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scrprints · 3 days ago

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Just You and Me🥊

🥊Summary: Lion Kaminski returns back to the motel after a fight. You are there for him. Like you always are. Both of you relaxing for the night, in the cheapest motel room you both could afford. You show him tenderness, softness, and love. Something he isn't to use to.

🥊CW: Smut, softness, cock-warming, sensual, 18+ content, cowgirl, missionary.

🥊Pairing: Lion Kaminski x Female Reader

🥊WC: 5K+

18+ MINORS DNI

You lie in the dim motel room. The city lights outside are muted through the thin curtains. The stale scent of sweat and leather still lingers faintly, a reminder of the fight that had left him half worn out just hours before. Lion’s chest rises and falls steadily beneath your head, bare skin warm against your cheek. His rough breath brushes your hair as you cradle one of his calloused hands in yours, fingers tracing slow circles over his knuckles.

His eyes are half-closed, tired but calm. Like he’s finally allowed himself to relax in your presence. You feel the weight of his body pressing gently against you, solid and steady, a fortress you never want to leave. His other arm snakes around your back, pulling you closer, anchoring you like he’s afraid the moment might slip away.

You massage his hand softly, careful not to wake the tension still lingering in his muscles. His fight scars, fresh and old, tell a story you don’t need words to understand. Here, in this quiet room, none of it matters. It’s just you and him, the slow rhythm of two hearts syncing in the silence.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, like gravel sliding under your skin. You press a gentle kiss to his chest, feeling the faint pulse beneath your lips.

“Me too,” you whisper back.

And for the first time in a long time, everything feels alright. Your fingers move slowly over his worn, battle-scared hand, the roughness softened under your touch. A low, almost purring sound rumbles from deep in Lion’s chest, vibrating through you as he leans into the massage. His other hand, heavy but gentle, slides up your back, tracing soft, lingering circles that leave a trail of warmth on your skin. The quiet tenderness in his touch is something you don’t often get to see — something far removed from the hard edges his brother Stan brings into his life.

He loves that you’re here. That you stayed. You never said a word about the fights, the bruises, the pain, but you never left either. Every time he came back, broken or beaten down, you were here to take it all away. To hold him like he mattered, to love him without conditions or control. It’s kindness he craves, more than he lets on.

When you finish with his hand, your palm slides up to rest on his chest, fingertips tracing slow, soothing patterns over the muscles. He exhales deeply. A soft sigh that’s equal parts relief and gratitude. Without a word, his lips brush yours — gentle, slow, a quiet “thank you” spoken through touch. The kiss lingers, warm and steady, folding you both into a moment where nothing else exists but the two of you.

You melt against him, heart beating in time with his steady pulse, knowing that here in this small, quiet room you’ve given him something more than comfort. You’ve given him peace.

He pulls away from the kiss slowly, that warm breath grazing your lips stirring something deep inside you. A flutter in your chest, butterflies dancing like they’ve never settled before. The dim light casts soft shadows over the room, revealing the curve of his jaw, the sharp line of his collarbone, the way his muscles still tense and relax beneath the sheets that barely cover both of you from the waist down. Naked skin against skin, you feel the heat of him, raw and honest, mixing with your own.

Lion’s eyes hold a storm you don’t expect. It’s not just desire or fatigue in their depths; it’s something softer, more fragile. His heart aches quietly for you, for the way you care for him like no one ever has. You see it in the way he watches you. The vulnerability in his gaze and it’s almost painful. He thinks I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. But beneath that doubt is a fierce, protective need. To keep you close, to never let go.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulls you gently closer, his hands steady but tender at your hips. You don’t resist. You lean into him like you’ve been waiting for this all your life.

The kiss deepens, urgent and slow all at once, lips and tongues exploring, bodies intertwining like a dance choreographed by everything you both have kept locked away. His hands roam over your back, tracing every inch as if memorizing you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, the world shrinking down to the heat between you.

Here, in this quiet motel room, nothing else matters but the feel of his body pressed against yours and the truth in his eyes — that for all his battles, his fights, and his scars, you are his sanctuary. And he is yours.

