TV. 

Smoke runs his eyes up and down your body in the two-piece set. Your body shines from your rigorous body care routine. He grips your waist, “You look good, babygirl.” 

“Thank you, Papa Bear,” you respond, leaning down to kiss him. From behind him, Stack makes gagging noises while you stick your finger up at him. 

As you pull away from the kiss, Smoke grabs a couple of bills from his wallet and slides them over to you. 

“Uh, I don’t need this,” You said, a faint whine at the end of your tone. 

“Yes, you do. Your little Apple Pay can’t cover everything. What if your phone dies? You need to be prepared just in case. Here. Take a few quarters, you might need to call me from a pay phone,” Smoke explains. 

All of the argument leaves your body because he’s right and you know it. You slide the bills and change in your purse before leaning down to press your lips against his again. This time, however, you slide your tongue inside of Smoke’s mouth while his hand goes to your neck. 

“Man! Y’all gone with all of that,” Stack yells from his end of the couch. 

You and Smoke part with a few additional pecks. A honk from outside lets you know that your friends are here. As you go to leave, you peck Smoke’s lips again, “I love you, Papa Bear. I’ll text you updates throughout the night.” 

You start walking towards the door until Smoke clears his throat, “Grab that coat on the way out, babygirl.”

You huff and throw your head back, “Elijah..it doesn’t go with my outfit!” 

He gives you a hard look, and you stare back. For a solid minute, you both keep the staring contest going as Stack moves his head back and forth between the two of you.

Smoke goes to stand when you hold your hands up, “Chill! Chill! I’m getting it.” You grab the jacket and hold it up as if to say, “See.” 

In return, Smoke smiles at you, “Good girl. I love you too. Make sure that you text me.” 

Stack laughs, “Aha…my brother got you in check.” He turns and feels like he has the last word. He doesn’t catch you creeping up behind him until you lean down to whisper, “stupid hoe” in his ear and slap the back of his neck again. You’re already out the door by the time that Stack gets off the couch. 

He frowns and crosses his arms. 

Smoke takes a sip from his drink, “Y’all are some children.”

Later in the night, Smoke periodically gets updates from you about your location and condition. You send him tipsy pictures from the club bathroom. It’s not too long before he gets a notification from your Instagram saying that you’ve posted to your stories. 

Smoke chuckles at the picture, but he’s glad to see that you’re having a good time with your girls. Some people assumed that since you liked to go outside, it would be a turn-off for Smoke, but it was quite the opposite. 

He liked the fact that you were young, carefree, and enjoying your life. He’d never try to nag or change who you were. In fact, being with you taught Smoke that he needed to let loose a lot more and enjoy the moment. 

Hours later, he hears the sound of a car door closing and watches from the porch as you walk back to the house. You pout pathetically upon seeing him, “My feet hurt. Can you carry me, Papa Bear?”

Without hassle, Smoke scoops you up into his arms and carries you into the house. He waves at your friends as he closes the door. Your head lolls to the side as you lie on his shoulder. 

Smoke looks down at you, “You still with me, baby?”

“Mhmm.”

He raises an eyebrow, “So you gonna carry me up these stairs?” 

“Yeah, I got you, baby,” you grumble back. Smoke laughs to himself at your antics. Even in your tipsy state, you still swore up and down that you were the Incredible Hulk. 

Arriving inside the bedroom, Smoke gently sets you down while grabbing a big t-shirt for you. 

He helps you with getting out of the heels and your set. “Lift your arms for me, baby.”

You oblige as he slips his t-shirt over your head. He goes to the bathroom to grab some micellar water to help you remove your makeup. 

You grumble in sleepiness. 

“I know, baby, just a little bit more,” He coos to you gently. Once he’s finished cleaning your face, he tucks you away under the blankets. He slips your bonnet over your hair.

“It’s hot,” you whine from beneath the covers. Smoke walks over to the fan, flicks it on, and turns it in your direction. He’d never heard of someone sleeping with a fan on until he started dating you. 

He slips beneath the covers and pulls your body into his side. You cuddle your body more into his hold, “Thank you, Papa Bear. I love you.” 

“I love you too, babygirl,” Smoke replies, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

As he listens to your steady breath, Smoke rationalizes that there’s nothing better than being here with you.

If Stack were here, he’d clown him real bad, but Smoke doesn’t care. He’d gladly go out and get your name tatted to show how down bad he is for you.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt play the music about the guns and drugs, but shalt not participate in said activities

Smoke watches you in amusement as you pretend to shimmy in the living room, as “Off the Leash” by Gucci Mane blasts through the space. When he first met you, he’d assumed that you would like a lot of lover girl music, which you did. 

But more often than not, you were listening to music about drugs and guns, even though you were hands down a law-abiding citizen. The song changes to “All There” by Jeezy, and you start hyping yourself up more. 

You walk over to Smoke and start rapping the lyrics in his face, while grabbing money from his wallet to spread it down your arm. 

“So you’re a dope boy now?” Smoke asks, subtly nodding his head along to the music. 

“I’ve been trappin’ out here, Smoke,” You respond. He raises his eyebrows at the change of name, but continues chuckling as you make gun gestures with your hands. 

“So that means I should go get you a gun of your own now?”

You ball your face up, “No, thank you. You know I don’t like guns. Plus, I’d just be a menace if these niggas tried me.” You prove your point by making gun noises like you’re shooting

You really weren’t a big fan of guns. Even with the gun that Smoke kept in his house, you always made sure that he had it locked away, far from your sight. You didn’t even like the idea of him being near a gun, and he was a whole trained veteran. 

You take your phone out and start typing. You glance back at him, “I have a hair appointment tomorrow, so I may be MIA for a while.” 

He nods, “Okay, I’ll send you the money to cover it.” 

You lean down to press a kiss against his cheeks, “Thanks, Papa Bear.” 

When you mentioned getting your hair done to Smoke, he doesn’t expect you to be gone for that long. He checks your location, which states that you’re still at your braider’s house. 

His phone buzzes with a text from you. 

Babygirl♥️

Be home soon. 

I can’t wait for you to see my braids🙂‍↔️

He lets out a sigh of relief at the message. One thing that was always true, Smoke could be a bit overprotective, but it was only because he knew how the world operated. He knew how cruel people could be, especially to someone like you. 

You were smart and observant, but Smoke just preferred to be around to look out for you. In his mind, you were all bubble gum, sunshine, and sweetness. He’d hate to see someone trying to snuff that light out of you. 

Thirty minutes later, Smoke hears your car pulling into the yard. You get out, casually sipping on your Stanley Cup and walking to the house. 

He opens the door to greet you. You connect your lips to his while gripping his shirt, “Hey, Papa Bear. I hope you weren’t waiting up for me.”

“I was,” Smoke said, closing the door behind you. 

He goes to sit on the couch and crosses his arms, “What took you so long?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “It was mostly the braid length. You know I like to get my braids long.” You do a quick turn to show the braids off, and Smoke’s gaze travels down to how long they are. The braids’ length ends just below your butt. 

You turn back to him with a wide smile, “Do you like them?”

“Yeah, babygirl, I love them. You look beautiful as always.” He means it. There’s not one moment when Smoke isn’t thinking about how beautiful you are. 

Later in the night, he oils your scalp at bedtime. In return, you apply a clay mask to his face as he waits for it to dry. 

Quite honestly, Smoke had never been well-versed in skincare. That just wasn’t his thing. Now, he kept himself up and always kept his skin moisturized, but stuff like skincare was more up Stack’s alley. 

Since dating you, Smoke has a whole skincare routine that you and he do every night. He’s always had pretty good skin, but since being with you, you've elevated his skin to a new level. You both stand side-by-side at the sink, washing the masks from your faces. Smoke scoops you up to sit on the counter and grips your backside in his hand as you apply his serums and moisturizer for the night. 

You peek up at him through your lashes, “You so handsome, Papa Bear.” 

You grab his chin in your hand and pull his face down towards yours. Smoke’s lips engulf yours in a passionate kiss as he tongues you down. He slides your body closer to his as he fully steps between your legs. You roll your hips into his as his bulge presses against your wet core. When he steps back slightly, you whine in response while pouting. Smoke chuckles darkly before gripping your thighs to pull you off the counter. He effortlessly carries you from the bathroom to the bedroom and deposits you on the bed. 

He leans down on the bed to cover your body with his. He grabs both of your wrists in his hands and pins you to the top of the bed. He frowns when he moves one of his hands and hears a crinkle. Smoke looks up and grabs the item. A bag of Hot Cheetos crunches in his hands. 

He looks down at you while you give him an innocent grin. It’s only when he looks up that he notices all of the extra items in the bed like candy, your iPad, both of your chargers, and your Stanley. 

He’s about to open his mouth to comment when you stop him, “Before you start with all of that, I need this. These are my essentials. Don’t be trynna reach across me to eat my snacks either.”

He gives you a blank look, “I’m trynna eat you now, but if you want to keep the snacks on the bed…”

You move quickly to put the snacks and other items on the nightstand. 

You open your legs with a soft smile, “Okay, I’m ready.”

The only thing Smoke can do is chuckle, but he still gets on his knees regardless. His back may protest, but he’ll never give up the chance to put his mouth on you.

From the book of young hoe: Thou shalt not take any BS.

It didn’t take Smoke a long time to figure out that you were a bit of a hot head. In your honest defense, you just weren’t the type to hold your tongue, especially when something felt like disrespect. Which is why he often found it amusing when you and Stack would argue because you’d match his brother bar for bar with insults. 

However, it was all love between you and Stack. You were the younger sister he always craved having, so he’s delighted to have you around more often. 

As Smoke’s old lady, as he likes to refer to you as, your invitation to any family functions is automatically secured. You knew your spot was secured when all of Smoke’s aunts and uncles hit him with the famous, “That’s you, nephew?” 

You stood in the kitchen with Ardelia, Smoke, and Stack’s mother as you both conversed. 

“I’m so happy that you could come today, and you look so pretty,” Ardelia said, nodding her head in appreciation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Moore,” You said, grinning widely. 

“Ah, now what I tell you about that. None of that, you can call me mama.” 

You smiled even brighter at her comment. Ardelia had been nothing but welcoming to you since Smoke introduced you for the first time. You were nervous that she wouldn’t be accepting of you, especially with the age gap, but she referred to you as her daughter-in-law all over town. Now, a few of Smoke’s other family members weren’t as accepting of you, but they wouldn’t ever say it aloud. But you were well aware of the whispered comments.

‘He’s bringing that lil’ girl all up in here. She still got milk behind her ears.’

“He outta be ashamed. Bringing her around here when he could be back with Annie.’

‘Look at her outfit. Any shorter and them shorts will be some panties.’

’I heard she just with him for the money. Jill from down the street said she got a pattern of jumping from man to man and using them for money.’

‘Lord, that’s a shame!”

You rolled your eyes and took it on the chin. The last thing you were about to do was start an argument with Smoke’s folks, especially in his mama’s house. You knew how a lot of people viewed you, especially with how you carried yourself. There’d been rumors all over the place that you were a relationship hopper, which was far from the truth. You just weren’t the type to stick around in a relationship, especially if it didn’t serve you. 

Growing up as a little black girl in the South, you recognized that many black girls weren’t taught how to date. Most girls here felt that if they dated someone, they had to tie themselves down to the person forever. It was often frowned upon if you were dating more than one person or exploring your options. 

No, exploring your options was only something that was reserved for men. 

The fact that you weren’t the type to stick around in dead situations or entertain men made you stick out like a sore thumb in the community. They couldn’t stand to see a black woman standing strong in her boundaries. They would never catch you apologizing for that. 

