fem future

You were also kind, making sure you buy for him when you’re grocery shopping. You care for him whenever he falls ill, and you never enter his room or touch his belongings without asking. You’re simply the best room neighbour anyone can ask for.

The only problem is that Satoru’s… well, he’s Satoru. He can’t help himself to not eavesdrop if he hears something interesting. This happened a grand total of three times.

The first time, Satoru wasn’t sure if he heard right. Maybe it was the TV? Perhaps a show you were watching? Unable to tell where or what exactly he heard, he tried pushing his ear against your door. Eventually he shrugged it off and continued on with his previous activity. The sounds were too low for him to put a finger on it.

The second time came with some sceptical thoughts. Yet again, he’s hearing the same soft moans but this time it’s followed by a low buzzing sound. Surely you’re just having the time of your life with an electrical massager? He had to gaslight himself in order to trash any perverted thoughts that crept into his mind.

The third time around he gave up. Satoru, with a little bit of shame left in him, stood in his eavesdropping position against your door. Your moans are still soft, the buzzing sounds come in here and there. He’s aware his habit of not minding his business might land him on your hitlist, but he can’t help himself. Your sounds were addictive — the sweetness of it going into his ear and straight to his dick.

Satoru delayed his departure from your door. The blood on his lip due to biting it didn’t bother him. The heat creeping up his neck wasn’t uncomfortable. The growing tightness of his pants was put on hold to be dealt with later. He allowed himself a little more time to indulge in your moans.

Three times Satoru let his perverted mind get the better of him — well, it can be sized down to once. He only jerked off once (after the third time) and refused to face you for an entire day.

One side of him felt ashamed. You’re his crush, and whatever you did behind your door is your private business. He should’ve never “confirmed” it. The other side of him sends blood rushing to his dick every time he looks at you and remembers your moans. His mind takes it up a notch by imagining how your body reacted to self pleasure.

It’s a never ending battle inside him, and the only way to calm both sides is to face his fears and have a conversation with you. Only then would he know true peace but for now, he’ll stick to his hand.

“Like this?” A question followed by a light squeeze around Satoru’s dick.

Instead of the “yes,” he said in his mind, Satoru gave you a short gasp. His arms were firm at his sides, hands balled into a fist as you rejected his pleas to touch you. It was a punishment for his previous actions.

He was completely at your mercy — sitting on the loveseat, pants pooled at his feet. Your warm hand offered a stimulating contrast to the chilled air. Sometimes he opted for leaning his head back, sometimes he went for biting his lips to cage in any moans. It doesn’t match the imaginary dominant image he built up.

Unsatisfied with his reaction, you lowered your hand to grasp his balls, grazing your fingers against the skin. Still, Satoru doesn’t cave in. His jaw tightens, exhaling a shaky breath through his nose.

“I thought you liked me?” You faked a pout, lazily jerking him off. Using your thumb, you rubbed it over his head, spreading the precum to lubricate it even more.

“Fuck—y-yes! I do,” a whimper leaves him. His hips rut upwards in desperate attempts to increase the friction between your hand and his dick.

“But you’re not showing it.” You argued, slowing your movements altogether.

You're having fun, playing with Satoru as he experiences frequent cutoffs in pleasure. He can’t decide whether you’re giving him the best handjob of his life or the worst. The constant edging and taunts makes him tighten his abs but you never allow him an orgasm — hell, you haven’t even let him close.

His bottom lip burns, frustrated tears welling up in his eyes, and he’s probably dug deep into his palm by now. Never has he ever been toyed with for this long. He’s never seen his tip coloured in such an angry red. Satoru might have to beg.

“Please,” Satoru whines, lifting his hips slightly just to feel something—anything.

“Please what?” A smile decorates your face, eyes softened at his desperate figure.

“Do something, please. Touch me.” Finally, he begs, eyes locked on yours hoping you’d give in.

Now you’re satisfied. That’s all you wanted to hear: Satoru begging. That’s all it took for you to bring one hand focusing on his length, jerking it in a steady up-and-down motion. The other gives its attention to his head, keeping your fingers loose as you run it over his head while one finger draws circles around his tip. You kept one hand on his shaft, using it as the main source of pleasure while the other switched to fondling with his balls.

