🌙

-:3-

Peachy keen: heyy, are you free later? At around 8?

[6.13pm]

 Johoe: yea. pick you up?

[6.15pm]

Peachy keen: yes pls. I’ll be at the bar near you. Onyx something. I’ll just ping my location lol

[6.21pm]

 Oh! Plus, don’t worry about condoms I’m on the pill again.

[6.22pm]

 Johoe: you just made my cock twitch.

[6.22pm]

 Peachy keen: dirtyyy haha :p okayy see you then xx

[6.22pm]

-:3-

 You only needed to text him.

 Not even a full sentence, an emoji would do. Matter of fact— he just needed to see the texting bubbles pop on his screen, and he would be calculating the shortest distance between you, filling him with anticipation he couldn’t quite name yet refused to ignore. The fact that he only frequented a total of three places helped in his haste.

 That’s how hard of a grip you had on him.

Regardless of his indifference to most things and seemingly callous attitude, Togame cared deeply about the type of girls he invited into his life. Even if it were for a few months, he couldn’t stand to be bored or feel the sobering clarity of a half-hearted orgasm for even a second.

 He liked girls with quirks, integrity, passions, who challenged him and had full soft lips that helped him pay attention. Not to mention authenticity and a sense of humour that could make even the dullest moments sparkle with laughter. He was drawn to creativity and originality, the kind of uniqueness that revealed a person’s true essence through their actions and interests.

 Just as importantly, he could never turn away from expressive eyes that told a story and wide hips he could sink his fingers into.

 And despite all that he liked, he still kept girls at a distance, never fully allowing them into the depths of his heart or even the familiarity of his daily routine.

 He built walls that were difficult to breach, an armour of emotional detachment that safeguarded his vulnerability. It was a protective measure, a way to maintain control and avoid the sting of betrayal or disappointment.

 Childish? Yes, but even at twenty-six years old he deemed it necessary when it came to relationships only founded on sexual desire.

 You had all the qualities he needed to keep him engaged, then something shifted.

 Your presence was like a gentle wave, ebbing away the barriers he had carefully constructed over the years. Your softness carried a quiet strength that eroded the icy exterior of his defences, revealing a core that craved connection and warmth.

Maybe it was the way you titled your head when you listened, genuinely interested in what he had to say. Or the way your brows scrunched as you peered through his mask, past the slanted smiles and nonchalant sighs, forcing him to confront the parts of himself he had buried beneath layers of careful detachment.

You made him feel seen and understood in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

 And so, despite himself, he let you in, bit by bit, until you occupied spaces in his life he hadn’t even realised were empty.

 Then, soon enough, Togame began to act in a way his friends deemed… odd.

It started out slow. Subtle. One or two changed behaviours that didn’t trigger flight or flare his pride.

 He first saved your number under a cute nickname. Well, you chose the name, and he never erased it. He thought it was sweet. Not alarming.

 Next, he began picking up your calls in front of his friends, an act that would have previously been unthinkable, but their jeering and immature hollers didn’t deter him from speaking calmly or smiling at your cute snorts over the phone.

 It wasn’t the kind of thing that made his pulse race, or his palms sweat, but it was significant, nonetheless. Even when your name slipped into their teasing banter, he found himself unfazed, responding with a quiet confidence that surprised him.

 The shift was slight, yet meaningful, a testament to how deeply you had begun to filter into his life and break down his defences.

 He gave his opinion when you asked for it, providing honest and thoughtful answers in his usual low hums, even remembering you preferred almond shaped nails and soft pink, and that you were promptly in bed at 10:30pm on work-nights— phone on do not disturb, scrolling online.

 Togame didn’t care for social media. He led his life privately and preferred it that way for a long time. Until his thumb hovered the ignore button over your name a little too long… and he added you.

 He found himself scrolling through your posts, silently admiring the candid snapshots of your life, the laughter-filled moments, and the quiet reflections. The way you unapologetically expressed your thoughts, and the way you captured the world around you started to intrigue him more than he had ever anticipated.

 It amazed him how different you seemed online compared to in person. While your presence during conversations was often shy and adorably reserved, your online persona was vibrant and expressive. Your posts conveyed a confidence and creativity that he hadn’t fully witnessed when you spoke. It was this contrast that drew him closer, making him eager to explore the depths of your personality that might have remained hidden in face-to-face interactions.

 It came as a surprise, but he began to look forward to 10:30pm on work nights. You became a presence in his digital world, a beacon of light amidst the vast sea of mundane updates. He started to understand your passions, your quirks, and the little things that made you unique. And in those moments of silent observation, he felt a connection that transcended the physical barriers between you two.

 There was something intimate about knowing what made you laugh late at night, what songs you hummed to yourself, and what books you cozied up with. It was a window into your heart, into your life, and he cherished every glimpse.

 It was not completely insignificant, even he could not claim that it was just on a whim. Still, he didn't want to admit how much these little pieces of you meant to him, or how they had slowly woven themselves into the fabric of his daily life.

 But they were there. Undeniably present, a testament to the subtle yet profound impact you had on him.

 You didn’t often ask for much, (if ever) but when you did, they carried a sincerity that made it impossible to brush aside.

 When you finally voiced your mild frustration about his car, it wasn’t with expectation or demand— just that adorable frown and the briefest complaint as you slid into the passenger seat and your thigh pressed hard against the handbrake. It was the kind of soft honesty that usually wouldn’t punctuate his routine. Afterall, Choji was the one who broke it, and he whined constantly. However, it was your wince that nudged him to see comfort through your eyes.

 That night, he lay awake, thinking about the little things that knit two lives together.

 The next morning, almost without thinking, he found himself reaching for his toolbox.

 Fixing the broken seat adjuster after weeks of ignoring it wasn’t an act of grand romance— just a quiet answer to a quiet request, a gesture that felt more natural with each passing day. He told himself it was simple mechanics, a trivial fix for a trivial problem, but deep down, he wondered when your smallest comments had started to matter so much.

 He could have left it there, chalked it up to convenience, but the memory of your wince— so fleeting, yet so genuine— lingered in his mind. And so, almost before he realised, your comfort became an unspoken priority, a new axis around which his day revolved.

 That was odd.

 But not enough to raise alarms and trigger flight because he had rationalised it by claiming fixing the adjuster meant more positions for the two of you to play in.

Moving the seat back allowed him to spread your legs wider, giving him enough room to slide in between those soft thighs he liked to squeeze. Adjusting the recline provided better angles for when he bent you over the dashboard. Back arched and ass bouncing on his lap.

 He convinced himself it was purely for the practical benefits it gave whenever you were too impatient to allow him to take you home.

Ultimately, making sure you were comfortable meant longer hours spent together too, more time to indulge in each other’s warmth and proximity and slow kisses.

 Simple.

 Although… the seatbelt was hard.

For a while, he wrestled with himself— because truth be told, he’d grown fond of leaning over your body to yank the belt with a rough hand you weren’t able to do yourself. He’d tug it across you, squishing your chest and letting his palm linger on your hip, deliberately taking a few extra seconds to find the buckle before snapping it in place. It had become a little ritual, one that would always earn your giggles and a grateful kiss on his cheek.

Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he was into you. Romantically. Emotionally. Or in any way that gave you any semblance of importance.

 His feelings for you were like a candle flickering by an open window— always there but never burning bright enough to be noticed.

 He did those things… just because.

 It had nothing to do with your playful attitude or your endearing hyper fixation on a random American Broadway musical about dead presidents that you’d play on his speakers— or your cute collection of plushies he began to fund whenever he upset you, or the sound of your bashful squeaks, the squint of your eyes when you smiled wide.

 The sincere care in your touch when his fists were bruised.

The flustered huff you would make when he gave you a compliment that wasn’t breathed on your tits making you look even sweeter than the plea you would make for his cock.

 No. No.

It was about your full thighs and wet cunt.

 It was about the tremor in your voice when he would coerce orgasm after orgasm with just his fingers. Dripping wet and aching for more.

 It was about the heat of his blood and lust you ignited. There was nothing else of significance about you.

 That’s what his pride hounded at him. That you were just a girl he was seeing. Fucking.

 Because the fact that you gave no indication of ever feeling attached to him served in maintaining his indifference towards you.

What gnawed at him the most was the unpredictability of it all. The way you remained ambiguous, vague about everything, a tantalising puzzle he could never quite fully piece together.

 In fact, you never confided in him about work, or your family, or even the friends he would pick you up from. It was aggravating.

 You answered his questions and didn’t hide your life by any means; your moments together were filled with raw intensity, yet the emotional chasm between you both remained vast and unbridgeable.

 He admired you for that, in a sick, distorted sort of way.

 It was a game of emotional chess, and you were a master, keeping him at an arm’s length while feeding his desire with just enough crumbs of intimacy to keep him hooked.

 Truthfully, your presence was intoxicating, a drug that clouded his judgement and stoked the fires of his obsession. He was addicted to the feel of your tight hugs from behind, the stutters that slipped when you got over excited and the words tumbled too fast, the way your body responded to his touch and all the different ways you said his name. His favourite was the huff you made when trying to stifle a laugh.

 But every time you left, every morning he pulled himself away from kissing your sleeping face, the void returned, a stark reminder of the emotional walls you had meticulously constructed.

 He tried to rationalise it, telling himself that it was better this way. That keeping things purely physical would protect his pride, shield his heart from the hurt that inevitably came with attachment. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was already in too deep, and the more Togame tried to convince himself otherwise, the more he yearned for something more.

 So he played along, matching your detached demeanour with his own facade of indifference. It was, pathetically, the only thing he could do to keep himself sane. Only clinging to the illusion of control even as months of longing threatened to unravel him from within.

 He would let a few seconds tick by to squash the stirrings of excitement whenever your call flashed his screen.

 He had to learn how to bite his tongue from asking about who the dark charcoal hoodie— not grey, he stared hard enough to know the difference— on your desk chair belonged to.

 It kept him from scowling whenever your phone chimed incessantly in his presence. Steeling himself against the pangs of limerence, burying the flickers of hope that threatened to break through his carefully crafted exterior.

 And most of all, it silenced him from insisting you stay after a full three-day weekend in his bed because less than seventy-two hours of domesticity had him dazedly imagining a life of you making your ice coffee concoctions in matching cups every morning.

Strategically keeping you at a distance.

  Only fucking.

Exclusively fucking.

And yet, there were moments, fleeting and rare, when your eyes would soften, and he would catch a glimpse of something deeper.

 Like the time you casually mentioned the years you worked as a trainee health practitioner in a hospital during a late-night conversation beneath his covers, your fingers idly tracing the scars on his shoulders, and Togame spent hours researching the career just to understand you better while the lines you touched flared heat long after your departure. Or the evenings when you effortlessly recounted details of your childhood— what you ordered at your favourite café or the sweet cat you loved at your late auntie’s home— and he memorised them, even though he would never bring it up again for fear of revealing how much he paid attention.

 When you borrowed his jacket one chilly night, cradled into a pile on the passenger seat of his car after a spontaneous road trip, he noticed how you always folded it neatly and returned it without mentioning it, but your scent lingered. Clinging to the fabric, a delicate ache of memory he pressed to his face. It was a secret he couldn’t even confess to himself, as if inhaling the traces of you could tether you to him for just a little longer.

 It was in those moments that he allowed himself to dream, to imagine a world where you would let him in, where he could be more than just a passing fling.

 Yours.

It was treacherous, how his heart whispered something he could never voice.

When he wanted to be the one you trusted with the pieces of yourself you kept hidden. The one who held your heart as tenderly as he held your body.

 In any case, just like every morning, the dream would always fade. Replaced by the cold reality of your arrangement as he quietly dressed and eyed that dark charcoal hoodie on his way out of your home.

 He would tell himself that it was enough, that he could be satisfied with the fragments of you that you chose to share.

 And yet Togame knew so much about you; it made him wonder if you paid the same amount of attention to him.

-:3-

 Peachy keen: hey, can you honk your horn really loud and act impatient when you get here please?

[7:40pm]

 Joehoe: sure.

[7:40pm]

 You good?

[7:41pm]

 Peachy keen: I just want to get out of here. There’s this weirdo who just won’t let me out of his sight.

 Sorry, I wouldn’t have asked like I would have just taken a cab, but we were already gonna see each other so….

[7:43pm]

 Just act rude and jealous. I won’t ask again, ik its kinda awkward. thanks in advance x

[7:43pm]

 Joehoe: I just left. be ready.

[7:43pm]

-:3-

 It takes seven minutes to get from his apartment to the bar you pinged— seven minutes for him to stew over the unease you ignited over your feeble attempt to seem fine.

 He would have been inclined to believe you if he didn’t know you so well, and if you weren’t the most expressive yet emotionally guarded girl he had ever met.

 You never asked him for help. Not to stay the night, not for a ride, and rarely even initiated a hug. He was always the one to offer, to insist and often bully you into accepting his gifts and affections when it didn’t come with a bruising kiss and a slap on your ass.

 At first, he thought it a little endearing.

 How you would turn away in embarrassment from a sultry smirk during dinner or huff when he made you too flustered in public. The most kissable pout on your lips.

 But soon enough, he realised how you truly struggled using your words, as if they were trapped in your throat, leaving you to communicate in sighs and dismissive murmurs. He heard never mind more than anything else.

 It made him wonder how you handled previous relationships— if you ever had them— when the words you needed seemed so hard to summon.

 Did you let your silence fill the spaces where confessions should live, or did you secretly hope someone would one day decipher the language of your shifts and sighs?

 It also made him wonder if anyone else had ever tried as hard as him to read your every look. To find meaning in the way your fingers twisted in your lap, or the way your lips parted as if to speak before closing again, secrets swallowed behind fear.

 Fear of rejection? Ridicule? Judgment? Each possibility seemingly pressed tighter around your chest, making every word feel dangerous, every confession a risk you weren’t brave enough to take.

 And for all the times you turned away, he found himself listening harder, watching closer, as if determined to catch the words you never spoke.

 Which is why when your message came through, apologetic and sad as it was, he didn’t hesitate. He snatched his keys, shrugged into his jacket, shoved his feet in sandals, and ran down his apartment to his car before he could even pause to hit send.

 You asked for help. His help.

He didn’t have to act like a dickhead if you were in trouble. There would be no faking the sound of a pained scream.

 There. Seven minutes.

He slammed his hand against the horn as soon as he pulled up, and two roaring, blaring notes pierced through the hum of the high street. Heads turned in unison, the hustle and laughter spilling from the bar silenced for a moment. But not you.

 He hit the horn again. Impatience thrummed through him like a live wire. His knuckles scrapped against the steering wheel.

And then you emerged. Hesitant. Skittish, clutching that small handbag of yours like a lifeline. But you weren’t alone.

Trailing alongside you was some stringy brunette in a greasy suit that matched his smarmy grin. His arm hung possessively over your shoulder, though you stood stiff beside him.

You glanced toward Togame’s car, offering a shaky laugh as you gestured in his direction. Your lips moved, pretty and plumb, but the glossy shine of your peach lip gloss, your favourite, the one you always wore for him, was dulled. The tint had been nibbled away, a nervous habit obvious even from a distance.

Still, you looked sweet all the same. You always did. Wearing your favourite baby blue dress. You called it a fairy dress because of the layered handkerchief hem detailing and off the shoulder long sleeves with spaghetti straps and whimsical ties. Jo liked it for an entirely different reason— how he could undo the chest closure with a simple tug on the bow, spilling your full tits for—

 He clenched his jaw, dragging his thoughts out of that spiral.

 At least you looked untouched. pristine, like a doll straight out of its box.

Ordinarily, you would have your heels in your hand at this point, giggling with your friends until he pulled up earning hoots and hollers from drunken women as you waved goodbye. Though now, your hair, dress, and heels were unblurred. But you weren’t drunk, not even tipsy. Instead, you radiated tension, every line of your body rigid enough to telegraph that something was off.

 And then there was him. The lamp post of a man who refused to let you go, no matter how politely you tried to dismiss him.

 From the car, he couldn’t hear the exchange, but that hardly mattered. Agitation sparked hot across his chest the moment the guy’s grip on you tightened, his fingers curling like claws.

He leaned on the horn again and the sound split the air like a whip. You jumped, startled, and that slimy suit finally turned his glare toward Togame, the challenge in his eyes clear.

 He chuckled. “Okay, I got time today.”

You couldn’t hide the relief watching Jo climb out of his car. The door hung open behind him, but he didn’t care— his sandals slapped heavy and purposeful against the pavement, each step a warning, echoing louder as he closed the distance in four long strides that brought him face-to-face with your shadow demon.

 “Who’s this?”

“Who are you?” Togame countered, leering without a smile.

He held his fists where the man could see them, knuckles standing out sharp and ready, no attempt at civility.

There was no feigned, easy calm, no taunts— just the contorted threat in every taut muscle of a fighter. A raw warning was written in the set of his jaw as you looked up at him, relief flickering in your sweet eyes.

The rat scoffed. His prominent nose scrunched in an unattractive scowl.

 “I asked first.”

 “You’ll be knocked out first too,” Togame grinned, teeth bared. “Bleeding first. Crying first. A lot of firsts for you tonight.”

 “Names Kai, asshole. Who the fu—”

 “This is Jo, my boyfriend like I’ve been trying to tell you.”

His stomach lurched at the sound of his name.

You never say it— not unless it’s coaxed from your lips in the dark, tangled in sheets and moans.

To hear it now, clear and public, caught him off guard, and for a second, he forgot the rest of the world even existed.

 “Boyfriend?” Kai scoffed, his grip tightening. “You were serious about that shit?”

 “Deadly serious if you don’t get your fucking hand off my girl.”

The second his hold loosened, you jerked your arm free— quick, decisive, the kind of motion that brooked no argument.

Kai’s scowl faltered, bravado leaking out as his stance slackened, uncertainty flickering across his face.

Finally free, you stepped back, putting space between you and him. Your heart hammered against your ribs; each beat loud and urgent. You swallowed hard, keeping your expression fixed in a glare, determined not to show any fear or uncertainty.

 “See, my girl wants nothing to do with you. Now off you go while I’m still smiling.”

 Kai’s jaw worked, a flush creeping up his cheek. He tried to recover, voice brittle with wounded pride. “Yeah? Well, she may not be so happy if she’s going on dates. Got all comfy with me at the bar, cute waitress even said we looked good together, yeah?”

 Togame’s shadow slipped forward, his jaw set hard, eyes falling flat and cold clashing against the smile that spread his mouth.

 “You take another step toward her,” he chuckled, throaty and venomous, “and I’ll show you how quickly you can forget ever having teeth.”

 The music from the bar drifted out behind you, some upbeat pop song at odds with the sharp edge of the moment. The cheerful melody and thumping bass seemed almost surreal, a soundtrack too wrong for the coiled tension wrapped around your feet.

 “Look, I really think there’s been a misunderstanding—” you cut in, voice pitching high and tight. “I came here to meet my friend. I just… I didn’t know what anyone had planned. This was all just a- a mistake.”

 Kai’s glare darted from Togame to you, and though fear flickered behind his eyes, he clung to anger as a shield. Jaw clenched. He spoke with a hiss.

 “If you had a boyfriend, why didn’t you just speak up?”

You squared your shoulders, sounding firmer now despite the tightness you kept on your bag. “I tried to be polite. I tried to say no, but you kept talking over me and wouldn’t let me get up. You grabbed me at the table when I tried to stand and kept- you kept pulling me back—”

 “You were getting all jumpy! Just tryin’a help you relax with a drink!”

 “But I told you I didn’t want a drink.”

 “Tch, I paid, didn’t I?”

As Kai shifted, foot hesitating then dropping into another half-step toward you— Togame’s patience snapped like a taut wire. “Get in the car. Now.”

 “Jo…”

You whispered, pulse catching as you risked a glance up at him. Nerves tangled tight in your chest— yet an overwhelming rush of gratitude welled beneath them all at once.

 “You don’t have t—”

 “You’re good, love. I think we just need to talk man to man. About consent.  Touching things that don’t belong to them. Respect.” His smile flashed menacingly to that fucking arm still trying to reach for you. “Consequences.”

The shaggy haired rat dropped his arm as if he’d been scorched. “M-Maria never mentioned you had a fucking boyfriend, alright?! She said you’d be up for a date!”

 “I’m trying to tell you I didn’t know what she had planned.”

You bit out as you settled yourself over to his corner, and Jo finally relaxed his shoulders. His eyes drooped, a lazy smirk tilted his lips once again. “Seems like she’s been tryin’ to tell you for some time.”

 The man seethed. “Look, I was told—”

 “Like I tried to explain at the bar, my friend got mixed up.” You grasped a hold of Togame’s arm, sinking into his side. “I’m sorry, Jo, she tried fixing me up on a date.”

He couldn’t help but notice how right it felt to have you there, pressed tightly against his side, your warmth seeping through the fabric of his jacket. Your fingers dug into his sleeve as if needing to anchor yourself too and he let himself indulge in the secure rhythm of your chest against his arm as it grounded him.

The closeness was comforting— your presence soft, settling something restless in him even as the tension in the air bristled around you both.

You sighed heavily, gathering enough courage to harden your stare.

As you pressed closer to him, his gaze flickered down to you— gentle for a moment, protective. A hint of tenderness glimmered in his eyes as it lingered on your face, drinking in the reassurance of your presence. The bass thumped loudly in his chest.