You walk outside and sit next to Smoke, who is surrounded by a few of his uncles and cousins. It’s at that point in the evening when the conversations shift to more controversial topics, and the new school vs old school duke it out. 

You were already rolling your eyes as Marvin, one of Smoke’s cousins, opened his mouth to speak. He was the physical embodiment of red pill alpha male content. 

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t want my Queen out here degrading herself on these apps by posting seductive pictures and doing OnlyFans. I mean, look at the state of female rap, all they talk about is their pussy and what they can get from men.”

A few of the older traditional men hum in agreement. 

You frown, “Well, isn’t that a bit contradictory, Marvin? Men rap about pussy all the time. There isn’t one rap song that you can give me that doesn’t consist of some line of a man talking about all of the women that he’s slept with or the degrading acts that he makes her perform. To add onto your point, you’re complaining about the women making content, but you fail to realize that there wouldn’t be a market if men weren’t paying for it. Sounds like smart business women capitalizing on a rising market.”

Marvin cuts his eyes at you. You can see the irritation rising in his eyes, “See, I’d expect you to say that. You’re one of those new school women. You don’t have traditional values. A real woman knows her place in the home. She should be preparing the home for her King to come home to. She shouldn’t be out here selling pussy.” He glances over in Smoke’s direction, “Dang, cuz, you really switched things up with this one. At least Annie was taking care of her man.”

Marvin sits back in the chair, clearly pleased with himself. Beside you, Smoke hardens, and everyone can catch that look of murder in his eye. He’s about to address the situation when you place a hand on his chest. 

“It’s okay, baby, I got it. Marvin, I don’t take pseudo-intellectual men like you seriously. You be the same niggas hollering about being an Alpha male and you ain’t even graduated from community college. Last time I looked in the mirror, my breasts and vagina were still there, so I think we got the real woman part covered. You keep trying to take jabs at me about being a low-value woman when, last time I checked, I got two degrees under my name, and I’m well on my way to my third. Let’s not forget the high-paying job, and I own my house. We can go band for band if you want to.” 

You pause and snap your fingers, “I forgot, you don’t have a job, so your bands wouldn’t even match mine. What’s your occupation again? Wait…you’re still building your little YouTube with the ten subscribers, all of whom are your homeboys who can’t keep your dick out of their mouths. You keep talking about pussy, but baby boy, you wake up every day and look at a pussy in the mirror.”

You sit back in your chair with a demure smile. The backyard is silent as everyone turns to look at Marvin. He storms from the chair and walks towards the door. You all listen as his car pulls out of the driveway. 

“I like this one, nephew,” Tony, Smoke’s uncle, comments as he clinks his cup with yours. 

Smoke looks over at you in concern, “Baby, you good?” 

“Yeah, ain’t nobody stressin’ over Marvin. I know my worth, and I know what I bring to the table. I’m not about to let anyone feel like they pressin’ me.”

“Good, but I’ma still beat his ass later on for talking to you like that,” Smoke states, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. 

“Thanks, Papa Bear.” You lean over to press your lips against his. You resist the urge to deepen the kiss because you still have to be respectful in front of his family. 

“Anytime, baby, you know you mean the world to me. Nobody in this world is ever gonna disrespect you while I’m around.”

Before you can comment, Stack leans over to dap you up, “That last line was a bar. Let’s go put that down in the studio.”

From the book of women: Always show respect where respect is due.

Annie Boudreaux. Formely Annie Moore. 

You’d met Annie in passing a few times, and you liked her well enough. You both got along, seeing as you were both important women in Smoke’s life. To others, they wondered if it bothered you that Smoke’s ex-wife still came around to family functions, but truthfully, it didn’t. 

You understood how important Annie was to Smoke and their shared history. It’d be selfish if you asked him to stay away from her. That didn’t mean that Smoke was taking advantage of the situation and disrespecting you. He’d always be open and let you know that he was going to see Annie. You’d always kiss him and bid him on his way. 

Today was the first time that you’ve ever set foot in Annie’s yard.  

You walk slowly towards the side of the house where baby Anais Moore’s headstone sits. You note the fresh flowers sitting at the headstone, no doubt from Smoke’s earlier visit in the week. You set down your own bouquet before willing away the tears that follow. 

Smoke talks about his and Annie’s little girl from time to time, but only when the moon shines low in the room, and you can’t see his tears falling. He’d laid his head on your chest and whispered all about his daughter, while you remained silent and rubbed at his head. 

“She was so beautiful and tiny. I was scared of holding her the first time,” He laments. 

Your heart clenches painfully in your chest. You wish that you could take away all of the pain, but you know that nothing ever quite soothes the ache of losing a child. 

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here today,” Annie comments from her place on the steps. You catch her eyes as they clock the flowers that you placed at the baby’s grave.

“I wanted to come visit you, and I needed to ask for your help with something.”

Annie gives you a long look before ushering you inside the house. She pours you a glass of tea as you sit across from each other on the couch. 

“So what brings you by?” Annie questions. 

“Can you teach me how to make that gumbo dish that Elijah likes. He mentioned that it’s one of his favorite meals, and I wanted to do something nice for him,” You said, nerves coloring your voice. 

Your wide eyes meet Annie’s, and you’re honestly scared that she’ll tell you no. Instead, she chuckles, “You came all this way to ask me how to make a pot of gumbo for Elijah? Come on, silly girl. You must really be in love.”

“I am.” 

For another beat, you both look at each other, and Annie runs her eyes across you. Unbeknownst to you, she can see the pink swirls radiating around your body with all of the love that you have for Elijah. 

She gestures for you to follow her to the kitchen, where she begins taking out all of the ingredients. She turns to you, “Go pick me some of those bell peppers from the garden.” 

You nod before setting out to the garden, where Annie has an assortment of fruit and vegetables. You navigate towards the bell peppers as you pick out the best ones. Inside the house, you hand the peppers to Annie as she washes them off. 

“I love your garden. I always wanted to grow one,” You said, leaning against the counter. 

“Tell Elijah. He’s good at starting a garden,” Annie responds. She ushers you forward as she grabs the flour and cast-iron skillet. 

“Now the roux is the most essential part of the gumbo. You mess up the roux, you might as well throw the whole pot away.” 

Together, you and Annie work hand in hand to craft the gumbo the way that Smoke likes it. Annie lets you take over for the most part, while she gently guides you. Soon, you’re both sitting at the table sharing a bowl of gumbo over rice and laughing like old friends. 

“Next thing I know, Stack is running out of the house. Yellin’ about some voodoo,” Annie states, to which you laugh loudly. 

Your laugh calms after a few minutes when you catch Annie staring at you. 

“Thank you,” She states. 

She doesn’t have to explain what she’s thanking you for. You already know. You slide a hand across the table as you tangle your fingers together. 

“I really appreciate you, Annie.”

“Likewise.”

She doesn’t mention that she can read your palms with your hands touching like this. She chuckles internally. She hopes that you’re ready for some twins in the future.

When Smoke gets home later in the day, he’s surprised at the familiar scent that wafts across his nose. For a minute, he wonders if Annie is inside the house with you. He walks inside the kitchen and takes note of you standing in front of the stove, stirring away at a familiar pot. 

You and Smoke are so in tune with each other that you sense him as soon as he enters the house. You turn around, “Hey, Papa Bear, take a seat.” 

Smoke sets his work bag down and takes a seat at the table. You fix his bowl of gumbo just the way that Annie mentioned he likes, along with a piece of cornbread on the side and a glass of tea. He takes a second to look between you and the bowl of gumbo. He notes the similarities in the gumbo, “You makin’ gumbo now, babygirl?”

“Mhmm..I had a little help from Annie today. I wanted to get it just the way that you like it,” You said, moving to fix your own bowl. 

“You visited Annie today?” 

“Yeah, you mentioned that her gumbo was always your favorite, so I went by to ask her how to make it for you.” You shrug at the end of your sentence like it’s no big deal, but to Smoke, it means the world. 

Before you can take a bite of your gumbo, he grabs your hand in his. 

“Thank you. You know I love you, right?” He said, eyes glistening under the light. It means a lot that you went out of your way to ask Annie how to make his favorite meal. 

“I love you, too, Elijah,” You respond before connecting your lips to his. 

As you both eat, Smoke eyes your empty ring finger and figures that he may need to change that pretty soon.

After the meal, Smoke offers to wash dishes, but you shoo him away.

“Just sit down, you’ve been working hard all day. It’s just a few dishes,” You said, turning the water on. 

Smoke expects you to plug the sink and let it fill up with soap and water, but you do the exact opposite. You keep the water running as you wash each dish one by one under the hot water. 

“Baby, you could’ve just filled the sink up,” Smoke comments. 

“Ew, I don’t want all of that food touching my hands,” You shoot back. 

Smoke decides to drop it and continues watching you wash the dishes. He already knows that he should expect the water bill to be higher this month. From the looks of the empty paper towel roll, he might have to just invest in the big pack from Costco.

From the book of young hoe: Always listen to Papa Bear.

It’s one of those nights when you and your girls are going out again. Smoke opts to stay in, but he’s already made sure that your purse is packed with all of the essentials. He knows how forgetful you can be. 

The sound of your heels clicking brings his attention to you as you walk into the bedroom. He hadn’t paid much attention to your outfit. You always did your makeup first before putting on your outfit, and then you’d give him a little show before leaving. 

Now, Smoke’s gotten used to some of your more risque clothing choices. Shoot, when he first met you, you were wearing a dress that had him drooling. He isn’t one of those guys who likes to police his woman on what she’s wearing, but he is very possessive of you. Smoke knows that you’re a baddie, so why would he stop you from being that?

However, he has to draw a line with this outfit, if you can even call it that. 

Smoke coughs past the smoke and snuffs out the joint that you rolled for him. “What you got on?”

You smile at him through the mirror, “It’s cute, right? I found it the other day!”

You had taken the definition of mini skirt to a whole other level. You’re well endowed in your backside, which hangs out of the skirt. You bend forward to check your makeup, and Smoke almost falls out. 

He frowns at you, “Go change. You ain’t leavin’ the house with that on.”

Naturally, the pout crosses your lips, “But why?” 

“Baby, I ain’t finna have these niggas out here eyeing my woman, and I’m not around.”

You huff in annoyance, “Elijah, it’s not that deep. It’s not even that short.”

He eyes the skirt again with a glare on his face. If he could set the skirt on fire, he would. 

“It’s not up for discussion. Go change into something else.”

“No.”

Smoke’s head whips around so fast that you’re surprised that his neck doesn’t break. That dark look crosses his face, “Babygirl, you sure you wanna cross that bridge with me? Take yo’ pretty ass back in there and get changed.” 

The urge to be a brat weighs heavily on you tonight. You square your shoulders and look him dead in the eye, “Nope, I’m wearing this.”

A honk sounds from outside, and you move to grab your purse. Smoke is openly glaring at you and challenging you, “You leave out of this house, I hope you prepared for the consequences later.” 

You shrug, “I’ll be back later on. I love you, Papa Bear.” 

With that, you walk your pretty self out the door, even though your stomach tingles with anxiety. As you step into the car, your homegirls turn to look at you. 

“Girl, Big Daddy Smoke let you out of the house wearing that,” your friend, Leilani, asks. 

You smack your lips, “He was making a big deal of it at first. Telling me that I need to go change. He don’t run me.”

Your friend, Omi, smacks her lips, “Sis, he gone tear you up when you get back. You know them old heads don’t play about all that.”

“It’s fine, y’all. He’ll be okay when I get back.”

“He gone kill her when she gets back. I’m puttin’ a sign on you that says ‘Dead lady walking.’ You might as well gone get your coochie ready,” your friend, Keisha, quips. 