You don’t have three hands, but you do have a mouth. You switched your position to comfortably lower your head to his dick, gathering saliva to spit on his tip. Poking your tongue out, you swirled it around his tip, sliding between the ridge before you fully engulfed his head in your mouth, using it to cover half the area your other hand did.

Satoru’s groans turned into full fledged moans, whimpering whenever you squeeze ever so lightly. The pace of his breathing quickens, his chest falls as fast as it rises, his cheeks fully dusted in a pale pink.

Believe him, he tried his best to not touch you, but he couldn’t dig his nails into his palms anymore. He needed his hand tangled in the strands of your hair, pulling at it whenever he liked without care.

“Close–shit, I’m close,” he chokes out, throwing his head back at your choice of response.

You fastened your speed, coordinating both your head and hands to move the same. Satoru's hand tightens its grip on your hair, somewhat trying to ground himself. The heat of the orgasm’s too strong—your name flows from his lips like a mantra as his hips twitch upwards.

Satoru’s the sensitive type; one, two, three seconds was all it took for Satoru to paint the insides of your mouth with a warm liquid. His torso tenses, body twitching in response to your hand loosely running up and down his dick, helping him ride through his orgasm.

You clean yourself up while Satoru calms down from his high, using your fingers to gather any loose cum that may have landed on your chest.

“Hey,” Satoru weakly calls out to you, smiling ear to ear when you meet his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Can we do that again — without the edging?”

His bold request made your eyes bulge. It seems that you misunderstood Satoru once he truly became comfortable.

“Let’s not go too fast, Satoru.”

Kento was yours, proudly, and you were his. The time spent with him left an imprint on you. He witnessed your highs and lows, he took everything from you and gave it back in abundance. A part of you believes that Kento tied his soul to yours, stealing a piece of your own when he left. It had to be — it’s the only plausible explanation.

It was a “mutual” breakup, both agreeing on co-parenting and scheduled visits. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t colour Kento’s history with you black and build a new painting over it. There was a three-year-old boy tying you to him — not just in name, but in blood as well. He resembled his father in every way possible. He’s a respectful young lad, waving to passersby with a cheerful “hello!” wherever he goes. He was sociable — much more than Kento — it’s at least something he got from your side.

“Mommy, I want yogurt too.” Little Kento said, pointing at the iron man packaged yogurts in the chilled section.

“We’ll come back for it after mommy’s cleared her list, okay?” You reassure him, ruffling his hair.

You keep your eyes on the phone screen, extending a hand out to grab the closest bologna sausage. During the monthly restock you never leave your son home. Despite skyrocketing your bill with his unnecessary snacks, he helps keep your mind busy with constant chattering or ignoring his requests to be put down instead of sitting in the trolley.

Simply guiding a trolley through lanes and filling it with items costs you $500 — VAT excluded. Everytime you’re met with the consequences of not restocking until a month later you promise to never let it happen again. Deep down, you know it’s just a white lie to ease yourself.

Readjusting your handbag on your shoulder, you gather the handles of the plastic bags together, giving the lightest one to your son before you walk away from the cashier.

“Sweetie, come here,” you called out to him, halting your movements and placing all the bags down at your feet.

He listens without fail, copying what you did. However, standing still isn’t a child’s favourite thing. He fidgeted until he couldn’t — running in an oval shape around you to entertain himself while your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating to press send.

Hey, we're finished. How long till you’re here?

Ten minutes. Wait at the front, I’ll be there soon.

Your eyebrows raised, you weren’t expecting Kento to reply within milliseconds. Shoving your phone into the back pocket, you bent down for the bags, lifting it up with an exhale. They’re heavy, but manageable.

“Let’s go, daddy’s coming.”

—

Kento’s used to picking you up after your errands. What he’s not used to is not being able to replace your name with a petname. It’s been 2 years yet his habit remains the same. You never corrected him, unsure of whether the action comforts you or not.

“Put him in the car seat, I’ll finish packing.” Kento says, swapping the bags from your hand to his. Due to the height of his vehicle, it’s a challenge for Little Kento to do it himself.

You obeyed, lifting the younger one into his carseat, securing the seatbelt before giving him a peck on both cheeks.

“Do you want anything before daddy closes the trunk?” You asked, tilting your head towards Kento’s position.

“No. I wanna watch Paw Patrol.” He indirectly demanded for your phone, even stretching his palm out for the device.

