#and more making her lies work against her

[sturnioz]

shy!reader gets caught under the mistletoe.

you remain pliant and still on the bathroom counter, the cool surface pressing against your thighs through your sheer tights as kitty's fingers gently cup your jaw, tilting your face as the other hand carefully applies the red lipstick to your lips to match the colour of your sweater and the ribbon tied neatly in your hair.

"there we go," kitty murmurs as she leans back to assess her work. "now rub your lips together, like this." she demonstrates for you, her own lips pursing and pressing together, the glossy sheen of her own dark lipstick catching the light.

your gaze lingers on her as you follow her instructions, mimicking the motion before your glittery eyes flick to the mirror, staring at your reflection. you look a little different—a good different—and you lean forward slightly to take a better look at yourself, studying your face like it belongs to someone else, finding something surreal about the way you look.

"you look pretty," kitty compliments, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she slides the cap back onto the lipstick tube with a quiet click. her words make your cheeks feel hot, and your lips curve into a shy smile, your eyes dropping to the floor for a moment as you let out a soft, sheepish laugh.

she playfully swats your knee for you to get down, and you push yourself off the counter, your mary-janes landing with a soft tap against the tile floor. you smooth out the creases in your black skirt, tugging at the hem until it lies just right before brushing your fingers over the soft fabric of your sweater, making sure you look presentable enough.

as you step out of the bathroom and into the hallway, the hum of chatter and christmas music fills your ears, growing louder and louder with each step as you walk down the stairs.

you're a lot more comfortable with this frat party. it feels better — filled with just the frat brothers instead of being packed with strangers that usually leave you feeling so overwhelmed and overstimulated.

a gentle smile spreads across your face once you reach the bottom step, taking in the christmas decorations — the multi-coloured christmas lights, the bows and garlands draped over the doorways, and a tinsel and ornamented tree towering in the corner (which has been knocked down more times than you liked to admit).

you glance around as you walk across the floor, giggling at the sight of everyone's festive-ish outfits — some wearing red and green coloured fits, others wearing santa hats and elf ears with fuzzy christmas sweaters.

you're happy. really happy. the faint scent of cinnamon and nutmeg leads you into the kitchen, where the island is filled with snacks and drinks. you read for the ladle in the eggnog bowl, pouring the creamy mixture into a red plastic cup, and you're about to bring it up to your lips for a sip until you hear bee.

"be careful with that," she warns you, eyeing you from where she leans against the counter. you pause mid-sip, lowering the cup slightly, a confused hum slipping past your lips as your gaze flits up to meet hers.

"why?"

bee gestures toward the bowl, "nate ended up pouring all kinds of alcohol into that thing."

"hey!" nate's voice shouts from behind before you can reply, and you feel his shoulder bump into yours as he steps into the space beside you, leaning down to peer into the bowl with a playful pout. "i read the recipe wrong, okay? when the thing said whiskey, rum 'n brandy, i thought it meant add all of it in. not pick which fuckin' one."

for a moment, you just blink at him, your mouth parting in surprise as you slowly lower the cup to put it down. "you.. you added all?"

"yes."

"do.. the others know?" you ask, glancing toward the door leading back into the living-room before looking back at him.

"course they do," nate grins as he takes a cup for himself, moving around you to throw his arm around bee's shoulder. "merry christmas!"

he raises his cup in a mock taost before leaning in to press an exaggeratedly loud, wet smooch to bee's cheek who whines and smacks at his chest, a grin playing on her lips as he steers her away.

"merry christmas.." you murmur softly, your voice drowned out by the chatter and christmas music as you watch nate and bee disappear into the living-room. you glance back at the eggnog bowl, your lips twitching into a small, amused smile before opting for something less strong.

with a fresh drink in hand, you slowly make your way out of the kitchen, weaving through the crowd of people scattered across the room. your eyes scan the space before landing on chris, standing by the christmas tree—a joint dangling lazily between his lips as he takes slow, deep drags while fiddling with his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen.

you make your way over, a small smile tugging at your lips as you take him in. he's wearing an oversized red sweater, the soft fabric hanging loose over his frame, paired with black jeans and a backwards cap on his head, messy strands of dark hair peeking out from beneath the brim.

"we're matching.." you state softly as you reach him, extending your arm out a little to show off the same shade of red you're both wearing.

chris doesn't react immediately, he just lifts his head from his phone to stare at your sweater with dark, unamused eyes before flicking his gaze to your face. smoke wafts from his lips as he exhales, his attention dropping down to your lips before he finally speaks.

"you got lipstick on your teeth, kid."

your eyes widen in utter embarrassment, and you pull your arm back to raise your hand and cover your mouth. panic flares in your chest as your tongue darts out, running over your teeth in a frantic attempt to remove any traces of lipstick.

chris watches you as you do this, his lips twitching as he leans back slightly, balancing his joint between two fingers as his own tongue prods against the side of his cheek in subtle amusement.

"m'jokin'.." he says finally, taking another drag and letting the smoke curl from his lips as he exhales.

you slowly drop your hand from your face with a pout and a glare, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you try to recover from the humiliation. "not funny.."

chris opens his mouth, probably to fire off another remark, but before he can, a voice from a frat brother interrupts as he drunkenly stumbles over. he cheeks are flushed, and his grin is wide and sloppy as he holds something up above your heads—mistletoe.

your heart skips a beat, and you instinctively glance up at the dangling mistletoe before flicking your gaze back to chris. a nervous laugh bubbles in your throat, but it simmers the moment you take in his expression—chris is glaring at the frat brother, his jaw tight and his lips pressed into a thin line, clearly not happy.

"c'mon, it's tradition," the frat brother slurs his words, oblivious to the tension as he waves the mistletoe around clumsily, nearly dropping it as he stumbles again. "it's christmas, man. just kiss her already, those are the rules."

your cheeks heat up, and you glance nervously at chris who still hasn't moved or said a word. his gaze remains locked on the frat brother, his shoulders tense and his fists clenching at his sides. the silence feels suffocating, and your stomach twists as you shift uncomfortably.

"seriously.. you're makin' this weird," the frat brother pesters, his drunken grin faltering slightly. "what's the big deal? s'just a kiss... you shy or somethin'? scared?"

that's when you see it—barely noticeable but impossible to ignore.

chris' chest rises sharply, his breathing quickening ever so slightly. his jaw twitches, knuckles flex, and his fingers curl into tight fists at his sides. he doesn't spare you a look, and he doesn't even flinch as the frat brother sways closer, still holding the mistletoe.

"it's not that deep, man," the frat brother presses, his voice louder now, and it makes your stomach churn. his lips curl into a genuine smile, trying to make a joke. "you don't know how? need me to show you how it's done?"

chris doesn't laugh. he doesn't smirk or roll his eyes like you expected. instead, his breathing gets harsher, his chest rising and falling faster now, and his fists clench to tightly his knuckles turn white, his entire body looks like a spring ready to snap.

is... chris panicking?

"get that fuckin' thing out of my face," chris growls through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous. "or m'gonna—"

"jesus, dude... chill," the frat brother mutters, a frown tugging at his lips. "you're actin' like i'm askin' you to marry her or somethin'. s'just one little kiss, like—"

"hey. hey," matt's voice cuts in suddenly, stepping in chris' personal space to grip his shoulder, stopping him from moving forward when it looks like he's seconds away from snapping. "that's enough, yeah?"

the frat brother blinks at matt, "what? it's just—"

"did you hear me? said that's enough," matt interrupts, his tone sharper now with an edge that makes the frat brother pause, especially when matt glares at him. "go find someone else."

for a moment, the frat brother looks like he's considering staying, but he ends up muttering something incoherently under his breath as he stumbles away, the mistletoe swinging loosely in his hands.

the tension in the room doesn't disappear immediately though, you can still feel it, thick and heavy. you remain silent, chewing on your bottom lip as you watch matt with chris, barely making out their quiet conversation.

"hey.." matt speaks a lot softer now, moving his hand from chris' shoulder to his chest, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. "it's alright, yeah? breathe, man.."

chris exhales sharply through his nose, his fists loosening as he nods subtly, not sparing either of you a glance as he turns his head away, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly, his expression unreadable.

you stand frozen, unsure of what to say or do. your chest feels tight, and your earlier embarrassment for not being kissed has been replaced with something closer to unease.

matt glances at you briefly, his expression somewhat apologetic before turning his attention back to chris, "y'good?" he asks quietly.

chris nods his head once, muttering something under his breath before taking the cap off his head to run his fingers through his hair. you swallow hard, throat dry as you observe his tense posture and distant stare, making your stomach twist.

something is wrong—something is very wrong.

you're not sure what comes over you, but before you can think twice, you take a slow step forward. maybe you want to comfort him, or maybe you're planning to ask if he's okay—you're not even 100% sure yourself.

but just as quickly as the thought forms, you stop in your tracks when chris finally looks at you. his expression is blank, but his eyes are filled with something you can't quite understand that freezes you in place.

"don't." he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for argument, and you nod your head slowly, swallowing back the lump rising in your throat.

chris doesn't look at you again. instead, he adjusts the cap back onto his head, his jaw clenched tightly as he turns away from you, leaving you standing alone next to the christmas tree.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[sayyestoheav3nn]

You, Again: Part 1/2

Roman x black!oc

Warnings: fluff, angst, short mention of abortion, emotional/verbal abuse

Word Count: 3k

a/n: thanks for your patience, it really means a lot 🥹 I hope this isn't a disappointment. still working on part five of nights like this, most likely won't be posted till monday. click here if you would like to be tagged in part two.

Sky spent hours in her room crying into her pillow. She was sick and tired of this constant fucked up routine.

Her mother’s disdain for her progressively grew worse day by day. For as long as she could remember, that woman did everything in her power to make sure she understood that her biggest mistake in life, would always be the day she chose not to abort her.

It was starting to become a nightly occurrence of her drunkenly barging into her room just to belittle and scream at her. 

Her mother’s hatred for her grew immensely as the years went on, to the point where she would find absolutely any reason to take her frustrations out on her.

This included breaking any and everything she could get ahold of in Sky’s room.

Sky knew any attempt to defend herself would only make the situation ten times worse, so she just stayed quiet and accepted it.

Sky could tell she wanted a reaction out of her, which is exactly why she refused to give it.

Maybe life would have been a tad bit easier, if her sister would’ve had her back during these repetitive toxic situations she was forced into. 

But no, her one and only sibling turned out to be an even more evil and vindictive bitch. 

Eva was four years older than her, and it was absolutely no secret that her older sister despised her.

Sky spent many years hoping she would eventually be able to build a relationship with her big sister. 

Unfortunately, she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Sky remembers that night like it was yesterday. The night where Eva went to the bathroom and her creepy boyfriend tried to make multiple passes at her.

The fact that he knew she was underaged and still chose to hit on her, disgusted Sky to another level. She quickly rejected his creepy insinuations, trying her best to ignore him. 

As soon as Eva stepped out of the bathroom, Sky wasted no time in telling her exactly what happened, not giving two fucks about the fact he was still standing there.

Her boyfriend immediately interjected, saying that Sky was the one who was hitting on him, he painted a story about how she’d been making him uncomfortable for the longest of time whenever Eva wasn’t around.

She remembered the exact lies he spewed, “Baby you know how jealous she’s always been of you, don’t tell me you believe this crazy bitch! Why would I ever do that to you? Let alone in your own house!”

To her surprise Eva looked at Sky like she was fucking insane, Sky could see her sisters anger rising.

“Eva, please don’t tell me you believe him over me…” Sky’s voice cracked as tears started to form in her eyes.

Eva pushed Sky against the wall with all the force she had, causing the back of Sky’s head to slightly start bleeding. 