When you all make it to the club, it’s turnt as usual. You and Stack lock eyes as you pass his section.  His eyes flicker down to your skirt before he starts shaking his head. He ushers you over, “You gotta be one of the craziest people that I’ve ever met. Does my brotha’ know you outside like this?”

“Yes, Smoke doesn’t run me. I can wear what I want,” You state, a frown crossing your face. 

Stack laughs. Not one of those low laughs, but the loud and annoying types. 

“Whew, I’m scared for you, girl. But I’ll keep an eye on you. Have fun now before you get home,” Stack said, continuing to laugh. He lets you and your girls come into the section with him and his boys. You know that it’s so he can carefully watch you. 

Whenever you go to get a drink, Stack stops you and goes to the bar himself. You and your friends go to hit the dance floor when Stack holds his hand up. 

“Oh my gosh, Stack, move!” 

Stack smacks his lips, “I’m just looking out for you. Gone dance, but if I see any nigga gettin’ too friendly with you, I’m on him like white on rice.” 

You give him a thumbs-up before following your friends to the middle of the floor. You’re having the time of your life and twerking like you aren’t on borrowed time. Stack keeps his eyes on you at all times like he’s watching a toddler, which he thinks may be true. He takes his phone out to record a video of you to send to Smoke.

Stack

*video attached* 

Don’t stress yourself out. I’m keepin’ an eye on her.

But I know you got something planned when she gets home.

*Smoke liked your message*

Stack takes a sip from his whiskey, “Lord, she in danger.” 

By the end of the night, you’re all danced out and sweaty, but overall, you consider the night a win. Stack offers to take you home and ushers you into the car. Your friends snicker because they know that Smoke is punishing you tonight. The only one oblivious to the fact is you. 

Pulling into the driveway, Stack turns to you with a smirk, “Good luck.” 

The lights are all off in the house except the porch light. Smoke stands under the porch light like a serial killer. You turn to Stack with a grim look, “Maybe, we should back out of the driveway really slowly.” 

“Nope. You wanted to be grown. Now, you gotta face your actions like a big girl,” Stack said. 

“I’m blinking twice for help. I’m telling a trusted adult!”

Stack shrugs, “Too bad I’m not a trusted adult.”

“Trick..” you mutter before opening the door to exit the car. Smoke nods his head at Stack, who reciprocates. 

“I’ll see you in a week,” Stack jokes, before backing out of the driveway. 

Like a scared deer, you walk unevenly to the porch where Smoke is still standing. As you approach, he blows out a big cloud of smoke before throwing the joint down and stubbing it out. You stand in front of him, “Hey…”

Smoke doesn’t say anything, but simply steps to the side to let you inside the house. You swallow loudly as you walk inside the house. The only sounds are the distinct chirps from the crickets outside, along with the subtle clicks of your heels. You and Smoke make your way to the bedroom. You go to grab your pajamas when Smoke stops you, “Didn’t I tell you to change earlier?”

You turn slowly to face him, “Yes, you did.” 

“And I told you that if you left this house, there would be consequences, but you didn’t listen, did you?”

“No….”

“Come here,” Smoke demands, voice soft. He doesn’t have to raise his voice to get his point across. 

You stay rooted in the same spot, partially aroused and partially scared. Smoke chuckles darkly, “You still ain’t learned? You know I don’t like to repeat myself.” You scurry over to stand in front of Smoke as you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Stand right there,” Smoke orders. He walks off to rummage through one of the drawers. Your eyes widen as you see him procure one of his good ties. The heat from his body wafts onto yours as you become hyperaware of him standing behind you. Smoke grabs your hands in his and skillfully wraps the tie around your wrists so that your hands are bound behind your back. He tugs at the knot and hums in satisfaction. 

You try your hand at seeing if you can move and find that you can’t. Smoke moves to stand in front of you as he glowers down at you. He steps closer to press his chest against yours. For a moment, a soft look crosses his face as he cups your face in his hands. He leans down to connect your lips, and you moan at the taste of whiskey that lingers on his tongue. 

Smoke pulls back from the kiss as his eyes run across you. He trails his hands down your form until his cupping your backside in his hands. “You could’ve stayed home and modeled this lil’ skirt for me, but you wanted to go and show off what’s mine.”

You go to open your mouth to protest, but Smoke stops you, “I didn’t say I was done talking. Since you wanted to be a brat, I’ll treat you like one.” You let out a squeak when Smoke grabs you to throw you on the bed. Your body bounces before it settles. 

Gripping the corset in his hands, he cleanly tears it down the middle until the material falls away. You gasp in surprise as the cool air hits your nipples. Flipping you onto your stomach, Smoke hikes your hips up and flips the skirt over. 

He tugs your head back, “You owe me. You can either take my hand or something else.” 

The last time Smoke spanked you, you were left shaking on the bed. It was either his hand or one of those leather belts with his name on it. You were screwed either way.

“Your hand,” You said. 

Smoke nods, “Let’s tally up how much you owe me. 10 for the outfit plus 10 because I told you to take it off and you back-talked. Also, an additional 10 because you still left.” Your wide eyes meet his as you turn to face him, “But daddy, that’s thirty.”

Smoke chuckles, “Glad to see you can count, darlin’.” 

The first hit sends heat flooding through your body, along with feeling your cheek ripple under his hand. The second hit sends a flood of wetness to your panties. By the tenth hit, the tears are already running down your face. How were you supposed to count through twenty more?

Your entire backside is on fire once Smoke delivers the last hit. You’re fully shaking and hiccuping into the sheets, but you can’t deny how turned on you are. By now, you’ve soaked completely through your panties, which Smoke clocks. 

He takes two fingers and runs them up and down the soiled material, “My dirty baby. What am I gonna do with you, baby? You don’t know how to listen now.” 

“M’Sorry, Papa. I’ll listen to you next time.”

“I know you will because I’m gonna make sure that you do.” He flips your body around and grips your panties as he tears them clean from your body. Smoke maneuvers your body to the headboard before going to grab another tie. He loops the tie through the bedpost before securing your hands to it. 

Smoke walks over to the closet and rifles through it for a few seconds. You lift your head to get a good look, but his shoulders block your view. He walks over with a long metal rod in hand, “Do you know what this is?”

You shake your head. He laughs lowly, “It’s a spreader bar. I’m gonna put your legs in these cuffs, and you won’t be able to move.” Sitting at the edge of the bed, he removes your heels one by one before throwing them carelessly to the floor. He places your ankles in the cuffs and secures them. Smoke moves to stand in front of the bed as he grabs the metal in his hands. He can already see your glistening folds as your slick pools beneath you. 

He moves your legs from side to side, “See, this is a special bar, I made it myself. Every time you move babygirl, it’ll spread your legs more.” He jerks the rod, which loudly clicks as your spread apart more. You look at him in surprise. 

He grabs the box that he set on the bed and opens it. Your old man is a sex fiend, apparently, as he lifts various forms of vibrators out of the box. Smoke moves to your open legs and dips his fingers inside of you to collect your slick. 

He brings his wet fingers up to his mouth to suck your juices from his fingers. He takes one of the vibrators in his hand before the tip across through your wet center. You shiver at the sensation of the tip dipping into your entrance. 

“This one is special, babygirl. That special spot that I’m always hitting…well my little friend is made to specifically reach that spot.” He pushes the toy inside of you as you gasp at the fullness of it. 

Smoke coos gently at you as your wet eyes meet his, “There we go, baby.” He clicks a button, which brings the vibrator to life inside you. Smoke pushes the toy in and out of you as your walls cling to it. 

Your eyes widen when he holds up another toy, “My other friend is for that lil’ pearl up there.” He trails his fingers through the curls that cover young mound until he reaches your clit. Your body arches into his touch as he casually rubs small circles around your clit. 

“Please…” you whine into the room. 

“Please what, darlin’? I need you to be more specific,” Smoke said condescendingly. 

Your mind is venturing into that mushy territory where you don’t know what you’re asking the man for. 

He smirks, “You don’t even know what you’re asking me for. That’s alright. Take care of my other friend for me while I get done smoking.” 

He attaches the curved toy to your clit and clicks a button, and it buzzes to life. Your first reaction is to move your body. You wither across the mattress, pleasure consuming every inch of you. You go to move your legs, only for the spreader to click and spread your legs further. 

You gasp. 

Smoke chuckles before moving to sit in the chair in the bedroom. He grabs his early discarded blunt to relight. He inhales the smoke into his lungs as he casually watches you suffer. 

Smoke casually taps the button on his phone, which increases the vibrations on your clit and inside of you. Your back arches from the bed as your release climbs higher. 

Just as you’re reaching that sweet release, Smoke taps the button and turns the vibrators off. A loud whine leaves your mouth, “Please let me cum, Papa.” 

Smoke blows the smoke from his nose, “Since you asked so nicely…”

He eases up the level of the vibrators to the fullest level. A loud screams erupts from your mouth as your walls clasp around the toy and your orgasm consumes your body. 

Smoke leans forward, “That’s one. Give me about four more and we’ll call it even.”

You turn your head to him in disbelief. Before you can protest, he turns the vibrators back on. 

You’re a mess of cum, sweat, and tears. Exactly how Smoke prefers you. 

Your brain is complete mush at this point and you can feel the puddle that had formed beneath you. Somewhere between the second and third orgasm, you’d squirted. 

Smoke turns the vibrators off and throws his phone on the chair. He walks over to you and pulls your ruined face to his. Your expression shows how far gone you are. He lightly taps your face, “You still with me, babygirl?” 

Your tongue lolls around in your mouth, “Mhmm, Papa.” 

“So you can give me one more?” 

“Mhmm.”

He unties your hands from the bed. He runs his hand across your wrists and kisses them gently. Smoke pulls the vibrator from your core and observes the cream that forms around the base of the toy. He flicks his tongue out to slurp some in his mouth. 

Smoke pulls his shirt over his head before dropping his boxers. You eye his hardened dick and as tired as you are, you still need to feel him inside of you. 

Smoke lays down on the bed next to you and pulls your pliant body across his lap. He points his tip at your swollen entrance, “Go slow, baby. Papa will take care of the rest.”

You lower your pussy down onto his dick as you whine into his shoulder. You shudder as you feel his large tip brushing against that spot inside you. 

Smoke grabs your hips in his hand as he gently bounces you up and down on his dick. You turn your head to connect his your lips to his. Smoke slides his tongue into your mouth and gently sucks at your tongue. 

He gives a particular thrust that sends fresh tears to your eyes. “I know, it’s too much baby, but you’re doing so good for me. Cum for me one more time, babygirl.”

You nod weakly. 

Smoke plants his feet on the bed and starts thrusting roughly into your body. Loud, wet noises fill the bedroom as your walls clench around his length. 

“M’coming Papa. Right there..”

Smoke feels his own balls tightening as his release nears. He smashes his lips onto yours as your orgasm hits. He swallows your moans into his mouth as his own orgasm starts.

Smoke holds your hips firmly to his as he fills you up.

You shiver at the feeling of his cum splashing against your womb. 

For a second, you both breathe in tandem as your heart calms down. Smoke runs a soothing hand up your back, “You good, Princess?”

“Mhmm, m’good Papa. I’m sorry.” 

Smoke chuckles, “I forgive you, baby. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

He gently slides from inside of you as you whimper softly. A wave of Smoke’s cum slides from you as it lands on the bed. Scooping you into his arms, Smoke walks into the bathroom and sits you on the toilet. 

You’d long since passed the stage of your relationship where you were shy of going to the bathroom in front of him. As wipe and flush the toilet, you raise your arms for Smoke to pick you up. 