Sighing, you give in, switching YouTube to kids mode so he doesn’t accidentally stray far. Once Little Kento’s comfortable, you seat yourself in the front, immediately pulling the sun visor down from the windshield to do a quick check in the mirror attached.

Compared to when your son’s absent, the drive to yours isn’t silent. In terms of talking, no one’s talking but the radio and silence from you and Kento is overshadowed by a Paw Patrol marathon booming at max volume. It’s not awkward — you’ve spent years with Kento, but you also don’t feel like engaging in meaningless chitchats after a grocery run.

The only time you do talk with Kento is after you’ve settled in and packed the groceries where they belonged. Kento offered his assistance but you refused, urging him to check on Little Kento instead. Somewhere along the drive back he fell asleep, the Paw Patrol marathon being used as background noise to lull him to sleep.

“Finished already?” Kento questions, softly closing the door to the boy's room and planning his steps to stand beside you.

“Mhm,” you nod, stretching your arms upwards to relieve tension.

He remains silent, soaking in your physical appearance instead. Your eyebags are what his eyes remain on — the most obvious sign of exhaustion. You can’t lie your way out.

“You should get some rest.” He suggests.

“I don’t want to sleep yet.”

Kento deadpans. You’re denying the easiest way to get your energy back. Although you’ve both grown, you kept your old habits — something he’s secretly thankful for.

“Want me to help?” He offers his services, making eye contact with you.

Your mind runs into the past, remembering how Kento usually dealt with your stubbornness. You want to deny it, arguing that a shower would rejuvenate you, but an agreement already slipped past your lips without thought.

Kento’s quick on his feet, muttering a “jump,” so he can wrap your legs around his waist. Your hands clasped behind his neck, head laying on the crook of his neck while your fingers played with his hair.

Your house is relatively new, yet he’s already familiar with the layout. The walk to your bedroom came naturally, and so did the locking of your room door. Kento gently sits you down on the edge of the bed, placing his hands on your shoulders to lightly massage them. Your head leans slightly to the side, a content sigh being your only vocal response.

“Can I take this off?” His hand lowers to the hem of your shirt, slipping his thumbs underneath.

You nod, raising your arms to allow smooth sailing. Once off, he navigates behind your back, undoing the hooks of your bra to remove it. Kento eyes your body, making a mental note of how your bare upper half looks. It’s been several months since you’ve last fucked, his memory got a bit hazy.

“Lay down, sweetheart.” He orders, removing his glasses from his face and placing them near your face-down phone on the bedside table.

You somewhat obeyed, leaning back but propping yourself up with your elbows. Your eyes tracked Kento’s movements, landing on his not-so-hidden bulge.

“Already?” You tease, surprised at how easily he gets excited with you.

He doesn’t bother responding, instead sliding the sleeves of his sweater above his elbow before he kneels down in front of your dangling legs. You keep your eyes on him, pressing your cheek against your shoulder. Kento’s hand parts your legs wide enough for him to shuffle in between. He works his hands around the waistband of your jeans, pulling them completely off along with your underwear.

A chill runs through your body. You’re completely bare while he’s fully clothed; not to mention, you’re already wet. You attempt to press your thighs together, but Kento’s body prevents it.

He lifts a finger to press it on your clit, dragging it down until he reaches your hole. Slowly, he pushes it in until it’s halfway covered. You clench around his finger, sighing at the loss when he pulls it away. Eyeing his finger, Kento watches it glisten under the light, bringing it into his mouth shamelessly.

“You’re dirty.” Your eyes widen.

“You’re sweet.” He hums, moving one hand to lift your thigh onto his shoulder while the other faces its palm upwards before entering two digits. He argues the repositioning allows him to finger-fuck you deeper.

His eyes attach to your core, watching his digits disappear and reappear coated in your slick each pump. You couldn’t resist grabbing his arm, nails digging into the skin to ground yourself. His free hand moves from your thigh to your clit, rubbing gentle circles and synchronizing both hands to how you like it.

“K-kento, ‘m close.”

You didn’t need to voice out anything, Kento knows your body like it’s his own. From the way your eyes screwed shut, mouth slightly opened, and hips twitching upwards tells him that you’re nearing an orgasm.