Passion ignites between you, slow and deliberate, every kiss and touch carefully measured like you’re both learning the rhythm of each other’s bodies. Lion’s lips press against yours again and again, soft and hungry, as your hands roam gently over the planes of his chest and shoulders. His touch mirrors yours, tender, cautious, almost reverent. As if afraid to rush what’s blossoming between you.

Your fingers trail along his ribs, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, and he shivers into your touch. You move together, bodies pressing closer, heat building with every slow, feather-light caress. The world outside the room disappears, leaving just the two of you tangled in sheets and sensation.

His hands slide over your back, tracing soft lines that send waves of warmth through you. You respond in kind, petting the curve of his waist, the strong muscles in his arms. The air hums with arousal, rising steadily but never overwhelming. The perfect balance of desire and care.

Every breath, every kiss, every touch speaks the language of something deeper. Here, with him, you feel safe, wanted, and utterly alive.

You feel the subtle but undeniable hardness pressing against your thigh, the heat radiating from him beneath the sheets. His breath hitches, and a low, guttural moan slips from his lips right into your kisses. Rough, vulnerable, raw.

Carefully, your hand slides beneath the soft fabric, seeking him out. When your fingers find him, you wrap your palm gently but firmly around his length, starting slow, coaxing him further awake. Your touch is tender yet purposeful, moving in measured strokes that build the tension coiling inside him.

His moans deepen, soft whines slipping out like secret confessions, a mix of need and relief that makes your heart pulse faster. The way he reacts—pathetic and unguarded—pulls at something fierce inside you. Here, away from the fighting and the noise, he’s completely yours, and you’re his sanctuary.

Your hand moves carefully, stroking him with slow, deliberate motions. You glance up at him, searching his eyes. “Does that feel good?” you whisper, voice soft and warm against the thick tension between you.

He lets out a quiet whimper, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before meeting yours again. “Yeah... keep going,” he breathes, voice rough but desperate for more.

You oblige, your fingers moving with more confidence now, coaxing and teasing, careful not to rush. Thumb circling his tip. His moans grow louder, mixing with shallow breaths and soft gasps.

When you feel him fully harden beneath your hand, you slowly slide up to straddle his hips, your body pressing against his. He freezes for a moment, uncertainty flickering across his face as you guide his cock against your wet, aching entrance.

His hands grip your hips instinctively, eyes dark and needy, searching yours for permission.

“Do you want this?” you ask, voice low but steady.

He nods quickly, voice barely a whisper. “Yes.”

As you sink down onto him, his head falls back into the pillow, lips parting slightly in a soft exhale. His grip tightens gently on your hips—not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you both in the moment.

You start moving slowly, setting a pace that’s all about feeling every inch, every curve, every breath. Your hands find his, warm and tentative, and you guide them softly upward until his fingers brush and fondle your breast.

A low moan slips from your lips, mingling with the ragged breaths and light panting coming from him. His own moans deepen, raw and desperate, as your bodies move together, each touch sending waves of heat and connection rippling through you.

His palms press more firmly into the soft flesh of your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in teasing circles over the hardened buds. The sensation makes your breath catch, a shiver running through you as your hips keep moving bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm, grinding against him to pull every bit of pleasure you can from the moment.

His eyes never leave yours. There’s heat there, yes, but also something deeper need, reverence, the silent confession that he’s completely lost in you. His mouth is parted, breath uneven, soft groans spilling out each time you sink down onto him.

The friction between you builds, your movements drawing out moans from both of you. His hands stay on you, kneading, exploring, committing the feel of you to memory while you ride him, both of you lost in the slow, consuming pull of each other.

Lion shifts beneath you, strength gathering in his core as he leans forward. One hand stays on your breast, squeezing and rubbing with more urgency, while the other slides down past your ribs, curling around your back. With a smooth pull, he brings you closer, sitting up until you’re straddling his lap fully.

Your movements never stop. You’re still riding him, but now the position changes everything, the closeness making each thrust hit deeper. You grab the sides of his face and pull him in, kissing him hard, messy, lips colliding with yours as if neither of you can get enough. Breathless moans escape between the heated kisses, your hips meeting his in a frantic rhythm.