He grabs a towel and applies warm water to it before wiping at your face and between your legs. Back inside the bedroom, Smoke gives you a pair of his boxers before sliding his shirt over your head. He slides a pair of briefs on before he tucks you into bed. 

He grabs a bottle of water before offering it to you. Once you’re done, you flop back on the pillow. Smoke slides in beside you as he pulls your body closer to his. 

“I love you, babygirl.”

“I love you too, Papa Bear.”

He presses a kiss to your neck as he closes his eyes. 

“Elijah?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you turn on the fan?”

He chuckles, “Course I can baby.”

End.

Taglist: @plan3tch1ld @nainai5243

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@tyinek @bananajoeclone @diamadozen

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“You and Matsuda-San are friends?”

That was how everyone, no matter their age, would react when you brought up Matsuda Kota casually in conversation. You were quite the persona since middle school. Going against the dress code to fit your gyaruo style. Kota, however, was quiet.

Some labeled him an ‘emo’ but he just had long black hair and mostly wore black clothing. At least that’s what he would say. His hair was so long that his bangs regularly covered his face.

You wore black clothing too—but they were often paired with bold pieces. You wore black eyeliner to make your eyes pop. It was only in university when you were able to go full out in being a gyaruo—a male version of a gyaru. Though you were on the more simple side of the aesthetic.

The full makeup and outfit took so much effort that you only did it on rare occasions. Or whenever you were in the mood to sit in front of a mirror for over an hour.

Your parents were lacking in the usual strictness that older Japanese people were known for. So you basically wild out—a stark contract to Kota whose parents were so overly strict it was concerning.

That’s probably why he spent most of his time over at your house. The two of you met in middle school. By pure accident.

You were sent to your homeroom teacher’s office for being caught with eyeliner. After a stern talking to and being shoved outside of the room with some wet wipes—you were too busy wiping your eyes to notice Kota standing in front of you.

It was only in middle school that you were taller than him. You bumped right into him, causing him to crash to the ground. His bento box spilling all over the floor.

“Woah! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You kneeled down and carelessly began scooping up the food with your bare hands, dumping them into the bento box. “Five second—”

“I’m not eating that.” Kota rudely interrupted you.

You blinked, finally glancing up to look at him. He had an ugly bowl cut and thick rimmed glasses that looked too big for his face.

“Pfft—!”

Your lips clamped shut as you quickly covered your mouth. Eyes wide while Kota’s narrowed.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. You look ridiculous too.”

Kota huffed. He roughly grabbed his bento box from your hand and walked away. You stood up and looked to your left, seeing your reflection in the window.

He was right.

The makeup was all smudge—giving you perfect raccoon eyes. A laugh left your lips. It was honestly a look. You rushed after Kota and wrapped your arm around his neck. He grunted and tried to push you off but you used your height to rest your chin on his head.

“Since we both look ridiculous, we should hang out!”

Kota groaned. “What are you—?”

“My name is Togami (Name). But you can call me (Name), no one calls me Togami.”

“We just met, why—”

“Because it’s sooo boring. My name is so much better than Togami. Don’t you agree?”

“Well—”

“Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Matsuda Kota, why—”

“Can I call you Kota?”

“Are you going to keep interrupting me??” Kota yelled out, stopping you both in your tracks. You stared down at him before grinning slyly.

“Sorry, Kota-kun~ keep talking, keep talking. I think I really like you!”

“I didn’t give you permission—”

“Lunch’s almost over! Hurry, we don’t want to be late for class!”

“I said stop interrupting me!”

The rest was history. Which led to where you are now. University. You were able to dress up more and didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with teachers for a little bit of eyeliner.

You and Kota decided to rent an apartment together. With your parents' help mostly. They were retired and had a decent amount of savings. Kota paid for everything else that your parents didn’t cover. You were just there to decorate the apartment.

Kota really didn’t care about that type of stuff. His bedroom was bare. Really bare. It looked exactly how it looked before you both moved in. The decoration he had in there was from you. Though he rarely allowed you in his room.

The apartment was covered in a lot of furry furniture. Black, brown, and gold. Leopard print… it was a mess but also somehow worked for the chaotic vibe you were going for. Your bedroom was the only real mess.

In any case, you and Kota lived together fairly well. Despite everyone being shocked that the two of you were even friends. You were outgoing and nice–Kota was quiet and a little bit rude. Everyone called you by your first name… no one but you could call Kota by his first name.

It actually got you into hot water once with Kota.

“You can call me (Name), I don’t mind!” You proudly said, grinning at your clubmate. You and Kota joined the photography club to kill some time. The club was meeting at a restaurant as a way to get to know everyone.

Everyone said their introduction. Kota’s was as bland as ever while you were practically bursting with excitement. You were sitting beside some guy–you couldn’t remember his name–and was telling him that he didn’t have to be formal with you.

A loud clink of glass hitting the table startled everyone even with the bustling sounds of people excitedly chatting. Eyes were all on Kota. His beer glass had a small crack on the bottom, the yellow beer slowly seeping free all over the table. He calmly grabbed some napkins and dabbed at the liquid.

“Uh, waiter!” The club leader waved someone down and pointed to the pointed glass.

You only watched Kota, blinking as he seemed to not even react to anything. Not when the waiter carefully took away the glass. Not as a few other clubmates wiped away the mess. Not when a new beer glass was placed in front of Kota.

Kota only grabbed a skewer of meat from the shared plate in the center of the table. He took a small bite, his gaze not even flickering over to you. It took a minute before everyone began to talk like normally, as if nothing happened.

As soon as the club leader had mentioned that everyone should start heading home–you were roughly grabbed by the arm and tugged to stand up. Everyone watched in silence as Kota grabbed your coat and backpack without a word.

He draped your coat around your body, buttoning it without allowing you to properly put it on. Your arms were restricted but he didn’t seem to care. Kota nodded his head at everyone, wrapping an arm around your waist and guided you outside.

“Kota. Kota, I can’t move my arms,” you tried to push your arms through the sleeves but Kota kept pulling you forward. His hand tightening his grip on the curve of your hip. “Kota!”

He hummed. “Does everyone need to call you by your first name?” His words suddenly stop you in your tracks. It was only now that he actually stopped as well. You both were far from the restaurant by now.

“I let everyone do that.” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Where… is this coming from?”

Kota looked you in the eye. There looked to be something there… the need to say something. Something that could possibly change things. But he only shook his head.

“Forget it.” He removed his hand from your waist, finally allowing you to properly wear your coat. You follow behind him as you slip the coat into place. His words swirled around in your head but you didn’t say anything.

You still allowed people to call you by your first name. At least the people you had already allowed to but for some reason, anyone new had to call you by your last name.

Nothing was said. It just happened.

But you couldn’t forget the one time Kota had overheard you introducing yourself to a new member of the photography club.

“Hi, I’m Togami (Name). You can call me Togami or Toga!” You said, smiling wide as you excitedly shook their hand. Your gaze flickered to Kota who was standing right beside you and his expression was pure smug.

A small smirk tugged on his lips. Big enough that even another member noticed and asked Kota what he was thinking about to smile like that.

Kota only hummed. “Nothing.”

That was really the only time Kota had ever been mean towards you. Or at least angry. Afterwards he didn’t use any force on you again. Which really made you wonder what upset him that badly.

But you never brought it up again.

“If you want at least a B, you’ll need to get an 80% on the final exam, Togami-San.”

You groaned, rubbing at your face. Your grades in college were decent. Could be better but decent. Your parents were just happy you weren’t flunking. The fact you even went to college surprised them and your entire family.

It wasn’t like you didn’t care but you didn’t go above and beyond like others. You studied like twice a week. Each time before an exam you studied a bit and somehow that allowed you to continuously get Bs and A minuses.

Good enough. Some would kill for that.

However your studying method was proving to be useless for one class. The one class where you had your first ever D.

Organic chemistry.

Now why are you taking organic chemistry?

Well because you’re dumb.

Dumb enough to not realize that you signed up for the wrong class until it was too late and you had to continue taking it. You were a literature major! Why would you ever need organic chemistry?

“It’s okay, (Name)-Chan~” Hinata, your classmate, gave you a wide grin. “Maybe you should do tutoring.”

“Tutoring?” Another one of your classmates chirped in, Genki. He was a fellow gyaruo who put more effort into everyday makeup in comparison to you. A true legend. “What (Name) needs is a miracle.”

Hinata rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it worse. You’ll stress him out. I know someone who took organic chemistry as a freshman and actually passed with a 99%!”

“99%? Woah,” Genki’s mouth dropped while you perked up at her claim. “How—? That professor is strict. How'd that kid pass?”

“Don’t know but he was even the teacher assistant last year. He’s good, really good. But he doesn’t just tutor anyone.” Hinata turned her gaze over to you. “You might have to really beg for it.”

You frowned, “beg…? Ah, it can’t be helped. I’m not failing that final exam!” There was no way you’d let this class ruin your semi perfect record of As and Bs. “Where can I find him?”

“He’s an engineering major! My friend said he’s currently a teacher assistant for engineering 101, class should be ending right now. Go stop him before he leaves!”

The thought of having to beg some stranger to hopefully pass your class was a little stressful. Technically your whole life was up to this one dude.

And judging by how Hinata had described him—he wasn’t exactly the helping type.

He already reminded you of Kota.

Ah, Kota.

A giddy smile pulled on your lips at the thought of him. It’s already been three years of living with him and you had begun to realize you had a crush on him. Nothing serious at the moment but it certainly was something.

You found yourself doing more things for him. Making him lunch or dinner. He wasn’t a breakfast person so you never forced that. Two days ago you even bought him a leather jacket that reminded you of him. Though you still haven’t given it to him yet.

You’ve given him things before. Especially not an expensive leather jacket. It was around ¥291,500. Nothing cheap at all. But it was real leather with fluffy fur around the collar.

Perfect for winter that was right around the corner.

Thinking about Kota, you began wondering what you should make him for dinner. You stood outside the classroom door just as students began to walk out.

“(Name).”

“Kota?” You blinked, looking over to see Kota standing right beside you. Your head tilted as you blinked. “You’re taking this class as a junior?”

Kota fixed the strap of his bag as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m the teaching assistant.”

“Ah!”

Well looks like luck was on your side after all.

You grinned and rushed to his side, grasping his arm with your hands. “Kotaaaa~”

Kota only hummed and looked down at you. The height difference wasn’t by much. Your head was the perfect height to rest on his shoulders—which you constantly took advantage of.

“Can you tutor me? In organic chemistry? I heard you passed the class and I need to get an 80% on the final exam to even pass the class. Please, please, please—”

“Sure.” He interrupted you.

You blinked.

That was really easy.

Well, getting him to tutor you was easy but he wasn’t an easy tutor at all.

“If you can’t even memorize this then don’t even bother showing up to take the exam.”

“Kotaaaa.”

“Try again.”

It had only been a week and you were pooped. Kota didn’t let up. Each day after dinner, you’d spend almost two hours sitting at the dining table as he tutored you. No breaks, no days off.

And yes you were certainly learning and retaining information… but you were also tired.

“67%,” he said, placing the mock final exam he made you take on the table after grading it. Despite his rough tone—you knew he was semi happy about your progress in just one week. “I’ll test you again next week.”

You sighed. Better than nothing. You used to get 20-30% on the exams. This was an improvement.

Kota cleaned up the dining table while you placed your head on the table. You were only going to close your eyes for a second. But soon you found yourself in bed. Hands tugging up your shirt.

“Kota?” You groggily whined, placing your hand over his. His hand was larger than yours. He stopped what he was doing and leaned away a bit.

“You’re awake?” He asked. You felt his hand slipping away but you quickly tightened your grip. With sluggish movements, you tugged his hand up, making him gently cup your face.