Your thighs squeeze against his body, nails digging into your own palm and Kento’s arm simultaneously as you whimper the closer your orgasm comes. It’s not long before it dominates, your juices coating Kento’s hand, damping the bed sheets. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, a desperate attempt to soften your moans. Kento kept thrusting his fingers in you slowly, urging you to ride out your orgasm but all it does is overstimulate.

“W-wait,” you say breathlessly, tapping on his bicep three times — the safe word (that’s not a word) you settled on.

Kento slides his fingers out, giving you some time to calm down from your high. He watches your chest rise and fall, guessing that you’re trying to stabilise your breathing — which you are. You’re also clenching around nothing in a rhythm similar to a pulse, already missing the feeling of his fingers filling you.

“Ready?” He softly asks, massaging your leg.

You hum in response, laying flat against the bed. The after effects of the high left you unable to keep yourself propped up on your elbows.

This time Kento places both your thighs on his shoulders, wrapping his arms around it and dragging you closer until you can feel his breath on your core.

A shaky breath leaves you, eyes closed and head turned to the side as you feel Kento’s tongue lick a long strip against your heat. Your hands wrinkle the bedsheet between your fingers when he latches onto your clit, sucking at the bundle of nerves like it’s his first meal within months.

Your hands find themselves on his head, fingers tangled in the strands of blond. Your back arches off the bed, a mewl of Kento’s name going into his hair and translating straight to this dick. This time he doesn’t allow you to move as you like, his arms tighten around your thigh, significantly stopping your squirming. Occasionally, his tongue slides into your hole to refresh the taste of you.

“Kento, Kento, Kento.” You chant his name, voice dripped in honey and bliss as you tug his hair, unsure if you’re trying to pull him away or push him closer.

Kento continues sucking on your clit, using his fingers to fuck you once more. The combination of him working on your clit like he’s making out with it and his fingers pumping in you, you couldn’t stabilise yourself. Your hips thrust pathetically into his mouth, chasing the euphoric feeling the faster your second orgasm builds up.

In seconds it washes over you, making your already sensitive body twitch violently. One hand moves to fist the sheet, then to grab Kento’s bicep, digging new crescents into his skin.

Your hand on his hair falls limp, eyes closed as you free your now bruised bottom lip from between your teeth. You try to catch your breath, ignoring your hair sticking to your forehead and the sides of your face due to sweat.

Kento removes your thighs from his shoulders, placing them down to grab the towel. With gentle swipes against your skin, he cleans your wetness from your thighs, the sweat from your face, then your slick from his own face. The sheets and clothes can be dealt with later. Once you’re cleaned up to his standard, he leans down to you, planting an arm at the side of your head.

“Should I run the bath,” he cuts himself off, caressing your cheek after he moves some of your hair behind your ear. “Or should we continue?”

“Huh?” His question falls deaf on your ears. You’re still recollecting yourself after two back-to-back orgasms.

Kento laughs, planting a kiss on your forehead, “Bath it is then.”

“do you play games?” he’d softly ask, mentally ticking off the checkbox in his mind.

once you confirmed that you did, he offered you his gaming chair. at first, you denied, saying that it’s his chair and you’d be fine with just standing. what you didn’t know was that’s exactly his plan. he’d have you on the chair while he stood behind you.

he’d guide you through his pc set up, pointing at different games, chrome extensions, doing his best to distract you so you won’t pay any mind to him. when you settled on a game, megumi would smoothly lean over you, putting his hand over yours to control the mouse.

he’d do it all under the disguise of “i’ve played it before. let me show you the tricks.” slowly moving his fingers to sit between yours, stretching his other arm to hold the other side of the chair, leaning in closer til he can feel the heat from your body, talking more than he usually does.

megumi would pretend to be immersed in walking you through the game, but he’s secretly glancing to see whether you’re showing any signs of being flustered.

an hour into the session and he’s the one who’s fighting heartbeat. you weren’t nervous at all. you were calm, sometimes biting your lip to focus on the game. whenever you did something to gain an achievement, you’d smile at him brightly, cheering with an “i did it!” while he responded with his own “yeah, you did.”

you were acting as if this was a normal, friendly hang out. he hid his true intentions. you didn’t know that staring at him until he answered made his heart race. ultimately megumi’s crush you deepened meanwhile you’re excited for another gaming session.