“If you ever even think to go near him again, I’ll fucking kill you,” Eva sneered.

In that exact moment Sky whole heartedly accepted the fact that she was truly alone, with absolutely no one by her side. 

And just when she had fully given up hope on continuing to live this shitty life, with her even shittier family, she met Joe. 

Joe was a boy who made her whole entire world shift. 

He was her new neighbor, who in a short time of getting to know, became her favorite person. 

As years passed they grew even closer, she was his best friend, and he was hers. 

He was truly a light in her dark world, and there wasn’t a damn thing she’d do to change that.

……….

After another night of the same bullshit fight caused by her drunken mom, Sky carefully stumbled out of her bedroom window making her way across the wet grass that was now starting to soak her fuzzy slippers. Her phone was dead, so she had no choice but to rely on the natural moonlight to illuminate the short path leading her next door.

She lightly tapped on Joe’s window, hoping not to startle him.

Shortly after, he carefully slid his window open. His eyes were low and sunken, a sleepy smile formed on his face.

“Come in.” Joe helped Sky climb in, which basically consisted of him doing all the work in picking her up.

“Shit, sorry for waking you up Joe,” she whispered.

“Sky, how many times have I told you? Never apologize for that shit,” his voice was low.

Joe knew that she had issues with her family, but Sky made sure to never tell him how bad it really was. She knew him well, his hot headed ass would confront them with no hesitation, but that would only end up making things worse for her. 

If Sky’s mom found out about him, she’d forbid her from ever seeing him again.

And that’s something that Sky simply would not allow, so choosing to keep him in the dark, in her eyes was the right choice.

Joe pulled his covers back leaving Sky’s preferred side easier for her to get in.

His bedroom became a safe space for her, it was starting to become a habit for Sky to spend her nights sleeping there. For some odd reason the smell of his sheets gave her a sense of comfort, his cologne scent became soothing to her.

They both laid down on their backs, with their gazes focused on the ceiling. 

Joe was always respectful, making sure he left a small space in between them.

“You wanna talk about it?” He whispered.

“Thanks, but not really,” she sighed.

Joe could hear the sadness in her tone, he knew she was holding something in, but he didn’t want to push her. He believed she’d open up when she felt comfortable enough, so he respected that.

“That’s okay….but know you can tell me anything, Sky.”

She turned her body to face him, “I’m going to tell you something, but promise me you won’t get upset,” she muttered.

Just as Joe was deep in his thoughts admiring Sky’s beauty, beauty in which he was convinced everyone saw except her, her light angelic voice instantly snapped him out of it. “Talk to me, we’ll go from there.”

“This is going to be my last night sleeping here…”

Joe quickly sat up on the bed, with his eyebrows furrowed. Sky could feel his gaze locked in on her. “Why?”

“Joe I know we’re just friends and that we’ve always had boundaries, but you have a girlfriend. It…it just seems disrespectful to keep sleeping here knowing that,” she muttered.

Joe paused in silence for what felt like forever. Sky was starting to get anxious, because the last thing she needed was to cause problems or a rift between them. As regret started to seep in, she decided to try and smooth the situation over.

“It’s just—”

“We’re not together anymore,” his voice was low.

Confusion, that’s exactly what Sky was feeling. This was the last thing she was expecting him to say.

“W—Why didn’t you say anything? What happened?”

“She didn’t like me being friends with you, so she gave me an ultimatum… to choose between you or her.” 

At that Sky stood up, her anxiety causing her to pace the room while so much guilt began to weigh her mind. She felt so fucking bad, knowing that her friendship ended his relationship which was the exact thing she was trying to avoid. 

She swallowed down her emotions as best as she could, which worked to no prevail because she instantly felt warm tears begin to slide down her face. “Joe I-I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t….you shouldn’t have chosen me.”

Joe instinctively walked towards her now seeing that she was crying, he gently grabbed her chin forcing her gaze on his. 

“Sky, there’s no reason to be sorry. It was the easiest choice I’ve ever fucking made.’’

“I—It’s my fault Joe…. I shouldn’t have put you in this situation,” she sniffled. 

“Look at me,” his voice was assertive but still gentle, Sky’s glossy eyes met his.

“The ultimatum wasn’t the only reason I ended things with her, Sky.” 

“Joe, w—what do you mean? I’m confused…..”

He moved some of her hair behind her ears, the way his eyes were glued to her lips gave her butterflies. “I….don’t want to just be friends anymore.”

Sky could feel her heart beating out of her fucking chest. Sure she believed they were close, but in no world did she ever think he thought of her that way. Joe carefully studied her facial expressions, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

“I—”

Before she could speak Joe interrupted. “I’ve always liked you Sky, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, inside and out. I enjoy every moment I spend with you. With that being said… I understand if you don’t feel the same way, my intention isn’t to make you uncomfortable. But, I just needed you to—

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“I want you to kiss me, Joe.” 

Just as he was beginning to lean in, she slightly hesitated while slowly pulling back.

“I’ve.. I’ve never…” Sky was too embarrassed to finish her sentence.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before?”

She shook her head no, her gaze now shifted to the floor. 

Joe lightly brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. “Sky, it’s just me. I got you, I promise.”

Once she silently gave him the approval, Joe gently pressed his lips against hers, starting off slow letting her get used to the feeling. Her lips were so fucking full and soft, it was going to be a challenge for him to contain himself.

Once Joe could feel her growing comfortable, he began to deepen their kiss. Sky could feel her arousal intensify as the kiss went from soft and slow to something more needy and sensual.  

Without a second thought, he picked her up by her ass, hoisting her on his hips. 

Sky wrapped her legs around him, while doing the same with her arms around his neck. Joe carried her back towards his bed, laying her down gently, while pulling her closer towards him.

To his surprise Sky climbed on top, straddling and kissing him. Joe sat up with his back resting on the headboard, a light moan escaped him when she slid her fingers behind his head, lightly scratching at his scalp.

He slightly pulled away, biting down on his bottom lip, his eyes entranced by that beautiful face of hers. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you.”

“Me too,” she grinned.

Time passed, and Joe had no idea how long they spent kissing. It’s almost as if time didn’t exist when she was around him.

They eventually had to stop, Joe refused to get ahead of himself, making sure to prioritize taking things slow with her.

Just as they were about to sleep, Joe got up and walked to his drawer pulling out something plastic, it was too dark for her to tell.

“Shit, I almost forgot.” 

“What is it?”

Joe handed her the light plastic item. “I know you forget to bring it sometimes, so I bought you one to leave here.”

Once Sky shined her phone light on it, a smile formed on her face.

A bonnet. 

Joe went out of his way to buy her a bonnet.

Something so simple, yet so fucking thoughtful made her eyes water “Thank you Joe.” 

She immediately pulled it out the package, wasting no time in putting it on.

Sky kissed his cheek and laid down, Joe pulled her by her waist with his big arms wrapped around her, there was no longer a gap in between. The warmth of his chest on her back was the most comforting thing she’d ever experienced, resulting in her instantly falling asleep.

Since the day he met her, she’d been the only person he thought about. Having her this close to him, internally evoked new emotions for him.

Watching her sleep so peacefully while being wrapped in his arms, brought a smile to his face. In that very moment he made a vow to himself, to always put her happiness first.

No matter what.

…………….

Present

The New York city lights illuminated the busy streets. Sky wasn’t used to being in such a live and ambient city. 

After a shit ton of convincing from her best friend Lori, Sky forced herself to step out of her comfort zone and pursue a new potential career opportunity. It’s something that she had been wanting to do for the longest time, but unfortunately her deep rooted insecurities had her convinced she wasn’t good enough.

She was scared to waste so much time and effort, just to end up receiving rejection. 

Except she was wrong, very wrong. Because after an exhausting few months of traveling around the world and going to so many different try outs, life finally threw her a bone.

Sky had received a message from her agent, informing her that a well known modeling agency based in New York, was interested in flying her in for a week to attend their casting call.

This was an opportunity she was glad she didn’t miss. Lori, being the amazing friend that she is, decided to join Sky to offer her unwavering support.

After being in this colorful, fast paced city for a few days, Sky went in for one last meeting with the agency where they informed her she would officially be signed.

Sky still had the weekend left in this enormous city, so she figured she’d make the most of it. Lori, suggested they try out this new fancy bar to celebrate Sky’s new job.

As they walked in the atmosphere was relaxing, the room was filled with dim lighting and the low sounds of jazz music. Sky noticed diverse groups of people scattered across the room, the air was filled with chatter and laughter, which brought a small smile to her face.

They decided to sit at the stools of the bar, they figured the closer they were, the faster they’d receive their drinks.

To say they were having a good time would be an understatement, Sky was starting to truly enjoy the feeling of being immersed in this vibrant city.

While Lori went to the bathroom, Sky decided to order their third drinks, and as she was waiting she ended up getting distracted with a dumbass reality show, that for some reason was starting to pique her interest.

Just as the boring commercials started to play, she was starting to zone out when out of the corner of her eye she saw a WWE ad.

Sky could instantly feel her breath hitch in her throat. It’s not the first time she’s seen him randomly displayed on tv. 

That’s not the exact reason her heart was racing, while her body felt frozen in place. It’s the fact that the advertisement said he was in this exact area for a press event he had during the weekend. 

Every piece of joy she was feeling prior to this revelation was stripped away.

Lori came back, and with one glance at Sky, she immediately knew something was wrong, “Sky, are you okay?”

Sky cleared her throat, trying her absolute best to play it off. “I’m fine, I promise. I think these drinks are hitting me all at once,” she nervously chuckled.

Lori stared at Sky, seeming completely unconvinced, but she ultimately decided to let it go.

“I’ll drop it for now, only because it’s a big day for you.”

“Thank you,” Sky mouthed.

Sky waited twenty minutes for Lori to finish her drink, her anxiety made it feel like she was waiting a lifetime. Once Lori finished up, Sky asked to leave, using the excuse that she was exhausted. 

Lori paid their tab after refusing to let Sky pay a dime. They started to make their way out of the packed bar, trying their best to maneuver away from large crowds. 

Just as they were close to the entrance door, Lori had to turn around when she noticed she left her sunglasses. Sky was looking back to see if her friend had located them, while still walking forward. 

She decided it would be best to wait outside since the bar was starting to get congested. When she reached to open the door, her gaze was glued to her purse while she dug for her cellphone.

Before she knew it, she accidentally bumped into someone, causing her to stumble back.

She stood up, immediately apologizing, moving to the side as more people walked in. “Shit. I’m so sorry!” 

“Sky?” His voice was low and hesitant. 

In hearing that voice, his voice… she looked up, suddenly feeling the air grow thick. The bar started to feel small, as if it was enclosing around her.

She felt her body go cold, her legs started to feel weak and numb. No words escaped her mouth, she was rendered speechless.

He studied her, noticing she was just as fucking stunning as he remembered. After all these years, the feeling he got when she looked up at him, never changed.

“Sky…” 

“Stay the fuck away from me, Roman,” her voice cracked, while tears began to pool in her eyes. She pushed past him, while quickly walking away.

He knew he deserved it, but hearing her call him by that name fucking stung.

He stopped her by gently grabbing her arm.

“Sky, if you never want to see me again after this, I’ll…I’ll let you be. But please just let me explain,” he pleaded.

“I think it’s a little too fucking late for that,” she scoffed. 

Sky walked out the bar without looking back, quickly texting Lori saying she’d be at a café a few blocks over. Right now all she wanted was to create as much distance as possible, from the man who broke her heart.

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 19)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, sex, anal, double penetration, fingering.

Word Count: 4689

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18)

_________________________________________

Day 195 Part 5

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“What did you just say?” Nesta’s tone is flat, as if all of the emotion that was previously pouring from her soul miraculously disappeared as her walls slammed back up. It’s eerie, how she does that. She sounds like death incarnate, and not the undead zombie kind. Her face is stony, silver glare sharp as a blade, and the way she won’t stop staring at you makes your throat seize.