He didn’t stop you nor did he say anything. If you weren’t struggling to even stay awake, you would’ve noticed his thumb gently rubbing circles on your cheek.

“I got something for you.” You whispered.

“Like what? Is it a thanks for tutoring you?”

You weakly shook your head. “No. It’s…” your voice trailed off, eyes struggling to stay open. “It’s just for you. Because I like you. It’s underneath my bed.”

“Don’t fall asleep.” He gently tapped your cheek. “You still have makeup on.”

“I like you… didn’t you hear me?”

“Mhm.” Was all he said in response.

The rest of that moment was a blur. You remembered feeling makeup remover wipes on your face. Kota grabbed the box from underneath your bed but he didn’t open it in front of you. Your eyes were basically closed by then.

He whispered something and then you were fast asleep.

Another two weeks passed. It was uneventful. Kota continued tutoring you and you made significant progress. Your little puppy crush was beginning to grow by the minute. Especially now that you two were spending most nights together.

You didn’t have to ask about the jacket because not even a day later you saw him wearing it. It made you so giddy that you almost laughed right in front of Kota. Luckily you managed to hold it in.

Despite organic chemistry being the worst class you’ve ever taken—you certainly had to thank it for allowing you the opportunity to be near Kota for such long hours.

However there was something you began to notice.

Kota didn’t allow you in his bedroom.

At first you didn’t notice because well it’s not like he comes into yours. You both were close but still wanted the bedrooms to be your own personal space. But now that you two were studying together for a long period of time… you and Kota would sometimes study in your bedroom.

It was a mess, obviously, but Kota didn’t seem to mind.

But it was like his room was off limits before you could ever ask.

Nothing was wrong with that per se… at least at first. Until you finally realize it when Kota always keeps his door locked. The door was always closed and even locked sometimes.

That’s strange, right?

Was he hiding something?

What would someone like Kota have to hide? He’s such a normal guy at the end of the day. You were the one that had more to hide but your day was basically left wide open at all times. Even when you were changing.

Like right now.

You slipped on your boxers, yawning. The thought of looking for some pajamas felt like a hassle. Your body was tired and even struggling to stand up straight.

“Where did I put it…” you whispered mostly to yourself, rubbing your shirtless chest. It was certainly a sight to behold. Your makeup was only semi cleaned off, your eyeliner was being stubborn and your lips were stained from left over lipstick. It’s kind of why you never wear lipstick that often.

It always stained your lips.

Just like your clothes, your pajamas were also heavily influenced by gyaruo clothing. You even dabbled a bit in more feminine pajamas. Simply only because male pajamas were boring half the time.

You knelt down and grabbed your silk shirt. It was plain black but felt nice to sleep in. “Pants… where’s my pants?” You spun around, now facing the doorway when you finally noticed that you weren’t alone.

Kota was watching.

He looked like he had just finished taking a shower. Hair still damped while the towel laid around his neck. An old beaten up white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His bangs covered his right eye entirely.

You gulped. Your own semi nudity was the last thing on your mind. Just the fact of seeing Kota in clothes that didn’t cover his body entirely. Nothing baggy that hid his muscles. You were allowed to see everything.

Almost everything.

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You didn’t even realize just how bad you were ogling him. Though it seemed to be mutual when you glanced up at his face.

Kota was staring at you. Really staring at you. His gaze flickering from your thighs to your chest. You still hadn’t slipped the shirt on yet.

Feeling yourself heat up from his strong gaze, you slipped the silk shirt on. That finally broke the spell as Kota quickly looked away. He began quickly drying his hair.

You finally found your pants, right near your dirty hamper. They were actually shorts. A matching pair to the shirt. You stepped into them and it was basically the same length as your tight boxers. These were one of your more feminine pajamas.

“Well,” you spoke, blinking slightly as you glanced over at Kota. “Uhh,” your lips pursed together. Hands wringing together. “Can I ask you something, Kota?”

He hummed. His eyes still focusing on anything but you.

“Can we… maybe study in your room one day?”

That caught his attention. His eyes snapping over to you. “Why?”

You froze. This was probably one of the first times Kota ever pushed back against a request of yours. Usually you could just say one word and he’d do it without hesitation. Not even asking why you want to do a certain thing.

It wasn’t always like that—that behavior didn’t start until high school.

“Oh well…” your voice trailed off. There was technically no reason. Or really any good reason. “Uhm, I just… want to change the environment.”

“We can study at the library.”

“Kota.” A pout on your lips. “I don’t wanna. I like being at home.”

“Then we can study on the balcony.”

That did sound nice.

You sighed. “Then… if I pass with an 89% can I celebrate in your bedroom?”

Kota raised an eyebrow. His face was neutral but you could tell he was getting agitated. The slight twitch in his upper lip, the way his grip tightened on the towel. “89%? That’s high.”

“Yeah, so if I do that good, then you have to grant my wish.”

“Why do you want to do that? Be in my room so badly?”

You were nosy, that was certainly the main reason.

But instead of saying that…

You said, “because I want to be in your scent.”

Which, in hindsight, was one of the stupidest things you had ever said.

I want to be in your scent? What did that even mean?

It was one of the strangest things you’ve ever said. And you were known for being weird to Kota.

Oh well—you couldn’t dwell on it too much because to your shock, you did it.

“How??” Hinata and Genki stared at the final exam paper in shock. There, written in bright red ink, was the percentage 90. You had done better than you had even thought was possible.

You simply smirked. “I managed to get that tutor you told me about.” Was all you said before heading straight home.

Kota was home, luckily enough. You had bought some take out and a case of beer. A smug smile on your lips as you walked over to where he was sitting on the couch.

He closed his book as soon as he saw you. His gaze solely focused on you. Your cheeks felt a little hot from his gaze but you straightened your posture. You placed the food and drinks on the center table.

“I took the exam.” You reached into your bag, excitedly pulling the exam paper out. The paper was folded as you handed it over to him. He took it, you excitedly sat down beside him and inched close, wanting to see his exact expression once he saw your score.

Kota opened the paper and despite the fact his face didn’t move an inch, you could tell he was proud. “Amazing.” He simply said, placing the paper on the center table. “How do you want to celebrate?”

You pursed your lips, eyes looking to where Kota’s bedroom was located. There was nothing else that needed to be said. Kota got the hint immediately.

Kota’s bedroom was the exact same as you remembered. The last time you had seen it in its full glory was maybe a month after you both moved in. To say it had no personality was an understatement.

It didn’t feel lived in if it weren’t for his studying material all over his desk. You plopped down on his bed as he sat at his desk, placing the items you brought on the surface. He glanced over at you with an unamused expression.

“This is all you wanted to see?”

You eagerly nodded your head. “Well yes.”

“You’re weird.” He opened a bottle of beer with a bottle opener. “Enjoy my scent.”

Your cheeks felt hot.

Kota’s room really was uneventful. He didn’t even have a tv. You stuck to watching something on your phone. About an hour or two passed when Kota excused himself to the bathroom.

You only huffed and moved to rest more comfortably on the bed when you felt something poke your back. It felt like a notebook. Underneath his pillow was a small little notebook—a diary was your first thought.

Now, did you originally plan to snoop around Kota’s room? No, you did not.

But now that you had the opportunity to possibly read his diary were you going to miss it?

No.

While you might be able to understand Kota’s expressions after spending so many years with him—it was too tempting to be able to read about his thoughts.

𓂃 𝖨 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗎𝗉 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐’𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖨 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆

What?

𓂃 𝖧𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗃𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗆𝖾? 𝖧𝖾’𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗇𝖺𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻, 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝗎𝗆𝖻

Who was he talking about? Jealousy bubbled deep within you. Who was lucky enough to be the object of Kota’s affection? It wasn’t like he talked to many people that weren’t you.

𓂃 𝖨 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖨’𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾’𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾, 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆—𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗀𝗈𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀

“What are you doing?”

You gasped as the diary was roughly ripped from your hands. It was there you came face to face with an overly pissed Kota. A first. The last time you ever saw Kota this angry, his face actually showing the full emotion, was back in middle school.

Your stomach began to twist into knots. The idea of angering Kota this much hadn’t even crushed your mind. Sure you were pushy sometimes but you never wanted to ever make him feel this way.

It was silent. Your mind raced a mile a minute. But nothing left your lips.

Kota let out a humorless laugh. Another first. He stared down at you. “Are you weirded out?”

“Huh?” A soft gasp left your lips. Your eyes flickering up to stare at him. He towered over you. You sat on your knees on the bed.

He waved the diary. “You read what was in this.” His voice sharp. “You’re weirded out, right? You want me to leave don’t you?”

“Why—? Why would I want that?” You quickly moved to stand up but Kota grabbed your shoulder and shoved you back down. It should’ve upset you that he put his hands on you but you felt your cock twitch in your pants.

“Stop acting dumb.” He carelessly tossed the diary behind him. His eyes never left you. The intensity in his eyes scared you but also made you incredibly horny. Who knew he could act like this? “You read it, you saw what I wanted to do. Degrade, feminize, and dumbify—you saw it, didn’t you? Don’t spare my feelings.”

You quickly shook your head. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn't judge what you… do in your free time.”

Kota froze. He raised an eyebrow before leaning further down. You leaned back until your back bumped into the wall, effectively caging you in.

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You clamped your legs together. Why was this actually doing something for you?

“How did you get that 90% on the exam?” He finally spoke.

“Huh?”

“You. I want to degrade you.” His hands pressed on either side of the wall, gaze harsh. “I want to make you pretty, only to ruin you for anyone else. Who else would I ever want to see naked beneath me?”

“…huh…? Kota…?”

Kota sighed. “I’ll move out as soon as possible.” Was all he said as he began to pull away.

“Wait—!” You grabbed his shirt and tugged him back towards you. The force causing him to accidentally bump his nose against yours. “Ow,” a whine left your lips but you quickly pushed through the pain. “Why… why are you going to leave me?”

“Did you not understand a word that I said?” Kota responded, his tone exasperated.

“I did. I did and I don’t mind. I like you! Didn’t you know that? I told you…”

Kota tilted his head. His gaze focused solely on you. “You always tell me that you like me. Was I supposed to believe that one time was different?”

You frowned. “Well I did mean it differently. I meant that I like like you.”

“You like like me?”

“Mhm.”

Kota laughed. You were seeing a whole new side to him. “Do you like me enough to let me do whatever I want to you?” He asked, his voice deep. There were simple words but somehow they felt heavy in your chest. It didn’t feel like it was a simple easy thing to agree to.

He seemed mad but not that mad that you thought he would’ve been. It felt different. A scary different. But not scary enough that you didn’t nod your head in agreement to his words.

“I need to hear a yes.” He said.

“…Yes.” You whispered. “I really like you.”

For the first time ever, Kota’s lips pulled into a wide smirk.

Your cock twitched at the sight.

You would’ve never expected that Kota would be the kinky type. Honestly you ever really expected that he’d be into sex… or anyone really. He didn’t seem like the type. It’s why you didn’t expect anything to happen from your feelings.

But here you were, hands tied together above your head with Kota’s belt. Undressed—your boxers being the only clothes you were allowed left.

Kota didn’t say anything at first. He had silently tied your wrists together, manhandling you to rest on the bed. His hands gripped your skin. It felt harsh and rough but it didn’t scare you.

“Kota…” You whispered.

He was silently taking in your body. His hand slowly tracing up and down. As his hand reached your inner thigh—you let out a gasp. Your legs clamped together as your cheeks heat up and feel hot to the touch.

“Kota… are you mad?”

“No,” he answered. His hand squeezed your thigh before he reached his other hand and grasped your other leg. He easily parted your legs open, it happened so fast you didn’t even register it until your legs touched the bed.