 “I tried to explain to you I had no idea this was happening. I thought I was meeting Maria, but you were too… insistent, pushing me to drink and stuff, I had to text Jo.”

 In an instant, Togame’s posture shifted. He was no longer just shielding, but detonative, every muscle coiled with an unmistakable predatory intent.

He locked onto the other man’s every move. shoulders squared and stance deliberate, radiating a silent warningas a glimpse of something feral clawed beneath his casual demeanour.

 “I had to prove I wasn’t lying about having a boyfriend.”

 You ended sharply. Sharper than he’s ever heard you speak, and for a breath, his chest swelled with pride— proud of your sudden surge of strength, your refusal to let yourself be diminished.

 The man scoffed, his fists clenched tight.

 “Ohh, so you think you’re so special, huh?” He gave a bitter laugh, loud and scattered in the open space, eyes darting between you and Togame as if searching for a weakness. “Girls like you always act like they’re above it, but in the end, they want attention just like all the others.”

 “Is that so?” His head tilted, a dark, languid amusement flickering in his jaded gaze as he stepped forward— his presence a quiet storm as he pushed you instinctively behind him.

 His words came, heavy and dangerous, the kind that cut with a velvet edge.

“You know, them classy shoes don’t make you stand taller. Can see your knees shaking every time she speaks. You just can’t stomach rejection, can you? It eats away at you to see a pretty girl see through your bullshit. No flashy watch can impress a quality girl, so you thought you could corner her, push until she broke— like y’ever stood a fuckin’ chance.”

The air felt brittle, tight as a drawn wire.

 “It takes a special kind of asshole to mistake kindness for weakness, and an even bigger dumbass to test how far I’ll go to protect what’s mine.”

 “N-no, I—” Kai breathed deep then sneered, his fists shaking. “She was acting all prissy! Saying she’d never agree to something like this—”

 Togame barked out a laugh. jarring and devoid of humour. “Damn right. Look at my girl, fuck,” he flashed you a cheeky grin over his shoulder, “—think she’d settle for a nose bleeder like you?”

 “She looked happy chatting to me in the bar! Let me walk her out and everything!”

 “mmm, so sad for man not to know the meaning behind a woman’s smile.” He teased.

 “And you let your girl walk around looking like that, practically begging for attention?!” He snapped, clinging to bravado despite the fear that choked his throat. “She wants it.”

Togame rolled his shoulders. Loud pops cracked.

Your stomach flipped.

“Look, my girl likes my knuckles bruised.” He said, laughter curling. Volatile. “But I’ll be nice and offer you this; you walk away now, and you go on never knowing what your mouth feels like filled with blood, or you learn how small you are, right here. On the street. And I’ll go on the rest of the night wonderin’ why the fuck her friend chose a rat faced shit hair like you, when my girl can obviously pull better.”

“Okay, look,” you cut between them, pressing a hand to his firm chest in an attempt to curb the tension, but it just made his heart pound instead.

“I guess— I guess should’ve been clearer to my friend about things. I’m sorry you were misled, but I don’t want to date anyone… a-anyone else, I mean. Let’s just go our separate ways, yeah?”

Jo’s expression stayed stone-cold, but a raw pressure twined inside him, barely contained— like a fuse burning quick to the end. He didn’t bother to analyse the feeling; all that mattered was getting you out of reach, away from this pest. But the guy made the fatal mistake of snarling at you one more time.

“Whatever,” he spat at you, “you’re nothing but a fat fuckin’ tease anyway.”

Togame slammed a fist into his head.

“FU—”

Again.

“s-SHI—”

And again.

And again.

Screams choked beneath cracking bones and the shouts of onlookers.

You stared, frozen in place, eyes wide as crimson spattered across his knuckles and stained the ground. Each blow forced more blood to fan out— a shocking, visceral spray that painted the concrete at your feet.

The sting of copper filled the air, thick and metallic, and for a moment you couldn’t look away from Togame’s silhouette, relentless and savage amid the chaos.

His broad back was a barrier, blocking the worst of it— shielding you from the violence as blows pounded out of view and blood pooled beyond his frame. Even as brutality erupted, you were left behind his unmoving shape, protected, if only physically, from the carnage just steps away.

There was no laughter. No teasing quips or humiliating taunts. A fierceness had taken over, the kind that darkened his eyes and muted the rest of the world in violent static.

He struck hard.

Fast.

And with unbridled force until the shouts seized, spewing vomit along with the dirty crimson that spilled.

 Then he stopped.

The man rolled inward, trembling in his blood-stained designer shirt. His eyes were swollen shut, and his breathing wheezed ragged— probably from fractured ribs.

He spat out broken curses, his words slurred and misplaced, directed at you in-place of the figure looming above him, whose expression betrayed only mild irritation as the blood crept closer to his sandals.

Togame watched him, unmoving. His air calm. Breathing stagnant.

“Did his spit touch you?”

“Just… just a lil’ on my toes.”

He slammed his heel down— splintering several toes in a single, brutal stomp.

 “AH!! ugh…bi-bitch… fu-uh! BITCH!”

He wailed, spitting half-formed curses and sobbing through clenched teeth spilling blood, his vision swimming with agony and the blurry outline of pink heels in his sight.

Togame sighed, then crouched down beside the cowering man.

 “Say that again.”

When he was answered with a pained groan and a weak spit of blood, he grabbed a fist full of shaggy hair and yanked the head up in display.

“Ya’know, I see right through men like you.” He snickered, a cruel smile stretching his lips. “You say you’re a nice guy, make a couple people laugh, flash some money, but girls feel uncomfortable around you don’t they? They sense something off, make excuses to slip out, cause you make their skin crawl.” He gave the man’s head a rough shake, laughter distorting into a deadly sneer. “But y’can’t stand being told no, huh? Yeah, I can see it in your eyes, you push and corner sweet girls and use your size to intimidate, but they know you’re nothin’ but a desperate, weak—”

 “S-shut u—”

“Spineless—”

 “St-stop!”

“Limp dick motherfu—”

He swung clumsily. And a sickening crack echoed when Togame crushed his face into the wet ground. Silenced.

 “Pathetic.”

He didn’t linger, only clapped his hands on his knees and shook his head.

Then, rising to his full height, he turned toward you— dazzling green eyes, no longer sharp with violence, softened as they found yours. His gaze swept across your face, watching every flicker of emotion with a tenderness that felt like sunlight breaking through the dark.

The corners of his smile melted, becoming playful, genuine, and reassuring as he nodded, a silent promise that you were safe. With him.

 “In the car, baby. I’ll take you home.”

You climbed in without another glance.

 “Wait,” he called, jogging over to your side. “Open the glove box for me?”

He knelt beside the open door, careful not to startle you, and searched through the compartment. When his fingers closed around the packet of wet wipes— the antibacterial kind for sensitive skin, of course— he looked up with a soft grin.

“Wait! I can—” you offered, but he was already reaching for you, cradling your ankle with hands that, moments ago, had been fists.

 “Hold still, yeah.”

His touch was feather-light, reverent as he brushed away any trace of dirt from your toes, each careful movement a silent apology for the misery behind him and the blood that marred his knuckles.

 “But I can—”

 “Shut up,” he murmured, low and soothing, as his thumb stroked gently over your ankle. “Can’t have your pretty toes ruined.”

 “Toga—”

 “Jo, darlin’. Don’t get shy on me now.”

 “Jo,” you corrected shyly, shivering beneath his fingers as you leaned forward, dropping to a whisper, “people are watching.”

He smiled deviously and pressed his lips to your now clean toes.

 “Let them.”

You shuddered, face burning, “Nope. No.” Furling your legs fully into the seat, you turned your back to him, flustered and desperate to escape his teasing stare.

Togame let out a low, warm chuckle— one that played in the air as he watched your embarrassment bloom. the kind that told you he delighted in every shade of your reaction.

The door gently closed behind you. He wiped his own hands with a new cloth before discarding both.

Moving with casual disregard for the commotion and the crowd circling the limp rat, Togame slipped into the driver’s seat, closing off the violence he left behind.

 He settled in and turned to you, teeth gleaming. “How you feelin’, mama?”

“Stop playing.”

 He chuckled. “Not my fault it turns you on.”

Togame reached over and yanked the seatbelt to begin the playful dance of fondling your hips, but one glance at your chewed up bottom lip had him clinking the buckle into place wordlessly.

 Any other night, he’d be driving on autopilot.

Picking you up usually meant chatter about the event, music, or the latest book you’d discovered— whatever happened to come to mind, filling the car with comfortable noise. But tonight, your silence pressed heavy between you, unsettling in its unfamiliar weight.

Togame found himself uncomfortably attuned to every shift of the gears, every flicker of streetlight on the dashboard. The mechanical whir of the car was the only thing that punctured the absence of your voice. With nothing to focus on but the monotonous rhythm of the drive, the quiet gnawed at him, a stark contrast to your usual warmth.

He stole glances you never saw as you sat with your knees towards the door and away from him. Hiding your face. Hiding from him— you fiddled with the tiny bows decorated on your bag while watching the streetlights blur past into glowing streaks through the window.

 Withdrawn. Tense.

He wanted to fill the silence. Make you laugh. Release the tension between your brows and have you smiling again— anything to brush away the shadow clinging to your features. But the ache in his chest grew with every quiet mile, a restless longing to mend what had come undone.

In the end, he pulled over two blocks away from your home, heart heavy with all the words he couldn’t find. He parked beside a large tree and an old storage garage, hoping the pause would give him a chance to reach you.

The car’s motorised rumbles came to a halt.

He turned to you, switching on the overhead light in case you tried to hide in the shadows too.

 “Oi—”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Togame scoffed, almost laughing. “For what?”

He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he was taken aback by the apology. And by the tears that glistened at the corners of your eyes. Tiny, fragile jewels trembling on the edge of falling.

 They softened something in him that he didn’t know how to name. It faltered his words, the bristle in his tone, but only slightly.

“I should have—” you twisted the strap of your bag as you spoke, frustrations pouring with every word you managed to wring out. “I should’ve been clearer. I’m… I’m sorry. I could’ve called for a cab, or-or called Maria immediately for an explanation. I just… you. I’m sorry! That was so uncomfortable.”

 “Why are you actin’ like any of this was your fault?”

Togame waited, rigid and silent, though he masked it by his knuckles drumming rhythmically against the steering wheel.

Feigning ease. Slanting his eyes.

He didn’t rush you— just watched, every muscle in his frame kinked as though bracing for the words you struggled to find yet not allowing you to see all the ways you set him off balance.

 Like the gravity had shifted that kept your ambiguous relationship afloat.

“I could have— like, been sterner. Or like, got up from the table when I realised Maria wasn’t coming. Or something! I was so stupid.” You gazed at him sullenly. “I put you in such a weird position, I’m sorry.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his silence stretched, filling the car with the soft ticking of the engine. Even the drumming muted.

He stared at you— piercing and searching, as if he could puzzle out the truth just by watching the tremble in your hands or the quiver in your lip. His eyes flicked across your face, studying every trace of regret and worry, probing so long you almost shrank under the weight of his attention.

Only when the tension felt nearly unbearable did he finally speak, voice calm yet edged with something darker.

“You put my fist in his face?”

 You blinked owlishly. “N-no?”

He hummed low. Mocking.

 “Did’ya call him?”

 “Huh? I don’t,” you puffed out air. “I didn’t even know him.”

 “Tell him you were interested in rat faced men? Asked to suck his dick behind the bar?”

 “Ew!”

“You’re a pretty girl, but are you stupid too? Is this something I hav’to watch out for?” Togame seized your chin, squeezing your cute cheeks meanly in his large hand. He spoke slowly, articulating his every word. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you’re a good girl, alright? You did good calling me.”

You blinked at him with tears beading your waterline, shimmering your eyes. He couldn’t deny how sweet it looked when you pouted. Full lips begging to be kissed.

“Because it’s my fault!”

He released you.

 “How?”

You huffed, “Because— because I told her—” you groaned, unable to speak and slapped your bag on your lap as if the aggression helped you spit it out. “Because I called you! I got him hurt and—”

 “He got himself hurt!” He shouted fiercely.

The force of it startled you, a flash of unfamiliar wrath colouring his face.

 “That rat wouldn’t’ve let you take that cab! D’ya understand that? He’s an egotistical dick, men like that hurt girls that say no to them!”

He exhaled slow, then reached out, his large hand finding the back of your neck with unexpected tenderness, guiding your wide eyes to meet his.

 “He pressured you, then spat at you when you rejected him. I would’ve fuckin’ shattered his jaw if you weren’t watching, darlin’.”

Togame softened, but only slightly, your tears a nice balm to his temper.

You gave a cute, involuntary sniffle, the sound small and vulnerable in the weighted silence.

 “I know you know that, pretty. It’s why you asked me to come. You did the right thing, so what’s the real reason why you’re upset an’ getting’ all snotty?”

 “I don’t… I don’t know!”

“Yeah, you do.” He deadpanned, catching the tears with a calloused thumb. “You do know, you just won’t tell me.”

You hesitated, lips parted but muted. Nervous fingers traced the outline of your bag as the words tangled and unravelled in your mind.

Each second stretched, the pressure mounting, your heart a frantic drumbeat beneath your ribs as you tried— and failed— to form the confession he demanded. The silence thickened. Almost like it was pressing against the windows and the made car feel smaller, a degree from suffocating.

Outside, the world blurred in streaks of rain, but inside, every breath was heavy, every heartbeat loud enough to drown out the city.

 In the end, you grunted a short never mind and clutched your bag to your chest, pushing his hands and turning away from him. Choosing to console yourself against the leather seat rather than accept the warmth of his comfort.

 “Sweethea—”

 “Forget I said anything.”

 “C’mon, don’t be like that.”

You shook your head. “I’m not being like anything. Thank you for coming, but I want to go home now.”

 For a moment, Togame sat there, the words on his tongue dissolving into a quiet, uneasy silence. He stared at the steering wheel, jaw working restlessly searching for something, anything, to bridge the distance between you.

 Then, he glanced over, eyes sly with sudden mischief.

“y’know… the sooner you tell me, the sooner we can get to mind melting sex,” he grinned wolfishly, enticing you with a warm hand to your lower back.

 You huffed at him. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll let you fuck me after this.”

Togame leaned in, his presence weaving around you like smoke. Dangerous. Enticing. The glint in his eyes was sharper than his grin. His voice a hypnotic rumble as his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, deliberately drawing out the shiver he knew he’d find.

“You’ll be begging me, baby. Makin’ that sound ya’know makes my cock ache all while drippin’ an’ so fuckin’ tight fo’me, I’ll have to ask you to ease up so I don’t paint that pretty lil’ cunt too soon.”

 To your credit, you don’t reply.

Despite your best efforts to remain composed, the cinch in your legs betrayed you—the squeeze of your thighs always a subtle, restless shift rippling through you until you finally let out a quiet, uneven breath.

You kept your eyes fixed out the window, teeth clamped on your bottom lip, the single street light bleeding into the car’s hush. A hundred tiny lights flickered like your restraint.

 Togame’s grin faltered, replaced by a waiting, almost vulnerable softness. He reached for words that might unlock you, but all he found was the quiet thrum of want tangled with regret.

 “I’m not leaving till you let me in,” he murmured, thumb tracing slow circles at your hip. “Not just the way you think I want.”

 Your lips parted, a retort ready to stab, but it died in the space between you, lost to the tension that stitched you together— painful, tender, impossible to pull loose.

 Togame sighed deeply as he slumped back in his seat, but he wasn’t going to let this one go.

 “Talk to me.” he grunted, kinder now.

“There’s nothing to say, Togame.” you muttered dejectedly. “So please, can we just go?”

 “What happened to Jo?” He couldn’t help but poke your side teasingly. “I liked the way you said it earlier.”

“Nothing.” you sniffled. “Didn’t mean anything.”

 “Aww c’mon, mama. Don’t tell me that was all just pretend?” He chuckled, hoping for a reaction. A smack. Anything.

 “I’ll keep playin’ if you call me your lil’ boyfren’ again. It was kinda fun. My sweet girl in need of savin’, lookin’ up at me all grateful. It was cute, didn’t feel like pretend.”

 You sank deeper into the seat, hoping your silence would be enough. But Jo, emboldened by the tension, didn’t let up— husking to a velvet rasp.

 “Don’t disappear on me now,” he pressed, leaning in again until his breath stirred the hair at your temple and the warmth of his chest enveloped you. “If you’re gonna run, at least give me a reason. Or is it that you like when I chase?” His lips brushed over your skin. “I’ll wear the mask again if you really want to scream.”

 His fingers curled into your plush thigh, insistent in his grip, as if refusing to let you retreat into the safety of quiet with his enduring warmth.

 “You think I can’t tell what’s really goin’ on? There’s no use hiding, darlin’. Not with me.”

He waited, letting the words hang heavy and unyielding. The air crackled in the small space as he prodded— still hoping you’d break before you bolted.

“D’ya’think he’ll tell your friend all about your big scary boyfren’ Jo?” He hummed playfully, planting kisses along your shoulder. “Might make it hard for you to meet someone new, but I guess I don’t mind havin’ you all to myself for a lil’ while longer. Makes meeting up more fun.”

 “Stop… please.”

The plea squeezed his chest like a vice, but he continued to push. Even if it meant only a glance, a glare— he craved any spark of reaction, his bravado doing little to disguise how desperately he thrived on your attention. Because beneath the teasing, there flickered with a restless hunger, secretly pleading for you to look at him, to acknowledge him, to break the silence if only for a heartbeat.

 At least when you looked at him, no matter how fleeting he still felt the pulse of a connection he so stubbornly pretended not to need.

“Look, either tell me or sit there,” Togame rested back on his seat, his burly arms crossed beneath his bomber jacket. “I got nowhere to be. My only plan tonight was to fuck you into tears, but you got the tears down already, so..” he laughed a little too harshly, “and you can turn your head all you want, I still know you’re crying, darlin’.”

 You tried to wipe them, uncaring of your lashes or makeup as you furiously dabbed at your face, but they continued to spill faster than you could hide, and his chuckles only made you squirm.

 “Fuck, this is humiliating.”

He shifted the adjuster, reclining comfortably this time.

 “Only for one of us, baby.”

You whined desperately, whirling on him. “Stop it! Just stop!” Your breaths came faster now—uneven, shaky, betraying your mounting distress. “You’re being unfair!”

 “And you’re being annoyingly stubborn.”

 “I can’t— ugh, I can’t take this.” you unbuckled the seatbelt clumsily. “I-I’m leaving.”

 Togame shot up and snatched it out of your hand. “The fuck you are.” He snapped it back into place, trapping you.

 “Let me go! I can’t talk about— about this Togame!”

“So you can only say my name when squirting on my face, but you can’t tell me what’s upset you?”

 “Stop!” you screeched, fat tears now freely falling down your cheeks as your voice squeezed tight with your breaths. The seatbelt scratched your skin. “Please! I’m sorry for being such a pain, okay?! Please, let me go!”

“I like it better when you beg for my cock.” He sighed dramatically, ignoring your whines and sad attempts to claw his hand off your belt. “This isn’t as fun, but I could get into it.”

“You’re being a dick!”

“You’re being stupid, but I’m nice enough not to call you names, sweetheart.”

The need to escape pulsed so fiercely it drowned out every thought but the desperate urge to get away from him, from this, from the awful knot of shame and tears tightening inside you. Yet you were trapped, cornered by his invasive persistence, you couldn’t even break free from the seatbelt pinching your skin.

“I’m embarrassed, alright?! Is that what you want to hear?!” Your fist landed feebly against his chest, more desperate than defiant, and it only made you wince in frustration. “Just let me fucking go!”

 “You’re sorry cause you’re embarrassed?”

 “YES!”

 He glared at you. “Why?”

 “Because… because I—”

 He sucked his teeth. “Try for a few adjectives, baby. You’re a big girl now.”

 “Ugh! You’re so—”

 “mm? Handsome? Strong? Cool?”

 “Infuriating, Togame! I hate you!”

“Hey!” He thundered, sharp enough to make you flinch. “Say my fuckin’ name if you’re gonna insult me! Own it! Don’t hide behind half-words!”

You faltered, jaw tight. Your vision blurred, but you could still see his green eyes— jaded and striking, cutting through the haze like shards of broken glass that made you want to hide.

The words tumbled out forced. Heavy with hurt as tears slid down your chin.

 “I hate you, Jo.”

 “Better.” His mouth slanted into a grin. Wide, practiced, and so hollow it made your chest ache. “Next time, say it like you mean it, yeah?”

You made an incoherent sound. Something between a groan and a scream. “Why are you being like this?!”

 “Why are you embarrassed?” He countered hotly. “Did I embarrass you?”

  You shook your head.

 “Do you feel sorry for that rat?”

  “N-no!”

 “Then what?”

 “Fuck… I can’t-can’t breathe—”

“Talk to me!” His patience snapped. “Why are you always running from me? Are you so repulsed you can’t stand being with me? Lowly Jo? Menial Jo? Is that why your lil’ friend set you up? So you’d have a better fuckin’ match or somethin’?!”

 “NO! Jo, of-of course n—”

 “Then why won’t you look at me!”

 “I can’t, Jo! Plea—”

 “If I don’t embarrass you then how come your friends don’t even know my fuckin’ name, huh?”

Shock shattered your expression.

He tried to resist it… but his gaze kept drifting to your mouth, the way your tongue nervously traced your lip. Even now, with anger and confusion tangled through the air between you, his instincts betrayed him.