Maybe you shouldn’t have blurted the conclusion you’d come to upon examining Elain’s wounds. She’s surprisingly coherent for someone bitten by a zombie four weeks ago, and with the symptoms you noticed, her mucus changing from black in color to clear, her fever on the verge of breaking, coherent enough to form full sentences, she seems as well on the mend as she would be with any other sickness.

But how could this disease possibly work that way? Yeah, it seems too fucking simple, really, like an age-old gotchya! movie moment that’s going to kick you all in the ass later on. How could any of these creatives possibly have nailed such an ending like this? A cure for the zombie apocalypse? In the blood of a singular family? Well, as far as you can tell, anyway. Been there, done that, seen that in the cinemas three times over, but you ate it up every single time.

Now that you’re living it, you can confirm that everything about the apocalypse is not that exciting and not that cinematic.

The only sound in the room is Feyre’s soft whimpers of pain. She’s out cold, succumbed to the virus threatening to take control of her body, but she’s breathing, even if it sounds like she swallowed a harmonica. Her restless unconsciousness, at least, draws Rhys’ attention from where he’s still being stiff-armed by Cassian. You’re not angry with the way he reacted to your help…or lack thereof. You’re just as worried about Feyre as he is, as anyone in this house is, and you glance at your best friend as if you can will it into her to survive by looks alone.

It's hard to see her like this, but you hold firm to the notion that the Archeron family can defeat the odds stacked against humanity, and that she’ll pull through.

You give yourself a nod of reassurance and straighten your spine as you shift your gaze from Feyre to her oldest sister. Those piercing gray eyes are soul-sucking in their own way, but you know that Nesta is a terrified girl somewhere beneath all of that iron and nails. Not only has she almost lost one sister to a zombie bite, but now two? You can’t imagine how she’s feeling in a time like this, and you feel helpless that there isn’t anything more you can do.

“Your blood,” you answer, and are shocked by how strong your voice sounds. Even Rhys looks up from tenderly attending Feyre when you speak, stroking her damp hair from her forehead. You shake your head, continuing. “Look, I couldn’t even begin to explain the science behind my thoughts, but from what I’ve seen of Elain���s wound, it’s that the virus is no longer eating away at her. It’s like when her body finally began combatting against the bite, it just…” You trail off, chewing on your lip as you think. You begin pacing, sorting through your racing thoughts. You hardly notice Eris gently steer Nesta away from you and toward a chair, helping her lower into it. Her spine stays rigid, there is no admitting defeat in front of strangers.

“Froze,” she supplies, and a knowing look washes over her face. She’s still glaring at you with those sharp, silver eyes, but at least she isn’t looking at you like she’s actually going to slit your throat for your crazy theories.

“Right,” you agree. Feyre makes another weak noise of protest, like she’s reliving the nightmare of when she was bitten. How scared she must have been, out there alone with Rhys, searching for you, Azriel, and Cassian and a place to call your own. You should’ve never split up.

You tear your gaze from your friend, sliding it down to the arm you wrapped in gauze. You’re terrified to look, to see if the black of the virus in her veins is actively eating at her. The onyx blood polluting her veins travels from the site of the bite, winding all the way down to the tips of her fingers, the black leeching into an intricate spiderweb pattern of her veins. Slowly, carefully, you ease the sleeve of her shirt back above the wound and peek under. The release of breath you let out makes you realize how truly exhausted you are. The wound hasn’t crept any higher yet, hasn’t continued making its way toward her heart, so you take it as a good sign, for now. You’ll have someone monitor her throughout the night.

 “Whatever is in their blood is fighting back against the infection,” you explain. “I don’t know how, or if there’s anyone else out there who’s blood can do the same,”—that is a conversation for later, you note, noticing the weary glance shared between Nesta and Eris. You redirect the end of your sentence to Rhysand, who murmurs something softly in Feyre’s ear, his attention completely focused on what you’re saying. “But all we can do now is wait.”

You lean into Azriel’s side when he sidles up beside you, reading your wearied fatigue on your face. His body is solid and warm and you want to both nuzzle closer and step back, all too aware of how you might smell, the things you’ve touched today. It’s the first time you’ve felt this dirty in a long while. You’ve gotten used to the second, and third, and fourth layers of skin in the form of muck and grime. You ache to get clean.

Azriel doesn’t let you get far, sliding a hand around your waist and pulling you into his broad chest. You hope that the few layers of filth can cover the blush creeping up your neck. This still feels so new with him, the silent, stoic man who you’d figured wouldn’t dare show his rivals his weakness like this. Something must have happened while he and Cassian joined Nesta and Eris in finding your friends if he’s allowing them to see the intimacy between you two.

Public displays of affection are definitely more Cassian’s thing. Case-in-point, he’s grinning like his smile is going to split his face in two, hazel eyes sparking at the picture you and Azriel paint. It’s one that makes his cock twitch, the urge to drag the both of you somewhere private is strong.

He bounds over with a swagger that looks more like he should be striding shirtless down the beach instead of across a fancily decorated zombie shelter in the form of a man’s home that tried to kill you. You can’t take your eyes off of him, how his muscles jump with each long stride, right until he smothers the both of you in a warm embrace in which you easily accept.

“And what of Elain’s progress?” Nesta clears her throat. You open your eyes and catch Eris giving her a nudging reprimand that she ignores. That’s fine, because you don’t feel bad about being with your boyfriends, either. “She’s been like this for weeks. Borderline delusional, spouting lines like she’s a psychic. She may have been able to fight off the virus, but at what cost? Will we ever see our Elain again?”

It's the first tremble of fear you hear from the unfaltering eldest Archeron. And it’s the money question, the one that you have no more of an answer to than how their blood is stopping the infection from the bite.

You shake your head softly and Nesta’s jaw clacks as her teeth snap shut. She shoves up from the chair she’s sitting at and casts a longing look to Feyre. “Well, then. You’ve upheld your part of the bargain and brought my sister back to us, so you can stay.” It looks like it just about kills her to say it, but Eris looks proud. He even offers you a genuine smile. “We’ll take shifts monitoring her health. Until it’s your turn, you can sleep in the basement.”

You hide the instinctive shudder that spindles down your spine. You and basements don’t have a great record, but Eris’ accompanying words do sweeten the deal.

“There’s a fully stocked bathroom down there, with running water. Please, utilize it to your liking.” You don’t know if this is a polite way of telling you that you stink to the high heavens, but you don’t care. They have running water.

You almost sprint down the stairs on that promise alone, but the two men holding you close don’t let up when you try to squirm away.

Cassian grins at you, amused. You try not to pout, but you can’t wait to step under that clean water. You don’t even care if it’s warm, you just want to rid yourself of too many days of filth to count.

And the idea of showering with Cassian and Azriel…your brain almost short-circuits in your head. You’ll feel much more comfortable with their mouths on your skin if you’re freshly clean, which means that there will definitely be loads of fooling around tonight, if the exhaustion doesn’t drag you down first.

“I’ll take first watch,” Rhys says, already planting himself in a chair beside Feyre’s bad arm. He takes her hand gently in his, cradling it as he watches her face contort and sweat drip down her temples. You hurt for the both of them, wishing that there was more that you could do.

Azriel’s lips catch your temple in a long peck. You meet his gaze as he pulls away, and the look on his face tells you and Cassian to go ahead, that he’s going to speak to Rhys.

You nod and allow Cassian to guide you back into the depths of the home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I don’t know how the fuck we’re supposed to sleep under the same roof as that,” Cassian shivers and you glare.

“Cassian,” you hiss, swatting his arm. He winces, rubbing his bicep and shooting you an apologetic look. “Her name is Elain, and she’s clearly still alive,” you bite, because he’s being unnecessarily rude. Yes, she looks like she looks like the mother of zombies, but she’s still a person, or half of one, anyway.

And Feyre’s currently in the same boat.

You wanted to wait for Azriel to shower, you really did, but the enticing call of the clear waters and the steam when Cassian switched the faucet on was like a siren call. There was no denying yourself any longer, and if Azriel finishes his conversation with Rhys within the next hour or two, you’re pretty sure he’ll be able to join you.

For now, you have Cassian. Honestly, you would have taken a small bucket of water and a rag and made do. You were not expecting a luxurious bath in the basement of this luxurious home, and not only is the shower humungous, but it has multiple showerheads.

Multiple.

You think that your bad luck might finally be turning around.

“Sorry,” he shrugs, sheepishly, and you tug him closer to you by his forearm because the suds dripping down his face almost slide into those big hazel eyes of his with the way that his head is turned down to stare at you apologetically. Quickly, you wipe away the soap. You don’t need to hear him whining if it gets in his eyes, you’d like to enjoy the rest of your shower.

You tut, reluctantly accepting his apology. It’s much easier to when his large hands slide around your waist and tug your body into his. The both of you have refrained from touching thus far, much too interested in the running water and scraping your bodies free of dirt, but now that you’re significantly less dirty, you allow yourself to roam your eyes across every inch of delectable skin he has on show. And you mean every single inch.

Your breath catches in your throat as your body slides against his, leaving no room between you. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck where you play with it, enjoying the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

You can feel his cock filling with need. Despite the hot water beating across your back, your nipples pebble when your chests meet in a deep inhale.

“Cassian,” you breathe, fingers tightening between the strands of his hair. His eyes grow with need, the same need that’s coiling in your gut, begging for attention, for the friction pressed against your stomach.

“Yes?” He teases, but his voice is deep with need. You trail your fingers across his shoulders, unable to keep yourself from wandering. You’d press even closer if there was room to, but there isn’t, so you continue your path down his muscular arms, back up, and then trail your touch down his chest, right between your bodies where you can grip his cock.

Cassian hisses out a sharp breath as your fingers wrap around him. It’s been days since you last fooled around, and he’s never cared about cleanliness, but the fact that he can see what you look like not covered in grime and old blood…you’re fucking breath-taking.

“Touch me,” you beg softly. “I need you to touch me.”

Cassian doesn’t hesitate. His hands wind around your thighs and then he’s hoisting you up into his arms with ease. You wince, nails clawing at his shoulders while you worry about his leg but he shakes his head. He doesn’t even give you the chance to ask because his head dips low, his mouth capturing yours in a desperate kiss.

You part your lips for him, kissing him just as hotly, moaning when his tongue traces yours. You pour everything into the kiss, the emotions wearing on you from days spent locking them up. The loss of half of your group, Feyre being bitten, finding all this. It’s overwhelming in the best way, even more so when Cassian’s fingers skim across your slit, causing you to moan loudly, arching into his chest.

“Fuck,” he curses. His chest heaves against your own as he pulls away to drink in your features as he grips your hips and pulls you even harder against him. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the friction of his cock against your soaked slit. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“No, you,” you protest breathlessly, unsure if you’re even making any sense. It doesn’t matter right now, anyway, not with the way you’re dragging your nails down the muscle of his back, telling Cassian that you want more.

His laugh warms your body. It settles between your thighs, the ones that he looks like he wants to settle between. The door opens, stealing both of your attention.

Azriel steps through, running a hand through his dark hair. His lips are pressed in a firm line, his eyes downturned toward the ground. Whatever happened during his conversation with Rhys weighs heavily on him, you catch the flash of sadness in his eyes when he lifts them to meet yours before they fall down you and Cassian’s bodies, drinking in the way you’re entwined with each other.

And Azriel’s gaze heats. Makes you squirm in the best fucking way because you need him just as badly. You want him pressed up against your back, kissing at your neck with his fingers trailing possessively down your body and he and Cassian fight for dominance over you. As he worms his way into your ass, Cassian at your front.