Kota sighed. His gaze flickered up to look you in the eye. “I’m not going to do everything I ever wanted.” He said. That somehow disappointed you. “I don’t want to rush this… not now.”

“Rush?”

“(Name),” he whispered your name as if he was worshipping you like a God. So soft and tender though his eyes held a certain hunger that made your stomach clench. “I’ve always wanted you to cry on my cock—letting your makeup mess up your face.”

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. “Is that why whenever you saw me with my makeup a mess, you’d get quiet?”

Kota didn’t respond. He moved to sit between your legs. “When we moved in together, I thought I’d have to deal with you bringing in random people to have sex… or maybe even get a boyfriend. How lucky am I that you aren’t able to date anyone?”

“Hey, I was single on purpose!”

“Sure.”

You frowned but before you could say anything else Kota pushed your legs forward. A strained grunt left your lips. The stretch was a little unnatural—not a position you’ve ever done before.

“Since it’s our first time, I’ll be nice. Okay?”

“You’re a virgin?” You muttered, blinking slightly.

“Aren’t you?”

“Ah,” you quickly looked away, biting your bottom lip. “Not… exactly.”

It was silent.

Too silent.

“Kota…?”

The sound of fabric tearing caused you to cry out in shock. You looked over to see Kota focused solely on your legs. Your boxers were torn open, the cool air teasing your hole. Embarrassment shot through your body when you realized Kota would have a perfect view of a certain something in your ass.

Finally, your little secret was revealed.

“(Name)…” Kota chuckled, his voice deep. His index finger circled around your sensitive rim. Your body shook from the touch. “Is this a butt plug?”

So, it wasn’t as if you expected sex today. You had just wanted to be a little… adventurous today. After your exam you had actually come home first before going back out to buy the food and beer. Just for fun.

It was a small plug. Only stretched you a little bit to where you could feel it if you shifted just right. But other than that it didn’t feel like anything was inside you.

Really the only thing you expected tonight was using your dildo late at night as you imagined Kota fucking you instead. Luck was really on your side today.

“Did you wear this all day? Even when you took your exam?” Kota grasped the edge of the plug, slowly tugging it out. You gasped—tugging at the restraints around your wrists. “Did you masturbate like a pervert, hoping no one would notice you rocking in the chair, trying to focus on the exam while making sure the plug hit your prostate?”

With a simple shift, the tip of the plug pressed directly on your prostate. A loud moan left your throat. You wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That he was making stuff up. Degrading you.

But the continuous, slow rub against your prostate took over your thoughts. All you could focus on was gasping and moaning in response. Nothing else could escape your lips. Your cock twitched. It was still covered inside your tight boxers.

“Kota,” you mewled.

“Such a slut. Is that why you’re so flashy?” He asked, pressing down on your prostate. “You want everyone’s attention on you. Not just your looks but also from your sex appeal? So perverted, Togami (Name).”

You sniffled. Your wrists tried to break free from the belt but somehow it was wrapped tightly. You could only bring your hands down to try and cover your face from Kota’s intense stare.

“Am I not enough?” Kota moved up, his body now towering over you. His free hand grasped your wrists and tugged your arms to rest above your head once more. “Do you need everyone else’s attention? I’m not enough for you?”

You quickly shook your head. The words escaped you—only broken wet moans leaving your parted lips.

“Fine.” An almost pained laugh left Kota. “They can look…” he leaned down, his breath teasing your face. “But you’ll always be mine. Only I can see you, touch you, and ruin you, do you understand?”

Kota pulled back when you didn’t respond. His glare sharp as he roughly pulled the butt plug out. He tossed it behind himself. “Answer me with words.”

“Mhm, ngh,” you nodded your head. It was hard to speak, your throat was already dry. You haven’t even been fucked yet and you already felt tired. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

You let out a shuddered moan. Your legs wrapping around Kota’s waist. It felt so sinful for you to be practically nude while Kota was still dressed. He was wearing a black sweater and black pants—his usual winter clothing.

“You’re perfect for me, (Name)… I don’t even need to prepare you.” Kota unbuttoned his pants. His gaze focused solely on you. “I won’t be nice. I’m going to fuck you and if you manage to cum, good. If not…” his voice trailed off.

The thought that he wasn’t even going to try and make sure you would come too. To just use you for his own pleasure… made your whole body shiver.

Shit, you were really learning new things about yourself.

Kota was never known for being particularly nice. Sure he did nice things for you but that never meant he wasn’t a little rude to you still. Even if you were his favorite person. He had no issue degrading you. And it was shocking to yourself that you didn’t mind it at all.

He didn’t fuck you nice and slow. He didn’t slowly ease inside you or anything like that. Your hole was still dripping from the lube and allowed for a semi easy entrance. Though his cock was bigger than your small butt plug.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The stretch felt otherworldly. Kota grasped your face, pushing your head down into the pillow as he began thrusting in an easy rhythm.

The slap of skin filled the room. Your gasps and moans came out in rough staccato. Toes curling as you bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

“K-Kota…” you cried out.

Kota pushed your head further into the pillow as his thrusts began to pick up speed. He was unforgiving—obviously chasing his own orgasm. True to his words he didn’t aim for your prostate nor did he touch your cock.

He was fucking you got his own pleasure.

“Mhm?” He grunted out. His thumb brushing against your lips, pushing them apart. “Does it feel good? Are you enjoying yourself?”

Each thrust sent a shock throughout your body. The sound of skin slapping, bed creaking from each thrust into your tight heat. It was sending you into a frenzy. You could’ve sworn that he was purposely avoiding your prostate. Just barely teasing it to cause a shiver in your body before ignoring it once more.

It was degrading. He was treating you like a toy.

You smiled slightly, eyes glancing up at Kota. He was a sight to behold. His eyes almost fully covered from his long bangs. He was sweating but still hadn’t made the effort to take off his sweater.

The jeans rubbed against your ass, chafing the skin. You’d certainly cry about it later but now it only served to make you moan. Every little thing he did that only served to please himself and not you… made your toes curl.

“Hey,” Kota cut in. “I asked if you’re enjoying it?” His voice deep and held an air of dominance.

A strained laugh left you, punched out in tandem with a particularly harsh thrust that almost sent you hitting the headboard. Your bottom lip was cut. A little bit of blood coated both lips and some on your teeth.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. Your eyes struggled to stay open, fingers curling to grip the pillow beneath you for a sense of purchase. “Love it so much.” An almost exasperated laugh left you.

Kota’s thrusts slowed down. His grip on your face almost loosened. He certainly didn’t expect such an answer from you. The willingness to accept his behavior as if it was a normal thing. A thing that you readily craved and enjoyed.

A perverted smirk pulled on his lips.

It was one of the widest smirks you’ve ever seen from him. With his eyes practically hidden behind his bangs—his smirk was the only thing you could use as a way to see what he was thinking. With that smile alone you knew he was happy.

Proud even.

This… was exactly what he wanted.

And how lucky was he that you wanted it just like him.

The last of his thrusts were almost cruel. He positioned his hips so his cock would tease your prostate. Barely a touch that was enough to even count as anything. You almost cried at the teasing—it was too much.

Your cock was weeping in your boxers. But you didn’t beg for Kota to start pleasuring you as well. No you enjoyed how he was fucking you. This was too fun. Better than anything you could’ve originally imagined.

Kota released his grip on your face, both hands reaching to grab your waist. He held your body still against the bed. Keeping you still as he delivered his last, harsh, heavy hitting thrusts into your ass. Each thrust earning a loud accompanying cry from you.

Hot wet cum released inside you. The fact that he didn’t even ask if he could only made you shivered in delight. A weak gasp left you. Kota spanked your ass as he pulled out. The cum slowly seeping out of your hole.

“You look beautiful like this.” Kota hummed, “next time I want to see you in full makeup when I fuck you.” He said. He grabbed your boxers, tugging them off when he stopped.

A soft humorless laugh left him.

“You actually came?”

Two fingers touched the lower half of your stomach. White cum leaking from your cock. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You didn’t expect that this would lead you to cumming in your boxers.

But here you were.

“Of course a slut like you would come untouched.” Kota leaned over you, gently freeing your wrists from the belt. He captured your lips into a hungry kiss—not allowing you to take any sense of control.

You didn’t fight it.

You enjoyed it all.

“What’s so funny?” You whisper, hearing the skewed reverb of your voice as it falls from your lips to Adrian’s chest to the ear that’s gently suctioned to his skin.

He mumbles nonsense, and you sigh before pursing your lips to kiss whatever skin you can reach without actually moving.

You hook your leg up over his waist, tossing and turning into him in a fruitless fit of repositioning. The hastening heartbeat under your ear catches your attention in the midst of your frustration. Stilling for a moment, you listen as it settles back into its slow, measured rhythm.

Hitching your leg up to readjust you smile to yourself as his heartbeat speeds up and settles again.

Maybe once or twice you’d woken up with Adrian’s head between your thighs, or his hands gliding down your stomach to your waistband. It’s something you’ve both been on board with, but more often than not you’re the old bat going to bed while he’s still practicing handstands in the living room.

Listening to his heartbeat invigorates your own, and you run your fingers over the rising curve of his abdomen, tracing the gentle muscles over his stomach as he breathes underneath you. He shudders and laughs again, and you freeze until his snores return. Excitement and adoration wells in your chest, forcing a soft, happy hum from your throat.

You slide your palm over his briefs, running a single finger down his length. It twitches once beneath your touch, and you listen to his heartbeat pick up pace.

His breathing stays steady, the arousal under your ear fleeting, and you amuse yourself for several minutes in a similar manner. Gentle touches, a thumb pressed against his tip, fingernails over his thigh, shifting experiments that force you to suppress giggles.

It’s an understatement to say you’re overwhelmingly giddy right now, manually breathing to keep as composed as you can, but still, your breaths are stuttered. You feel Adrian firm up under your hand, almost hard with every series of intentional touch. Never too excited, not yet, at least. Just enough to see how he reacts to each provocation.

It’s more silly than seductive right now. Holding back laughter as his heartbeat skyrockets after you squeeze the rim of his head, genuine surprise at his entire lack of reaction from a light pinch to his testicles, the murmured “mm love you” when you curled your hips against the side of his thigh.

This all felt like a little secret just for you, something of a privilege to hold and be held, implicit trust in a vulnerable moment. You fix on a gentle rhythm of stroking him over his briefs, heartbeat rising as he stiffens up under your hand, slight twitches followed by gravel moans from the base of his throat.

You try to time each stroke with the rise and fall of his breath, desiring to keep him content for as long as you can without pulling him from sleep entirely. It’s slow, almost torturous even for you, but Adrian’s accelerating heartbeat satisfies you enough for now. His heartbeat and the slight rock of your hips, pelvis brushing against the thick flesh of his thighs, the fabric of your underwear shifting over your pubic bone.

He groans beneath you, his hand sliding from your hips to the slope of your waist, lazy atop the curve of your stomach. His fingertips just grazing your skin, palm heavy, forearm flush around your naked back.

Slipping your fingers beneath the opening of his briefs, you curl your fingertips around his erection,. The taut seams are a natural road block to losing composure, your wrist turning uncomfortably as you try to give him a full squeeze. It’s satisfying enough to work his shaft where you can reach, eagerness cycling through your body, and you grind harsher into him, languid and deep.

His bulge prods full under your hand, and you tug him out with more impatience than you intend to, freezing when he stirs enough to half turn toward you.

You look up as he smacks his lips, hand coming up over his face and settling at his brow ridge. His eyes stay closed, loud mouth breathing as he mutters incomprehensible syllables and the hand around your back pats you on the top of your head.