He was still, despite everything, hopelessly captivated— torn between clinging to his wounded pride and the overwhelming urge to bridge the gap.

 To kiss those soft lips.

It was as if, no matter how much he tried to protect himself, he couldn’t help but be pulled towards you. Simply helpless against the force that only you seemed able to exert over him.

A conflict warred. Your tears. The need to defend his dignity, and the deeper, more desperate longing to give in, to reach for you, and to once more surrender to the gravity only you seemed to command.

Even so, beneath the pride, the overwhelming want… he was just hurt. And old insecurities began to surface despite the punishing grip of his fists.

 “I’m just the mechanic, yea?”

Your face crumbled. Whatever air you pulled into your lungs left in a rush.

The tension was a living thing. It coiled, compressed and made every movement feel deliberate and dangerous in the closed space.

Togame let out a harsh, bitter laugh. It was more bark than amusement, scraping out from somewhere raw.

 “Think I didn’t hear that? When your girls came ‘round for a’lil’ movie night you forgot about. I heard you guys talkin’ at the door.” His fingers tightened on the buckle. Bruised knuckles burning.

 “That wasn’t… I didn’t mean—”

 “Then what did’ya’mean by it’s no one, just the mechanic.” Another laugh tore from his throat. “Sounds pretty fuckin’ clear, doesn’t it? And ya’know what really, just tickles me, babe?”

His jaw flexed, a brittle smile stretching across his handsome face— too sharp, too fragile to be anything but armour.

“What really gets me, is how hard you insisted there was nothin’ goin’ on. That there was no chance we could be together. Ain’t that a fuckin’ laugh?!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you shrieked over his brittle laughter. “I swear!”

“How else could you mean? You wouldn’t date a grease monkey like me, huh? You need a rich man in a suit, yeah? That’s what Maria wanted for you.”

“N-No! That’s not—”

 His breath hitched, eyes glinting with something wounded and serrated.

“y’know what else, love?” he spat, voice trembling. “It’s not the names, or how you hide me away. It’s knowing your best fuckin’ friend tried her hardest to set you up. Like you an’ me makes no sense, in any fuckin’ context other than sex. Doesn’t matter I offered you a key to my place or the weekend road trip we took to my uncle’s cabin, none of it means shit cause I get to bend you over at the end of the night, yeah?”

 “Jo, pl-please..”

 “Nah, say it. Say this is bullshit and I’m right, Maria did want you going out with some rat better suited for you.”

 “You’re right but—” you stammered, surprise rupturing with half sobs that wobbled each word over his laughter. The lodge in your throat constricted.

“I fuckin’ knew it!”

“You’re twisting this—”

His laugh cracked. Dark hair flayed as his shoulders shook.

 “I’m twisting shit now?!”

He wanted to run. The words flew out faster than his feet could move.

“So I’m just the pathetic loser you play with when it suits you, yeah? Or am I just too thick to get the message? Should I talk to Maria, then? She seems to know everything so how ‘bout I ask her for a new hookup?!”

You flinched, shoulders jerking back as if struck. “You dick—”

“Yeah? You like it though,” he sneered. “Come’ere, lemme fuck you over the dashboard again so you can tell Maria how good my dick is as a reference or whatever.”

“Fuck you!”

Broken sobs spilled as devastation hollowed his chest.

“No? Why not? I think I’m pretty enough to get my own date.” His grin fractured over your grimace. As if he’d raised his trembling fist.

“You’re being an ass!”

“Am I?!” your seatbelt rattled, another desperate attempt to escape him, and it only made him burn. A fierce and helpless pain. “I thought that’s what you wanted. Just a fun little fuck to laugh about with the girls!”

“No! I want you to let me out of this fucking car, Togame!”

“Not until you tell me the fuckin’ truth!”

“I can’t—”

“Can’t or won’t?! Just tell why she set you up on a fuckin’ date without even telling you! Why do you keep running away from me?!”

“Jo—”

“Talk to me—”

“I c-can’t ple—”

“WHY FUCKIN’ NOT?”

“JO!”

“Just say it! Why do you keep pushi—”

“BECAUSE I TOLD HER I LOVE YOU! HAPPY?! Fuck!”

Togame froze. Silenced as hot tears traced restless paths down your cheeks.

 Your frayed breaths punched the stillness in the cramped darkness. Fast, haggard.

 He didn’t release his grip on the belt— if anything, he held tighter, as though anchoring himself to the moment, desperate not to drift away. When all he wanted was to lean in, to taste the tremble of your lips against his, but he couldn’t disrupt this fragile honesty.

Not now, not when you were finally letting your heart spill out.

“I was just… just talking.”

You began, your voice barely above a whisper it would have been difficult for anyone but him.

“Just saying how I liked being with you and she kept— kept insisting it’s not going to last and-and I shouldn’t be attached cause you don’t see me as anything but a— but a ‘fuck buddy’ and she knows this guy and it’s better to have a roster and— fuck!”

 You gulped in ragged breaths, desperate to subdue the storm inside you but utterly failing. Without the barrier your emotions spilled out in tangled, unfiltered sentences, each more frantic than the last, in volume and intensity.

“Fuck! I hate that I’m crying in front of you, in front of a man! I hate it! God! Jo, you have no fucking idea how much you fuck me up! How much I try to decipher your every look, every touch— God! You’re infuriating! So addicting and-and—”

 Words crashed together, raw and unrestrained, pouring from you now that the dam had finally broken. No longer able to keep your feelings locked away.

“I love you! And it makes me furious because I can’t just switch it off! I tried so hard— so fucking hard— to keep my distance and not care and not get sucked in! Like I never asked for anything! Never kept your jacket or snuggled in the morning— though you always made me breakfast, you fuckin’ weirdo, I left right after! I never, ever overstayed! I always made sure to keep you and my friends separate, n-not ‘cause I was a-ashamed of you but cause I didn’t want them to see how much of a fuckin’ love-sick idiot I was around you! I was ashamed of myself, okay?! It’s so… so calm around you! I don’t- I don’t even have to think, you make me feel like-like at ease. Like my brain has switched off and there’s nothing for me to worry about cause I know you got me. But the second I snap out of it, I’m hit with the visceral shame of it all! You’re not mine! No matter how badly I want you, how much it hurts to have you close but-but not keep you close— ugh! I don’t even fuckin’ know what I’m saying, you dick!”

 There was something heartbreakingly beautiful in your wreckage— like the aftermath of a natural disaster, your vulnerability left a landscape of trembling confessions and messy truths. Each tear, each shuddering admission, lit you up with a fragile grace, a beauty born of devastation.

You were begging to be held, admired, even in your most vulnerable storm.

He wanted to witness every moment of it.

“And you-you kept worming your way into every part of my life, acting all casual, making me feel things I didn’t want to feel! And then Maria— oh, fuckin’ Maria— she’s in my ear telling me it’s not real, telling me to protect myself, to keep a damn backup plan cause a guy like you probably has three, like this is some kind of fucking game!”

You let out a furious, erratic breath, pressing your fists to your temples as if you could squeeze the chaos out as your shouts go frantic.

“But it’s not a game, not to me! I don’t want anyone else, Jo! I barely have time for myself! Let alone a fucking lineup of guys! And-and you act like we’re nothing, always so fucking casual, like-like none of it matters! Not your gifts or-or your attention— but I’m stuck here, obsessed, rearranging my whole fucking life around your schedule, just for a fuckin fraction of your time! YOUR TIME! NOT EVEN FOR SEX LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK! I just want to be around you! And then you go, you go and do shit like— like making me dinner or-or grabbing my waist in public or fucking calling me sweetheart in front of your friends, and-and it drives me insane, Jo! INSANE! I CAN’T STAND IT! What the fuck am I to you when you pull this shit, Jo?! When you’re sweet an-and considerate one second taking me on that trip, then cold an’ airing me the next? That fucks me up to hear my call go straight to voicemail and then almost four fuckin’ days later you show up offering up a key ‘in case you ever wanna climb in after I knockout, mama’ LIKE WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! Am I just a good fuck?! Something to play with when you’re bored or do I actually matter to you?! It’s exhausting trying to guess!”

 Your voice scattered in a staccato, but you forced it louder, firmer, refusing to let the tears muffle your beautiful rage.

“And your cologne— goddamn it, your cologne! It’s everywhere! My bed, my clothes, my goddamn soul, Jo! I had to buy a new hoodie cause all the others smell like you! And y’know what? I CAN’T FUCKING SLEEP WITHOUT YOU NOW! SO THAT HOODIE JUST SITS THERE CAUSE IT’S THE ONLY FUCKIN’ THING THAT DOESN’T SMELL LIKE YOU! And I hate you for it! I hate you for making me want you this much! For making me so fucking WEAK! The way you say my name! How you make me all flushed by just-just winking at me! Like how fuckin’ pathetic am I to keep your bracelet that fell off my bed?! I wear it in the shower!! So yeah, Maria says it’s not real, and maybe she’s right, maybe it’s all in my head, but I can’t help it! I love you! I love you and it makes me sick!”

You slammed your palm against his chest, voice hoarse and wild. He felt the impact of your palm— an electric jolt, as if your trembling anger and aching vulnerability had travelled straight into his heart, knocking him momentarily breathless.

“So fuck you, Togame Jo! Fuck you for making me feel like this! Fuck you for messing up my whole damn life with your stupid laugh and stupid smile! Fuck you for showing up tonight and reminding me why I fuckin’ love you! Fuck you most of all for your addictive shit cologne all over my fucking sheets and each mother-fucking night I spent alone pathetically wishing you were there! Now let me the fuck out before I fucKING THROW UP ALL OVER YOUR PRECIOUS FUCKING CAR!!”

 You heaved desperately. Gasping and wheezing as you clutched your chest, doubling over.

 Togame found the strength to unbuckle your belt, a simple push of the button took more thinking than necessary, but he managed to free you.

You wasted no time scrambling to open the door.

A faint click locked it from his side.

“JO!”

“You love me?”

“That’s all you heard?!” you cried out, almost in hysterics. “I swear to God, Togame! Imma throw up!”

Bright emeralds shined down at you. Warm and brimmed with amusement.

 “Tell me again,” he whispered. “Use my name.”

“I will throw up all over your fucking car, Togame Jo! My chest hurts! This is torture!”

 “Ah, that’s too bad,” he chuckled. lip tilted in an easy smirk. Dark bangs swept over his cheeks.

 “I’d hate to see the girl I love feel so tortured being in the car with me. Especially when I had the plan to fuck her nice an’ slow in that pretty dress.”

PART II

 “Ah, that’s too bad,” he chuckled. lip tilted in an easy smirk. Dark bangs swept over his cheeks.

 “I’d hate to see the girl I love feel so tortured being in the car with me. Especially when I had the plan to fuck her nice an’ slow in that pretty dress.”

 A strangled noise tore from your throat— half choked gasp, half startled yelp— as the shock of his words landed.

Fiery warmth skated up your spine that left you simultaneously rigid and tingling.

Shoulders stiff, hands clutching the edge of the seat. Muscles taut with the effort not to fold in on yourself. So you sat motionless. Simply torn between shrinking back or falling into him, body caught in a charged stillness that spoke louder than the words you managed to say.

 “What?”

The wheeze had barely escaped before your protests tumbled out with it, stumbling over his name as you tried to gather the shards of composure he shattered so effortlessly in heaving trembles.

Incoherent babbles of ‘you can’t be serious’ and ‘shut up, don’t joke like that’ flew faster than your mouth could manage to form. Because denial was easier to comprehend than face the affection brimming in his smile.

 At some point, rain pelted steadily against the windows. A distant rush you hadn’t noticed until the panicked buzzing in your ears had quietened, and the world seemed to close into a calmer one.

Jo’s laughter curled around you, low and wicked, the sound making your skin prickle in a familiar warmth you could never resist while you only stared at him, wide-eyed, sweaty palmed, not sure if you wanted to laugh or scream or simply melt into the seat. Or a pathetic combination of all three.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?” He goaded, thumb brushing your teary cheek with infuriating leisure. “Bet you’d look even prettier if you had just told me. Out loud.”

 He leaned in, the space shrinking, his presence overwhelming and inescapable.

 “Or do I need to say it again first? ‘Cause I will, as many times as you need. I love you. Loud enough for the whole damn street, if that’s what it takes.”

 He paused for a heartbeat, to let you catch up, then split a smile when your grip loosened on your bag.

“Fuck, if you could see yourself right now,” he rasped, soft with admiration, “makeup smudged and tears clumpin’ up your lashes. You’re a mess… you never looked more beautiful.”

You tried to turn your face away, desperate to hide beneath a curtain of shadow or behind a harsh shove to his shoulder, but his grip stayed— keeping you right there with him.

Even as you squirmed, embarrassed and overwhelmed in your own skin, his fingers denied you retreat, anchoring you in the moment. He refused to let your shyness put any more distance between you.

His thumb coaxed your bottom lip from your teeth. Bruised pink and tempting.

“You know why, don’t you?”

You shook your head. Chest squeezing tight. Half convinced this was an oxygen deprived hallucination and he wasn’t wiping away black streaks of mascara.

“’Cause no one else makes me feel… light, like you do. Like nothin’ can touch me and I’m the strongest I’ve ever been at the same time— all ‘cause you can’t help but smile every time you call me an idiot. ‘Cause you get so easily flustered when I call you pretty. I’ve never met a girl hit me for making her blush, you’re so weird. Fuck, I’m shit at this.”

His chuckle warmed your cheeks. He could feel it beneath his palms.

“That’s another thing, darlin’, you can’t hide from me, ‘kay? Not when I know every pitch of your voice, every lil’ pinch of your sweet lips, especially when you’re tryin’ to shut me out. So don’t even play that no’more. Like right now, I love how your nose scrunches when you disagree with something, like you can’t believe it and you’re just itching to correct me.”

He dipped his head forward and nudged the tip of his nose against yours.

It was impossible to resist, the warmth of his lips inches away. Lashes fluttering.

In an act of weakness you seized his jacket and used him to keep yourself grounded. Maybe a slight desperate attempt to sink into his body. His scent.

“And if you think I don’t wait around for you, then I’ve done too good a job pretendin’ like I’m not fuckin’ obsessed with your voice. I’ve watched every video you posted, y’know. Honest. I’ve seen every picture you’ve shared, an’ I practically had to block each man in your comments jus’ so I didn’t hav’ to see anyone sending hearts to you. That shit makes me itch, ya’hear me?”

You nodded shakily.

“I don’t know how to act.” He continued, keeping you close, because it was too intimate to be anything but the truth. “It’s why I embarrassed myself posting that gym video. Choji wouldn’t stop clownin’ me for it— which is fair ’cause I don’t post, ever— I jus’ wanted you to see me. I felt like you only ever looked at me whenever I flexed my arms, y’know? I waited for your notification. A like, a comment, something. It kept me up most of the night hoping you’d see it like some middle school loser. And that’s when I started giving you gifts. Those plushies, pillows, cutesy stuff that’s always digging into my back when I’m in your bed, it’s like my way of makin’ sure you remember me.”

“And you wanna hear pathetic?” He chuckled humourlessly. “I wait for your call; I hav’to keep my phone in a locker at work jus’ to stop myself from checkin’ it every hour. Hopin’ you think of me half as much as I think about you. How you’re feelin’, who you’re with, if anyone else was able to make you laugh so hard you hiccupped. You take up so much space in my head it’s like I’m stuck in some kinda dream with you— one that’s stubborn, won’t let me go, and keeps me wonderin’ if you’d ever want me the way I want you.”

Rain fell in a gentle patter against the windows, its rhythmic pour dousing the car. With each sentence he spoke, his shoulders began to sag, as if every confession let go of another ounce of tension he had been carrying for so long.

“An’ why I aired you? I lost my phone on that campin’ trip with the guys. I only found it four days later, underneath all the gear in the trunk of my car. It killed me inside thinkin’ you were mad when you didn’t call me back— which is why I turned up randomly an’ offered you that key. Your silence was drivin’ me insane. I couldn’t sleep, it was makin’ me sick, ma. I had to think of somethin’ but I knew a teddy wasn’t gonna cut it, I don’t even know how I settled on the key, I was in some kinda fog for days wonderin’ how you’d react. Like, I paced outside your door for three minutes before I even knocked. Then I tried to be casual ‘bout it, actin’ cool as if I wasn’t losin’ my mind ‘bout whether or not I should’ve got you a keychain the day before— but now I know that shit was stupid. I hid so much no wonder it freaked you out, but honestly, I just wanted you around more. To have your hibiscus shampoo on my pillow.”

He reached up, stroking a lock of your hair between his fingers.

“Had to look that up cause the scent drives me crazy, mama. It’s the only way I can relax now. I wait for you to notice me. Notice that I keep your brand of coconut milk in my fridge, that I throw house parties jus’ so you’d feel comfortable hangin’ with my friends without the pressure. That I conveniently keep making extra food, jus’ so you’d take some home. Cause then at least I know there’s always dinner in the fridge for you after work.”

You huffed lightly. The first laugh.

“I hate cooking.”

He winked knowingly. “I know, baby, but you gotta eat. And y’know what else?”

Your pulse spiked. It was impossible to look anywhere else but into those eyes that held you captive, up until that teasing smile broke free— hypnotic and crooked, drawing you in so effortlessly like every secret and hesitation melted away under its pull.

“I wait for you to say my fuckin’ name and it kills me when it’s only when I have you makin’ a mess on my dick.”

He squeezed your cheeks to force your gaze to lift back to his.

“You’re so sweet.. so kind. So addicting. So smart, an’ no one gets under my skin, keeps me focused, or makes me work hard like you do. Cause when you look at me— the way you did when I showed up tonight, like I’m the only guy that matters, like y’see right through all my bullshit an’ still want me— it makes the world feel a little less heavy, like you turn the greyest days golden, ma. It always feels a lil’ less dull with you in it. That’s why. That’s why I love you.”

A warm chuckle rumbled in his chest, voice low, gritty around the edges, but soft in all the ways only you could hear.

“I’m sorry for makin’ you cry. I’m sorry for makin’ you believe I never cared. Truth is, darlin’, I’ve loved you so loud in my chest I was scared you’d hear it before I ever worked up the nerve to say it. But now? Now I’d spend the rest of the night tryin’ to prove it, if you’ll let me. If you’ll stop running from me long enough to show you how much you mean to me.”

He wiped the last smudge, staining his hands with blotches of black mascara and pink blush, but your face glowed— radiant and alluring in his gentle touch, brighter for every mark he erased.

“You’ve wrecked me, yeah. Made a mess of my heart, and I’d let you do it again. Don’t even care. I’m yours,” he whispered into a chaste kiss.

 “Tell me you’re mine.”

Only the quiet, uneven rhythm of your breath came from your parted lips as you tried to remain conscious.

But how could you when every nerve felt exposed beneath the weight of his sincerity. His heartfelt confession both nerve-wracking and unfeigned, as though it stripped you bare and buoyed you all at once.

Was there any room left to run?

No, you didn’t want to.

Your grip on his jacket tightened instead, the teeth of the zipper dug into your skin as you clung to him. It kept you anchored. Present in the spotlight of his emerald gaze.

The air didn’t feel so oppressive anymore. Only warm. Safe. Now the rising tide of emotions that threatened to spill over weren’t drowning you, they washed over in calmer waves, leaving you delirious but lightweight. All sharp edges gentled by the way he held you— like you were precious.

 Your heartbeat no longer thundered with panic, now it fluttered. Soft. Joyful. His affections lulled you into a peace you hadn’t realised you were searching for.

Though your cheeks burned as you met his eyes. Full. Bright. To search for some sign that he might show mercy.

He didn’t, like always, he relished in your flustered torment.

“Come on,” he coaxed, feather-soft but unmovable. “I’ll wait all night if I hav’to. Let’s hear it, sweetheart.”

 His certainty was a resolute heat, as if his affection was beating from the air around you— and he’d never let you forget it, no matter how much he enjoyed watching you squirm.

 A laugh escaped you, tangled relief and outrage. A hoarse sound it didn’t quite move past your tender throat.

 “You’re an idiot. Let me breathe, please.”

 Still, you couldn’t quite meet him head-on just yet, nerves hammering wild and unrestrained the way your hands shook against his chest.

 He tilted his head and that infuriatingly gentle grin softened into something more tender.

 “Say it again,” he murmured, soothingly, barely more than a flutter in the charged air.

He stilled your shaking hands by threading his steady fingers through yours. The strength in them spread caringly as he squeezed.

“Say you love me.”

“Togame—”

“It’s Jo, darlin’. Don’t be mean now.”

 You pressed your forehead upon his, exhaling a shaky breath he greedily inhaled like a kiss.

Skin to skin and still too far.

“You love me?”

One more time. You needed it.

“Yeah, baby.” He bumped your nose again. “I love you.”

“Fuck..”

Togame waited. Letting the silence settle. Your heart to calm.

He let you fall back to rest your head against the cool window, seeking a little relief in the chilled glass as your breath fogged lightly. The world outside felt distant, but here, the cold steadied you, not to hide but to ease the whirling in your mind.

 You didn’t take your hands away though. Instead, you shyly squeezed back, fingers trembling but unwilling to let go. Not when they felt so safe, like his touch was the only anchor you had in a world that always felt a little too unsteady beneath your feet.

“I’m here.”

“I know.”

The admission slipped out. Quiet. A weight that felt like surrender.