yuta okkotsu’s mission: shojo moment while walking together (FAILED)

yuta fell victim to the unskippable event of falling for his neighbour’s daughter. can you blame him? you’re the same age (bonus number one) and you never get bored of him turning the conversation into a marathon of his interests (bonus number two).

not only do you frequently talk, you also walk together every day. whether it’s to school, to the convenience store, or just taking a stroll around the neighborhood. your parents never allow you to walk without a guardian and yuta’s more than happy to spend time with you.

today it’s walking to the convenience store, though you hold a grudge against it. you’ve ranted multiple times about the irony of it being a convenience when its prices are anything but convenient.

while yuta’s doing his usual rap about his new obsession, you felt a few drops of rain. at first you shrugged it off, thinking you’re imagining things. the sun hid behind the clouds, yes, but the sky’s relatively bright! not a grey cloud insight.

again, you felt more drops of rain. you stopped walking, opening your palm and tilting your head towards the sky.

“hey, is it just me or is it raining?”

upon hearing your words, yuta stops. he was a few steps ahead of you, unable to notice that you had stopped due to being immersed in talking. he walks to you, eyebrows raised as he’s ready to answer your question. unfortunately, the sudden burst of rain cuts him off.

taking advantage of you being in a tank top, yuta quickly slid his jacket off, ready to swing it on your shoulders.

however, you had other plans. it’s raining and you were told to get what your mother needed with haste. with time clearly being a villain today, you grabbed his jacket with one hand and held onto his wrist with the next.

“no time for that!” you shouted, pulling him behind you as you sprinted towards the convenience store.

the sudden contact caused him to be flustered; running through the rain is dangerous yet he’s allowing himself to be dragged along. he would’ve covered you with the jacket and found somewhere to shelter but you took the initiative.

so close, yet so far. the romantic moment he always dreamed of being replaced with whatever’s going on. a moment that could’ve been filled with romantic tension forever mourned. maybe next time he can take the initiative anywhere else but conversations.

“This is no way to treat a lady. He couldn’t have cleaned before?” Mydei scoffs, leaning back into the sofa with folded arms to emphasize his annoyance.

“What do you know about treating ladies?” Anaxa teases, but it’s a genuine question. One that came from the bottom of his heart.

Mydei raises an eyebrow, scanning the other boy before he licks his lips, “Watch your mouth, nature freak.”

“There’s nothing wrong with appreciating the green of the world. You wouldn’t understand — it’s okay, though, I get it.” Anaxa nods at the end.

Before their banter exploded, you quickly interrupted, cutting Mydei’s response off.

“How long have you guys known each other?”

A calm, small talk inducing question. You should give yourself a pat on the back.

“I don’t know him.” Almost as if they planned it, both Anaxa and Mydei replied with the same sentence.

You poke your inner cheek with your tongue, scratching the back of your neck at the tension rising between the two. Maybe it’s just you. After all, it seems like they’re just joking. Who knows!

A glaring contest begins. The cool eye from Anaxa meets the aggressive eyes from Mydei. And a third one that’s just here for fun. The third pair of eyes belonging to Phainon.

“What are we doing?” He questions, eyes making a triangular pattern between you, Anaxa, and Mydei.

Your heart jumps. You certainly weren’t expecting him to stand behind you with his hands on your shoulders. Such an entry is definitely Phainon’s style.

Mydei breaks the eye contact with Anaxa, immediately frowning at Phainon.

“Were you in there scratching your ass or what?”

“I got nervous.” Phainon admits.

“So you spent… twenty minutes being nervous… because of her?” Anaxa slowly asks, almost as if he can’t believe what he’s saying.

“More or less, yeah.” Phainon shrugs, feeling no shame in short circuiting. “Anyway, I need to borrow her, thanks!”

Without time to give your input, Phainon moves his hand lower to grip your wrist, gently pulling you off the loveseat and into his freshly cleaned room.

Once you're face-to-face with his door, he softly pushes you in first, following behind to lock the door. His room’s surprisingly minimalistic. A few toys here and there, a drone for whatever reason, and a sword’s sheath? You can’t tell if it’s fake or real.

“Nice room.” You compliment.

Phainon smiles, making a beeline to a corner to remove his sweater and then back to you. Once again, his hands find themselves on your shoulders, pushing you towards his bed.