Then he starts meeting you halfway, thrusting up into you with controlled force that drives another sharp cry from your throat. Each upward push rocks through you, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing faintly in the small motel room. His grip on you tightens just enough to keep you anchored as the pace builds, pleasure blurring the edges of everything else.

You breathe his name into the space between you, a whisper that trembles with pleasure. The sound pulls something raw from him. His moans shift into higher, needier whines, every thrust coming faster, harder, driving you down into him with a force that makes your hips crash into his.

Your arms wrap tight around his neck, clinging to him as his head dips lower. His mouth finds your breast, licking and sucking with feverish need, each pull of his lips making your pulse spike and your breath break into sharp gasps. The sensation pushes you closer to the edge, your body winding tighter with every second.

The room is alive with your cries, his ragged groans, the steady rhythm of bodies meeting over and over. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, every muscle coiled and trembling, and he’s right there with you. Even as his own release builds, he keeps pushing, trying to match your pace, to keep up with you no matter how wild the moment becomes.

Both of you are so close now, the air thick with heat and the sharp, beautiful sound of shared ecstasy.

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure crests too high to hold back. Every thrust, every roll of his hips sends another shockwave through you until you’re trembling, overstimulated, but unable to stop.

Beneath you, Lion is a complete mess. Hair damp against his forehead, mouth open as broken moans, and needy whines spill out with every push into you. His hands grip at your hips desperately, holding on as if you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You slam down into him again, and that’s it….you break. The release tearing through you in a rush that rips a loud cry from your throat. Your walls tighten around him, pulling him deeper into your climax, and his own undoing follows almost instantly.

He groans your name, his voice shaking, and you feel him spill inside you, his body jerking in short, frantic thrusts until he’s completely spent. The heat between you lingers, the sound of heavy breathing filling the room as you both in the aftermath, your body still trembling, his arms wrapping weakly but protectively around you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You just feel the warmth of him, the way his heart hammers against your chest, and the quiet, fragile peace that follows.

You both ride the last waves of release together, hips slowing until the movement fades into nothing more than gentle rocking. His arms are still locked around you, holding you close as if letting go isn’t an option.

Your chests rise and fall in sync, breaths heavy, warm against each other’s skin. The only sounds in the room are your panting and the faint hum of the air outside the window. No words are needed, just the heat of his body beneath yours, the thump of his heartbeat slowing.

You stay there, sitting in his lap, his hands smoothing slowly over your back in languid circles. He’s quiet, but there’s a weight in the way he holds you, like he’s memorizing every second. You curl into him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, foreheads nearly touching.

For a long while, neither of you move. You just breathe, holding each other, letting the moment settle into something warm and unshakable.

Your foreheads finally press together, the soft brush of his breath fanning across your lips. “You okay?” you whisper, searching his face.

He swallows, his voice low and unsteady. “Yeah…” It’s barely more than a mumble, as if speaking takes more effort than he has right now. His body is still trembling faintly beneath you, the adrenaline and pleasure slowly ebbing away.

You can feel him softening inside you, but neither of you makes any move to part. Your fingers slip into his hair, tangling at the back of his head, stroking gently. He leans into your touch with a shaky exhale, his eyes glassy, a faint sheen of tears catching the dim light.

He doesn’t say it, but you feel it in the way he looks at you—like he’s standing on the edge of something he doesn’t know how to put into words. You’re perfect for him, too perfect, and he doesn’t know what to do with that kind of truth.

“Come on,” you murmur softly, coaxing him. “Let’s lay back down.”

You guide him down slowly, your bodies moving together until his back meets the pillows again. He’s still inside you as you settle on top of him, your chest pressed to his, your ear against the steady beat of his heart. His hands find your back, holding you there without hesitation.

He doesn’t mind, not even a little. In fact, you feel the faintest squeeze of his arms around you, a silent plea to stay just like this. And you know he doesn’t want to part from you any more than you do from him.

You rest against him, your cheek brushing his collarbone, breathing in the warm, faint scent of him. His hands stay on your back, moving in slow, absent-minded strokes, like he’s afraid to stop touching you.