Smiling to yourself, you kill the laugh building in your stomach, and slide your fingers up his shaft, thumbing over the tip.

Adrian’s heartbeat doesn’t speed up so much as it seems to deepen, resounding thumping in his chest, breaths heaving and slow.

You tighten your grip, working him until precum dribbles from his head, natural slick helping you along. His cock spasms now and again, momentary tautness encouraging extra pressure, speaking for Adrian where he couldn’t, imploring you to go, “Faster.”

His voice startles you, a whiny moan that rumbles in his chest.

“Good morning, handsome.” You peer up at him, and he opens one eye, hand grazing over your hairline.

“Good is putting it mildly.” He smiles at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and squeezing you to him, palm closing over the slope of your neck.

Craning up to meet his mouth, you drag your hand down his shaft and swallow the moan that follows with a deep kiss. His free hand coasts down your body to your legs, tugging your thigh over his and resting over your ass, fingers splayed.

“Wanted to see if I could make you cum in your sleep.” You smile against his mouth, pecking either corner and nipping at his jawline.

“Mm no way.”

It’s addicting, hearing him speak when he’s just woken up. Honey soaked gravel from the base of his throat, reverence in hushed tones.

“I’ll figure it out one day.” You bite down at the corner of his jaw, dragging your lips along his pulse as you abandon the pretense of composure.

He scoffs, and you sink your teeth into the base of his neck in reply. His cock jerks in your hand and you lick your tongue over the teeth marks, hitching your hips against him.

You’re stuck somewhere between wanting to focus on him and needing sensation on your cunt so bad you can’t see straight. Excitement turned to giddiness turned to absolute need the second he woke up and wrapped his arms around you, the second you heard that voice.

“Keep talking to me, Adrian.” You rut over his thigh, steadying yourself at a passive pace, forcing concentration on the warmth of his cock in your hand and his pulse under your lips.

His hand flexes over your ass, palming it like a stress ball, “Okay, okay, um, fuck,” He swallows, his speech undercut with suppressed whimpers, “You know I don’t, fuck, I don’t normally like surprises but, I—this...” He nods, tendons in his neck straining, “...this is a great surprise.”

You shudder into his neck as he starts pushing your hips towards him, rocking you best he can from where you lay at his side, encouraging you to help yourself to the sensation of his thigh between your leg.

He continues, breath waning, “I, hmm, I love waking you up with my mouth, love when you, ah, grind your hips into me like that. Feels fucking insane.”

The last word is undercut by Adrian sitting up to pull you onto his lap, hands harsh on your hips, mouth coming down to close around one of your bare breasts. You barely have time to gasp before the heat of his mouth sends shivers down your spine. His cock sits stiff against his belly, the base of his shaft firm on the fabric of your underwear with your hips interlocked. He rocks you on his lap, hitching his hips up to prod his erection against your clit.

He swirls his tongue over your raised nipple, sucking kisses over the hot flesh.

You feel entirely out of control right now, entirely at his whim, and more than willing to let it happen. The pressure in your stomach builds as he drives you harder against him, and you squirm in his lap, kissing the crown of his head.

“Right, fuck, right there let me.” You choke out, and the hands on your hips still, following as you take back the rhythm, grinding over his erection without a semblance of grace.

Adrian spatters kisses along your chest, the line he draws up your neck replaced by a snaking hand, thumb resting at the slope of your throat, firm on your jaw.

“Looks like you’re gonna cum first.” He smiles against your lips, tongue pressing into your mouth.

There’s nothing you can do to stop your orgasm from spilling over, and you wrap your arms around his neck, burrowing into him as it courses through you. A million pin pricks seem to hold you in place for a split second before shock waves have you spasming in Adrian’s lap, his palm flat on your back, holding you to him.

“Ohhh,” He sighs, kissing where he can reach, “That’s it, gorgeous girl. My girl, my girl.”

He rests his forehead against yours, laughing, “That’s amazing. I can’t believe you just did that.”

You laugh, catching shallow breaths, pressing chaste kisses to his mouth, “What? Came?”

“Yeah, what else?” He runs a hand up your back and rests it at the nape of your neck.

You squeeze his jaw, “You’re so silly.” A quick kiss, feigning sternness, “Now c’mon, focus, I need you inside me.”

Adrian straightens up, nodding, “Sounds agreeable to me.” He slides a hand down and tugs your waistband, “We gotta take care of these first.”

You let yourself fall backward onto the bed, kicking your feet up to yank the underwear off, and Adrian grabs at your legs, helping you along. He leaves a trail of kisses up your legs, sucking marks into your inner thighs.

His tongue slips between your legs for a moment, circling your clit, and you feel him losing focus as he presses deeper against you. Hums from his mouth vibrate against you, and he pushes his erection into the bed, grinding slowly.

The vacancy thrumming in your gut clouds the sharp pleasure of his mouth, but still it’s a hurdle to reach down and tug his attention away.

“C’mere, c’mere.” You run a hand through his curls and graze a knuckle over his cheekbone.

“Sorry.” He comes to your mouth, eyebrows kicking towards worry.

“Never apologize for being so into that.” You smile, reaching down to give him a few cursory strokes before lining him at your entrance. You lift your hips, and your mouths shudder together as he fills you.

His arms hook under your knees to keep your hips up as he fucks into you, thrusts full and firm and sending drums of pleasure directly up your torso.

“I’m not, fuck, fuck, I’m not gonna last long, just so you’re aware.”

“That’s okay, that’s okay. Just fuck me, Adrian.”

His grip on your legs falters, one after the other, and you wrap them instead around his waist as he envelopes you in stages.

Hips to stomach to chest, one by one he lets his weight drop onto you, his arms coming around to flip you both over so he can fuck up into you instead. You try to sit up and ride him, but he holds you to his chest, whispering a quiet, “No, stay here, please and thank you.”

You adore this side of Adrian, this glue trap lover who needs heavy contact and your head in the crook of his neck as he fucks into you.

He croaks a weak, “I’m gonna—shit,” and you grind your hips down into him, clutching his bicep, sinking teeth into his shoulder, ear to his pulse. The erratic heartbeat thumps through you, asynchronous to the harsh stuttering of Adrian’s tense body underneath, lungs full of thick air. He exhales it all at once with a languid, melodic moan.

You run a hand over his hair as he steadies his breathing, his lips latching to the slope of your shoulder, clutching you more than hugging you.

“I really love you.” His fingertips flex over your skin.

“I love you, Adrian.” You recoil from the crook of his neck, meeting his eyes.

They’re glittering in the slats of silver moonlight.

“You wanna hear something?” You ask, running a finger over his eyebrow.

“Sure, how about a song?”

“No, hold on.”

You both dutifully take a moment to clean up with the t-shirt at the top of the laundry basket, before flopping back down into bed. You beckon Adrian over to your chest with a pat.

He curls into you, hand closing over your breast, thumb running back and forth on the skin.

“Hear that?”

He tilts his head a few different directions, “I just hear your heartbeat. It’s kind of fast but sounds healthy otherwise.”

You laugh, “Yes, yeah, that’s exactly it. I was just listening to your heartbeat before all this, it was nice to hear. Nice to know I could make it go faster, but also that you trust me to be near you when you’re all vulnerable and stuff.”

Adrian is silent for a long moment, and you press two fingers to your own pulse to feel what he’s hearing.

When it finally steadies from all the excitement, Adrian speaks up, “It’s back to normal. Are you trying to say you feel safe with me?”

“Well, not explicitly, but I do hope you know that I do.”

He kisses up to your mouth, “You’re an upstanding citizen. I’ll tell you if you should ever feel unsafe with me.”

You pinch at his cheek, trilling your lips, “Alright, alright. Thank you and goodnight.” You close your eyes, smiling as he kisses your nose.

“I know you’re being vulnerable, I love that about you.” He says, “Goodnight.”

The fact that you were also battling hanger (you'd had enough energy to choose between the bathroom and eating) meant that you'd felt like everything in the world was stupid and dumb and shit. It was childish yes, but the feeling of having a knife shoved into your abdomen would do that to you.

Your boyfriend opened the door to your shared room with all the delicacy one would use when disarming a bomb. You hadn't the heart to be mean to him but you knew that he felt partially responsible once you'd explained the concept of period-syncing to him.

He'd felt immensely guilty and you'd sent him to the store to replace your period supplies just to get away from his sad ass puppy dog eyes. It wasn't reallllly his fault but your brain was on one right now and you didn't want Choso to have to bear the brunt of your wrath because he happened to breathe too close to you.

"Hi my love, I brought you the stuff you asked for."

Your face is still stuffed into the pillow so the monstrous noise you make in acknowledgment is muffled, but he understands it nonetheless. "I even got you a bowl of pho from that place we always go to. Sorry it took me so long getting back."

At the mention of food, your head whips up-- only to immediately regret it as you're hit with a back to back attack of dizziness and aggressively vicious cramps.

Choso immediately sees the pain in your expression and moves to hold you up, his hands are a little cold but they feel nice against the slight clamminess of your body.

"Hey, take it easy ok", he pauses to look you over, "I'm gonna set you up and then go grab the TV trays ok?"

You mutter another zombie-like noise of acceptance before moving your body in tandem with Choso's adjusting so that he doesn't have to struggle as much.

Once he gets you upright, Choso smiles-- faint bags under his eyes almost nonexistent with it's strength-- and kisses your forehead and nose before running to the living room to grab the TV trays you keep stored there.

Your can feel the smile creeping onto your face at how cute he is. It was impossible to be upset with anyone as sweet as Choso, and, for as angry at the world as you've been, you felt incredibly grateful to call him yours.

Choso returns triumphant. He's also grabbed every sauce for pho that you had available in the pantry, he looks so accomplished that you motion for him to come closer just so that you could kiss him.

His face is faintly red as he places the pho into a bowl for you. He pulls out a big ass bottle of extra strength pills from the convenience store bag that he'd brought with him, reading the instructions on the box with a bashfulness that only makes you want to kiss him even more.

He places the bowl and two pills onto the tray he'd laid out in front of you. "I also got that drink you like, but I wasn't sure if you'd want it now or later, so I also got water and-", he keeps rambling on, providing you with an incredibly in depth "what's in my bag" tour.

As he shows you everything he's purchased, you've poached a select few items-- mostly snacks, although you do grab a can of tea too, just for good measure.

Choso's putting the rest of the stuff away as you eat your food. You click on the TV and flip through a few channels before landing on reruns of a show that Choso got you into. It's honestly harmless background noise as Chosos makes his way back into the room and settles in with his own TV tray.

You lean on his shoulder, you're certain your growing patch of stubble is itchy but he doesn't seem to be bothered by it. If anything, he welcomes your embrace, leaning his head on top of yours.

"I'm sorry I was the boyfriend from hell today."

Choso hums, there's a lapse in conversation as he finishes his food that's filled by the faint sound of the TV playing in the background. "Nothing to apologize for, I'm your boyfriend. I'm supposed to take care of you when you're sick."

He strokes the top of your satin scarf as he says this. It's the way he says it too-- like caring for you when you don't even like yourself is the easiest thing to do.

Your mind was made up then and there, you were going to marry him, and there really was nothing to be done about it.