You want both of them, and you want them now.

The words are stuck in your throat, but Azriel sees them. He always does, which is why he wastes no time at all shedding his clothes before entering through the glass door of the shower when you raise your hand to him.

His hazel gaze doesn’t leave yours, not even when Cassian gets back to work, growling deeply against your neck as he ravages you. You release a mewl of pleasure, one hand clamping around the back of his neck to keep him buried against your throat.

Azriel doesn’t stop under one of the many showerheads pouring water. Doesn’t pause at the warmth that drapes itself down his body in a way you could only wish to imitate with the flat of your tongue. He wears the water as well as he wears anything, and his stride doesn’t break until he reaches you.

He caresses your face with a firm hand to your jaw, guiding you right to his lips. He’s sinful with the way that he kisses, knows exactly what to do to make you fucking melt. Even Cassian pulls away to watch the both of you devour each other, and you can feel him growl lowly in his chest, pleasure spiking the temperature of the room to boiling.

You’re so dazed after Azriel’s kiss that you barely catch his words, too busy chasing the taste of his mouth to hear. “Let me wash up first, and I’ll be right here,” he explains, his fingers trailing scalding lines down your back. The tips of his fingers trail right between the crease of your cheeks, a teasing brush over your hole. You shudder with pleasure, automatically leaning further into Azriel for more. You whine when he pulls away, but he kisses you harshly before stepping away completely. “I’m filthy, sweetheart, and you’re all pretty and clean.”

“Make a mess of me, Az,” you keen as Cassian slips a thick finger into your cunt. It slides in with little resistance and you clench around his digit. The both of them threaten to overwhelm you already, and you don’t even have one of their cocks inside of you. How will you be when both of them are sheathed inside of you? “Please.”

“Fuck,” he groans, staring at you up and down. You look like a pretty doll all perched up in Cassian’s arms, ready for the taking. Azriel forces himself a step away, but his hot gaze doesn’t slip from yours. “Let me clean up while Cassian stretches you and I’ll be right there.”

You agree with a huff that shifts into a whine as Cassian teases that finger in a circle, brushing up against your sensitive spot. You hardly get to revel in the feeling before he’s moving further back, pulling out just to press the tip into your ass.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your cheek, peppering encouraging kisses to your face as he slowly works his finger inside of your rear. It’s a foreign feeling, but it doesn’t hurt. You focus on the feeling of his lips on your skin, craning your neck to find his mouth with your own as you force your muscles to relax. “That’s my girl.”

You shudder at those words, liking them all too much.

Half of your time is spent kissing the daylights out of Cassian while the other half of the time is spent ogling Azriel. The delicious curve of his body as he washes the sins of the apocalypse from his body, all so that he can revel in the sins of yours. You can’t help but watch him, the way his muscles contract and contort with his motions. You wish you were the bar of soap he drags down his abs. You swallow harshly when that bar of soap makes it to the vee of his hips and he circles his cock, cleaning himself.

When you rip your eyes away from the display, you catch his hazel ones, glittering with amusement.

You don’t think you can wait all that much longer.

“Quit teasing her, Az,” Cassian groans when you slide yourself against his cock again. It’s a lame attempt at trying to catch his tip so you can sink yourself on him, and when it doesn’t work, you find yourself reaching a hand between your bodies. You can’t wait any longer, you need something inside of you right now or you might burst, but Cassian quickly catches your wrist in his hand, drawing you away from your trophy. “She’s ready.”

You preen at his words, turning to look at Cassian eagerly. His grin is so fucking charming that it makes your heart skip in your chest and you can’t help but lift yourself up to catch his lips against yours, thanking him for being so gentle with you.

“You want to do this in here, pretty girl?” He asks, wiping a strand of hair plastered to your cheek away. His thumb strokes softly against your face, and his eyes are filled with adoration.

“Yes,” you plead. “Yes, yes, please. I want the both of you right here,” you shake your head profusely. Emotions well your eyes. You don’t think that you’ve ever been this aroused before, and not only by one man, but with his companion that has taken you so long to win over. It’s the best thing you’ve ever done and you would do it all over again if you had to.

You turn in Cassian’s arms, reaching for Azriel as he finally nears. He’s as squeaky clean as you are, and he looks utterly fucking edible, even more so when he falls easily into your kiss and plasters himself against your back, trapping you between him and Cassian.

“Please,” you whine again when his lips move from yours in favor of tracing down your skin. His fingers are hot, impatient as they glide across your body, gripping and squeezing every inch of you. Cassian’s doing much the same, and the feeling of the both of them against you is overwhelming in the best possible way.

Azriel hushes you, nipping at your earlobe. Over your shoulder, he makes eye contact with Cassian, who nods. Oh-so slowly, does Azriel take his cock in hand and tease it through your seam, notching the head of himself right against your hole.

“Do it,” you breathe, already arching backwards into him. Azriel doesn’t waste any time, and the both of you release a long, drawn out hiss as he slowly edges his cock into your ass.

“You okay?” He mutters into your ear, though he doesn’t think he could stop himself if he fucking tried. You’re too tight around his cock, if he doesn’t squeeze his eyes shut, he’s going to cum, and he hasn’t even given one full pump inside of you yet. Hell, Cassian hasn’t even worked himself inside of you yet, either. He needs to chill the fuck out.

“More than,” you groan in pleasure. Your fingers curl into the back of his thigh where you’re holding onto him for dear life. “Cass, baby, please!”

“Alright, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your mouth, distracting you as he presses slowly into your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

And they’re so big. Gods, it’s like they’re fucking ripping you in half. You’ve never felt better though, being stretched by the both of their cocks almost makes the apocalypse and everything you went through worth it.

Azriel grunts at the feeling of Cassian’s cock grinding slowly into you. He can feel it through the wall of muscle that keeps him away from Cassian, and holy fuck, it’s better than anything he’s ever done before.

When Cassian comes to an agonizing stop, his hips meeting yours, there’s a stillness in the air. The three of you take a deep breath as one, and it feels like everything that has been waiting to click into place finally does.

It feels like you can finally breathe.

The three of you are attached as one, and you know that in this moment, that there is no leaving each other again. All for one, and one for all.

You love them, and they love you, even if no one is emotionally available to admit it in this very moment.

“Move,” you grit, before you take matters into your own hands.

Neither man wastes a fucking second, and you cry out loudly as they both begin jerking their hips into yours.

“Oh, my Gods,” you moan loudly, uncaring if the sounds you’re making seep through the floorboards to the floors above. You wouldn’t care if you took the mountains down with your pleas, with the noises they’re forcing out of your body as long as they keep fucking going. “Don’t stop!”

“Never,” Cassian agrees huskily, and you can hear the promise in his voice. He readjusts his hands under your ass, keeping you upright. He revels in the way your fingers drag down his muscle, how your other hand is thrown behind your head, keeping Azriel close as you kiss hungrily. Cassian watches, enjoying the view.

When you and Azriel break apart, it’s because your head is too busy falling back against his shoulder in pleasure. Azriel’s hazel eyes meet Cassian’s heady look. The both of them are sweating, beads mixing with the water that’s still pouring from the spout above. This is unlike anything either of them has experienced before, that either of them ever thought could happen. They found you, and you’ve all accepted each other. It’s a match made in fucking hell, but there’s nothing better.

Cassian can’t take it any longer. You cry out when he shifts forward, capturing Azriel’s mouth against his own. It’s a messy kiss, one where they grapple for dominance, but it’s so fucking hot that it has the pit of your stomach coiling. Their cocks drive into you even faster as they kiss, more teeth than anything, and you trip into your orgasm, gripping onto them as they continue to plunge into you.

Both men rip apart to watch your orgasm ripple over you. You’re so fucking beautiful, and you arch, preen under their heavy, hungry gazes. Fuck, you want their eyes on you always, you’ll do anything for it.

Your body tremors with pleasure, tightening around their cocks in a way that makes them release twin groans of pleasure.

“I’m not going to last,” Cassian pants, and Azriel agrees with a choked moan. That, and the way that your eyes flutter open, your face contorting with pleasure so quickly after your first orgasm, is Cassian’s undoing. He cums with a loud groan, jerking his hips into you once, twice, thrice more before he’s emptying himself inside of you.

The feeling cascades over Azriel last, and he cums, burying his head in your neck. You moan as his canines pierce your skin, harsh but not enough to break skin. You’d be worried about the feeling if you weren’t drowning in fucking pleasure, the feeling akin to what you’ve come to fear the most. Instead, you bury your fingers in his black hair to keep him in place.

“One more,” Azriel encourages softly, voice weighed down with pleasure. His hand snakes around your body and his fingers find your clit, rubbing in tight circles. Cassian groans when you tighten around them again, milking their cocks for all their worth. To help you out, Cassian dips low and sucks one of your pert nipples into his mouth.

You cum again with a scream that nearly shatters the glass shower door.

“There she is,” Cassian grunts against your wet skin, cuddling you close when you deflate into his chest. You whimper when Azriel slowly removes himself from your ass, and Cassian cradles the back of your head. “You did so well, pretty girl. So good for us.”

You can only nod, exhaustion weighing your limbs.

“Sleep,” Azriel encourages, and his hands find your body in a soothing motion as he helps clean you off. There’s a light press of lips against your cheek but you don’t know if it’s Cassian or Azriel’s doing. Maybe both. You let your fatigue carry you into a dreamless sleep, entrusting both men fully to care for you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36  @bionic-donut @queserasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamerdreamer @reiincarnatiion @fuckthatfeeling @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001 @fallmyriad @sstrohma @tcris2020 @jeannineee @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite @lees-chaotic-brain @eternallyelvish @lilah-asteria @randombibitch @st4r-girl-official @nanisearchinginnerpeace @aemondsb1tch @chxosangxl @marigold-morelli @w0nderw0manly

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters):

Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion) Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Chapters:

Neon Lights Masterlist

Chapter Synopsis: Jameson's album is released to much celebration while Imani & Isaiah's relationship evolves. EJ prepares for a major life change and Genie's father, Kendrick, worries about his daughter while Camille does battle from two fronts.

Warnings: 18+ (MINORS DNI), smut!!!, oral sex (female receiving), daddy kink (male characters being referred to as that), p in v sex, dom/sub kink (if you squint -- shout out to dusanya), toxic relationship (intentional jealousy, deception, lying), usage of the n word -- if you white and read it, you owe us $20, mentions of therapy, emotional breakdowns, mentions of depression, deception in relationships -- if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 10.1k

Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: 

The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

The hotel lobby buzzed with energy as Jameson’s promo team flitted around, coordinating schedules and prepping for the next interview. Camille lingered by the grand piano, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, but her focus kept drifting to Jameson. He stood across the room, deep in conversation with his publicist, his easy smile and confident presence commanding the space. Everywhere he went, people stopped to look. Even if they didn’t recognize him — he was a beautiful man, it was hard not to look.

Her heart swelled, and a giddy grin tugged at her lips when she realized that he was all hers. I’m his girlfriend. The thought still felt surreal, like she’d stepped into a dream she hadn’t dared to hope for. She wasn’t just part of his world—she was his.

“Hey,” Jameson called, breaking her reverie. He crossed the room toward her, his grin softening into something just for her. “You good?”

“Better now,” Camille said, her voice light but sincere. She reached for his hand, relishing the way his fingers laced through hers.

“Sorry it’s been nonstop,” he said, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Once this wraps, we’ll grab dinner. Just us.” His publicist damn near followed them everywhere since the album promo began. She kept a tight lid on the news surrounding Jameson — even refusing to let Camille do an interview mentioning Jameson. Suffice it to say, the two weren’t overly fond of each other. She’d be glad to get the other man out of their everyday lives.