After a moment, you lift your head, meeting his eyes. They’re still soft and a little glassy. You lean in, pressing a gentle peck to his lips. He hums quietly at the touch, chasing it with another, just as soft, until it turns into a few lazy, lingering kisses.

“You sure you’re okay?” you murmur again, voice tender.

He nods, this time a little more certain. “Yeah… I just… don’t think I’ve ever had anything like this before.” His voice is low, almost shy. “With you, it’s… different.”

You smile faintly, brushing your nose against his in a little nuzzle. “Different good?”

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Different perfect.” He kisses you again, before pulling you back down against his chest.

You both shift slightly, still connected, your legs tangling under the sheets. He lets out a quiet sigh of contentment, his hand coming up to stroke through your hair. “I don’t ever wanna lose this,” he admits softly, almost as if saying it too loud would make it disappear.

“You won’t,” you promise, planting another small kiss at the corner of his mouth before tucking your head back under his chin.

The room is quiet again except for your breathing and the occasional soft brush of lips, a warm cocoon where the outside world doesn’t exist. Just you and him, holding onto each other like it’s the only thing that matters.

Your breathing evens out first, slow and steady against his chest. He can feel the subtle rise and fall of your body with each breath, the warmth of you draped over him like you belong there. One of your hands is still curled lightly against his side, your fingers relaxed but still touching him, like even in sleep you can’t let him go.

Lion tilts his head down just enough to look at you. Your lashes rest softly against your cheeks, your lips slightly parted, your face peaceful in a way that makes his chest ache. He stays perfectly still, not wanting to disturb you, just memorizing this. The weight of you on him, the comfort in your closeness, the quiet that feels safe instead of empty.

His hands remain on your back, fingers drawing slow, absent patterns into your skin. The fight from earlier feels a lifetime away. The ache in his body is still there, but it’s muted under the warm hum in his chest.

For the first time in a long time, he feels… happy. Not the fleeting kind that comes from a win in the ring or a night’s distraction, but the kind that seeps into his bones and makes him feel steady. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to have something good.

He blinks his eyes, pressing a final, feather-light kiss to the top of your head. His grip around you tightens slightly, holding you as if the world might try to take you from him if he loosened it.

The room is warm, the air carrying only the quiet rhythm of your breaths and the faint hum of the heater. You shift a little in your sleep, nuzzling deeper against him, and Lion feels his chest tighten all over again. Your body fits against his like it was made to, every small movement reminding him that you’re really here.

His hand never stops moving over your back, slow and steady, grounding himself in the soft curve of you. He knows he should sleep, his body aching and tired from the fight, but he doesn’t want to waste a second not feeling this. Not feeling you.

He dips his head, brushing his lips against your hair, barely a touch. “You’re too good for me,” he whispers into the dark, though he knows you can’t hear him. His voice cracks a little, but he doesn’t care. No one’s ever seen him like this, raw and vulnerable, but with you it feels right. Safe.

Your fingers twitch against his side, even in sleep, as if your body knows you’re holding him. That tiny gesture undoes him more than any fight ever could.

Lion shuts his eyes, pulling you closer, his chest pressed flush to yours, your heartbeat steady against his own. For the first time, in what feels like forever, he’s not thinking about the next fight, the next bruise, or his brother’s plans. He’s only thinking about you—soft, warm, and his.

His breathing slows to match yours, and though he tries to stay awake, to keep watching over you, sleep finally tugs at him. But it’s different this time. Not the restless kind he’s used to, but something gentle. Something peaceful.

With you in his arms, Lion drifts off feeling like maybe he deserves to be loved after all.

The pale light of morning filters through the thin curtains, washing the room in a muted glow. You stir first, shifting slightly against him, but the moment you move, Lion’s arms instinctively tighten around you, pulling you back into his chest. He’s still half-asleep, his breath warm against the crown of your head, a low hum slipping from his throat.

Your body shifts again, and that’s when you notice. He’s still inside you, the connection from the night before never broken. The realization sends a warmth through your chest, not just physical but emotional, like some unspoken promise neither of you could put into words.