“Then say it. Let me hear you too.”

The ache in your chest melted as you let yourself linger. Holding on just a bit tighter, afraid to let go of the moment… or of him— of his hands steadying yours.

 “If-if I do, will you unlock the door? Will you let me out so I can breathe? Or do you just wanna watch me cry some more?”

 His chuckle tickled your wrist. Kisses gentler now by your admission.

 “Maybe both,” he said, lips tracing idle circles on your inner wrist. “Maybe I jus’ like hearing you say it.”

 You groaned, the fight draining from your voice, replaced by a tremulous longing when your resistance finally faded.

 With another, timid squeeze… “I love you,” you rasped, the words so quiet they barely brushed the air between you.

 Jo’s mouth curved in a triumphant smirk.

If you turned, you would see the faint pink that coloured his cheeks. However, you stayed staring out the window, afraid that meeting his eyes might unravel the fragile courage you had just managed to muster.

 Nevertheless, it was there. His blush betrayed him, blooming quietly across his skin even as he tried to hide his own vulnerability behind that teasing smile.

 Your leg bounced rapidly.

“What was that, sweetheart?” He drawled, leaning in, glinting with mischief while trying to catch your downcast gaze as he stilled your bouncing nerves with another strong hand. “Didn’t quite catch it. Maybe you should say it again— loud enough like those sweet cries you make beggin’ me to let you cum.”

 You squeaked. “Jo!”

Cheeks burned, hands flew out in clumsy slaps as your voice pitched high. But he only laughed, the sound flowing around you like music.

“I mean it,” he pressed, gaze all molten challenge, every word a gentle shove. “Say it again. Say it like you mean it. Scream it— show me that wild energy from before.”

 You glared at him, pulse stuttering, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, quirking up despite yourself.

 He leaned in again, his smile so infuriatingly sure. “Go on. Don’t keep me waiting. y’know I love the sound of your voice— especially when you’re loud.”

Inside, almost a year of doubts clawed at the edges of your resolve, whispering insecurities and old fears.

But over their anxious chorus you forced a new chant— he loves you, he loves you, he loves you— allowing the words to surge through your mind with relentless force. Louder and bolder until months of cumulated uncertainties faded into the background. A lifeline. Drowning out every night you spent second-guessing and worrying, every text you reread until your eyes blurred and your throat squeezed, it tethered you into the undeniable truth of his affection.

 You clung to it, to his hands, daring and unafraid at last. Every fibre of you hummed with the simple, ferocious certainty; he loves you.

He loves you. He loves you.

With a huff, you squared your shoulders. “Fine!” you shouted, heat flooding your chest, stubborn and wild in a way only Togame Jo could ignite.

 “I love you!”

For a long moment, the only reply was the uneasy dance of your leg and the thrum of your frantic pulse— until his hand, firm and certain, caught yours once again, threading your fingers together like a promise. An admission.

 I love you too.

All at once, you felt light. As if gravity itself had let you go. Free in the warmth of his heart. Yet anchored in the certainty that love, his love— real and undeniable— held you fast, grounding you even as your heart soared.

 It was… bliss. Quiet. Exhilarating.

A giddy laugh bubbled out. It seemed to pop and multiply as he joined in.

Weightless laughter tangled in joy and relief flowed in a car you never quite let yourself relax in until old tensions dissolved from the simple caress of his hand in yours.

You laughed loud.

“Imagine how much easier this would’ve been—”

He laughed harder.

“If we stopped being pussies?”

You giggled, cheeks warm. “Yeah, couple of pussies.”

Another deep laugh burst.

“How can you make a curse sound so fuckin’ cute?”

You shoved him lightly, but he only grinned wider and stared at you with that same endearing look— deep, adoring, utterly unfazed by your protest.

His shoulders shook lightly in his laughter. Brawny and firm even in the bulky drape of his jacket. He must have been lounging at home when you texted, his black shirt was inside out and he was wearing his favourite sweats, the one with frayed strings that were tied loose enough for them to hang.

 You could gawk over the masculine cut of his jaw or blush at the rugged strength in his frame, all the muscles and scars coiled in his physique… but none of it could compare to his smile.

Not the sly smirk or teasing leer, but his real smile. The one that was so open and unguarded it stripped years away and left him looking every bit of the boy who once believed in happy endings. All innocence and light, as if laughter itself had made him new again.

Softening him in a way that made your heart lose rhythm.

With love as permission, you both openly admired one another— your gaze tracing him, his eyes drinking you in.

At first, it was tender, basking in the glow of newfound ease. Tracing the lines of each other’s hands.

Your fingertips brushed over the bruises mottled across his knuckles. Veins visible and tinted blue under his skin. His fingers were long and solid, wide at the joint and strong, but a dryness that made the course skin hard on his palm.

You pressed your palm against his, lining up each finger so they matched. His hand seemed to swallow yours completely, thick and marked by old scars that showed how much he used them. As you ran your fingers along his, you could feel the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

 It felt like an indulgence touching him this way.

You used to wait for him to fall asleep before letting your fingers trail over his skin, as if the act was forbidden, a secret too raw to risk being witnessed. Only when his long, dark lashes closed could you exhale the fear of your affections being perceived. Rejected.

 You shifted closer.

As the quiet stretched, something deeper stirred. A subtle heat began to bloom.

Softness sharpened. Hunger threaded through as a silent desire pulsed between you.

It made you acutely aware of the distance, because even without speaking, you could feel the ache for it— your curves pressed against his tall, bracing frame— desperate for the familiar rush that always came when you melted into him. When his scent wrapped around you.

Still, the teasing hush lingered, his gaze said more than words ever could.

 He squeezed your hand. His grip an easy assurance— but his words were anything but when that gleam in his eye darkened.

 “You know, sweetheart, all that talkin’— confessions an’ shit— it’s nice. But if you really wanna seal the deal,” his smirk widened. “Maybe you oughta be daring. Give me somethin’ I’ll remember every time I lock this door.”

Butterflies flittered.

“Don’t you think we’ve done that already?”

You released his hand. Shyness blooming.

“There are plenty of memories in that seat alone. I still owe you for scratching the bumper when you insisted to teach me how to parallel park.”

 “And you paid by makin’ me laugh so hard I fell on the curb, sweetheart. I’d call that an even trade.”

Headlights passed behind him, their beams shrouding his face in a halo of pale gold that amplified every feature. Shadows gathered beneath his cheekbones and jaw— like the night itself was framing his expression, drawing out the intensity in his eyes and the set of his mouth.

 “C’mere, darlin’.” He tipped his chin. “Right here.”

He slouched back; his thighs open in a casual invitation. The seat seemed barely able to contain him, burly shoulders pressed against the sides, knees spread wide, so the space felt smaller. Like it moulded to fit his build. He filled it with easy dominance, every inch of him at home and sprawling, as if the chair was made to accommodate only him.

 And you.

 You could fit. Right where his toned thighs invited you in.

And yet… you didn’t want to surrender that easily. So, you leaned back as well, carefully propped your foot up on the seat, and allowed your layered hem to slip down. Soft fabric skimmed your supple skin, exposing sensuous thighs he followed with an almost predatory focus before you folded it carefully, feigning modesty.

He tracked the movement, eyes lidded, canines stark in his grin.

“Fuck.” He huffed, hoarse. “How can you sit there when I want you so bad?”

“How can you let me be so far away?” you countered, confidence thrumming as if his presence had doused you— saturated your resolve so deep you could feel it heating blood too intimate to ignore. “It’s like you get off on making me uncomfortable.”

“I’m makin’ you uncomfortable, baby?”

You shrugged. “Not as much now.”

His grin spread. “Yeah?”

You nodded, a teasing smile tugged. “Yeah, you’re not so scary anymore, Togame Jo.”

He sat up. “I scared you?”

You shrugged. Sighed slow.

“Loving you scared me.”

Togame shifted slightly. “And now?”

Your cheeks were hot. The warmth crept all the way to your ears as you struggled to answer.

Then you did. So quiet only he could hear.

“Not afraid of it anymore. I love you.”

The words slipped like a pebble breaking the surface of a still pond— rippling out, steady.

 “Then come here.” He whispered, echoing the ripple. “Kiss me.”

Playfulness unfurled as you pretended to think about it, tilting your head just so, eyes darting mischievously around the car as though searching for some hidden answer while he nudged your knee impatiently. After a moment, you finally shook your head and said, “No.”

 “Then how will I know you meant it?” He sighed dramatically. “What’s a confession without a kiss, huh? They do it all the time in the movies.”

 “How sentimental of you.”

Togame batted his lashes, clutching his shirt where his heart rested. “You’ve stolen my heart and now, my dear princess, won’t do me the kindness of giving me one last kiss.” He made a sound of woeful despair. “So beautiful and yet so cruel. I will never love again.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting a smile.

 “Promise?”

“You want me to die a virgin?!”

You spluttered laughter, caught off guard. He whined even more dramatically as you playfully fought against his grip on your ankle.

“You’re not a virgin!”

“Am so!”

“Since when?”

 “Since you said you loved me.” He said plainly, releasing you with an exaggerated solemnity.

You scoffed quietly.

 “Honest. I’ve been born again, ma, practically a whole new man thanks to you.” He drawled, beaming at you in delight. “Come on, babe. Be bold! Where did that fire go? I loved seein’ you unleash it all on me.”

A cheshire-like grin flashed on his cheeks.

You cringed. “Shut up! Don’t be gross!”

“I didn’t even—”

“You were thinking it!”

“How—”

“You’re predictable, Togame. And stupidly immature.”

“Aww, what happened to Jo?” He pouted, lips jutting out in mock offence.

For a ridiculous moment you almost caved just from how adorable he looked.

 With him, it was so easy— like every burden had been lifted, and you could finally be weightless. There was no longer a need to hold back or feel shame for expressing your affection. You were free. Free to just exist and be wholly yourself.

 Even when he was being utterly ridiculous, laughter bubbled up again despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“Only good boys get rewarded, Togame.”

“Maybe I need to be punished then.” He hummed low. Leering close. “I have so many sinful thoughts. All of ‘em startin’ an’ ending’ with you.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed your palm to his cheek, brushing his jaw's thin stubble as he scrunched his nose in protest from pushing him away. You couldn’t hide your smile, fondness bloomed quietly.

He waggled his eyebrows shamelessly. “Don’t act like you don’t love it. Admit it, you’d miss my charm if I stopped.”

“You’re so corny.”

“Mm, you love that. And my smell, and you just can’t sleep without me,” he sang.

 You shot him a glare, exasperation prickling beneath your skin like a blush you can’t push back. But you couldn’t quite tamp down the warmth rushing through your core either. Between your thighs and the intimate places only he seemed to reach.

 “Maybe I’ll just leave you here, idiot.” Even as you said it, your voice betrayed you, irritation softened by the undeniable pull he always seemed to have.

 He grinned, wicked as sin, baiting you as always. “Or you could just spank me.”

“You’re such a child.” You shot back, arousal fluttering, words trembling in nerves and thrill laced with desire under his stare. “I’m just not sure you deserve anything after all that teasing.”

Jo shifted closer, his skin warm, the distance between you falling to a mere heartbeat.

“Then put me in my place. Or do I have to beg?” He purred, a velvet dare. “I know you’ve imagined me on my knees. Maybe a collar, I’ll be your pretty little pet, yea baby? All yours to play with.”

 You huffed, mouth twisting in defiance despite the fire that flooded your belly imagining the scene.

 You couldn’t help yourself; it began to permeate like a relentless hum— an ache, a hunger, a vivid fantasy that gnawed at your thoughts as you envisioned a fresh sheen of sweat coating his broad chest. His greedy hands tied behind his back and the pretty leash clasped tight around his neck, enhancing the vibrant bruises you had already decorated on his flesh with teeth and lips.

Mouth parted in rugged pants trickling drool from his hanging tongue. His thick cock leaking strings of pre-cum from a swollen red tip—

You cinched your thighs. “You never shut up, do you?”

“Not when you’re looking at me like that, no.”

“You mean irritated?”

“In love.” He sighed, breathless and dramatic. His lip curled. Eyes flickered. “Horny.”

“You’re so- ugh!” you shouted, chest unsteady.

 “Yeah? Well, I love the way your tits bounce when you huff and puff at me. All according to plan in my book.”

 Your cheeks burned as you attempted to cross your arms over them.

“Too late for that,” he hummed. “Could colour match your areola’s, darlin’.”

“Oh my Go— Stop!”

“Make me.”

You tried for another retort, but he was insufferable, relentless, and before you let another word fly, you surged forward— all nerves and adrenaline— capturing his lips in a kiss both fiery and uncertain. A surprise that silenced his teasing with the press of your soft lips.

Just a second, Jo stilled, and then his smile broke against your mouth. Laughter died into something softer, deeper as he cupped your cheek and coaxed your tongue to play with his. But you didn’t let him lead, not this time.

 You pulled him into a sensual dance of rolling tongues and slick warmth shifting against eager lips. A shuddering sensation of heightened desire and loving sighs that fogged the windows.

Amusement dissolved into a pleased huff. You tasted him and the salt of his skin; a hint of spice mixed with your own peach gloss. Each press left a soft sheen behind. The flavour caught on his mouth, lingering with the fruit’s subtle tang.

Fingers laced through silky black curls as you pulled him in, held him tight, pressed the flush of your breasts upon his hard chest and felt it constrict over the contact. You moaned softly, absorbing the heat that spread upon your touch as you moved to tug the jacket over his shoulders and claimed the muscles underneath with greedy squeezes.

He groaned throatily and fell into your body. Your lips and warmth and hands. Happily swept up in the heady rush of your embrace, the kiss burst into something frenzied and deep it released the needy craving always thrumming beneath his strong palms to grip your hips. Your waist— all to feel your softness spill over his fingers and fondle for more. There was always more. Your curves sang to him like the moans he swallowed with his tongue.

You shifted and he followed. The seatbelt buckle squeezed into your hip, so when you leaned back he climbed over just to keep your mouth on his. There was no room to sit comfortably, tangled as you were in the cramped space, limbs twisted and passion rolling in waves, the car stifled with desire and promise.

“God, fuck.” His kiss crashed hungrily against yours, unrestrained and deep. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy, y’know that?”

You moaned breathlessly, scratching at the nape of his hair. A single word passed.

“Mine.”

His tongue slid deeper as if to claim the word you gasped. You welcomed him, sucking on it then releasing it with a wet pop only to have white teeth sink into your plump bottom lip.

“Greedy, mama.” he chuckled gruffly. “you’re lucky I like spoilin’ you. Too cute— mmh—”

You clung to him, arms locked around his shoulders, legs hooked so he couldn’t pull away. Your bodies fit. Your lips parted with a needy whimper against his, the sound spilling into the kiss and betraying your craving for more. It was a raw, half-plea that vibrated against his lips, urging him closer, harder.

Togame sank into the moment, a smirk curved as he savoured every second of your breast filling his palm.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Expert fingers pinched and tweaked your pert nipple, reaching through fabric to tease mercilessly, sending sharp sparks of pleasure through your chest. But what made whimpers hitch were the murmured praises he slipped into the kiss.

 It fuelled you.

How could you have not realised before? That he had always spoken to you like this; his words laced with unfiltered adoration.

All those murmured compliments, those rough, honest confessions, had been there for you to hear, if only you’d listened. His stuttered curses losing bite whenever you greedily seized control. His sighs of content misted by affection. He loves you. In the raw, unguarded way only a man like him can— fierce, honest, and completely incapable of pretending otherwise.

Another breathy sigh of his name filled the kiss.

The boxy space pressed his jacket in messy folds around his thighs. Rough texture rubbed against your bare skin with each shift as his sweats scraped the cupholder and your leg, the friction stoked the heat as he crammed in densely. He could feel his cock stiffening rapidly, the base growing thick and pulsing with blood.

“Hold’on, ma.”

You whined louder gliding your tongues together.

He faltered, your kiss making him forget the discomfort of leaning over the armrest and handbrake. His body arched awkwardly in the tight space as he tried to reach you.

Whereas you couldn’t release him. Even as he attempted to slow— your grip tightened quicker, determined not to let him dictate the rhythm. There was no way you were surrendering control, not now, not when his erection tented, heavy and poking against your leg. So you lifted your hips and caught a rough friction that broke a dual groan.

 “Baby, fuck.”

Togame tried to pause to catch his breath, a heartbeat of restraint before you seized him again.

He groaned heavily in another attempt to pull away.

 “Stop before I fuck you up like your pussy owes me money or some shit.”

 “Then fuck me up.”

His chuckle croaked in his throat as you clung to him. Hands wondering, compelled, sliding up to cup his jaw. Your kiss smacked against his lips— “Since when do you, mmh, hold back, huh?”

“Me? Hold back?” He spoke into your mouth. “Shit, you forget who, ngh, makes this pussy cry, hah?”

You giggled lightly. High. Buzzing. Mouths locked.

“Uhh, yeah? And who m-makes this pretty cock all leaky, mm?”

Jo bit your lip, quick and sharp, then grazed your cheek with his teeth. “Call my dick pretty again, he liked it,” he teased, grinning, and then captured your mouth again.

Uncaring of the gearshift pinching your thigh— his hands spread over the plush flesh. Opening you up for his heavy frame to slot itself in the confined space. His knees bumped awkwardly while you shuffled, keeping the kiss to a sultry pace as he adjusted.

To the passenger seat you occupied, he wedged himself between your legs and the dashboard. The new angle had you tilting your head, exposing your neck that scarred fingers ghosted over on their way to your chest where they could feel just how hard your heart was beating.

 Tongues danced to a lustful pulse.

 Lips smacked. Moans fell.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re addictin’.” His fingers dug into your thigh, a desperate anchor— his grip tense, as if battling to hold onto what little sense he had left. “Told you, ma.” He grunted. “Told you I can’t, shit, control myself with you.”

The car narrowed to the charged hush between you. The electric touch of lips, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’d won this round. When you feverishly drank in his pleasure filled groans and felt it pool an addictive rush of heat through your veins. All the way to your cunt where it ached.

 Right then, Togame slotted himself at the perfect angle.

 You cried out softly. His name, a curse. A plea.

Hips moved fluidly, clothed but not any less addicting. Each shift drove you deeper into the seat, bunching up your dress, spiking desire as you grinded back up into his hardened length. Your hands, fervid and bold, slipped beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing the taut lines of his abdomen.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck, all yours.”

 Thighs tightened, breath hot in your mouth. His sweatpants chafed against your skin, but it was a delicious burn you were too delirious to slow down when your panty covered vulva rubbed so perfectly into his erection. What little control you had begun to fade as you mindlessly grinded up and down, your sex hot and growing sticky against his.

 “Jo..”

 “I know, baby, I know. So greedy, fuck..”

Your kisses grew desperate, stroking his tongue like he wasn’t already lightheaded from it all.

The mingled scent of leather and lust hung thick as his hips rocked forward. Again, and again. And again. You moaned into his mouth. Tiny gasps for more friction upon your throbbing clit melded. He answered, as always, by gripping your inner thigh and thrusting his hips as beads of pre-cum and wet slick dampened fabric until it clung lewdly to your pussy lips, exposing the outline of your flesh so intimately he could feel your folds sliding on the veins underside of his length. His tip reddened obscenely, sensitive and rubbing on three layers of wet material, Jo rolled his hips to feel your clit pulsate on him. By now, his pants were stained dark in its erotic mixture, boxers sticking to his skin, his arousal was apparent and growing into a frantic pace.

 Togame’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.

 “Baby..”

He didn't know what he was asking for— maybe it was a thank you. For wanting him— showing him that his love was matched, reciprocated. Or maybe you just tasted so fucking good it was a rugged plea to slow down before the dribbles of pre-cum ruining his boxers didn't become an humiliating 3-minute mess.

Nails mapped the sharp line of cheekbone, then dipped to scratch at the base of his skull where the undercut was trimmed bold. He shivered, a ripple running down his nerves, and you felt his body arc closer, tighter, as if there was any more space left to erase.

 Suddenly, a stray flash of light from the street outside caught your attention, halting the charged rhythm.

Both of you stilled, chests tight, listening as a car engine rumbled past— reminding you, if only for a second, of the world beyond your bubble.

 You giggled. Then, finally drew back, dazed and lips wet.

Silvery strings dripped, connecting your lips like threads spun between dewdrops. Fragile. Shining, until you broke the spell with a slow lick of your lip. It severed the glistening bridge as Jo’s eyes shadowed with something new.

His fair cheeks flushed deep. His cock jumped watching how your chest bounced in desperate puffs of air. He was half convinced you could hear how his own heart roared in conjunction.

Full lips bruised with teeth and love, he traced them with his tongue— almost an apology, really, just adoration. Because how could he resist when you were stunning in the streetlight shadows, like a masterpiece painted in midnight gold. A strange possessiveness clawed at him. It will be a sight only for him to witness.

“Well,” he whispered, considerably hoarser, “now that’s how you kiss a guy.”

 You smirked, pride and relief flooding your face. He dabbled more kisses, eager to taste, unable to withdraw. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

“Promise?” he huffed, voice rough, and for the first time tonight, it was his turn to be flustered as your touch followed the natural curve from his neck to his shoulder and let it slip under his shirt. Your warmth bloomed on his skin it stirred the blood past his sweats where his cock strained heavily against the material.

There was no room for shame, or his knees, whenever your kisses ignited the blood in his core. It flowed hotly. Swelling his desires so ardently you could feel the weight of him on your thigh.