You mimicked the same posture you used on the loveseat — fighting the itch to put a foot on the bed. You have to remind yourself it’s not your bed, It’s Phainon’s.

Phainon, however, doesn’t care whether you raise a foot or not. He’s in his mind contemplating if this is the right time to bring up the topic. He can’t last any longer hiding his feelings. Phainon’s running out of excuses — he blamed his sweaty palms on hyperhidrosis when in reality it’s because he gets nervous when you’re too close.

And this. Nothing is casual about bringing a girl into your private space — especially one shared with two others.

“Hey,” Phainon starts, drumming his fingers against his thigh to distract himself. “Can I ask a question?”

You hum, eyes following the rhythm of his fingers drumming his thigh.

“Have you, uh, ever wondered about relationships?” The question doesn’t quite come out the way Phainon imagined.

The expression on your face turns into a puzzled one. It’s not an odd question by any means, but it sure is a random one.

“Mmm, I have. Why?” You tilt your head, moving your eyes back to his.

“Do you want one?” Phainon swallows.

Suddenly the back of his head feels hot. The room feels hot, too. Although the air conditioner’s set on a temperature to battle the heat outdoors, so it should be anything but hot inside his room.

“Phainon what are you saying, honestly?”

Your second question went unanswered. Phainon bit his lip, praying that you can’t hear his heartbeat pounding against his chest. It’s almost deafening in his ear.

“Can I steal a kiss? Only if it’s okay.” He spoke with no shame but his eyes gave away the true feeling beneath.

You’re stunned for a moment. Sure, you had your suspicions being invited to his house would’ve gone somewhere, but not this fast! You’ve been in his room for less than thirty minutes, and there are two others.

Traveling your eyes from Phainon’s eyes, to his lips and back to his eyes, a teasing smile lights up your expression.

“Usually thieves don’t ask before they steal.”

“Is that a yes?” He’s hopeful, fighting back a smile himself. It’s a useless battle, however. The tips of his ears are already dusted in red.

Nodding, you lean in, licking your lips to moisturize them. You’re unsure of where the boost of confidence came from, but it’s here now. Any regrets will be handled tomorrow. You’re now under the influence of confidence.

Phainon’s hands move to cup your face, leaning down to place a light peck as though he’s testing the waters. His eyes remained open while yours are closed — so he goes for another kiss.

This time, he does it properly, shyly moving his against yours. Your lip balm transferred to his lips, but he doesn’t mind. Phainon’s in a trance; captivated by how soft your lips are. How light your hand on his thigh feels. How gentle he’s cupping your face. He’s lost in you, and it’s only the beginning of the trail.

Breaking the kiss, you keep your eyes on his lips, moving your hand to his now plumped lips. There’s a slight tint of red on them — must’ve originated from your lip balm.

Phainon’s head rests on your shoulder. Reality hit him a bit too late. He’s boldly asked if he can steal a kiss when he has no experience in the field whatsoever. His heart’s racing against his chest and the back of his neck feels warm.

He can’t understand how you’re calm after kissing. Have you done it before — never mind. He won’t sour his own mood.

“You okay?” You softly asked, raising a hand to comb through his hair.

“Yeah.” Phainon whispered, allowing himself to enjoy your fingers raking through his strands before sitting up.

“So… Can we do that again?” A boyish grin debuts on Phainon’s face. Aside from cringing at himself, he can’t believe he shared his first kiss with you.

“Are you crazy?” He hisses, clenching his jaw to fight back the auto-reflex of bucking his hips up.

“Hey, I was just checking.” You smile, thinking of teasing him a bit more. You are the who’s one on top.

“Wipe that stupid smile and get off me.” Satoru orders, but his actions imply the opposite. His grip on you makes it a challenge to move and you’re enjoying the eye candy you were blessed with. The boner’s a plus too!

Since your hips were halted, you decided to push your luck. You slide the hand on his hair down to his neck and the other closer to the left side of his chest. Satoru squints at you, keeping silent but tilting his head to expose his neck more.

You lightly squeeze his neck, hoping it’d distract him from you going in for a nipple pinch.

You were successful, earning a groan as a reward while Satoru lost against his imaginary battle between reflexes.

Inhaling sharply, Satoru smiles sweetly at you, but his grip tightens painfully. Maybe you shouldn’t have pushed your luck.

“My sweet girlfriend, have you ever been in a headlock?”