She nodded, pleased that it was almost over. The day had been a whirlwind and while it was hectic being by his side — she loved it. Even when the lingering shadow of doubt kept creeping in.

Imani’s name had come up more than once during interviews, reporters keen to dig into the inspiration behind Jameson’s album. Camille had smiled through it, remaining unblinking in the face of his past but each mention chipped away at her confidence. She knew they were friends—Jameson had been upfront about that—but it didn’t make it easier.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her attention. She glanced at the screen and froze.

[ +33123456789 ]: Enjoy him while you can. I helped you get him but I can’t help you keep him. If that album’s anything to go by, he’s not over Imani. He’ll go running back to her eventually.

Camille’s chest tightened. She locked the screen quickly, shoving the phone back into her pocket as Jameson’s hand gave hers a reassuring squeeze.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly. “No, it’s fine,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Just a work thing.”

Jameson studied her for a moment, his gaze searching, but before he could press further, his publicist called him back. “Hold that thought,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

As he walked away, Camille’s smile faltered. The room felt suddenly too loud, too bright. She wanted to believe in Jameson, in them, but Sloane’s words lingered, feeding into her worst fears.

She tried to push Sloane’s words out of her head, but they kept resurfacing like a never-ending loop. It had all started at Paris Fashion Week when she and Sloane had been introduced by a mutual friend. They had hit it off immediately, bonding over their shared love for fashion. But as the night went on, the reasons for her move to Paris became clearer.

It was a classic tale of unrequited love – Sloane confessed to Camille that she was in love with a man who didn’t feel the same way about her. The man had chosen another woman and their relationship was chaotic on its best day, destructive on its worst. And it didn’t take long for Camille to realize who this man was – James Lucas.

At first, Camille dismissed it as just a silly crush. After all, Jameson was a famous musician and many women were drawn to him. But as Sloane continued to talk about him – praising his talent and charisma – Camille couldn’t help but feel sad for her. When the news came that Imani and James were over, it had been Camille’s suggestion that she spend time with Jameson to see if would accept Sloane back into his life.

Her job was simple: Talk to him, befriend him, put in a good word for Sloane. Things quickly escalated after she met him. He was just as magnetic as Sloane said…but there was a sadness within him. All she wanted to do was make him smile. Before she knew what was happening, they were in bed together and she was falling head over heels just as Sloane did.

Despite knowing her feelings for him were getting serious, she continued pretending to nudge him in Sloane’s direction – pumping her friend for information. Things he liked, things he hated. With every bit of info, she found herself closer and closer to him. It didn’t take ten years to get close. Sloane had already provided her with the cheat codes. And so she used them until Jameson was visiting her penthouse several times a week for more than just sex.

Guilt ridden but determined to keep him for herself, she began to slowly distance herself from Sloane. She erased everything, hoping not to get caught up. Sloane’s repeated texts and calls for updates went unanswered. What had been an amiable friendship quickly spiraled. Gone was the sweet but obviously love-stricken woman. In her place was a woman scorned — and Camille had earned her ire.

She glanced at Jameson again, watching the way he moved through the crowd with effortless charm. He was hers, but for how long? And if he still cared about Imani—if there was even a chance—could she handle being second best? For all the brave things she uttered to EJ at the party, she was terrified of losing Jameson. And Sloane reminded her that she had good reason to be.

Well, fuck that. Camille took her phone from her pocket and returned a text for the first time in months.

He and I just happened, Sloane. I didn’t intend it. But we’ve made a commitment to each other and nothing is going to undermine that. Not you, not Imani. Nothing. Leave me alone.

She took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the unease. She wasn’t going to let Sloane’s words ruin this moment. Not when she was here, with Jameson, living a reality she’d once only dreamed of. Still, the doubts lingered, heavy and unwelcome.

A month passed and she still only knew him as James Lucas. She hadn’t contacted him, and he hadn’t contacted her. It was bittersweet. It meant that she never had to hear about how great he and Camille were doing, but it also meant that she never got to see or hear him as Jameson. She had come to terms with this…until a few weeks ago when he seemed to be everywhere again. 

His highly anticipated album, Midnight & Dawn, had finally dropped and in the week leading up to it, James Lucas made appearances on every late-night television show, radio segment, and podcast she could think of. His hit single, “Burn,” dominated the airways. He was damn near inescapable. Usually, Imani could handle his public blitz. Every time she saw his name or heard his song, she simply scrolled past it or changed the station. But during an interview on the popular Rhythm & Tea podcast, the damn bastard had to mention her name.

"Okay, let’s get into the details. It’s called Rhythm and Tea. Where’s the tea?” She teased him. “We love your new single, Burn. We have to know, James, is it about anyone in particular? Because we have our theories." "Let me hear the theories." "One of our producers think it's about your latest break up with our girl, Imani. Is that true?" He hesitated before offering a chuckle in response, "Yes, we wrote it a year or so ago. Around the time we broke up." Lea’s eyes went wide and she said “Ooooh.” Much to the amusement of her co-host but Jameson continued. “But I mean — it's Mani. She's a phenomenal woman. You lose someone like her, you feel it. For a long time. But I'm lucky. She and I have managed to be friends. I respect that so that's all I'll be saying.”

Imani watched the clip at least five times now, still reeling from the fact that he mentioned her name on the podcast. But her initial shock has since turned into annoyance. Why would he bring her up now? And friends? They hadn’t spoken in a whole month! And why was he still wearing that stupid watch? In every video she’s seen of him lately, he’s wearing the watch that she had given him. It didn’t make sense. If he moved on with someone else, why was he still wearing a physical reminder of their past relationship? Was he playing some kind of twisted game? 

Imani let out an exasperated sigh as the video began to auto-play yet again. She quickly tapped the pause button, halting the incessant sounds. She hadn’t even heard the song yet. Imani had been diligently avoiding all texts and Instagram comments about his new album, but this interview was the final straw. She couldn’t resist it any longer. 

She reached for her remote from her coffee table and turned on her speakers. A few swift taps on her phone and his voice filled the quietness of her house. She started with Midnight, immediately recognizing each lyric that referenced their tumultuous relationship. 

As she listened to each track, some stood out more than others, but each one hit her harder than the last. The smooth, soulful beats of “Roll Some Mo” reminded her of the first time they met, their love still fresh and innocent. She could almost feel the warmth of her hand in hers and the pure bliss that consumed them.

But when she got deeper into the album and “Confessions” played, Imani’s heart ached with pain as she remembered Jameson’s infidelity and how deeply hurt she was. The lyrics cut her like shards of glass. 

By the time she reached one of the final tracks, “Used to Be”,  tears were streaming down her cheeks. It transported her to the dark space of their breakup, reliving that painful conversation they had and how much she regretted it the next day. His somber voice, accompanied by haunting strings, left her in a state of emotional turmoil. She huddled on her couch, pulling her knees to her chest as sobs wracked through her body. It was as if he had written those songs just for her, ripping open old wounds and pouring salt on them. 

How long will it take me to remember? I'm afraid what we had is already faded We left it frozen in December Who's makin' the rules to make you stay? Ooh

They broke up last December. It couldn’t be anyone but her.

A dying rose in the winter I'm holdin' on every way I can Tell me, is this only just me By my lonely? Ooh

The sorrow in his voice cut through Imani’s heart like a knife. As he sang, memories flooded back, as if their breakup was happening all over again. She couldn’t hold back the tears that were steadily streaming down her face, her body trembled with each sob. In the year since they parted ways, Imani never once reached out to him or checked in with Genie to see how he was doing. Instead, she pushed away any reminders of Jameson, thinking it would make moving on easier. But now, as she listened to him mourn the death of their relationship, Imani was consumed with regret. She should have been there for him, even if they weren’t together anymore.

Imani inhaled deeply as the album came to a close, wiping her face dry. “Shit.” She said. Every song on Midnight had the power to transport her back in time to a different moment in her relationship with Jameson. Each track unlocked a new memory and stirred up a whirlwind of emotions for her. Each song reminded her of what they had lost, it was emotionally exhausting. She didn’t know if she could handle it all over again with the companion album – Dawn. But something compelled her to keep listening, so she pressed play. 

Fightin' fuckin', fuckin' fightin' That's the way we love it, damn, I love you Playin' games just to get a reaction, pushin' buttons

Imani’s mind was flooded with more memories, each one hitting her like a wrecking ball. The fights, the passionate sex, and using other men to make him jealous – she knew all the cheat codes to get under his skin. Their love was complicated, turbulent, and consuming – but it was their own special kind of chaos. So why did it feel like he didn’t love their chaotic relationship anymore? She had been the one to walk away, to choose a different path, but she always thought she could come back to him. Now as she listened to Dawn, she wasn’t so sure. 

Then came the songs that she knew were about someone else – Camille. Her tears turned into furrowed brows and heated skin as the realization hit her. Imani felt a surge of annoyance towards Camille – how dare she be the subject of his love songs? How dare she be the reason he sounded happy? They had only known each other for six months. In a fit of frustration, Imani unlocked her phone and quickly typed out a message to Jameson.

[ Imani ]: The album sounds amazing, friend. Congrats on the success, xoxo. [ 323-555-0198 ]: Thank you, Mani. For everything. I’m glad to see you’re well too, friend.

Furrowing her brow, Imani squinted at the message, her eyes scanning over it repeatedly as if she was searching for a hidden meaning. She couldn’t help but scoff and roll her eyes in frustration. The entire foundation of their friendship felt hollow and insincere. He hadn’t contacted her in weeks, but now his hands were free to type some bullshit ass text? Her fingers flew across the screen, furiously typing out a lengthy response. She read over it as her thumb hovered over pressing send. 

But would he even care what she had to say? He was so wrapped up in Camille. He wouldn’t give a damn about her anger. It wouldn’t ignite him like the Jameson she knew. She huffed, closing out of his messages. It wasn’t worth the time or the energy. Frustrated and fed up with Jameson, Imani turned to someone she knew would take her mind off him and his dumb ass double album. 

[ Imani ]: hey, i miss u. come see me. the gate code is 4592. 

Isaiah Ellis was renowned as the highest-paid and most sought-after athlete in basketball. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. Isaiah was idolized and respected by many for his contributions to basketball. He wielded power on and off the court. People dropped to their knees to get him what he wanted. However, when it came to Imani, he was putty in her hands. She held all the power in their relationship and she knew it. 

Since they met in New York, he’s stayed in contact with her. Isaiah checked in while he was away in different cities playing with his team. He showered Imani with expensive and lavish gifts. And whenever he was in Los Angeles, he dedicated his time to her. Now, Imani wasn’t a dummy. She knew he had other women in his life. She’d seen the tabloids and how Isaiah angled his phone away from her whenever she was near. Imani didn’t care, because he was simply a placeholder for a spot she needed to fill. His company brought her comfort, as he had a way of making her forget about Jameson, even if it was only for a few hours. It was a much-needed relief for Imani.

With Isaiah’s tongue and fingers working tirelessly to please her, Imani couldn’t help but moan and writhe beneath him. He had been going at it for hours – eating her pussy and bringing her to multiple orgasms before allowing her to rest and then starting again. Just when she thought he had gotten his fill, he proved his insatiable appetite by returning for more. 

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” she moaned as his warm breath sent shivers down her spine. His tongue expertly flicked against her clit while his fingers plunged deep inside her with each stroke. She gripped his head as she matched his rhythm with her hips. “You gon’ make me cum again.”

“That’s what I want, mama. Give it to me.” He mumbled against her clit. Isaiah picked up the pace, his tongue joined in on the action. He was greedy, practically begging for her release with his fingers searching for that right spot. 

His tongue pressed harder against her causing Imani to spiral towards yet another orgasm. “I’m…I’m…” she gasped loudly before succumbing to pleasure once again. He slowly stroked her through her release before tenderly cleaning the wetness around her pussy with his tongue and lips. 