“Yeah, it’s the only way to shut you up.”

“Yea? Then— hah, hold on—”

You watched him struggle to find footing until eventually yanking on your adjuster and it collapsed, the seat jerking back with a startled thud that made you both burst into laughter.

“Ooff, you’re heavy!”

“That’s jus’ my dic— ow! Okay, okay!”

 You huffed a laugh, allowing him to shift and fumble as he tried to find a comfortable spot in the cramped seat.

 In the end his limbs spawled with yours and a sheepish grin tugged at his lips now that he lay half beneath you and half crumbled to the side at the door.

His warmth pressed reassuringly, squished but fitting together as if you have always belonged this way. The snugness of the seat didn’t feel restrictive; it wrapped around you both, amplifying the growing intimacy as every shared breath and caress of skin climbed steadily higher.

 As your laughter faded, he reached down, fingers threading with surprising gentleness at your throat.

With a careful, almost reverent touch, he unclasped your necklace where it had twisted awkwardly, deftly straightening the fine chain until it lay smooth and untangled against your skin. His thumb lingered at the hollow of your throat, tenderness unmistakable in his stare as if he were quietly committing your smile to memory and holding the intimacy of the night as closely as you were to his chest.

He was utterly in love. Jo pressed a kiss to your cheek, unable to resist how it chubbed so sweetly when you smiled, and he swore he’d never get enough of it.

“If you keep looking at me like that…” you began, playfulness chasing away any lingered doubts, “my necklace will get all tangled again.”

“Mm?” Jo’s smile altered into that familiar lazy slant as he drew you in with a conspiratorial tilt of his head— close enough that you could feel the simmering desire, the unspoken dare in his eyes.

 “And what if you put your pretty lil’ pussy on my face, what would that do?”

 Your face burned instantly, a wash of heat rising from your neck to your cheeks, but before you could recoil away, he seized your chin— bold and insistent.

His hold was a weighted command, tilting your gaze back up to his. Refusing you the refuge of shyness once again.

To meet his eyes and to accept the intimacy he offered without retreat.

“What did I say about hiding?”

His grip was strong— dominant in a way that made your nipples pebble under your dress, tight against his sturdy chest— yet never rough, just enough to remind you of the easy power layered beneath his calm.

“Can’t run from me, darlin’. You’re mine. Said so yourself, remember?”

You nodded tentatively. His kiss still tingling on your tongue.

 The humidity inside the car pressed close. It turned the cabin into your own secret haven, thick with tension and the scent of shared want. Already, beads of condensation gathered on the windows, blurring the city outside into hazy smudges.

Sealing the world away and cocooning you together in an intimate fog.

Above you, his wide shoulders blocked out the streetlight, the world shrinking to shadow and heat, to desire and adoration. The night seemed to bend around him like he was meant to stand between you and everything else.

 “Answer me, baby. Tell me how your pussy would feel on me.”

You squeezed your thighs, nerves and lust-filled excitement raking through your core, especially upon the realisation he lay perfectly flush pressed against your cunt.

One thigh rested over his hip, the other trapped between his knees you could feel the hardness bulging. You would have blushed if it didn’t make your throat ache. Almost like it was anticipating the stretch... the all-to familiar trail of veins on your tongue.

 “You already know.”

Togame inched closer, as if he can only hear you when your warm breath touched his lips.

 “Remind me. And you better use my name, no more Togame shit. It’s Jo, baby. I’m all yours.”

Your lips parted. “Jo…” you managed, the sound of his name trembling desire you no longer bothered to hide. Not when spread over his lap with his erection wedged hot you could feel him twitch excitedly. Particularly when your nipples pressed on him, he could feel the thin straps barely holding your heavy breasts beneath your dress.

 “Mm?”

 “If-If I sat on your face… you’d feel how wet I am.”

 “Yeah?”

You nodded shakily and found the words with his next kiss against your lips.

 “You’d know exactly what you do to me, how you drive me crazy.”

His kisses trailed along your skin, to your cheek and to the rapid beat beneath your ear.

 “I would- I would be hot and slippery. Y-you would have to lick it up.”

 “Have to?” he echoed.

Before you could answer, his hand, the one not stroking your bottom lip, slid tenderly slow up the back of your thigh. His touch was possessive; his long fingers squeezed pillowy flesh only familiar to him.

 “Ye-yeah, you’d have to taste me, Jo, until I can’t say your name without begging.”

His kiss found your pulse. Rapid, then wet from his tongue. His hot breath burst against your damp skin, leaving a trace of shivers as he whispered your name. his lips lingered over the place where your heart raced just for him.

“An’ how would you say my name?”

His wondering fingers reached your panties. He brushed a knuckle over your slit caged by cotton and sighed throatily at the wetness that greeted him. More trickled from the sound.

 You squirmed, “Jo..”

 “Nah, not like that.”

Stickiness marred the fabric in a lewd patch he explored languidly.

 “Say my name properly.”

He brushed the pad of his fingers up and down in slow strokes that made your thighs twitch. Open-mouth kisses followed the column of your neck while his fingers traced the cloth covering your clit, leaving a warm, tingling trail along both parts of your skin. Drawing out airy sighs with persistent caress.

He liked to play with you as if you were a toy he could pull apart and reconstruct, but you weren’t in the mood for games tonight; your patience was wearing thin, and his teasing only made you crave something you were still fighting to articulate.

 “Jo..” you whined.

 “Not like that either, darlin’. Don’t tell me you forgot how to say my name.”

You shivered, not from the cold air that could never penetrate the arousal that simmered in the cramped space of the car, but from the delicious ache he drummed as he hooked his fingers on the fabric caging your pussy lips and playfully tugged. Once. Twice.

 “Fuck, Jo… stop teasing.”

The hand that was steadying your head shifted, moving to your lips.

His thigh spread yours wider.

 “Didn’t finish tellin’ me about your pussy, darlin’.”

You huffed, closing your mouth on his thumb. The temptation to bite crossed, but he was quicker— his wet thumb brushed over your nipple instead. It took every muscle tensed not to shudder. “Thought you knew everything about that..”

 “I like it when you tell me.”

 “You mean you like it when I beg.”

His eyes slanted, striking but tinged with a mischievous shadow as he idly tugged on the strings holding your tits. Not to release them, just to play. “Just like to hear how much you want me. Is that so bad?”

He was still playing as your senses narrowed to nothing but the heat of his mouth upon yours and the hold he had on you— possessive, electrifying. His caress was slow, purposeful, savouring the way your pussy quivered over his index circling right above your clitoral hood. his lips curved with wicked delight at your choked gasp and moan. Fingers dipped inside. Tongues played.

Fuck, you were getting light-headed. Where was that dominating fire that rushed through you before? You should tackle him down, you should use your weight to pin his hips, free his thick cock just resting on your knee, you should—

 “Mm, Jo..”

 “Almost there.”

His kiss deepened, forcing you into submission. Pooling arousal in your belly yet moving from your cunt all together as he gripped your ass in greedy fistfuls, lush fat spilled over his fingers as he squeezed appreciatively.

 “You’re so beautiful..”

Your body bowed into his as you shifted your leg to straddle his thigh.

He groaned low, inhaled your mewls and held you tight despite the urgent tremble of anticipation in your needy cunt, as though he couldn’t bear to let you slip away from his mouth. Or hands. Not that you could, no amount of squirming broke you free from his hold. The flex of his muscles, size of his palms fondling your cushy ass and thighs were a reminder of his raw strength. It left you breathless and aching for more.

It left you at his mercy. His control. It was his turn as the drags of his tongue worked along the crevice of your mouth. His turn to have you panting— he hadn’t removed your panties just yet, instead he allowed the damp fabric to work its tantalising friction upon your cunt as he let you grind on his thigh, using it to stimulate your clit until it practically throbbed and your keening broke his kiss.

 “Fuck, I love you. Love this ass, thighs, ngh,” he panted, starved. “Love this pussy, mama. but your lips are my favourite. I could kiss you for hours.”

 Your head swam. He kissed you again. Silencing any response that wasn’t a smothered moan as he yanked on your panties gently. Playing.

Hips circled impatiently. You were a thin hiss away from pleading as his grip tightened the second your nails dug into his forearm and the pressure suddenly pinched— your panties strangled your clit, the squeeze was both torturous and sharp it startled a high-pitch moan before he released them.

 “Jo!”

“Couldn’t help myself.” He said, grinning wolfishly. “You just drive me insane.” He inhaled the crown of your hair despite how you wriggled against his grip. “You’re too cute not to play with, baby. Now, hold still and let me play.”

Finally, he peeled them to the side and exposed your pussy to the stifled air. Humid and immediate. You felt the moisture that seeped meet the open air and your entire body arched, desperate for relief he held inches away.

 “All hot for me, yeah?”

Your thighs clenched. He pried them open with his hip, forcing them to still for his fingers to prod and stroke.

“Don’t hide your pussy from me, not when she this wet, fuck.. jus’ dripping fo’me.. love me that much, yeah? So hot and sticky, shit, got the prettiest fuckin’ cunt all to myself.”

He traced the fat of your labia in controlled drags. His whispered tease made you feel like you might unravel completely as more and more wetness coated the skin. Your panties. His pants. Togame traced through the slick heat, parting the squishy folds deliberately slow to tap on your clit. Sensitised and engorged, one flick tore a strangled cry.

 “Shh, don’t let anyone else hear my favourite song.”

You couldn’t help the exasperated little sound that escaped at his corny line, rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself. The noise only made him chuckle a pleased rumble against your ear as he pawed around your soft cunt.

 “Jo..” you bucked your hips and whined incessantly when he ignored your silent plea by massaging his middle finger over your opening, only to slide back over your sopping folds once again. Seizing any momentum while his left hand steadied the back of your neck to his gaze.

 “Let me take you home.”

He made no immediate moves as your own hands wondered. Under his shirt, over his hefty bulge. Jo let you explore, unhurried in his own touches. You rubbed the trimmed trail of hair over his gorgeously toned stomach and relished when they tensed, the barest hint of a reaction while you felt high already, foggy from the arousal he ignited with a few controlled drags and hungry kisses, but it wasn’t enough.

 You wanted more. Always.

 “Fuck me in the backseat,” you said, nipping his bottom lip. “You’ve done it loads of times.”

He grunted softly. Chasing your lips for another heady kiss, then pulled back just enough to speak. “After all that, I need you in my bed. Or yours.” He whispered, holding you tight. Whereas his thumb worked your slit, barely pressing hot inside your soft inner labia. “I want to take my time with you. Show you what I’ve been holdin’ back.”

 Pleasure rippled along your spine. “God, what more could you be holding back, Togame?”

“There are a couple things I’ve been keepin’ locked away,” he chuckled, swirling his thumb upon your hole. The pressure consistent. Soaked. The muscle clenched and unclenched around nothing, trying to pull for what hasn’t been given yet.

Manicured nails raked down the slopes and planes of his abdomen harder this time. He hissed sharply as tortuously deep welts reddened, it flowed blood so hot Togame almost let his fingers slip inside. But he held still. His will was stronger than the ardent ache pulsating his cock. More than ever, Jo was determined to savour all the ways he could make your pussy leak now that his love was as open and raw as the need thrumming between your bodies.

There was nothing left to hide. To hold back, only the indulgence to the heat that spiked feverishly whenever you so much as peered up at him.

It burned now. You loved him.

“Let me take you home. I wanna taste you.”

 “Fuck me now.” You replied. Panting. “make it hurt, punish me for pushing you away for so long.”

 “Fuck, baby..” his erection swelled. “I—”

Impatience rolled your hips to catch his thumb on your clit. Another roll and a shudder, then he withdrew his hand, only to strike a playful slap that arched your neck and pierced a sharp cry.

 “How greedy of you.”

You whined his name.

 “Close, not quite.”

 “Jo!” you shrieked, frustrations pouring.

 “Opposite direction there, sweetheart.”

 “Fuck my throat.”

He stilled.

You clawed at his navel. His stomach clenched. Your hands skated down the hem of his pants, carefully gauging his reaction as you yanked at the strings.

He didn’t stop you, not yet. You pulled at it, enough to slip your hand down.

 “Let me touch you too.”

Dark tuffs of hair tickled your fingers. You sucked in a sharp breath, blinking up at him as you curled your hand around his hard cock. It was warm. Balmy in your palm by body heat and trickles of pre-cum that drooled from his slit and coated the veins that forked along the length.

 A tiny moan fell just from the weight of it, a girth that didn’t allow you to meet your fingers all the way.

 He was big. Not surprisingly— simply fact.

A lazy, familiar smirk stayed etched on his features.

“Don’t act surprised, baby. You know what you do to me.”

Jo drifted your focus to the slickness trailing down your slit with careful rubs. A shuddering reminder of how ready your body was for him as Togame’s finger— finally, god, finally— slipped in easily. You sighed deeply, lashes falling as your spongey walls lewdly and audibly sucked him in to the knuckle.

 “And I love how desperate this cunt gets fo’me.”

 “Not surprised.” You gasped, canting your hips. “Just need you. Need you inside me.”

 “I am inside you.”

He pumped his finger and savoured how your slippery walls spasmed on the single digit.

A lesser man would have jumped at that request. Rammed in and had your tits bouncing with your legs hooked over his shoulders. Moans breaking. Tears shining. The hot silky skin of his cock sheathed by your tight quivering pussy. Sinking in and out at a relentless pace skin would clap from the force, your thighs would quake.

Tempting. Incredibly tempting.

However, for making you cry, you deserved more. More than a reclined leather seat. More than haste. You deserved to be cherished.

END OF PART II

You'd been driving for what felt like hours.

The sun had disappeared not too long ago, leaving the country roads illuminated by little more than your headlights and the occasional glow of the moon overhead. The journey had started pleasantly enough. There was something oddly calming about being alone with your thoughts, watching the scenery change from busy highways to endless fields and quiet back roads. You hadn't minded the drive at all. In fact, for most of it, you'd been singing along to the radio without a care in the world, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel whenever a favourite song came on and laughing to yourself whenever you forgot half the lyrics. There was nobody around to hear you, after all, and that somehow made it even more enjoyable.

Eventually, though, the music faded into bursts of static as you drove further into the countryside. You twisted the dial a few times in search of another station, but every attempt was met with the same crackling interference. With a small sigh, you admitted defeat and switched the radio off altogether.

"Well... that's just rude," you muttered to yourself with a small smile.

The silence settled around you almost immediately.

It wasn't unpleasant, but it did give your mind far too much room to wander. You found yourself thinking about how much longer you had left to drive, whether the little town marked on your map was actually as close as it claimed to be, and if it would still have somewhere open by the time you arrived. You were beginning to regret not stopping at the last gas station you'd passed nearly an hour ago—not because you needed fuel, but because at least there had been people there. Out here, there was nothing but open land stretching endlessly in either direction.

You glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was later than you'd realized. 'If I'd known this road was gonna take forever...' you sighed, shaking your head. Almost as though the car had taken your complaint personally, it gave a small shudder beneath you. Your eyebrows drew together.

"...Huh."

You loosened your grip on the steering wheel for a second before tightening it again, listening carefully. The engine continued to hum as it always had, and after another few seconds you convinced yourself it had probably just been a bump in the road.

Then it happened again. This time there was no mistaking it.

A strange sputter echoed from somewhere beneath the bonnet, followed by a brief hesitation that caused the car to jerk ever so slightly before carrying on.

"Oh, no..."

You instinctively looked down at the dashboard, your eyes darting between the gauges as though one of them might explain what was happening. Everything seemed... normal enough. Nothing immediately jumped out at you.

"C'mon," you murmured a little desperately, giving the steering wheel an encouraging little pat. "Don't start acting up now..."

You pressed your foot a little more firmly against the accelerator. The car responded. For all of thirty seconds. Then the engine coughed again, louder this time.

Your stomach sank.

"No, no, no..."

Your gaze immediately searched the road ahead. Nothing. You checked your rear-view mirror. Still nothing.

Not a single pair of headlights. Not another car. Not even a farmhouse with a porch light glowing in the distance. The realization settled over you far quicker than you'd have liked.

If something happened to the car out here, you were completely on your own.

"...Okay," you whispered to yourself, taking a slow breath. "Think."

You reached across to the passenger seat and rummaged through your bag, eventually pulling out the folded road map you'd been relying on all afternoon. You unfolded it across the steering wheel, smoothing out the stubborn creases with your palm as your eyes searched for where you thought you might be. You thought.

There was one problem.

Every winding road on the page suddenly looked identical beneath the dim glow of the dashboard lights. With a quiet huff, you folded it back up again, and tossed it onto the passenger seat. Maybe you could flag somebody down.

The thought barely had time to settle before you looked through the windshield again. There wasn't anybody to flag down. Not a single passing car.

You chewed thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek before reaching for the door handle.

The night air greeted you immediately, warm but noticeably cooler than it had been during the day. It carried the scent of grass and fresh earth, accompanied by the constant chorus of crickets hidden somewhere amongst the fields. Closing the car door behind you, you wrapped your arms loosely around yourself and looked up and down the road once more, almost hoping that standing outside would somehow make another driver magically appear.

No such luck.

With a defeated sigh, you walked around to the front of the car and released the bonnet latch from inside. A moment later, you lifted it open, propping it up as you stared into the engine. You had absolutely no idea what you were looking at.

There were... engine things. Hoses. Metal. More hoses.

You blinked.

"...Yep."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly to yourself. It was either laugh or cry, and crying wasn't likely to get the engine running again.

Resting your hands on the edge of the bonnet, you let out a long breath and looked across the dark fields surrounding you. They seemed endless beneath the moonlight, interrupted only by the occasional line of fencing disappearing over the hills.

Beautiful.

Just not somewhere you'd particularly wanted to spend your evening. You wondered briefly how long it'd be before somebody happened to drive this way.

Ten minutes? An hour? Morning?

The last possibility made you straighten slightly.

Morning.

You looked back towards the car, then down the empty road stretching out in front of you. No. Surely not.

You weren't going to spend the entire night sitting on the side of some unfamiliar country road waiting for daylight. There had to be another option. There was always another option. At least, that was what you told yourself.

You lowered the bonnet again and walked back around to the driver's side, opening the door and reaching inside for your bag. Your first thought was your phone, even though you already knew what you were going to find. You picked it up anyway, pressing the button and waiting for the screen to light up.

No signal.

You stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, as though the little bars in the corner might suddenly appear out of pity. They didn't.

You let out a quiet sigh of defeat and lowered the phone into your lap.

It was strange how quickly a situation could change. Less than an hour ago, you had been enjoying the drive, singing along to the radio and thinking about how peaceful the countryside was. Now you were sitting in a car that refused to start, in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out what your next move was.

You weren't someone who scared easily. Usually, when something went wrong, you were the person who tried to stay calm and find a solution. Panicking never helped anything, and you knew that. But there was something unsettling about not knowing what came next.

You didn't know how far away the nearest person was. You didn't know if anyone would even pass by. You didn't know if your car was dealing with a small problem that could be fixed in the morning or something much worse. The uncertainty was what bothered you the most.

You rested your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Okay," you whispered again, mostly to yourself. "Don't panic."

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and looked around the car. There was a small blanket folded in the backseat, a half-empty bottle of water, and a few snacks you'd bought earlier without thinking much about them. Not exactly enough supplies to spend a night stranded, but enough to make you feel slightly less helpless.

You reached for the blanket, placing it beside you, before looking back out through the windshield. You glanced at the road once more, wondering if you should try walking.

Maybe there was a house nearby that you hadn't noticed. Maybe someone would answer the door and let you use their phone.

But the thought of leaving your car behind made you hesitate.

What if someone came by and moved it? What if you walked in the wrong direction? What if the nearest house was much further away than it looked?

You hated admitting it, but you didn't actually know what to do.

For a few minutes, you simply stood there beside the open car door, listening to the sounds around you. The quiet hum of the night. The wind moving through the grass. The distant sound of something you couldn't identify somewhere far out in the fields.

Then, just as you were beginning to accept that you might have to wait it out...

You heard something. At first, you thought it was your imagination. A faint sound in the distance. You held still, listening carefully.

There it was again.

An engine.

Your eyes immediately lifted towards the road.

For a second, you weren't sure if you should feel relieved or cautious.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance, slowly making their way towards you. The sight of them made your shoulders relax before you even realised how tense you had been.

Someone was coming.

You stepped away from the car slightly, watching as the vehicle approached. The headlights grew brighter, illuminating the empty road in front of it as the sound of the engine became louder.

It was an old pickup truck.

And although you were grateful that someone had finally come along, you couldn't ignore the small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that whoever was driving was still a stranger.

So you stayed where you were, waiting.

The truck slowed as it reached you, eventually pulling over a short distance ahead of your car.

The engine remained running for a moment.

Then the driver's door opened slowly, and for a moment all you could see was the silhouette of the person stepping out against the glow of the headlights behind him.

He wasn't what you had expected.

You weren't entirely sure what you had expected, truthfully. Maybe some tired-looking mechanic who had happened to come across you on his way home, or perhaps someone who would immediately ask what was wrong with the car before anything else.

A cowboy hat rested on his head, casting a shadow over his features, and he wore a simple button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up slightly, paired with worn jeans and boots that looked like they had seen plenty of long days outside. There was nothing particularly intimidating about him. If anything, the way he approached you was careful and considerate.