Lion blinks awake slowly, lashes fluttering as his eyes focus on you. His lips curve into a sleepy, crooked smile, and he presses a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep.

You tilt your head up, capturing his mouth with yours in a soft kiss. He responds instantly, savoring it. The kind of kiss that doesn’t ask for anything but closeness.

“Sleep okay?” you whisper against his lips.

“Yeah… I slept fine,” he admits, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands rub your back.

You both share a few more sleepy pecks, your lips brushing together between small smiles. He shifts just slightly, his hips pressing up the smallest bit, reminding you of how deeply he’s still joined with you. His cheeks flush, a rare softness crossing his features.

“Didn’t wanna let you go,” he confesses quietly, almost sheepish. “Guess I couldn’t.”

You smile, petting at the back of his head, fingers weaving into his messy hair. “Good. I didn’t want you to, either.”

Lion exhales, a shaky breath that turns into a laugh—quiet, disbelieving, but happy. He kisses you again, longer this time, his hands holding you as if the whole world could fall away and it still wouldn’t matter.

And so you stay there, tangled in sheets and each other, the morning stretching on with nothing but warmth, whispered kisses, and the steady beat of two hearts refusing to part.

The stillness between you lingers, but it doesn’t stay still for long. Every tiny shift of your body over his, every brush of your skin against his, fans the embers left smoldering from last night. He’s still inside you, and though softened, the warmth of you wrapped around him makes his breath grow uneven.

You move just slightly against him, a lazy roll of your hips, and he groans softly into your mouth, kissing you harder as though he’s trying to swallow the sound. His body responds almost instantly, hardening inside you again with a throbbing need that feels both urgent and tender.

“God…” he whispers against your lips, voice strained with disbelief, “you’re… you’re too much.”

You hush him with another kiss, slow and sweet, your fingers brushing through his messy hair. “Then don’t stop,” you murmur, your forehead pressed to his.

Lion’s hands slide down to your hips, holding you gently as you start to move over him, letting every inch sink deeper. He groans, his head falling back into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you—so hot, so perfect.

Neither of you rushes it. The pace is tender, a lazy rhythm of bodies grinding and rocking together, each thrust a quiet declaration of want and need. He meets your hips with his own, thrusting up into you carefully, savoring every second he gets to be inside you.

Your lips never stray far from his. Soft kisses broken by moans, mouths brushing as you breathe each other in. His hands find your breasts again, cupping and rubbing over the flesh as he whispers your name like a prayer.

The warmth between you builds with each roll of your hips, each gasp and sigh shared in the cocoon of morning light. It’s not frantic like the night before—it’s slow, molten, spreading through your veins until it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins.

Lion looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, teary again from the sheer ache of how much he feels. “I don’t deserve this,” he breathes, hands squeezing at your breast, “don’t deserve you…”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to his lips, whispering against them, “Shhh. Yes, you do. Every bit of this. Every bit of me.”

The words push him over the edge emotionally, his chest heaving with a shaky moan as he thrusts deeper, his cock swelling harder inside you, every movement making you both burn hotter. Your body clenches around him, already teetering on the brink just from the intimacy of it all.

The pleasure builds, unstoppable, a tide you both ride together, your moans mingling as the rhythm carries you closer to another shared release.

Your pace is intoxicating, but Lion’s need grows too strong to contain. His chest rises and falls in uneven pants, his eyes locked on yours with such intensity it makes your heart flutter. His hands squeeze tighter, than a tremble—not from pain this time, but from wanting you so badly it nearly unravels him.

“Hngh…” he breathes, voice hoarse. His grip shifts, strong but careful to your hips, and before you can ask, he rolls you onto your back, sliding himself deeper inside you in the motion. His body hovers over yours now, broad shoulders blocking out the pale light, his face flushed and needy.

“You did everything last night,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you hard, messy, desperate. “It’s my turn… can’t let you carry me like that, not when I need you this much.”

Your arms slip around his neck, pulling him closer as your legs wrap around his waist. He groans into your mouth as the new angle drives him deeper, his hips pressing flush to yours.