Thank you for reading! Sorry it's a little short, but hopefully y'all still liked it <3 I lub Choso so muchhhh

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist || Masterlist || Taglist

the sticky-sweet haze of cheap beer and cheaper weed clung to the frat house basement like a second skin.

music thumped, a relentless bassline vibrating through the soles of worn sneakers and bare feet alike.

shoko leaned against a damp cinderblock wall, the coolness a minor relief against the heat of too many bodies.

a plastic cup of something vaguely fruity and undoubtedly potent dangled from her fingers.

her gaze, sharp and observant even through the pleasant buzz, scanned the shifting crowd. that’s when she saw you.

you were a revelation amidst the frat boy chaos. draped in something silky that caught the fractured neon lights, your dark skin glowing, laughter like chimes cutting through the bass thrum as you talked with yuki from your sorority.

confidence radiated off you, a magnetic pull shoko felt deep in her gut. she took a slow sip, the sweet-burn liquor doing little to quench the sudden, sharper thirst.

"spin the bottle's gettin' wild, shoko!" gojo’s voice, loud and gleeful, cut through her contemplation.

he sprawled on a stained couch, sukuna beside him, both grinning with predatory amusement.

a circle had formed on the threadbare rug in the center of the room, littered with empty cups and the glint of a glass bottle. "your turn, sweetheart!"

geto, slightly less manic but no less entertained, nudged the bottle towards her. "c'mon, shoko. show 'em how it's done."

a chorus of whoops and whistles rose. shoko pushed off the wall, a slow, deliberate smirk playing on her lips.

the game was juvenile, sure, but the potential… oh, the potential was undeniable, especially with you sitting across the circle, watching her with dark, curious eyes that held a challenge.

she knelt, the rough carpet scratching her knees. with a flick of her wrist, the bottle spun, a blur of green glass catching the dim light.

the room held its breath, the music fading into a dull pulse in the background. round and round it went, slowing… slowing… until the neck pointed unerringly, inevitably, straight at you.

a collective gasp, then a roar erupted. gojo slammed his hands together. "hell yeah! pay up, sukuna!"

sukuna just chuckled low, his eyes fixed on the two of you. "knew it. look at 'em."

your sorority sisters giggled, pushing you gently forward. yuki winked. "go get your kiss, girl." you met shoko’s gaze, a slow, knowing smile spreading across your lips.

shoko felt a jolt of pure electricity crackle down her spine. she rose, moving with a lazy grace that belied the frantic pounding of her heart. the circle parted like the red sea as she closed the distance.

the noise faded to a distant hum. all shoko saw was you, the curve of your smile, the way your eyes dipped to her mouth and back up. "well now," shoko murmured, her voice a low, honeyed drawl that seemed to wrap around you both.

"looks like fate’s got a sweet tooth tonight, doll." she didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate.

one hand slid gently behind your neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at your nape, pulling you in with just the right amount of pressure. the other settled possessively on your waist.

the first brush of lips was soft, tentative, a spark testing the fuse.

then you sighed against her mouth, opening slightly, and shoko dove in. it wasn't just a kiss; it was a claiming one.

her tongue swept against yours, hot and demanding, tasting the faint tang of whatever cocktail you’d been sipping mingled with something uniquely you.

your hands flew up, one clutching the soft fabric of her worn t-shirt over her shoulder, the other tangling in the messy strands of her dark hair, pulling her closer still.

a ragged cheer went up from gojo and sukuna. "that's it! show her how we do it, sweetheart!" sukuna’s voice was a dark rumble of approval. "fuckin' eat her, shoko!"

the encouragement, the raw voyeurism, poured gasoline on the fire already raging between you. the kiss deepened, turned filthy. tongues tangled, teeth nipped, breaths mingled in hot, ragged gasps.

shoko’s hand on your waist slid lower, fingers digging into the soft curve of your hip, pulling you flush against her.

you could feel the hard line of her thigh pressing insistently between yours, the unmistakable ridge of her arousal straining against her jeans.

a moan, low and desperate, vibrated from your throat into hers.

shoko broke the kiss just long enough to trail her lips down the column of your throat, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "sound so pretty," she breathed, her voice thick with want. "wanna hear more, doll. wanna hear you scream." her hand slid from your hip, skimming down the outside of your thigh, then boldly inward, fingertips brushing the damp heat radiating through the thin silk of your panties.

you arched against her, a whimper escaping as her fingers pressed firmly against your clothed core.

"off!" gojo yelled, pounding the arm of the couch. "panties off! rules of the bottle!"

sukuna leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "yeah, sweetheart. show us what you got."

fueled by the booze, the pulsing music, and the sheer, overwhelming need radiating from shoko’s touch, you didn't hesitate.

your hands, trembling slightly, found the waistband of your panties. shoko watched, her breath catching, as you hooked your thumbs and shimmied them down your thighs, letting them pool around your ankles before kicking them aside.

the cool basement air hit your exposed skin, making you shiver, but shoko’s hot gaze felt like a brand.

"fuck," shoko groaned, the word ripped from her throat. her hand returned instantly, no longer hindered by fabric.

her long fingers, slid through your slick folds with intimate knowledge. "soakin' wet just from kissin' me?" she teased, her thumb finding your swollen clit and circling it with delicious, torturous pressure. "such a good girl for me."

the praise, dripping with that southern sweetness, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.

you bucked against her hand, crying out as her fingers dipped lower, sliding easily into your tight, clutching heat. two fingers, curling deep, finding that spot that made your vision blur.

"look at that," sukuna muttered, his voice rough. "sweetheart knows her way around a cunt."

shoko’s other hand gripped your ass, pulling you harder onto her thrusting fingers. "gonna make you cum just like this," she promised, her lips brushing your ear, her breath hot. "right here, with everyone watchin'. wanna feel you clamp down on my fingers, doll."

her thumb pressed harder on your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles while her fingers pumped relentlessly inside you.

the dual sensation, the public voyeurism orchestrated by gojo and sukuna’s crude cheers, the sheer intensity of shoko’s focus... it was too much.

your legs trembled, a high-pitched keen tore from your lips as your orgasm slammed into you, violent and shuddering..

you collapsed forward against shoko, your forehead pressed to her shoulder as waves of pleasure washed over you, your inner walls fluttering wildly around her still-moving fingers.

shoko held you through it, murmuring soft, filthy praise against your hair. "there you go, pretty thing. took it so good." she slowly withdrew her fingers, glistening with your release, and brought them to her lips, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate obscenity that drew another groan from gojo.

the taste of you, musky and sweet, flooded her mouth, igniting a fresh, desperate hunger.

without a word, shoko guided you down onto the surprisingly soft rug, pushing you back gently. she followed, settling between your spread thighs.

the basement lights caught the glint of something metallic in her hand... small, delicate bow-shaped nipple clamps she’d produced from her pocket. "gonna decorate you, doll," she murmured, her voice thick with lust.

"make you mine for the night." the cool metal touched your left nipple first, then the right, the sudden bite of pressure making you gasp, followed by a deep throb of intense sensation that radiated straight to your core.

the little bows sat perched, a pretty contrast to the raw need in her eyes.

she leaned down, her mouth replacing her fingers, tongue laving broad, wet stripes through your soaked folds before zeroing in on your clit. she sucked it into her mouth, hard, flicking her tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud.

the clamps sent jolts of electricity with every pull of her mouth. you writhed, fingers scrabbling in the rug, moans pouring out of you unchecked. shoko feasted, her tongue delving deep inside you, then swirling around your entrance, then back to torture your clit.

she added a finger, then two, curling upwards, fucking you in time with the ruthless suction of her mouth. the sounds were obscene. wet, slurping, your desperate cries, the low growls of satisfaction coming from shoko’s throat, punctuated by gojo’s enthusiastic commentary and sukuna’s dark chuckles.

another orgasm built, faster, harder this time, coiling tight in your belly. "shoko… please…" you begged, your voice ragged.

she lifted her head, lips glistening, eyes dark pools of hunger. "please what, doll? wanna cum again?" she gave your clit one final, sharp suck that had you arching off the rug. "do it. cum on my tongue." the command, coupled with the renewed thrust of her fingers and the insistent pull of the clamps, shattered you. your back bowed, a guttural cry ripped from your throat as bliss detonated, flooding shoko’s mouth, dripping down her chin. she drank you down, relentless, until the last tremor subsided.

panting, shoko sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

her gaze, heavy-lidded and predatory, raked over your trembling form, the pretty bows adorning your breasts, the glistening mess between your thighs. gojo whistled low and long. sukuna just smirked. "told you she could eat."

shoko ignored them, her focus solely on you. her fingers, still slick, trailed down your belly, over your mound, dipping briefly into your soaked entrance before lifting.

with a sharp, stinging crack, her palm connected with your outer labia. a pussy slap that sent a jolt of shock and intense, unexpected pleasure radiating through your oversensitive flesh. you yelped, then moaned, the sting fading into a deep, resonant throb.

"markin' you," shoko stated, her voice rough. "so you remember who made you feel this good." her hand rubbed the stinging flesh gently now, soothing it even as she stoked the fire anew. her other hand fumbled with her own jeans, popping the button, dragging down the zipper.

the thick, hard length of her dick sprang free, glistening with precum, anticipation thick in the humid air.

she gripped the base, the harness straps visible under her shirt. "ready for more, doll?" she asked, the head pressing insistently against your swollen, sensitive entrance. "gonna fill you up proper now. breed this sweet cunt 'til you can't think straight."

the promise, the crude, primal threat wrapped in that honeyed drawl, combined with the lingering sting and the relentless ache the clamps induced, pushed you beyond coherent thought. you were liquid heat, dumb with pleasure, needing only her. "yes," you gasped, spreading your legs wider, lifting your hips in shameless invitation. "please, shoko… fuck me… breed me…"

with a groan that sounded like victory, shoko leaned forward, bracing one hand beside your head. the thick head her dick nudged past your entrance, stretching you deliciously wide.

she pushed forward slowly, relentlessly, burying herself to the hilt in one long, smooth stroke that stole your breath.

you felt impossibly full, stretched tight around her dick, every ridge and vein a brand new sensation amplified by your sensitivity. she held still for a moment, buried deep, letting you feel every inch, her forehead pressed to yours, her breath hot on your face.

"so fuckin' tight," she rasped. "grippin' me like a dream." then she pulled back, almost all the way out, before slamming home again. hard.

the force rocked you, the slap of her hips against your ass echoing in the suddenly quiet corner of the basement where everyone watched, rapt. she set a brutal, punishing pace, each deep thrust hitting your cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your core.

the clamps tugged with every powerful drive of her hips, sending sparks flying behind your eyelids. her hand slid under your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle, driving the thick length even deeper, grinding against that spot inside you that felt like pure, liquid fire.

"take it," she growled, her voice strained with effort and lust. "take every fuckin' inch, doll. milk it dry." her thrusts became erratic, frantic.

you were babbling, nonsensical pleas and moans tumbling from your lips, lost in the sensation of being utterly claimed, fucked dumb on a frat house floor. the sounds filled the space.

the wet slap of skin on skin, shoko’s ragged grunts, your high-pitched cries, the low hum of the crowd watching your descent into pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

shoko’s rhythm stuttered, her hips snapping forward with desperate force, burying herself deep as a guttural groan tore from her chest. she ground against you, her body shuddering as she rode out the powerful simulation of her own climax.

she collapsed forward slightly, her weight pressing you into the rug, her breath hot and ragged against your neck, her dick still buried deep within your pulsing, clenching heat. the little bows on your nipples trembled with each heaving breath you both took.

gojo whooped. sukuna chuckled darkly. "damn, sweetheart. left her speechless." shoko just nuzzled your neck, her lips brushing your sweat-damp skin, a low, satisfied hum vibrating against you. "good girl," she murmured, the honeyed drawl thick with exhaustion and possession. "my good, dumb little doll."

⠀୨୧ ⠀───⠀© 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋. all rights reserved 𓈒 please do not duplicate, repost, reupload, remix, translate, or claim my work as your own please don't take inspo without credit. do not feed my content into ai systems or generators.