A flashlight hung loosely in one hand, though he kept it pointed towards the ground rather than directly at you. He stopped a few feet away from you, leaving enough distance between you that you didn't feel cornered.

"Evenin'," he greeted. His voice was softer than you expected.

You gave him a small nod.

"Hello."

His eyes briefly moved towards your car, taking in the open bonnet before looking back at you.

"Everythin' alright?"

There was genuine curiosity in the question. You let out a small breath, almost embarrassed by the situation. "Uh, no, not really—my car. It decided to just stop working..."

He glanced back at it again.

"Out here?"

You nodded.

"Apparently."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Well..." he murmured, adjusting the brim of his hat. "'s probably about the worst place she could've picked." Despite yourself, you smiled slightly.

"Yeah. I was thinking the same thing."

The man seemed to relax a little when he saw you smile. He looked back towards the truck, then towards the road behind you.

"Been waitin' long?"

"Nah, not too long," you answered. He gave you a look that suggested he didn't quite believe you. A quiet chuckle left him.

"Right."

He took a step closer to the car, but stopped before reaching you.

"Name's Michael, by the way."

He removed his hat as he spoke, holding it against his side. It was such a simple gesture, but it immediately stood out to you. Like he had been raised to treat every introduction with a certain amount of respect. "'m sorry. I should've said that first."

You shook your head, "'s okay."

He smiled softly.

"Well, I'm Michael."

He paused, waiting for you to introduce yourself. When you did, he repeated your name quietly, committing it to memory.

"'s a pretty name for a pretty girl."

The words came out naturally. Almost as if he hadn't realized he'd said it aloud until after he had. You just blinked at him, taken aback by the bluntness. A faint blush appeared on his face, and he cleared his throat before looking back towards the car.

"Mind 'f I take a look at it, suga'?"

The nickname caught you slightly off guard as well. But this time not because it felt inappropriate. Quite the opposite. The way he said it was so gentle, so naturally warm, that it felt less like flirting and more like a habit. Something he'd probably been saying his whole life.

You nodded. "uh, yeah sure. Go ahead."

"Alright."

He moved towards the front of the car, rolling his sleeves up a little further as he looked beneath the bonnet. You watched him for a moment.

There was a sense of relief that came with seeing someone who actually seemed to know what they were doing. You had tried your best, but staring at an engine and hoping it would explain itself had only gotten you so far. At least now there was someone who could take a proper look.

Michael leaned over the front of the car, his flashlight moving carefully over the different parts beneath the bonnet. Every now and then he hummed quietly to himself, not in frustration, but more like he was thinking through what he was seeing. You rested against the side of the car, watching him.

"Do you know much about cars?" you asked after a moment. He glanced up briefly.

"A little," he admitted. "Spent 'nough time fixin' up old trucks 'nd farm equipment that y' kinda pick things up whether y' want to or not."

There was a small smile on his face as he looked back down. "Can't say I ever planned on spendin' my evenings under a bonnet, though."

You smiled slightly too. "Sounds like you've had a lot of practice."

"More than I'd like," he chuckled softly. "Somethin' always needs fixin' when y' live out here." He moved something beneath the bonnet, checking a few different parts before stepping back slightly.

"How long has she been actin' up?"

You thought back. "Honestly? Not long. My car was fine most of the drive. The radio started cutting out first, and then itstarted making that weird sound." Michael nodded slowly.

"Mm."

That little sound made you look at him. "Is that a good 'mm' or a bad 'mm'?"

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"I'd say it's somewhere 'n the middle."

"That's not exactly reassuring."

"Nah, I know," he said, smiling. "Sorry, suga'."

There it was again. The nickname. You still hadn't quite gotten used to it. And if you were honest, it does make you blush a little.

Michael leaned back down, examining something near the engine.

"She ain't overheatin', is she?"

"No. The temperature looked normal."

"Strange smells?"

"No."

"Any noises before this?"

You thought for a second. "Just the sputtering."

He nodded again.

"Alright."

There was a brief silence as he continued checking over the car. You noticed that he wasn't rushing. He wasn't randomly pulling things apart or pretending to know exactly what was wrong. He was actually taking his time, trying to figure it out.

"Y' from 'round here?" he asked after a moment.

You shook your head.

"No. Just passing through."

"Thought so." You raised an eyebrow.

"What gave it away?"

He looked up, a small smile appearing.

"Well, folks 'round here know better than to take this road after dark unless they gotta."

You laughed quietly. "Good to know."

"Didn't mean it like that," he quickly added, almost as if he worried he had offended you. "Just... this road's pretty empty. Easy to get stranded."

"I figured that out."

That earned a small laugh from him.

"Yeah, I reckon you did."

He returned his attention to the engine, and for a while the only sounds were the night around you and the quiet movements of him working. It was odd.

A few minutes ago, you had been completely alone, wondering how long you would have to wait before anyone came by. Now you were standing beside a stranger's truck on the side of the road, and somehow the situation felt much less overwhelming.

After another few minutes of looking over everything, Michael finally straightened up, wiping his hands together as he stepped back from the engine.

You watched his expression carefully, trying to figure out whether he had good news or bad news before he even spoke. Unfortunately, his face didn't give much away.

"Well..." he started.

You waited hopefully. He looked back at the car, then at you.

"Don't think she's gonna be drivin' anywhere tonight."

You let out a quiet breath, though you weren't entirely surprised. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you'd already accepted that possibility.

"That bad?"

"No, I wouldn't say bad," he assured you quickly. "Just... ain't somethin' I can fix out here with what I got."

He reached down, closing the bonnet carefully.

"Looks like it's probably somethin' with the engine. Could be a few things, but I don't wanna start guessin' 'nd make it worse."

You nodded, appreciating that he didn't pretend to know more than he did. "So what does that mean?"

Michael glanced down the road, then back at you.

"Means y' probably need a mechanic."

You gave him a small, humorless laugh, "that would be easier 'f I only knew where one was."

"Closest one?"

You nodded.

"Yeah."

He was quiet for a moment.

"About thirty-five, forty miles."

Your eyebrows lifted. "You're kidding..."

"Wish I was."

You looked back at your car, then at the empty road ahead. That was definitely not the answer you were hoping for. Michael noticed the expression on your face and immediately softened.

"Hey."

You looked back at him.

"Don't worry. We'll figure somethin' out."

The way he said it was simple. Not like a promise that he could fix everything, but like a reminder that you weren't stuck dealing with it by yourself anymore. You nodded slowly.

"Thank you for stopping, by the way." He looked almost surprised by the gratitude.

"'Course."

"No, I mean it. You didn't have to..."

Michael shook his head slightly, putting his hat back on.

"Yeah, I did."

The answer came so naturally that you almost didn't know how to respond. He seemed to realize how certain he sounded and gave a small shrug.

"I mean... anybody would've stopped."

You both knew that probably wasn't entirely true. But you didn't point it out. Instead, you smiled a little.

"So what now?"

Michael looked back towards his truck.

"Well..."

He hesitated. And for the first time since he'd arrived, you noticed a little uncertainty in him.

"I got a place not too far from here," he explained. "Jus' a few minutes down the road."

You listened quietly.

"My mama raised me better than to leave somebody stranded out here overnight." A small smile appeared on his face.

"Especially not a lady."

The words made you smile slightly.

"Your mom sounds like a good woman."

"She is."

There was a warmth in his voice when he said it that made it clear there was no hesitation behind the statement.Michael looked back towards the road.

"You got somewhere y' supposed t' be tonight?"

You shook your head.

"Not really. I was just trying to get to the next town."

He nodded.

"Alright."

Another pause. Then he looked at you.

"Now, I know we're strangers, and I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, but..." He adjusted the brim of his hat, almost nervously.

"My place is right nearby. Got a spare room. You could use the phone, get yourself somethin' warm to eat, 'nd figure out what you wanna do in the mornin'."

He quickly continued before you could answer.

"Only if you're comfortable with that, of course. Don't want you thinkin' I'm just some fella offerin' up his house to a woman he just met."

A small laugh escaped you. "I wasn't thinking that."

"Good," he said, smiling faintly. "Just wanted t' make sure."

You looked down the empty road again.

Normally, you wouldn't consider accepting an invitation from a stranger. You knew better than that. But there was something about the way Michael carried himself, the way he had gone out of his way to make sure you felt comfortable, that made the idea seem less frightening. And besides...

You weren't exactly overflowing with better options. You looked back at him.

"How far is it?"

Michael smiled slightly.

"Not far. Five minutes."

You considered it for another moment before nodding.

"Okay."

His expression softened with relief.

"Alright."

He stepped back towards his truck.

"Go ahead 'nd grab whatever you need from your car. I'll give you a hand."

You opened the driver's door, reaching inside for your bag and the few things you'd need for the night. As you did, you couldn't help but glance back at him. Michael was standing beside his pickup, waiting patiently.

The drive to Michael's place was quiet at first. Not uncomfortable, just quiet.

You sat in the passenger seat of his truck, your bag resting beside your feet as you looked out the window at the fields passing by. It was strangely peaceful.

Michael kept both hands on the steering wheel, his attention mostly focused on the road ahead. Every now and then, though, he would glance over briefly, just to make sure you were alright. He tried not to make it obvious. He really did.

But now that you were sitting closer to him, it was a little harder to ignore.

When he had first stepped out of his truck, the darkness and distance had made it difficult to see much about him. Now, under the soft glow of the dashboard lights, he could see you properly. And he thought you were beautiful. Such a pretty girl.

Not just in the way people usually meant when they said something like that. It wasn't only your appearance, though he couldn't deny that you were very pretty. There was something about the way you carried yourself. The way you had tried to stay calm despite being stranded. The way you had thanked him more than once, even though he hadn't done anything extraordinary in his mind. You seemed kind.

And Michael liked kind.

He quickly looked back at the road when he realized he had been staring for a second too long.

"Everything alright?" you asked. His eyes flickered back towards you.

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Yeah, 'm alright."

You smiled slightly, though you weren't entirely convinced.

"You sure?"

He gave a small nod.

"Just thinkin'."

You looked back out the window.

"About my car?"

"That too."

There was a brief pause. Then, with a small smile, he added, "Mostly thinkin' about what I'm gonna do with it tomorrow."

You laughed softly, "I appreciate you taking this seriously."

"'Course."

The answer came easily. You looked at him for a moment. The same thing happened to you then. Up until now, you had mostly been focused on the fact that he was helping you. You had noticed his kindness, his manners, the way he spoke so gently. But sitting beside him like this, you had the chance to actually look at him. And you had to admit...

Michael was very handsome.

Not in an obvious, overly confident way. There was something softer about him. His features were gentle, his eyes kind, and there was an almost boyish quality to his smile that made him seem younger than you initially expected. You found yourself looking away when he glanced in your direction, suddenly aware that you had been staring.

"You always help strangers on the side of the road?" you asked, mostly to distract yourself. Michael just smiled.

"Not always."

You raised an eyebrow.

"No?"

"Nah."

You looked at him.

"Then why me?"

He thought about it for a moment before answering.

"'cause y' looked like y' needed help."

It was such a simple answer. You smiled softly.

"That's a pretty good reason."

Michael shrugged lightly.

"Seems like the right thing to do."

The truck continued down the road, the silence returning for a moment. Michael glanced over again when he thought you weren't looking. And this time, you noticed. You didn't say anything. You just smiled quietly to yourself and turned your attention back towards the window.

Usually, sitting in a stranger's car would have felt strange. You probably would've found yourself searching for something to say, filling every quiet moment just to avoid the unfamiliarity of it all. But with Michael, the silence seemed easy. Every now and then, he would ask you something small. Where you were headed. How far you'd been driving. Nothing too personal. And every time you answered, he listened.

"So," he said after a moment, one hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel, "what made you take this road anyway?"

You looked over at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like I said before, most folks 'round here know better than t' take this way at night unless they live nearby."

You smiled slightly.

"That your way of saying I made a bad decision?"

He let out a quiet laugh.

"No, no. Ain't sayin' that." His eyes briefly flickered towards you before returning to the road.

"Just curious."

You looked back out the window. "I was trying to get somewhere faster."

Michael nodded.

"That usually ends up bein' how it goes."

"What does?"

"People tryin' to save time and endin' up takin' the longer way."

You laughed softly, "are you speaking from experience?"

He smiled.

"Maybe."

"You've done that before?"

"Maybe."

You smiled at that.

"Do you live alone?" you asked. The question came out naturally, though you immediately wondered if it was too personal. Michael didn't seem to mind it though.

"Nah," he answered. "My family lives close by."

"Oh."

He nodded.

"I've got my own place, but we're all still pretty close." There was a warmth in his voice when he spoke about them. You smiled.

"That sounds nice."

"It is."

The warmth inside the truck slowly became more noticeable as the drive continued.

At first, you hadn't minded it. After standing outside in the cool night air for so long, the heat had actually been comforting. But sitting beneath the soft glow of the dashboard lights with the windows rolled up, you started to feel a little too warm. You shifted in your seat, pulling lightly at the sleeves of your thin jacket.

Michael noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"You alright?"

You looked over.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting a little warm." He nodded, immediately turning his attention back to the road.

"Can turn the air up if ya need."

You smiled slightly.

"I think I'll survive."

"Alright. Just makin' sure suga''."

You shook your head amused. After another moment, you slipped the jacket off your shoulders, relieved to finally get rid of the extra layer of warmth. You folded it loosely and tossed it onto the passenger seat beside your bag, revealing the simple black tank top you had been wearing underneath.

The fabric is soft and clings to your curves, hugging your chest and stomach in a way that feels liberating despite the unfamiliar company.

The sudden movement draws Michael's attention. As you settle back into the seat, adjusting your position to find some relief from the heat, the low neckline of the tank top dips lower. Your breasts, full and soft, press against the dark fabric, creating a deep, inviting cleavage that catches the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

Michael's grip tightens fractionally on the steering wheel. His eyes betray him for a split second, flickering downward toward the swell of your chest before he forces them back to the road ahead. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in the shadows. "Yeah..." he manages to rasp out, his voice sounding slightly rougher than it did moments before. "Could be gettin' warmer."

You notice the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his breathing seems to catch for a heartbeat, but you attribute it to the heat as well. "Mhm, it sure is."

You stretch your arms above your head, feeling the fabric of the tank top pull across your torso, emphasizing the soft swell of your hips and the generous curve of your waist.

Michael keeps his gaze fixed forward, but his jaw is set tight. He's hyper aware of your presence beside him now. He was fighting every inch of himself to not look over again. He did not want to come across as a creep and scare you off.

He just wasn't used to this.

Not the feeling itself, exactly. Michael had always appreciated beauty. He noticed it in people, in nature, in music. But there was something different about having someone sitting right beside him, someone whose presence he was becoming increasingly aware of.

And he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"So..." you said after a moment, breaking the quiet. Michael glanced over.

"Hm?"

"You said you live on a farm?"

He smiled.

"Yeah."

"Do you actually do all the farm stuff yourself?"

He chuckled, "Some of it. Ain't exactly easy work, but I like it."

"You don't get tired of it?"

He thought about it.

"Sometimes."

You laughed. "At least you're honest."

"Well, 'm not gonna lie 'nd say I wake up every mornin' excited to fix fences."

That made you laugh.

"But most days?"

"Most days, yeah."

You looked out at the passing fields again.

"I think I'd like that."

"Farm life?"

"Maybe. It seems peaceful."

Michaels face softened.

"It can be."

He paused.

"But it can also be a lot of work."

"I believe that."

Another quiet moment passed. Then Michael spoke again, his voice a little softer.

"You'll get to see it soon."

You looked back at him.

"The farm?"

He nodded.

"Yeah."

A small smile appeared on his face.

few minutes later, the glow of the headlights caught the outline of a house in the distance. You looked out the window as Michael turned the truck onto a gravel driveway, the tires crunching softly beneath you. The house wasn't anything extravagant, and honestly, you hadn't expected it to be. It was a simple farmhouse with a porch light glowing warmly near the front door, surrounded by open land that stretched out into the darkness. It looked comfortable. Lived in. Like a place where someone had spent years building a quiet life.

"This is it," Michael said, slowing the truck as he pulled closer to the house. You looked around, taking it in for a moment.

"It's nice."

Michael glanced over briefly, a boyish smile appearing on his face.

"Yeah. 's my home."

He parked the truck and turned off the engine, leaving the two of you sitting in the sudden quiet for a moment. Without the sound of the road beneath you, the night seemed even calmer. You could hear the faint sounds of the countryside around you—the wind moving through the fields, the occasional noise of an animal somewhere in the distance.

Michael reached for his keys before stepping out of the truck. You followed a moment later, grabbing your bag from the seat, though before you could properly lift it, Michael was already reaching for it.

"I got it." You looked at him.

"You really don't have to carry my things."

He looked almost confused by the statement.

"I know."

The simple answer made you smile a little. He wasn't doing it because he thought you couldn't handle it. He wasn't trying to make a point. It was just something he did without thinking. As you walked towards the house, Michael glanced over at you.

"Hope y' don't mind stayin' here tonight."

You shook your head. "Are you kidding? I'm just happy I don't have to figure out how to sleep in my car."

That earned a quiet laugh from him.

"Yeah, figured that probably wasn't the best option."

"No," you agreed. "Definitely not ideal."

Michael smiled slightly as he unlocked the front door.

"I got a spare room y' can use," he explained as he opened it. "'s nothin' fancy, but it's clean. There's fresh towels in there, 'nd y' can use whatever y' need. Bathroom's just down the hall."

You stepped inside, looking around as he switched on the lights.

The house felt exactly like you imagined it would. Not in a stereotypical way, but in a comfortable one. There were little signs of everyday life everywhere. A few things placed where they were actually used, furniture that looked like it had been there for years.

"Michael, this is already more than enough," you said. He looked back at you.

"Don't worry about it."

The way he said it was gentle, like he didn't want you feeling like an inconvenience. You followed him down the hallway as he showed you the room.

"I know this is probably a little strange," he admitted. "Comin' all the way out here 'nd endin' up at a stranger's place."

You tilted your head slightly.

"A little."

He nodded, almost expecting that answer.

"But I promise I ain't gonna make you regret it."

The words came out before he seemed to realize how serious they sounded. His cheeks warmed slightly, and he quickly looked away, adjusting the brim of his hat.

"I mean..." he added, a little awkwardly, "you know what I mean."

You couldn't help but giggle. "I do."

He seemed relieved. When he reached the spare room, he opened the door and stepped aside so you could see inside. It was simple, but comfortable. A neatly made bed, a small dresser, and enough space for your things. Nothing luxurious, but after spending the last hour wondering if you'd be sleeping in your car, it felt more than enough.

"Y' can put your bag there," Michael said, pointing towards the dresser. "'nd if you need anything, just call out."

You nodded.

"Thank you, Michael. Really."

He flashed you a smile.

"You're welcome."

There was a brief pause before he added, softer, "Make yourself at home, suga'."

After making sure you had everything you needed, Michael lingered for only a moment longer.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'll let you get some rest."

You nodded, suddenly realizing just how tired you actually were. The adrenaline from your car breaking down had kept you awake, but now that you were somewhere safe, the exhaustion was finally catching up with you. "Thank you again, Michael."

He smiled, shaking his head slightly. "You've thanked me enough times already."

"Still."

"Well... you're welcome." He stepped back towards the doorway, pulling his hat down slightly as he prepared to leave.

"'f y' need anythin', 'm right down the hall." You nodded. "I will."

"Alright, suga'. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Michael." He gave you one last small smile before quietly closing the door behind him. The moment you were alone, you let out a long breath and looked around the room.

A few hours ago, you had been driving alone, singing along to the radio and thinking about nothing more than getting to your destination. Then your car broke down, a stranger found you, and now you were standing in a spare bedroom on a farm you hadn't even known existed.

You weren't sure how you felt about it all yet. But you were tired. Very tired. You pulled your phone from your bag and checked it again, though you already knew there still wasn't any signal. At least you had downloaded a few songs before the trip, so you wouldn't have to spend the night in complete silence.

You grabbed your earbuds, putting on a familiar playlist. The soft music filled the quiet room, giving you something familiar in a place that was still completely new.

The music through your earbuds helps block out the silence of the house as you move around the small room. You feel a little sticky from the drive and the humidity, so you decide to get out of your clothes before getting into bed.

You reached for the hem of your black tank top, pulling it over your head and setting it aside. You kick your by now uncomfortable pants off, leaving them in a heap on the floor.

You figured you were just going to sleep in your undergarments today, as the jeans and the tank top where a little too uncomfortable right now. For a moment you just stood there in the room, only wearing your matching black lace bra and panties, feeling the cool air from the room finally hit your skin.

Down the hall, Michael walked past the spare room with your thin jacket folded neatly over one arm.

He had noticed it sitting on the passenger seat of his truck when he went back outside to grab the rest of your things. At first, he had thought about simply leaving it on the chair in the hallway or outside your door, but then he figured it might get forgotten there. Besides, it was your jacket, and he knew the nights out here could get colder than people expected.

So, after a moment of hesitation, he decided he would just give it back to you.

He stopped outside the door, adjusting his grip on the jacket before raising his hand and knocking softly against the wood.

"Hey, suga'?"

No answer.

Michael waited a few seconds, glancing down the hallway. Maybe you hadn't heard him. He knocked again, a little louder this time.

"Sorry, 's just your jacket. Y' left it in the truck."

Still nothing.