Lion starts to move, slow at first, a rolling thrust that drags against every sensitive inch inside you. He pants into your ear, kissing along your jaw, murmuring broken little sounds of need as his pace builds.

“God, you feel so good… so damn good,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t… I don’t wanna let you go. Ever.”

Every word hits your chest like a heartbeat, and you cling tighter, moaning his name against his lips. He kisses you through it, hungry, sloppy kisses that taste like love and longing. His thrusts pick up pace, deeper, firmer, his body grinding down into yours with every move, as if he’s trying to mold himself into you, to make this real and unbreakable.

Your cries mingle with his whimpers, the sound of wet skin meeting wet skin filling the room in a rhythm that grows hotter, faster. The air is heavy with love, desire, and desperation. The mix of two people who can’t stop needing each other, who don’t want to.

Lion’s forehead presses to yours as he keeps moving inside you, his eyes wet, his voice trembling. “I’m yours… you hear me? Always yours.”

Lion’s rhythm stays steady, but there’s fire behind every move—each thrust deliberate, but slow enough to make you feel him filling every inch, deep enough to make your back arch against the sheets. He groans low in his throat, his mouth brushing over yours, kissing you between gasps as though he can’t stop needing the taste of you.

Your hands slide over the hard planes of his back, fingertips tracing the muscles flexing under his damp skin. He shudders at your touch, pressing his hips harder into yours, and you moan into his mouth. Your legs lock tighter around his waist, guiding him, urging him deeper.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, breathless against his lips.

His eyes open, locking onto yours, wide and full of heat and emotion that makes your chest ache. He nods faintly, his breath shaky.

He dips his head lower, his mouth finding your neck, kissing, sucking, leaving trails of warmth down to your collarbone. His hand slides between your bodies, spreading over your stomach before cupping one of your breasts, his thumb brushing your sensitive nipple in slow circles that make your moans rise higher.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbles against your skin, voice breaking, “everything about you—everything.”

You tilt his face back up, catching his lips in another kiss, messy and wet, your tongues brushing as your hips rock up to meet his. Every movement grinds him deeper, every sound you make pulling another groan, another whimper, from his throat.

The room feels smaller, hotter, as though the world has narrowed to just this bed, these breaths, this steady, aching climb toward something you both know is coming but neither wants to rush. The tension coils tighter inside you, but the tenderness in his touch, the love burning in his eyes, makes every second stretch like eternity.

Lion presses his forehead to yours again, his thrusts growing a little stronger, a little faster, his body shivering with restraint. “I wanna make it last,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “I wanna stay like this with you forever.”

Your bodies move together perfectly now, every thrust from him meeting every upward grind of your hips, the tension winding tighter and tighter until you can barely breathe. His kisses grow frantic, teeth grazing your lips, as if he’s trying to devour the sounds spilling out of you.

Your nails dig into his back when he shifts his angle just right, hitting so deep it makes your head fall back into the pillow with a broken cry. “Lion….”

He moans at the sound of his name on your lips, hips slamming harder into yours, his control unraveling as he buries his face against your neck. “Say it again,” he begs, voice raw, breath hot against your skin.

“Lion,” you moan, louder this time, clinging to him as the heat inside you coils to a breaking point.

That’s all it takes for him to fall apart. His rhythm falters, thrusts becoming frantic, desperate. His whimpers are muffled against your throat, his hands gripping you like he’s terrified you’ll vanish.

And then it hits you both. Your climax rips through you, back arching hard off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you trembling beneath him. Lion follows a heartbeat later, his cry muffled into your skin as his body shudders violently, spilling deep inside, merging with the load from last night, you as he clings to you with everything he has.

You ride it out together, every tremor, every broken gasp and moan, your bodies locked tight, hearts pounding in sync. He thrusts a few more times, shallow and shaky, as though he can’t bear to stop, until finally his movements still.

The room falls into silence except for your heavy, uneven breaths. Lion’s weight presses into you, grounding, real, his heart hammering against your chest. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t even try to pull out, just holds you as though you’re the only thing tethering him to this world.

Slowly, he lifts his head, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. He kisses you softly. Gentle pecks, tender and trembling, and whispers, “You undo me… every damn time."

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