“Mmm,” he groaned against her sensitive flesh. “I can’t get enough of your pretty pussy.” He kissed her clit, making her shudder one last time. Isaiah released her from his embrace. Then he stood and made his way to the bathroom, giving Imani time to slip into her thong and return to the comfort of her king-size bed. He soon joined her, settling in by her side. 

“You sure everything alright, baby? You seem off tonight,” Isaiah asked, his hands roaming over her smooth skin. Imani forced a smile and replied, “Yeah, I’m fine. I promise.” But she was lying. She couldn’t shake Midnight & Dawn, specifically the songs she heard about Camille. Despite Isaiah’s best efforts, even he couldn’t make her forget about Jameson and how he felt about Imani. Was he really happy with her? Did Camille make him happier than she did? She was tired of wondering and feeling jealous of another woman. Imani hated him because of the power he had over her. No man could make her insane like he could. 

She reached for her phone on the nightstand and unlocked it. Imani didn’t know this Jameson, but she knew exactly what to do to drive the old Jameson insane. She just hoped that side of him wasn’t gone too. He needed to feel what she had been feeling since this morning: jealousy. Opening up Instagram, she tapped to post as Isaiah adjusted himself, resting his head on her stomach. He said something, but Imani didn’t hear him. She was focused on finding the perfect picture of Isaiah to post. After finally selecting one, she thought of a caption and hit post. Hopefully, this would be enough to make Jameson suffer.

Jameson stood in the middle of Camille's bedroom, thumb frozen over the picture that he hadn’t been expecting to see.

In the weeks since his lunch with Imani, he had wanted to reach out but he didn’t know quite what to say. Being friends with a woman you were in love with but trying not to be in love with was…weird. It was difficult. He didn’t know how to talk to her but he held on to the positive side of things: they wished one another well.

He didn’t know he’d regret those words. He had just opened Instagram, more out of habit than intention, but he had searched her name purposely. He could hear Camille her in her walk in closet, going through clothes to decide what to wear for dinner but he couldn't quite contain himself.

It wasn’t even a picture of Imani. He had spent more time than he liked simply going to her page, staring at pictures of her, and then closing out of the app when he realized how pathetic it was. But this one, he knew he never wanted to see again.

A man sat on a couch, surrounded by dogs. Her mother’s dogs. This nigga met her mama? He wasn’t looking at the camera but he obviously knew the picture was being taken while he played around with the dogs. It wasn’t just the fact that she had taken it and posted it to her account that incensed him. Or the fact that he seemed to already meet her family. It was also the caption. That was the worst part. 

One word: Daddy 🥰

Before he could stop himself, he felt the anger well in his chest — making him tighten his grip on the phone. He’d seen her with other people. Grainy photos taken from a distance but she had never posted them herself. He could console himself with the delusion that if she didn't claim them, it didn't matter. But this man was on her page. This man was claimed by her. And she was calling him things she had only ever called Jameson.

His thumb hovered over the screen, tempted to click on the comments, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to see the flood of people gushing over how happy they were for her. Fuck him. And fuck her right in that moment.

When did she meet him? How long had they been together? Was this why she had so easily accepted his offer of friendship? A million questions raced through his mind as he tried to make sense of it all.

He couldn’t understand why she would post something like that on social media. Was she trying to hurt him? They played games like this often when they were together — seeing who could and would react first. It was part of the allure of being with Imani. Part of the excitement. But they weren't together now so...what was the point? He had no hope for a romantic one but he hadn't wanted to lose her. But now — he wasn't sure if he could even stand talking to her without frustration bubbling over. 

As soon as that thought occurred to him, Jameson knew he was being unreasonable. How could he be jealous? He told her he wanted to be friends. He really did want the best for her. So why did this affect him so much? The answer was right there — lurking in the recesses of his brain: You wanted to be the only man for her. You wanted to be the only man to know what it felt like to bring her to the brink of bliss — to get her so out of control that she called you that one word.

He was a piece of shit.

“Babe, what do you think?” Camille’s voice floated in from the closet. Jameson didn’t bother looking up from his phone as he responded. “Huh?”

“The dress,” Camille said, walking in and doing a twirl. She looked beautiful in a gold gown, shimmering every time she swayed her hips. It was a walk people paid millions for but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. “Do you think they look okay here?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” he said quickly, his voice tight.

Camille tilted her head, studying him. “What happened?”

Jameson forced himself to stop looking, peering up at his girlfriend and trying to school his features into something that didn’t resemble anger. “Nothing, baby. I’m good. I’m sorry. I’m just uh—scheduling an appointment with my therapist.”

She didn’t look convinced but she didn’t push. Instead, she blew him a kiss as she walked back into the closet for shoes.

Jameson exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into fists. Images of Imani fucking another man filled his mind. The worst part was the way he heard an echo of her in his head. Instead of making him happy that she had found someone, he felt a fresh rush of anger.

But there was no time for it. Camille didn’t deserve his misplaced frustration. He had made the decision to move forward in their relationship. And he was going to follow through on it. Jameson took one last look down at the image, a scoff leaving his mouth. He clicked her name, scrolled her profile, and went through the process of blocking her.

It made him feel better for all of two minutes. Two minutes that he used to remind himself that he was a taken man now. He told himself to let it go, to focus on what he had with Camille. She was kind, patient, and everything he should want. She knew him so well that it was like they had been together most of his life. She didn’t play games. She didn’t take pride or pleasure in sending him reeling. All she wanted to do was be with him. He should cherish that. 

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Imani. The caption echoed in his mind, and a bitter thought followed: He ain’t me and I hope she hates it. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He had to get over her. He had to.

Just then, his phone beeped – alerting him to a text message.

[ ej dupree ]: everything’s set [ ej dupree ]: just left kendrick’s house. he officially allowed me to take genie’s hand in marriage 🎉 [ jameson ]: congratulations 👏 ken don’t play about his baby so if he says yes, you must have impressed him [ ej dupree ]: you know me. i’m a impressive muhfucka [ jameson ]: shut up nigga 😂 [ ej dupree ]: you and camille still coming? [ jameson ]: of course, man. wouldn’t miss it for the world. i’m happy for y’all.

“Baby?” Camille’s voice called softly.

He looked up, feeling better after the text from EJ but still annoyed at Imani. It took effort but he managed to school his expression into something calm and collected. “Mhm?”

“I'm ready.” she said with a small smile.

He gave her a small smile, moving toward her in the doorway as he shoved his phone into his back pocket. “I'm ready too.” He saw a genuine smile on her face then and felt guilt hit him in the gut. She was worried about him. Jameson framed her face, leaning in to kiss her softly. “Thank you for taking me to dinner. Thank you for wanting to celebrate me. I’m sorry for being so inattentive. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” 

Kendrick leaned back in his chair, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass of iced tea. The lounge room in his Beverly Hills home was quiet, the kind of quiet he liked—just enough jazz in the background to keep the silence from feeling too heavy. Across from him, Anaïs Lucas sat with her usual grace, her sharp eyes watching him like she could see right through him.

Even now, years removed from his days on the court, Kendrick still had the presence of a man who once ruled arenas. The framed photos on the lounge walls—him in a Lakers jersey, mid-dunk, or holding the championship trophy—were a constant reminder of his legacy. People still whispered his name when they saw him, still asked for photos and autographs when he stepped out in public. But here, with Anaïs, he wasn’t the legendary Kendrick Adesanya. He was just a man trying to find his footing.

“You’ve been staring at that glass for five minutes,” Anaïs said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “That means you’re overthinking.”

“Am I that predictable?” Kendrick asked, a small smile breaking through. “To me? Always,” she teased, her voice softening.

Kendrick exhaled, leaning forward slightly. “It’s Genie. And Jamie.”

Anaïs tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Go on.” “I’m worried about our kids.” He admitted softly. “…I may or may not also be worried about Jamie.” Anaïs confessed. “But about Imogen? Never.” “She’s getting married.”

Anaïs’s eyes went wide but she said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

“I like the boy,” Kendrick began, his tone measured. “He’s solid. Respectful. Loves her, I can tell. He came to the house. Asked for permission to propose. I know it’s just a courtesy but it was good he asked. I just…”

“You can’t let your baby go.” Anaïs finished, her smirk turning into a knowing smile.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It's not just that. But she’s my only one, Anaïs. My baby girl. I want her to be happy and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” Anaïs reassured him. “I know EJ. He’s a good man. Says what he means, driven, loyal. They’ll be okay.”

Deep down, Kendrick knew that. Genie had a good head on her shoulders but he was afraid for her. EJ was a man who seemed to know what he wanted. Genie had many friends — was known as the Princess of the Staples Center — but he worried she was too impressionable. Even at the age of twenty eight.

Her mother died when she was a child and it left Kendrick struggling to raise her. She was a lonely kid, surrounded by mostly adults, but blossomed. By some miracle, she turned out to be a remarkable human being. Kind, considerate, loving. He juggled a professional career at a level that men half his age would have fumbled but raising Genie was his pride and joy. For all her virtues, his baby was whimsical. She couldn’t make a decision to save her life. One week, she wanted to be an actress. The next, she wanted to be an actress and a lawyer.

By the time she was eighteen, none of those dreams had mattered. She settled on fashion design. Went to college for it. Did tons of internships. He would know. He paid for it all. The degrees, the pied-à-terre in Paris, the apartment in Rome that turned into a house in Umbria, the manufacturing of a test line of clothing, and now...he was working on building her a brick and mortar store. If she ever debuted the fashion line she'd been working on for half a decade. Kendrick watched as his daughter did her best to find her place in the world. He wanted more for her than to be someone’s wife.

“I wanted her to find herself before she had a family. I want all those dreams she has to come to fruition. She’s just...so young.”

Anaïs tilted her head, her expression softening. “She’s not a little girl anymore, Kendrick. She’s not lost—she’s just carving her own path.”

Kendrick exhaled, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. “I know that. I do. But when I see her with EJ, I can’t help but think she’s gonna rush into something she doesn’t fully understand yet because she loves him. Marriage, kids—it’s a lot.”

Anaïs studied him for a moment, her gaze sharp but kind. “You’re projecting.”

Kendrick blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’re projecting,” she repeated, her voice steady. “You didn’t marry me because you weren’t ready. You achieved everything there was to achieve and still...you hesitated. You see marriage as the end and not the beginning. Which means you’re still not ready. But Genie isn’t you. She’s got a different story to write.”

He frowned, his jaw tightening. “That’s not why we didn’t get married.” “It isn’t?” she questioned with a laugh, knowing she was right.

Kendrick didn’t answer right away. He stared at the ice melting in his glass, his thoughts tangled. “This isn’t about us. I just don’t want her to wake up one day and wonder what could’ve been.”

Anaïs reached out, placing a hand over his. “She won’t. Because she knows who she is, and she knows what she wants. You raised her to be strong, Kendrick. Trust her.”

He looked at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

Anaïs chuckled softly, withdrawing her hand. “I’ve had years of practice.”

Kendrick hesitated, the weight of their shared history pressing against his chest. “What about Jamie?” he asked, steering the conversation away from his daughter. “You think he knows what he wants?”

Anaïs sighed, shaking her head. “Jameson’s…complicated. The album’s been a reflection of everything he’s going through. And Imani—”

“Imani,” Kendrick interrupted, his brow furrowing. “You’ve mentioned her before. I haven’t met her, but it sounds like she’s a big part of his life. Genie loves her to pieces.”

“She is,” Anaïs admitted. “They’re not together anymore, but she’s still important to him. They’ve been through a lot together. I don’t know. I thought bringing them together would help but I think I’ve made it worse. He seems so conflicted now.”