He frowned slightly out of uncertainty. He didn't want to interrupt you if you were already asleep, but he also didn't want to leave without making sure you had it.

The faint sound of music coming from inside explained it. You must have your earbuds in. Michael hesitated for another moment before carefully opening the door just a little.

"Hey, I just wanted to—"

The words died in his throat immediatly.

You were standing in the middle of the room, facing away from him, and you weren't wearing your clothes. Well, you were barely wearing any clothes.

His brain took a full second to catch up. The black tank top was gone. The jeans were gone. In their place was a thin strip of black lace across your hips and a matching bra that pushed your tits up so high and so full he thought his heart might stop. The lamp on the bedside table threw warm light across your skin, catching the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your ass barely covered by the lace, the long line of your back.

Michael's hand went white-knuckled around the jacket.

He should move. He should turn around, close the door, walk away, pretend he never saw a thing. Every voice in his head was screaming at him to do exactly that. His feet wouldn't listen. His feet were bolted to the floor, and his eyes were locked on you, and his breath had gone somewhere he couldn't find it.

Then it hit him. Not the shame, not the guilt — that came later. First came the heat, low and sudden and brutal, surging up from his gut and slamming straight into his cock. It went hard so fast it almost hurt, a thick, heavy ache pressing against the inside of his jeans, and he felt himself twitch against the denim like his body had a mind of its own.

God. God, he shouldn't be looking. He shouldn't be standing here at all.

You shifted, reaching for something on the dresser, and the movement made your ass sway under the lace. Michael's mouth went dry. His cock throbbed, straining so hard against his jeans that he could feel every heartbeat in it, and the shame hit him then — hot and ugly and tangled up with the want until he couldn't tell them apart.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't stand here watching you like some animal.

Michael pulled the door shut as quietly as he could manage, the latch clicking soft behind him, and he was moving before he even knew he'd decided to. Down the hall, past the bathroom, into his own room. He closed the door and leaned his back against it, chest heaving, and his hand went to the front of his jeans before he could think better of it.

He was already so hard it hurt. The denim was tight and unforgiving around him, and when he pressed his palm flat against himself he let out a shaky breath through his teeth. He fumbled with the button, the zipper, shoved his jeans and his boxers down his hips, and his cock sprang free — heavy, thick, aching, flushed dark and leaking at the tip.

He wrapped his hand around it and his eyes fell shut.

He shouldn't be doing this. You were a guest in his house, a stranger he'd brought in off the road, a woman who'd trusted him enough to sleep under his roof. And here he was, jerking off to the memory of you in that black lace. Shame burned low in his belly, but it did nothing to cool the heat. If anything, it made it worse.

He worked his hand slow, up and down, and his mind went where it wanted to go.

He pictured you on your back in his bed, that black lace pushed up around your waist, your tits spilling out of the bra as he settled between your thighs. Pictured your legs wrapped around him, your heels digging into his back, the way you'd sound as you gasped his name when he pushed into you. He imagined the weight of you, the soft give of your hips under his hands, the way you'd feel clenching around him —

Michael's jaw clenched. A low sound rumbled up out of his chest and he stroked himself faster, thumb dragging over the head, smearing the slick that kept beading there.

Then he pictured you on top of him. Cowgirl. You straddling his hips, that black lace gone, your tits bouncing as you rode him, your head tipped back, your mouth open, taking him deep and slow and then fast, riding him until he couldn't think straight. He could almost feel your weight on his thighs, the heat of you, the way your cunt would grip him —

He was ashamed of himself. He was. But his hand kept moving, and his cock kept throbbing, and the image of you wouldn't leave him alone.

He pictured you bent over the edge of the bed, your ass in the air, that lace pulled to the side. Pictured himself behind you, hands on your hips, pushing into you from behind, watching the way you'd take him. He'd grab a fistful of your hair, gentle but firm, and pull your head back, and you'd moan his name —

Michael's breathing went ragged. He leaned his head back against the door and stroked himself harder, faster, chasing it, and the shame and the want tangled up until he couldn't separate them anymore. All he knew was the heat building low in his gut, the image of you burned behind his eyes, the sound of his own rough breathing filling the dark room.

He was so close. He could feel it building, coiling hot and tight, and he stroked himself with a desperate rhythm, his mind full of you — every position, every angle, every way he wanted to take you. The shame was still there, gnawing at the edges, but it only made the heat burn brighter.

His whole body tensed. He came with a shuddering gasp, his hips jerking into his fist, spilling hot and thick over his knuckles and his stomach, and for a long moment he just stood there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to the door.

Michael looked down at his hand, at the mess he'd made, at the shame curling in his chest. He should feel worse. He knew he should. But all he could feel was the ghost of you — the curve of your waist, the swell of your pretty ass, the way the lamplight had caught your skin — and the knowledge that he was going to have a hell of a time looking you in the eye coming morning.

He cleaned himself up with a cloth from the bathroom and washed his hands. He didn't sleep much that night.

Morning came slow and pale through the curtains, the light thin and gray, and for a long moment you weren't sure where you were.

Then the smell of old wood and hay and something warm drifted in, and it all came back—

The broken-down car, the empty road, the cowboy who'd pulled over like he'd been sent for you.

You lay there a minute, letting the room come into focus. The bed was softer than you'd expected, the blanket heavy and warm. Outside, a rooster crowed somewhere distant, and you could hear the low sound of a truck engine idling, then cutting off. The farm was also waking up.

You stretched, the sheet slipping down your shoulders. The night air had cooled everything, and you reached for your clothes on the floor — your black tank top and the jeans and pulled them back on.

The hallway smelled like coffee. That was the first thing. Warm and dark and bitter, drifting up from somewhere downstairs, and your stomach turned over at the thought of it. You followed the smell down the stairs, past a coat rack and a stack of old boots, and the house opened into a kitchen at the back.

And there he was.

Michael stood at the counter with his back to you, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other holding a phone to his ear. He'd changed — fresh jeans, a clean flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the same worn boots. But the hat was still there, sitting easy on his head like it was part of him, and the sight of it made you smile.

"Nah, I told you," he was saying into the phone. "She just died on me. Right there 'n the side of the road, 'bout half a mile past the old Whitfield place. Engine sputtered out 'nd wouldn't start again."

A pause. He took a sip of coffee.

"I don't know what's wrong with it, 's the thing. 'm no mechanic, but I looked her over best I could. Somethin' with the engine, I reckon. Y' think y' could take a look at her?"

Another pause, longer this time. He nodded to himself.

"Mm-hm. Yeah. I got her here at the house. She's stayin' with me 'til we figure it out."

He glanced toward the window, and the morning light caught his profile — the line of his jaw, the way his brow furrowed a little as he listened. He was handsome in a way that snuck up on you, easy and unassuming, and you caught yourself staring.

"Alright," he said into the phone. "I'll bring her by tomorrow if that works. Appreciate it, Marlon. Yeah. You too."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, tapped the screen, and set it down on the counter with a small sigh. And then he turned, reaching for his coffee and stopped. His eyes landed on you standing in the doorway, and something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or something warmer. He blinked, and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, slow and easy.

"Mornin', suga'."

"Good morning," you said, and his smile widened a little.

"Sleep alright?"

"Better than I expected, honestly. That bed's real comfortable."

"Glad to hear it," he said, and he meant it. He gestured with his mug toward a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee's fresh. Made it 'bout twenty minutes ago. There's eggs 'nd bacon if y' want somethin' to eat."

"You didn't have to do all that."

"No trouble," he said, already moving to the stove. "Was gonna make breakfast anyway. Just makin' a little more."

You sat down at the table, and he worked at the stove with his back to you, cracking eggs into a pan, the bacon already sizzling. The kitchen was warm and smelled like home, and for a minute you just watched him move — easy, unhurried, like he'd been doing this his whole life.

"Soooo, that was your brother on the phone?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said over his shoulder. "Marlon. He's the one in the family who actually knows his way 'round an engine. Runs a little repair shop over in the next town."

"Think he can fix my car?"

"If anybody can, it's him," Michael said. "Said he'll take a look at her tomorrow. I'll drive y' over there myself, if y' want."

"You'd do that?"

He turned, and there was something soft in his expression.

"Course I would."

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and your chest did something quiet at the sound of it. He turned back to the stove, and the sizzle of the bacon filled the silence.

"You're really kind, Michael."

He ducked his head a little, and you could've sworn his ears went pink.

"Just doin' what's right."

He slid the eggs onto a plate, added the bacon, and brought it over to set in front of you. He was close enough that you caught his scent again. Dust, hay and soap, fresh from a morning shower, and something underneath that was just him.

"Eat up," he said, settling into the chair across from you with his own coffee. "Gonna be a long day."

You picked up your fork, and he watched you take the first bite. Then he reached for his mug, and his eyes drifted, just for a second, just a glance. Down over your shoulders, along the line of your neck, where the tank top sat loose against your collarbones.

And then he remembered.

It hit him all at once, the way it did every time he closed his eyes last night. You in that black lace, the lamp catching the curve of your waist— The heat came back low and sudden, and his hand tightened on the mug.

He looked away fast, down at his coffee, and his jaw worked. His ears went red, creeping up his neck, and he cleared his throat.

"Good eggs," he managed, not quite meeting your eyes.

You tilted your head.

"You alright, Michael?"

"Yeah," he said, a little too quick. "Yeah, 'm fine. Just — hot coffee. Burns the mouth."

You smiled, not quite convinced, but you let it go.

"Alright."

He took a long sip, staring down at the table, doing everything he could not to think about the way you'd looked yesterday.

You set your fork down, chewing the last bite of bacon, and looked across the table at him. He was still staring at his coffee like it held the secrets of the universe, his ears a little pink at the tips.

"So your brother's gonna take a look tomorrow?" you asked.

Michael blinked, coming back to himself. "Yeah. He's real good with engines. If it's fixable, he'll find it."

"That's good." You paused, turning the thought over. "So I guess I should probably start looking into a hotel or something. I don't want to be a bother."

His head came up fast at that, his brow furrowing. "A hotel?"

"Well, yeah. I can't just stay here for free. You've already done more than enough."

"Suga'." He set his mug down, and there was something almost offended in his voice. "Y' not a bother. Not even close. You're welcome t' stay here as long as it takes. I got the room, I got the food, and I got nobody else fillin' either one. 's no trouble at all."

You looked at him, at the earnest set of his jaw, the way he'd gone from flustered to firm in the space of a breath. "You're sure?"

"Positive." He said it like it was the easiest answer he'd ever given. "You stay right here 'til your car's fixed. I won't hear any argument about it."

A warmth spread through your chest, quiet and unexpected. "Alright. Thank you, Michael."

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his mouth, and reached for his coffee again. The silence settled easy between you, comfortable, and you found yourself looking around the kitchen — the worn wooden table, the row of hooks by the door, the window over the sink looking out onto green fields.

"So," you said, "you got a farm. What kind of animals do you have?"

Michael's face lit up. It was subtle — just a crinkle at the corners of his eyes, a loosening of his shoulders — but it was there. He leaned back in his chair, cradling his mug.

"Well, let's see. I got a couple'a horses — a mare named Daisy 'nd a gelding called Buck. Buck's got a mean streak, but he's all talk. Daisy's the sweet one. She'll follow you 'round the paddock like a dog."

You smiled. "That's cute."

"They're good company," he said, and there was a fondness in his voice that made you believe it. "Then there's the chickens. 'Bout a dozen of 'em, plus a rooster who thinks he runs the whole place. His name's Jasper. He's got an attitude problem, but he lays... well, the hens lay. He just struts around makin' noise."

You laughed. "He sounds like a character."

"He's a menace," Michael corrected, grinning. "But a lovable one. Then I got two goats — Bill 'nd Nanny. Billy's a little escape artist. Got out three times last month, 'nd I found him eatin' my neighbor's roses every single time."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes. Neighbor ain't spoken to me since." He shook his head, but he was smiling. "And then there's the cows. I got a small herd — 'bout fifteen or so. They're mostly just... cows. They stand around, chew grass, look at you like you owe 'em money."

You laughed again, and the sound of it seemed to settle something in him. He watched you with a soft expression, like he was enjoying the sight of you smiling in his kitchen.

You looked out the window, at the green fields stretching toward the barn in the distance. The morning light was warm on the grass, and somewhere out there a horse nickered, soft and distant.

"Could we go see them?" you asked, turning back to him. "The horses, I mean. I've always liked horses."

Michael's face did something quiet and pleased, like you'd asked him something he'd been hoping to hear. "Yeah," he said, setting his mug down and pushing back from the table. "Yeah, I'd like that. Let me just grab my boots."

He was already moving, and you smiled at his back, at the easy way he'd said yes. You stood too, and followed him toward the door, the morning stretching out warm and unhurried ahead of you both.

The screen door creaked as Michael held it open for you.

A cool breeze met you the second you stepped outside, carrying the smell of damp earth and fresh-cut grass. The sun had climbed higher while you'd been eating, burning away the last of the morning haze. Everything looked washed clean in the light.

The farm stretched farther than you'd realized from the kitchen window.

Rolling pasture disappeared into the distance, fenced in with weathered wood. A faded red barn stood a little ways off, its doors thrown open, and beyond that sat a wide paddock where two horses grazed lazily with their heads low.

"C'mon," Michael said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "They're out this way."

You fell into step beside him. The gravel crunched beneath your boots as you walked. Every now and then he kicked a loose stone off the path without thinking, his stride long but unhurried, always slowing just enough so you didn't have to keep up.

"You've lived here your whole life?" you asked.

"Mhm."

He nodded toward the fields.

"Parents bought the place when I was just a little thing. Not much changed since then."

"You never wanted to leave?"

He thought about it.

"I did."

You looked over at him.

"When I was younger." He shrugged. "Thought there had t' be somethin' bigger out there."

"And?"

He smiled to himself.

"Turns out... bigger ain't always better."

There wasn't any sadness in the way he said it. Just certainty.

"I like knowin' everybody in town. Like wakin' up before the sun. Like hearin' the birds instead'a traffic." He glanced toward you. "Guess I'm a simple man."

"I don't think simple's the right word."

"No?"

"I think... content."

That earned a quiet laugh.

"I'll take that."

They walked another few yards before the horses noticed them. The chestnut mare lifted her head first. Her ears perked immediately.

"Daisy," Michael called.

The mare whinnied softly before breaking into an eager trot toward the fence. You laughed.

"Oh my God, she really does come when you call."

"Told ya."

He climbed onto the lowest fence rail with practiced ease, leaning over to scratch behind Daisy's ears. She practically melted into him, nudging insistently against his shoulder until he laughed again.

"Easy now."

Watching him with the horse was... different.

He became even gentler somehow.

His voice dropped into a soft murmur, fingers brushing through her mane with absent affection, and Daisy responded to every touch like she trusted him completely.

"You've got her wrapped around your finger."

"Nah." He rubbed her forehead. "I'm the one wrapped around hers."

You smiled. "I can tell."

He looked over his shoulder at you.

"You wanna pet her?"

"I don't know if she'll like me."

Michael looked almost offended by the suggestion.

"Daisy likes everybody."

He stepped aside, leaving space beside him.

"Come here."

You approached slowly, reaching out with a cautious hand.

The mare sniffed your fingers, her breath warm against your skin, before nudging your palm with her nose.

"Oh."

Your face lit up.

"Hi."

Michael watched the entire exchange with an expression so soft it almost hurt.

"See?"

You scratched gently between Daisy's eyes.

"She's beautiful."

"Ain't she?"

You turned to him with a grin that was brighter than the morning sun.

"I think she likes me."

"I think she's already decided you're stayin'."

The words slipped out before he realized he'd said them. His eyes widened.

"I—I mean—"

His ears immediately turned pink.

"I just meant..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Long enough t' get your car fixed."

You couldn't help smiling.

"I know what you meant."

"...Right."

He looked very interested in Daisy's mane all of a sudden.

You bit back a laugh.

The barn had a different kind of quiet than the rest of the farm.

Outside, there was always something moving — the rustle of grass in the wind, the distant call of birds, the occasional sound of an animal making itself known. But inside the barn, everything felt slower. The air was warmer, heavy with the scent of hay and old wood, with sunlight slipping through the cracks between the boards and painting golden lines across the floor.

You'd been following Michael around for most of the morning, watching him move from one task to another. He had shown you the horses, introduced you to the chickens like they were actual members of the family, and warned you very seriously not to trust Bill the goat, who apparently had a personal vendetta against anything that looked expensive.

You were beginning to understand why he liked it here. There was something peaceful about it.

And there was something about Michael himself that fit into it perfectly.

He stood near Daisy's stall, one hand resting on the wooden gate while he checked the latch. His sleeves were still rolled up, his flannel slightly worn at the elbows, and that hat sat on his head like it had been there forever.

Eventually, you couldn't help yourself.

"So…" you said, leaning against the half-door of Daisy's stall. "Do cowboys ever take those hats off?"

Michael looked up from fastening the latch.

"Hm?"

You pointed at him.

"The hat."

He blinked.

"I've been wondering all morning."

His hand instinctively touched the brim. A small smile tugged at his mouth.

"Yeah, I take it off."

"Hmm."

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"What?"

"I don't know. I'm starting to think it's attached."

He laughed, shaking his head. "It ain't attached."

"You sure?"

"Pretty sure."

You looked at him, pretending to study the hat. "I've never actually seen you without it."

Michael opened his mouth to respond, then paused. You caught it. Your eyebrows lifted.

"What?"

"You hesitated."

"I did not."

"You did."

He gave a quiet laugh, looking down at the ground.

"You're somethin' else."

"That's not a denial."

Michael's jaw worked, but nothing came out. He just stood there in the barn door's shadow, arms folded, that worn straw hat low over his eyes, and you watched him try to find words. Before he could answer, you stepped closer. There was a little bit of hay caught near the brim, and you reached up without thinking.

Michael went still.

Not because you were doing anything strange, but because you were suddenly close. Close enough to smell him — hay and sweat and something warm underneath, like sun-baked leather. Your fingers brushed the edge of the hat, and before he could say anything, you lifted it from his head.

"There," you said, placing it on your own. The band was still warm from his skin. "See? Not attached." You tipped the brim slightly, grinning. "How do I look?"

Michael stared. Like his brain had forgotten what it was supposed to do. His eyes moved from the hat, to you, and then immediately away again — but not before they caught on your mouth.

And you saw it, the way his gaze snagged there for half a second too long. The tips of his ears turned pink first, then the color slowly crept down his neck, into the collar of his shirt. You lowered your smile.

"Michael?"

He cleared his throat, and his voice came out rough.

"Yeah. Uh..." His hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Y' might wanna..." He gestured vaguely toward the hat. "...take that off."

You blinked.

"What?"

"The hat."

You laughed softly. "Why? You said it wasn't attached."

"I know, I know." He shook his head quickly. "'s just..."

He looked genuinely embarrassed now, which only made you more confused. His eyes kept flicking to the hat on your head and then away, like he couldn't stand to look at it and couldn't stand not to.

"What?"

Michael glanced toward the barn door, then back at you, like he was hoping someone else might magically appear and save him from the conversation.

Finally, he sighed.

"My brothers... They used t' give me a hard time 'bout it."

"About the hat?"

"About what it means when somebody takes it."

You frowned slightly.

"What it means?"

He nodded, then immediately looked like he regretted saying anything. He shifted his weight, and the movement made his shirt pull across his shoulders, and you noticed it in a way you hadn't before.

"There's... kinda an old cowboy thing." You waited. Michael swallowed, his throat working.

"People joke that if... if a woman takes a cowboy's hat, it means she— uh... that she wants to... ride the cowboy, 'f y' know what I mean..." He mumbled the last words, almost too embarrassed to say it out loud.

The silence they left behind felt different than before— heavier, warmer, like the air had gotten thick.

You stared at him.

A beat passed.

Then another.

"Oh..."

His face somehow got even redder.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"I know."

"No, I mean—"

You reached up quickly, taking the hat off your head. "I didn't know that—"

"I know you didn't."

"I was literally just messing with you."

"I know."

He smiled a little, trying to reassure you, but he still looked mortified. The smile didn't reach his eyes — his eyes were doing something else entirely, tracking you, watching the way your fingers moved over the brim.

"I figured."

The silence that followed was awkward, but not uncomfortable. Because now you were both suddenly aware of something that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. The closeness.

The way his eyes kept flicking back to you before he caught himself. The way you were suddenly very aware that his hat had been sitting on your head, warm from his skin, smelling like him.

You looked at it, then held it out to him.

"Here."

Michael reached for it, and your fingers brushed. Both of you paused. It was barely a second. But it was enough.

His hand was calloused and rough against yours, and he didn't pull away right away — he let the contact sit there, skin to skin, and you felt the heat of his palm before he finally closed his fingers around the hat and took it back. He settled it onto his head, pulling the brim down slightly lower than before, like he was hiding behind it.

You watched his throat move when he swallowed.

"You know," he said quietly, "for what it's worth..."

You looked at him. A small smile appeared on his face, and this time it reached his eyes.

"Y' did look good 'n it."

Your cheeks warmed.

"Thanks."

He nodded, looking away — but not before you caught the way his gaze dropped to your lips again, lingered, and then dragged itself up to meet yours.

"Y' welcome."

Neither of you moved. The barn creaked around you, and somewhere a horse shifted in its stall, and you both stood there in the warm, hay-scented quiet, the hat between you like a line neither of you was quite ready to cross.

Michael looked away first.

And you could see the effort it took. The way his jaw tightened slightly, the way he adjusted the brim of his hat even though it didn't need adjusting. Like he was trying to put something back into place.

"Well," he murmured, clearing his throat. "I should probably finish up out here before lunch." You nodded, even though neither of you moved right away.

"Right." Another pause.

Then Michael gave you that small, shy smile of his.

"Come on. I'll show you the rest of the place."

You followed him out of the barn, but the moment didn't disappear behind you. It followed you. It lingered in the space between you as you walked across the farm, in the quiet glances that lasted a second too long, in the way Michael seemed just a little more careful with himself than he had been before. Not distant. Just... aware.

Like he had become suddenly conscious of every little thing he did around you.

Michael showed you the rest of the property like he had promised. He took you past the old fence line that bordered the far pasture, pointed out the creek that ran along the back of the land, and told you about the time he had found Bill the goat halfway up a stack of hay bales with absolutely no explanation for how he'd gotten there.

You laughed so hard at the story that Michael had to stop walking just to look at you.

"What?" you asked, noticing. He shook his head. "Nothin'."

"You were staring."

"I was not."

"You were."

A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Just ain't heard someone laugh like that in a while."

Michael seemed to realize he'd said something too honest because he looked away, clearing his throat and turning his attention back toward the pasture.

"You wanna see the creek?" You smiled.

"Yeah."

And you followed him. By the time you made your way back toward the house, the afternoon sun had started to soften. The golden light stretched across the fields, catching on the tall grass and making everything look like it belonged in a painting. You found yourself slowing down. Not because you were tired. Because you didn't want the walk to end. That thought surprised you. You barely knew this man.

Before yesterday, you hadn't even known he existed. And yet somehow, walking beside him felt easy. Natural.

Michael noticed you had fallen behind and slowed his pace.

"Y' alright?"

You looked up. "Yeah, 'm good."

He studied you for a moment.

"Well..."

He looked toward the house, then back at you.

"I should probably start on dinner soon."

The thought of him cooking made you smile.

"You cook every day?"

"Most days."

"By yourself?"

"Mhm."

"That's actually kind of impressive."

He laughed softly.

"'s nothin'."

"You always say that."

"What?"

"That everything you do isn't a big deal."

Michael looked at you. Because you both knew what you really meant. Stopping on the road. Giving you a place to sleep. Making you breakfast.

His expression softened.

"Y' would've done the same."

The certainty in his voice caught you off guard. You weren't sure you would have. Michael didn't seem to think kindness was something special. He just thought it was something people were supposed to give.

Dinner was quiet. Not uncomfortable or awkward. You both were just quieter than before.

There was a new kind of awareness sitting between you both, something neither of you had acknowledged out loud but both of you seemed to feel. The easy conversation from earlier was still there, the small smiles and little jokes, but now there was something underneath it.

You found yourself noticing things you hadn't before— the way Michael's slender fingers curled around his fork, or the way his eyes would drift toward you before quickly finding somewhere else to look. And he wasn't the only one. Every time he adjusted the brim of his hat, every time his fingers brushed over it, you remembered the way it had felt in your hands. Warm from him. Carrying the faint scent of soap, leather, and the outdoors.

It was ridiculous how something so small had changed the atmosphere between you. But it had. Michael seemed to feel it too.

After dinner, the two of you moved into the living room, the sound of rain beginning softly against the windows. It had started while you'd been clearing the dishes, a gentle tapping that slowly grew heavier until it filled the entire house. Michael stood by the window for a while, looking out at the fields.

"You like storms?"

You sat on the couch, watching him.

"Sometimes."

He glanced over.

"Sometimes?"

You smiled.

"Depends where I am."

He nodded like he understood.

"Yeah. I guess it does."

The lights flickered once. Then again. Michael looked up.

"Well."

A second later, the whole house went dark. You both laughed quietly.

"That figures," you said.

Michael disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a few candles. The soft glow filled the room, making the farmhouse feel even older somehow. Warmer. You watched him set one down on the table.

It was strange.

A man you'd met yesterday.

A house you'd never seen before. And yet sitting there in the candlelight, listening to the rain, it felt familiar. Michael sat across from you, resting his forearms on his knees. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was the kind of silence that happened when two people were thinking the same thing but neither wanted to be the first to say it.

Your car would be fixed tomorrow. You would leave. And somehow, after only a day and a half, the thought felt heavier than it should have. You looked down at your hands.

"You know..."

Michael looked up.

"I thought I'd be counting down the hours until that car was fixed."

His expression shifted slightly. He glanced over.

"And now?"

The question was quiet and hung in the air You looked toward the rain-covered window. The fields beyond it were barely visible through the storm.

"Now I'm not so sure."

The silence that followed felt different. Just full.

Michael looked down at his hands, his thumb brushing slowly over one of the calluses along his palm. You noticed the small movement, the way he seemed to retreat into himself whenever something mattered too much. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then his voice came quieter than before.

"Don't say things like that 'f y' don't mean 'em, suga'."

Your eyes moved back to him.

"Why?"

Michael swallowed. His gaze stayed fixed on his hands. Because he had been trying. God, he had been trying.

Trying not to read too much into the way you smiled at him. Trying not to remember the feeling of your fingers brushing his when you'd handed his hat back. Trying to forget how incredibly beautiful you looked yesterday, in your pretty black lace set.

"'cause..."

He stopped. The rain filled the silence for him. Then he looked up.

"'cause I've been trying real hard not to hope you might."

Your breath caught slightly. Michael immediately looked away, almost like he regretted letting the words escape.

"I know 's probably ridiculous."

"It's not."

His eyes returned to yours.

"You don't even know me." A small, smile touched his mouth. "And I don't know you. Not really...But I think I know enough."

He looked down again.

"Know 'nough t' know I like havin' y here."

Your throat went dry.

"I don't expect anything from you." He said it quickly, like he needed you to understand. "I mean that."

You nodded.

"I know."

"Your car gets fixed tomorrow, 'nd you go wherever y' headed."

You stood slowly. Michael looked up as you moved closer. Neither of you spoke again. The storm raged outside, but inside the farmhouse everything felt impossibly still.

"You know," you said softly, "for someone who says he's not hoping..." A tiny smile touched your lips. "You don't hide it very well."

Michael let out a quiet laugh, but it was nervous.

"No?"

"No."

You were close now. And still, he didn't move. He just looked at you. Waiting.

The candlelight flickered across his face, catching the slight tremor in his jaw. His hands stayed at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he was physically holding himself back. Waiting. Always waiting for you to decide.

You reached up.

Slowly.

Giving him every chance to move away.

His breath caught when your fingers brushed the brim of his hat. You didn't take it off. You just let your hand rest there, feeling the warmth of him beneath the shadow of it.

"Can I?" you whispered.

Michael's eyes searched yours.

He didn't ask what you meant.

He already knew.

"Yeah," he breathed, barely audible over the rain. "Suga', you can do whatever you want with me."

The words hit you low in the chest. You pushed the hat back off his head. It fell to the floor between you, forgotten. And then his hands were on you. Not gentle. Not careful.

His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt at your waist and pulled, and you came against him with a soft gasp, your palms flat on his chest. He was warm. Solid. Real in a way the last two days hadn't quite felt.

"Michael—"

"I been wantin' to do this since you walked up my drive," he said, voice rough, eyes dark. "Since you stood in my kitchen smilin' at me like that. Y' such a pretty girl."

He ducked his head and kissed you. It was hungry.

His mouth slanted over yours, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head back. The other stayed at your waist, thumb pressing hard against your hip through the fabric. He kissed like a man who had spent too long holding back, like he'd been rationing this moment and had finally decided to spend it all at once.

You let out a soft sigh against his mouth. He swallowed it.

His tongue swept along your lower lip and you opened for him, and the groan that rumbled from his chest vibrated straight through you. He tasted like coffee and rain and something warm. His hand tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he was afraid you'd slip away if he loosened his grip.

The storm pressed against the windows. Neither of you heard it.

You broke apart only when you needed air, foreheads pressed together, both of you breathing hard. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, feather-light, and when he spoke his voice was wrecked.

"Told myself I wasn't gonna do that."

You laughed, breathless.

"Glad you lied."

He let out a shaky sound that might have been a laugh, might have been something else. His hand came up to cup your face, and he looked at you like you were the only warm thing in the storm. You pulled him back down.

The second kiss was slower. Deeper. His hands found the hem of your shirt and tugged it up, and you lifted your arms and let him peel it over your head, the fabric whispering past your skin, dragging over the curve of your breasts before it slid away.

He broke the kiss just long enough to look at you— and the way his eyes went dark, the way they dropped to your chest and lingered, made your stomach tighten into a hot, wanting knot.

"Jesus," he breathed, and it came out wrecked, like he'd forgotten how to make a sound.

His thumb traced the curve of your breast through the lace of your bra, feather-light, almost reverent, like he was memorizing the weight of you in his hand. He cupped you, tested the give of you, and a low sound rumbled in his chest. Then he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to the hollow of your throat, tongue dragging over your pulse, and the sound you made wasn't one you planned. A soft, broken whimper.

"Michael─"

"Shh," he murmured against your skin, his hands sliding around your back to unhook your bra, his fingers working the clasp like he'd been dreaming of it. "Lemme take care of y', baby."

The clasp gave with a soft click. The straps slid down your shoulders, and he pulled the lace away and let it fall, and then his mouth was on you. Hot and open-mouthed, his tongue dragging flat across your nipple before he sucked it between his lips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your back arching into him, offering more, and he took it. He laved and sucked and bit down just enough to make you gasp, his hand cupping your other breast, thumb working the nipple into a tight, aching peak.

"That's it," he said against your skin, his voice low and rough and thick with wanting. "'s my good girl. God, y' have so pretty tits, honey baby. So soft."

He worked his way down your body, kissing a slow, deliberate trail down your sternum, your ribs, the soft swell of your belly. His mouth lingered on the curve of your hip, his teeth grazing the skin there, and his hands gripped you, fingers sinking into the skin of your hips, thumbs pressing into the jut of bone. He held you like you were something to be savored, not rushed. And when he sank to his knees on the floor in front of the couch, between your spread thighs, you knew exactly what was coming.

He looked up at you from between your legs, the candlelight catching the hunger in his eyes, and he was already breathing hard.

"Wanna taste y', suga'."

You didn't have words. You just nodded.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and pulled them down your legs, panties with them, slow and deliberate, dragging the denim over the curve of your ass and down your thighs. And the way he looked at you when you were bare, the way his gaze traveled the length of you, lingering on the soft roll of your hips, the plush of your thighs— made your breath catch.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then the other. Each one higher than the last, his mouth working closer and closer, until his breath ghosted hot and wet against your slick, so close you could feel the heat of him.

"Already this wet fo' me," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice filled with desire. "Look at ya', baby. Soaked. 'nd I ain't even touched y' yet."

And then his tongue dragged up the length of you, flat and slow, from your entrance all the way to your clit, and your hips bucked off the couch. "C'mon, angel, lemme get a taste o' this sweet lil' pussy..."

"Oh fuck!—"

He repeated the action.

He licked your cunt like he was starving, like he'd been thinking about this since the moment you walked up his drive, like he'd been starving for the taste of you for years. His tongue circled your clit, flicked, pressed flat and broad, and every time you gasped he'd groan against you like the sound drove him crazy. His hands gripped your thighs, almost with a bruising grip, spreading you wider, holding you open for him, and he buried his face in you like he wanted to drown in your juices.

"Taste like honey," he said against you, the words vibrating straight through your clit, making your whole body clench. "Sweetest thing I ever had, hunny. Could eat this pussy all goddamn night."

He sucked your clit into his mouth and you cried out, your hand flying down to tangle in his hair, gripping him there. He let you hold him, let you grind against his mouth, and he took it— took all of it— groaning like he wanted to live between your thighs. Two fingers pushed into your slickness then, curling, crooking against that spot that made your vision blur, and he pumped them slow while his tongue worked you in relentless circles.

"Please," you managed, your voice breaking. "Michael, please—"

"Please what, beautiful?"

"Want you. Want—" You couldn't finish. You couldn't think. How could someones mouth feel this fucking good?

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his mouth slick and shining with you, chin wet, eyes nearly black in the candlelight. He was wrecked. You'd wrecked him.

"Want what, suga'? Tell me. Talk t' me"

"Want you inside me."

A slow, teasing smile spread across his face, and his fingers curled deeper inside you, making you moan.

"You'll get it. But I want y' t' come on my tongue first." He lowered his head again, his breath hot against your soaked pussy. "Want t' feel it, sweet girl. Want y' t' soak my face. Drown me in it."

He went back to work, and this time he didn't let up. His fingers fucked you in a steady, curling rhythm while his mouth worked your clit, and the pressure built and built until you were shaking, your thighs trembling around his head, your whole body drawn tight as a wire. And he felt it. He felt every shudder, every clench; and he groaned against you like it was killing him.

"Thaaat's it," he said, his voice muffled against you, his fingers never stopping. "Come fo' me, pretty baby. Come on my tongue. Soak me."

And you did. It hit you like the storm outside, white-hot and blinding, your whole body bowing off the couch as you cried out his name. He lapped you through it, slow and greedy, drinking every drop, not stopping until you were twitching and oversensitive and gasping for air, until you had to push weakly at his head.

He kissed his way back up your body, slow and deliberate, dragging his slick mouth over your belly, your breasts, your throat. And when he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue, salty and sweet. He was hard against your hip, straining through his jeans, thick and insistent, and you reached for him.

"My turn."

He caught your wrist.

"Not yet, sweet baby." His voice was wrecked, barely holding together, shaking at the edges. "Want y' t' come on my dick. Want t' feel that pretty little pussy squeeze me while y' fall apart."

The words went straight through you, hot and liquid, pooling low in your belly.

He stood, shucked off his shirt, and worked open his belt, the leather sliding through the loops. His jeans came down, and when he stepped out of them you got your first look at him — thick and hard and leaking, the head flushed and slick, his hand wrapped around the base. He was beautiful. He was everything.

"See what y' do t' me, suga'?" He stroked himself slowly, his jaw tight, his knuckles dragging up the length of him. "Been hard since y' stood in my kitchen. Been thinkin' about this sweet ass of yours all goddamn day." His vulgar words and confident tone shocked you. Was this really the shy boy from the barn you thought you knew? But you didn't mind. Not at all.

He climbed onto the couch, settling back against the armrest, and reached for you, his hands finding your hips and pulling you toward him.

"Come here, honey baby."

You straddled him. His hands found your hips, thumbs stroking the soft skin and he looked up at you with something raw and unguarded in his eyes, something that made your chest ache.

"You sure?"

"Michael." You reached down and wrapped your hand around him, and his breath hissed through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut. "I've never been more sure of anything."

He guided you up, the head of his cock pressing against your slick, wet heat, and then he looked at you, one last question in his eyes. You answered by sinking down.

The two of you groaned together as he filled you, inch by inch, the stretch of him making your eyes roll back. He was so thick, so warm, and you felt impossibly, perfectly full. His cock splitting you open, seating deep inside you until you were flush against him, his hips against yours, his balls pressed to your ass.

"God," he breathed, his head falling back against the couch, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Feel that, sweet girl? Feel how good y' take me? Ohhh, look at ya. All that soft ass, all that curve, sittin' on my cock like y' were made for it."

His words made you whimper. You rolled your hips, experimental, grinding down on him, and his hands clenched on your waist, a low groan tearing out of him.

"'s it. Ride me, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock."

You found your rhythm slowly, then faster, your hands braced on his chest, your tits bouncing in his face with every stroke. He watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his gaze dropping to your breasts, to the way they moved, and he reached up and cupped them, thumbing your nipples, groaning.

"Lord, y' so beautiful," he said, his voice rough and reverent. "Look at these perfect tits. Takin' all o' me. Squeezin' me so damn good."

You leaned forward and kissed him, sloppy and open-mouthed, and he groaned into it, his tongue tangling with yours. "Mmmm, Mikey... Y' feel soo good." You mumbled messily against his mouth. "Yeah? 'm fucki' you good, baby?" A little 'mhm!' sound left your lips.

His hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing hard, kneading the soft flesh, guiding your pace as you rode him.

"My perfect, beautiful girl..."

You rode him harder, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, wet and obscene, and he let you take what you needed. But then his hands tightened on your hips, and he stilled you.

"Turn around, sweetheart."

You blinked, breathless.

"want to watch that ass bounce on my cock. Want to watch it swallow me up."

He helped you lift off him, the sudden loss of him making you whimper, and then he guided you to turn around, your back to his chest. He pulled you down onto him again, and you both groaned as he filled you from behind, his cock sliding back into you to the hilt.

"Jesus," he breathed against your ear, his hands already gripping your hips. "Feel even better this way, beautiful. Look at that pretty ass..."

You rode him reverse, his hands gripping your hips, his mouth on your shoulder, your neck, kissing down your spine while you moved. The angle made his cock drag against a spot that made your thighs shake, made you gasp and grind down harder. "Shit─ y' so deep in me, Mikey─"

And then his hands moved— one sliding up your back, the other reaching down to grip your ass, and then he spread you. He spread you open with his thumbs, pulling the cheeks apart, and you felt the cool air on your slick, wet flesh, felt him watching you — watching himself slide in and out of you. He groaned, a sound so raw it vibrated through your whole body.

"Ohh," he breathed, his voice wrecked with wonder. "Look at that. Look at my cock goin' in 'nd out o' ya. 'nd look—" His thumb traced the base of him where he was buried inside you, and you felt the creamy ring that had formed there, the mess of you and him slicking his skin. "Look at that, sweet girl. Look at all that cream. 's aaaall you, baby. That's how wet this pussy 's fo' me. How bad you want it."

You whimpered, grinding down on him, and he let you feel him watching, his eyes burning into the place where you were joined.

"Right there," you gasped. "Don't stop."

"Not stoppin', sweet girl. Not 'till y' come on my dick."

His hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your clit, slick and swollen, and you cried out. He worked you in tight circles while you rode him, his other arm banded across your chest, holding you against him, his cock buried deep inside you.

"'s it, sweetheart. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how good I fill ya up?"

"Yes—"

"Y' gonna come fo' me? Gonna soak my dick like a good girl? Gonna cream aaall over me?"

"Yes, Michael, yes!—"

"Come on, pretty baby. Let go. Come all over me. Make a mess."

You shattered.

Your body clenched around him, wave after wave, your pussy milking him, and he groaned through it, his hips bucking up into you, driving deeper.

"Thaaaat's it. Fuck, feel you squeezin' me."

He didn't let you stop. He shifted beneath you, and before you could catch your breath he was lifting you off him, pressing you down onto the couch on your hands and knees, your ass up, your spine arching.

"Flat, baby," he said, his voice soft but commanding. "Arch that pretty back fo' me. Push that pretty ass up."

You obeyed. His hands spread your thighs wider, and you felt the head of his cock press against you, slick with you and him, the mess of your cream coating his skin.

"Messy girl," he breathed, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your cheeks, squeezing, spreading. "So messy, sweet girl. So perfect. Love this perfect body o' yours."

He pushed in. Slow. Inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, and then he stilled, both of you breathing hard, his balls pressed against your wet flesh.

"You feel that, hunny? Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes," you whimpered.

He pulled out almost all the way, so slowly you felt every inch of him dragging against your walls, and then he slammed back in, and you cried out, your fingers clawing at the cushion.

"That's it," he growled. "Take it, baby. Take all of me."

He set a brutal pace, deep and hard, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and the sound of it filled the room— the wet slap of his hips against your ass, the slick sound of him driving into your soaked cunt, the heavy, obscene slap of his balls against your flesh with every thrust. The couch creaked beneath you, the rain hammered the windows, and your moans mixed with his grunts, a filthy, perfect rhythm.

"You feel so good," he said, his voice wrecked, barely holding together. "So wet, baby. Squeezin' me like y' never wanna let go." Then he slapped your ass, a sharp, wet crack that made you gasp. "Love watchin' it bounce. Love the way it takes me."

He leaned over you, his chest pressed to your back, his mouth at your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

"That feel good, beautiful?"

"Yes—"

"Say it, sweet girl. Tell me how good it feels."

"So good," you gasped. "Mikey, y' feel so good—"

"Mhm," he groaned. "Feels so good."

He drove into you harder, faster, his hand sliding around to grip your throat — not squeezing, just holding, tilting your head back against his shoulder. His other hand found your clit again, working you in tight, relentless circles, and you were already so close, the pressure coiling tight and hot in your belly.

"Y' mine tonight, angel. All mine. Gonna come again, sweet girl? Gonna come on my cock again?"

"Mhm!—"

"Come on, then. Come on me. Let me feel it. Soak me, baby."

You came with a cry, your body clenching around him so hard he groaned and drove into you through it, his hips stuttering, chasing his own release.

"Just like that," he said, his voice shaking, wrecked. "Ohh, that's my good girl. That's my beautiful—"

He buried himself deep and came with a shudder, his hips grinding against you, a groan torn from his throat as he filled you, hot and pulsing, spilling deep inside you. You felt every pulse of him, felt him empty into you, and you collapsed together onto the couch, both of you breathing hard, slick with sweat and each other.

He pulled out slowly, and you felt the mess of him and you slide down your thigh, warm and wet. He kissed the back of your neck, soft and tender, his hand stroking the curve of your hip.

"Y' so beautiful, baby," he murmured against your skin. "'m gonna take good care of you..."