Kendrick frowned. “Doesn’t sound like he’s fully moved on.”

“Maybe he hasn’t,” Anaïs said, her voice quiet. “But moving on isn’t always linear. Sometimes, the people from our past shape us in ways we don’t expect.”

Kendrick’s gaze lingered on her, the unspoken weight of their own past hanging between them. “Well…,” he said softly. “Now who’s projecting?”

Anaïs met his eyes, her expression unreadable. “I am not.” She said firmly. Kendrick returned her the smug laughter she’d given him only moments before. “We walked away from each other. You want him to figure it out with Imani…because we didn’t.”

For a moment, the years melted away, and it was just the two of them again—two people who had loved deeply but had never made it work. Despite ten years and an engagement, they never could quite make each other fit into their worlds.

He wanted to say more, to tell her that he still thought about her, about them. But the words caught in his throat, and all he could do was hold onto the moment, hoping it wouldn’t slip away too quickly.

Instead, Kendrick cleared his throat, his voice steady but quiet. “You know, I’ve never wanted to overstep with Jamie but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’d want to give him good fatherly advice even though I know I’m not his father. I’d tell him not to let the good ones slip away. Not because of fear or pride or anything else that gets in the way. If Imani’s that person for him, he needs to figure it out before it’s too late.”

Anaïs’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You’ve known him since he was ten. You may not be his father biologically, Kendrick, but he looks at you and sees one. So you are.”

Kendrick blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. He shifted in his seat, his broad shoulders straightening as he processed what she’d just said. “He’s never said but…I wouldn’t mind if that’s the way he felt,” he said after a beat, his voice gruff. “That boy’s got a lot of heart. He’s always gone after what he wanted. If he’s got something special with Imani, then maybe he needs to remember what he stands to lose.”

Anaïs tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “I’ve tried. But Jameson’s stubborn, and he’s still figuring it out.”

Kendrick leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “I said he needs to remember. Our babies are grown now. We have to step back. Let them fumble through it. You were right earlier. Genie is carving her own path. I have to let her. Just like you have to let Jameson be.”

She studied him for a long moment, her sharp eyes softening with something close to gratitude. “You always know how to put things into perspective.” she said quietly.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not always. But I’ve learned a thing or two along the way.”

Anaïs smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “Thank you, Kendrick. For caring. About me. About Jamie.”

His gaze lingered on her, the words he wanted to say still caught in his throat. Instead, he nodded, his voice steady. “Always. You know that.”

The jazz in the background shifted to a slow, soulful tune, filling the quiet between them. For a moment, Kendrick let himself imagine what it might have been like if things had turned out differently—if they’d found a way to make it work all those years ago. But as Anaïs’s smile lingered, he knew he was exactly where he was supposed to be, even if it wasn’t the way he’d once hoped.

Genie hummed softly to herself as she rearranged the clothes in her suitcase. Her little family vacation was set. They left in two days and Genie was ready. Her father promised to drop in for a couple of days — he had a business meeting at the end of the week so he wouldn’t be with them the full week but Friday and Saturday was good enough for Genie. It had been a while since she got to spend completely uninterrupted time with him and she was excited.

It was even better that EJ’s mother and sister agreed to come. When EJ suggested they get their families together, Genie immediately considered inviting Imani. Just as soon as the thought came, it left. They were slowly getting back to where they used to be. Inviting her to be on a snowy mountain with her, EJ, and other people she didn’t know seemed…excessive. But Genie couldn’t help but wonder if they should invite more people.

Namely...Jameson. He was her family. But inviting Jameson meant he would probably bring Camille and Genie felt like that was taking a side against Imani. She didn't want to do that so she made due with her father and EJ's family.

As she tugged the sleeve of some fabric from her closet, she realized that it wasn’t hers. It had to be EJ's. They were getting down to the wire. Their flight left tomorrow and waiting til the last minute to pack hadn't been her brightest idea but she was getting it done. She should have just thrown it back into the closet but it was one of his favorites. She decided to be a good, mindful girlfriend and pack it for him. His suitcase was already prepared but she dragged it out of the closet, unzipped it, and flipped the heavy case open. Humming to herself, she unzipped one section and began folding the jacket. Her hand hit something hard when she wedged it inside. A box?

Genie pulled the jacket out and tossed it aside, reaching back into the section and grasping the box. It was small, made out of black velvet, and heavy.

Her heart stopped.

She didn’t mean to open it, not really, but her hands moved on their own, trembling as she flipped the top. Inside was a stunning diamond ring, its facets catching the sunlight streaming through the window. A gorgeous two stone ring. One of the large pear shaped diamonds was pink. The other was a brilliant white. The band ensured the diamonds would circle the finger of anyone who put it on. It wasn't the usual ring but it was perfect. For her. She gasped so loud that she started to choke on her own spit.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her breath hitching.

This wasn’t just any ring. It was the ring. EJ was going to propose.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she snapped the box shut and set it on top of his suitcase like it was a live grenade. She stared at it for a long moment, her thoughts swirling. Was it too soon? Were they ready for this? Did he even know what he was doing? Her panic only grew as the minutes ticked by. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and opened her messages. There was only one person she could think to text.

[ Genie ]: imani, i need you.[ Genie ]: i think ej is going to propose.[ Genie ]: i found the ring. i’m losing my shit

The dots indicating Imani was typing appeared almost immediately.

[ Mani Mani ❤️]: breathe, genie. where did you find it? [ Genie ]: in his suitcase. we're going on a trip. but i wasn’t snooping, i swear![ Mani Mani ❤️]: i know you weren’t. just…what do you want to do?

Genie stared at the ring again, her chest tightening. She didn’t know what she wanted to do. She loved EJ. He was the kindest, most supportive man she’d ever been with. He was loving, he was protective. He took care of her emotionally and physically. Nobody had ever made her toes curl and her face hurt from smiling. Nobody but him. But marriage? That was a big step. They had only been together for a year and hadn't even moved in together. 

What if he proposed and realized it was a mistake? How would she recover from losing him? What if they got engaged and he changed? It was terrifying. Her thumbs flew across the screen.

[ Genie ]: i need you to come to aspen with us. [ Mani Mani ❤️]: what? [ Genie ]: please, mani! i think he’s going to ask me there, and i need you. i can’t do this alone.

The dots appeared again, then disappeared. Genie held her breath, waiting. Finally, Imani’s response came.

[ Mani Mani ❤️]: i'll be there

Relief flooded through Genie but she didn’t even have time to text a response – she heard EJ calling for her from the living room. Her eyes went wide as she immediately dropped her phone and grabbed the box, shoving it back where she got it from and hastily tried to close up his suitcase. “I’m up here, love!”

She heard him come her way and barely had enough time to shove the heavy case back into the closet before he entered the bedroom. Genie played off her breathlessness by stretching her arms over her head and then to the left.

“...What you doing?” he asked her, humor evident in his tone. “...Yoga.” she replied nervously. “You acting weird,” he said bluntly. “What happen?” “Nothing!” Genie replied quickly, waving her hands in front of him. “Where you been?”

EJ raised an eyebrow at her abrupt change in conversation but he walked further into the room and lifted his head. Genie knew exactly what it meant. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. He grinned at her, pleased that they seemed to have their very own shorthand.

“That yoga stuff works?” he asked curiously. She noticed that he didn’t answer her question but Genie didn’t press. Instead, she decided to distract. “Yes, sir.” Genie replied, pressing a kiss to his nose. EJ immediately knew where things were going. “Do you want to try it out?” She smirked when EJ’s eyes went wide and he nodded his head slowly.

"What's this position called?" he asked her gruffly, holding on tightly to Genie as she twisted her hips. Her suitcase was left halfway pulled together, all thoughts of the ring stuffed in his bag was lost. Genie was lost. Her jaw dropped as she clung to EJ, her hand tightly against the back of her head as she ground down onto him.

"You don't hear me talking to you?" He asked her and her breathing hitched. "Um...It's--It's called the Lotus." She whispered, leaning in for a kiss. EJ reared back, depriving her of it.

"Focus, Genie. This is important," he said, his gaze intense but lips quirking into a teasing grin. Even when they weren't playing, EJ was perpetually in control. Genie's heart raced, wondering how to get what she wanted from him.

Instead of kissing her, he stared at where they were joined, a blissful expression on his face. His eyes were teasing but hooded. Without hesitation, he wedged his hand between them. Genie tensed and cried out, her back arching.

"You want to know something?" EJ asked her and Genie started nodding, not even cognizant of the fact that he was asking her something. "I believe you." He placed his hands against her hips, halting her movements and Genie's eyes went wide with panic. It felt so fucking good. Why was he stopping her?

The two struggle for control. EJ keeping her still with strong hands and Genie whimpering and begging lowly. He pressed his full lips to her ear, talking lowly as he controlled the pace and sank into her slowly. "You take this shit so good." He praised her. Pride raced through Genie's body as she stopped struggling, willing to do anything to get his approval. "You so wet for me."

The words sank into her bones and filled her body with warm satisfaction. Each time his pelvis ground against hers, she felt heat filtering in and spreading straight to her clit. A moan escaped her lips with every thrust -- as if he pushed it out of her. She was nothing but putty in his hands.

Her breathy little whimpers doing more to drive him crazy than anything. "Baby, you gotta be quiet or I swear it's gonna be over before I'm ready."

Genie really did try to stop but she couldn't. The sounds came from her with ease. It was like he had asked her to stop breathing -- she would if she could for him...but she couldn't.

EJ lifted a hand from her hips, covering her mouth with his palm. Another came up, pressing to the nape of her neck as he began to thrust into her with earnest. Each glide in brought a grunt from him and a gasp from her. She was entirely in his control and it was addictive.

Her orgasm was immediate and so visceral that it sent a shudder through Genie. Heat blossomed in her stomach before spreading out all over her body. She screamed behind his hand, tingles spreading out all over her body. Even as she flew into the clouds, EJ kept her grounded. He wasn't done yet.

"I love you." he growled.

Genie mumbled something behind his hand, her eyes drifting closed as she clung tightly to him. EJ lifted his hand just in time to hear her mumble it again.

"I love you more."

A rumble of satisfaction came from his chest and he rested his forehead against hers. "I'm gonna come inside you and then I'm going to make love to you again." He promised her, his lips hovering against her own. They grazed one another and Genie panted against his. Finally -- he let her kiss him. It started slow, building the more she realized that he wouldn't pull away. Soft and timid turned into wet and messy. The wilder she got, the harder he thrust into her.

He didn't pick up the pace. He kept it deep and slow -- with an intimacy that made her feel glorious...and guilty. She had doubted their love for each other in a brief moment. Sex didn't make a marriage but in that moment...Genie knew that she could trust EJ to take care of her. Always.

When he came, he kept his promise. It was inside her. And within ten minutes, he had flipped over and they were starting all over again.

Aspen was gorgeous. White snow everywhere, a large expansive house in the hills. EJ had gone all out for Genie and Jameson was glad. He couldn’t wait to watch them get engaged. He and Camille arrived the day after his friends but they were greeted almost immediately. Genie seemed flustered but was polite to Camille and it pleased Jameson. He had told Cami everything about his family. About how he considered Genie his sister and Kendrick, Genie’s father, better than his own father. She knew it was major that she was meeting either of them.

It was shaping up to be a perfect trip even before he and Camille finished packing their bags…before EJ burst into their room. He didn’t knock and Jameson immediately knew something was wrong. “What is it? What happened?”

“Jamie,” EJ said, slightly out of breath. “Let me talk to you in the hall.” “What?” “The hall, nigga!”

Jameson reluctantly followed, closing the door tightly behind him. He didn’t even get to ask again. EJ told him bluntly. “Imani is here.”

Jameson stiffened. “What do you mean, she’s here?”

“She’s staying here. Genie asked her to come.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His mind raced with questions—Why would she come?—but he forced himself to stay calm. EJ launched into an explanation about it all being a mixup but Jameson didn’t care. All he could focus on was the fact that he couldn’t fuck this trip up.

“It’s fine,” he said after a moment, though his voice was tight. “We can get along for a few days.”

EJ gave him a skeptical look. “You sure? Because this can’t get messy. This is important, Jamie.”

“I know, man. I’m not gonna fuck this up for y’all.” Jameson promised, “I’m gonna ask Cami what she wants to do. If she wants to stay, we’ll stay and everything will be cool. I swear.”

EJ hesitated, then nodded. “I’ma trust you to mean that.” “I do. It’s alright, man.”

He did his best reassuring EJ, noticing that even though he agreed — he didn’t relax. He was nervous and Jameson’s shit with Imani was making it worse. When he returned to the room, Camille immediately pounced on him.

“Everything okay?,” she asked.

Jameson took her hand, sighing softly. He couldn't break it to her gently. The best way was to put it out there. “Imani’s here,” he said carefully. “She’s staying. Genie called and invited her.”

Camille’s expression didn’t change much, but her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Oh.”

“She didn’t know we were coming, baby. EJ didn’t tell her. Genie wouldn’t do something like that on purpose.” He said softly, rushing to reassure her that Genie wasn’t on some mean girl shit. Sure, he and Imani had agreed to be friends but anyone would know that this would be an awkward situation for them. “I didn’t know she was coming,” Jameson added quickly. “So it’s up to you. If you want to go, we’ll go. If you’re okay with staying, we’ll stay.”

Camille lifted her gaze to him, giving him a soft smile. “It’s okay. I don’t want you to miss a family trip.” She rose to the tips of her toes, kissing his lips softly. “We’re staying.”

Relief washed over him, but it was tinged with guilt. She trusted him and he was still struggling with his feelings for Imani. It made him want to be better for her. He didn’t want to give her any reason to regret believing in him.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her back. “Let’s go down and say hi to her. Get this over with.”

She agreed and the two of them finished unpacking. Jameson took her hand in his own and they walked downstairs together. He was doing his best to prepare and in his head, he ran through everything he needed to do. Don’t stare at her. Don’t hug her. Don’t smile at her too long. Shake her hand, give her a nod, and welcome her. Then leave.

It didn’t take long until he saw her. Once they hit the bottom of the stairs, there she was. Strutting through the living room, not holding a damn thing in her hands. All her bags were with the tall man that Jameson immediately recognized — and his stomach dropped into his feet. Every bit of the pep talk he had given himself faded. He felt annoyance filter through his body as his stomach twisted. Why the fuck would she bring this new ass nigga on a family trip?

She looked up from her phone to see him and froze in her tracks. Jameson had to remind himself not to let Camille’s hand go. “Hey.” he muttered, doing his best to seem friendly and not pissed the fuck off. “EJ told us you were here. We wanted to say hi.”

Imani blinked at him before easily giving him a smile. He hated it almost immediately. “Nobody told me you guys were here but hi.”

“Hi, Imani,” Camille said warmly, her grip on Jameson’s hand steady. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Imani turned to give her a smile. “Nice to see you again too,” she mumbled. She turned to the man behind her and beckoned him forward. “This is Isaiah.”

Jameson lifted his free hand, offering it to the man even as he had several bags in his hands. Never let it be said he couldn’t play nice. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Isaiah replied, putting a bag down to grasp Jameson’s hand tightly. His tone was polite but distant, his handshake strong but not insistent. He didn’t seem to think he had anything to prove to Jameson and even the thought of that pissed him off. At least Camille knew Imani was competition.

Jameson glanced at Imani, his heart pounding despite himself. Everyone had lapsed into silence and he knew there wasn’t much more to be said. “We won’t hold you. Just wanted to say hi. Looking forward to the rest of the weekend.” Isaiah gave him a nod, picking up the bag again, and then he did something that pissed Jameson off. It was small, a quick gesture that probably wouldn’t have made him feel a way if he didn’t have feelings for Imani.

Isaiah urged her forward with a pat against her ass. “Let’s get settled in, baby.” He told her. And she listened. She did what he asked, moving forward and giving Jameson and Camille a quick wave. He bit down on his tongue so hard that he could swear he tasted blood. The urge to curse the stranger out so strong that he didn’t know what the fuck was coming over him.

He watched the two start to go up the stairs and a terrible idea occurred to him. One he was ashamed of…but he didn’t stop himself. He peered down at Camille, noticing she seemed a lot more relaxed to see that Imani had brought someone. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.” She said softly. “Mm.” Jameson said noncommittal. He didn’t want to admit that he knew. Instead, he focused on her. He brought both his hands around her waist, pressing to the small of her back. “Let’s go find the hot tub.”

Her eyes went wide. “We just got here. We need to find something to eat.” “I know what I want to eat.” He said softly, making her giggle.

Jameson moved to kiss the side of her head, moving down to her neck. He placed a few kisses there as Camille’s hands came to press to his shoulders…but that wasn’t getting the job done. He dragged his tongue along her skin, pride hitting him when she gave an involuntary whimper. Jackpot.

He peered up towards the stairs. Imani and Isaiah didn’t turn back but he saw her steps falter.

Good. Seeing Imani with someone else stirred something deep and unpleasant in him and part of him wanted her to know she had pissed him off.

Imani didn’t think to ask Genie if Jameson was coming to Aspen. All she wanted to do was be there for Genie. She had failed her so much during the year they had been apart. She knew there was a possibility. He and EJ were thick as thieves. Why wouldn’t he support his best friend as he took that next step with Genie? She needed to be prepared, so she took drastic measures by inviting Isaiah. It may have seemed foolish to invite someone she had only known for a month on a family trip, but she couldn’t bear the thought of facing Jameson and Camille alone. She still didn’t know how Jameson felt about her. Her latest Instagram post generated no response. He didn’t call or text her. There was nothing.

She was starting to think that he moved on for real this time. That he was done with her…until she spotted the glare on his face when he saw Isaiah. He was uncomfortable. Everyone else didn’t see it, but she did. She knew that exact look because it was familiar to her. Jameson further confirmed her suspicion when she spotted his glare at Isaiah after he patted her ass. He was jealous, just like she wanted him to be. It took everything in her not to smirk.

Imani took her victory in stride, trying not to appear too happy as she ascended the steps. She heard the kissing noises, but she paid them no mind. It wasn’t until she heard Camille whimpering that she nearly tripped over her feet. Like clockwork, her temper flared. Imani almost stomped a hole into the stairs with every step she took. Oh, this was how he wanted to play? Well, she could play that game too.

Once she reached the top step, she peered over her shoulder to see if Jameson was still there. He was. Without hesitation, her finger hooked into Isaiah’s belt loop. “Come here, daddy. I packed something special just for you.” She said softly, pulling him towards one of the bedrooms.

Isaiah’s intense gaze locked onto Imani, his dark eyes tracing every curve and contour of her body. He couldn’t help but to bite his lip in anticipation. “Well, what you waiting on, mama? Show me.” She laughed, probably a little too loud. Imani couldn’t see it but she could feel Jameson’s icy glare, it was cold enough to give her frostbite. She reveled in the feeling of power it gave her - she refused to let him have the upper hand over her, not now, not ever. 

Nina Dupree stood in the kitchen, peeking around the corner as she sipped from a mug of coffee. She heard company arriving but before she could go out and greet them -- she heard Jameson's striking voice come down. One look around the corner and she saw the exes come face to face. Her eyes went wide but she didn't say anything. Their voices didn’t carry, but their body language spoke volumes. Jameson was standing with another woman but his gaze consistently strayed to Imani. There was a tension between them that she was confused about how anybody could miss it. Seemed like messy unfinished business.

“Imani is here?!” Ella whispered, peering around the corner and leaning against her mother. Nina jumped, forgetting her daughter was in the kitchen with her. Her phone was in hand, the screen lighting up with a stream of notifications, but her attention was fixed on Jameson and Imani.

“Yes. Did your brother mention that to you?" Ella shook her head, her gaze bouncing back and forth between Jameson and Imani. She gave a low whistle. “Awkward. She's here with someone else?” “Seems like it,” Nina replied.

Ella tilted her head, studying the scene like it was a reality show. “Oh, that's gonna be a mess.”

Nina sighed, her gaze following her daughter’s. She saw the way Jameson’s arm tightened around Camille but his brows furrowed as he looked at the man next to Imani. It was subtle, but Nina caught it. She always did.

Ella leaned back, crossing her arms. “Bet you ten dollars we'll see hella drama this weekend.”

Nina shot her a look. “Ella.”

“What?” Ella grinned. “I’m just saying. You can’t put two people with that much history in the same house and not expect fireworks.”

“This is EJ’s trip,” Nina reminded her firmly. “Let them sort out their mess, but we’re staying out of it.”

Ella shrugged, her thumbs flying across her phone screen. “Fine. But if it gets messy, I’m tweeting it.”

“Little girl,” Nina warned, though her voice was more exasperated than angry.

“I'm playing, Mama.” She paused, then added with a smirk, “Mostly.”

Nina shook her head, but her attention drifted back to Jameson and Imani. The couples were starting to part and she watched Imani head up the stairs with a man in tow. She watched Jameson eyes follow her up even though he was pulling another woman closer and laughing. And then she saw Imani turned around. She saw the look on her face and knew it was going to be some shit with those two for the weekend.

Ella asked her softly, sensing that the tense scene in front of them was already over. “So, what’s the plan? We selling our story to TMZ or what? What about This Just In?”

“Ella Dinah Dupree,” Nina said reprimanded her, turning to face her youngest child, “Our job is to focus on EJ and Genie. This is their trip. Let the others figure out their own problems.”

Ella tsked, already typing something on her phone. “Aight but I already told you what I'm gonna do if they squabble up."

[simmplerussiangirl]

Her Princess

Part three

Ambessa Medarda x The Reader

Synopsis : The only daughter of the Ras family is exchanged with the Medard clan for a peace treaty. Thanks to her pride and the hard core inside her, she doesn't falls into despair and continues to live. She continues to live to take revenge on her family for literally selling her to a clan of enemies.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: I already realized that you like drabbles more, but damn, this work is more elaborate...

After about five minutes of wandering up and down the stairs, I finally reached the deck, which was surprisingly empty. Walking over to the railing, I climbed over it. I stretched out on my arms, which I used to hold onto the rail, breathing in the salty air, I smiled a little. The sight of water always thrilled me and I would probably love to work on a ship. Yes, the work would be hard, but that feeling of imaginary freedom stirred my blood. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the sea, trying to memorize it as best I could.

 For the first time in a long time I felt good, free. Even in spite of all the events that had happened. And even though my heart was filled with anxiety, I knew that I would remember this moment only with a smile.

 Suddenly I cried out, feeling someone else's hand on my stomach, and the way it pressed me against the fence and someone else's big, warm body. I didn't even realize how cold I was until I felt such a stark contrast of warmth.

 I looked down at my stomach and saw a dark scarred woman's hand. It was completely around my stomach and waist, not even giving me a ghostly hope that I could escape. I relaxed a little at the fact that it wasn't some drunken warrior clutching me, but Amressa.

- It's a nice dress,” the Medard clan leader said glumly, ”But I remember it was delivered to you in a different state.

-Really? - I thought about it playfully - Ah, yes, I remember there were some dresses that looked like they were made for an outlandish doll.

- Dolls? Interesting comparison-the woman held me tighter to her, seemingly afraid that I was about to fall into the sea. - You're going to drown yourself?

-I'm not going to give you that joy, believe me, I plan to make your life a living hell-” I laughed hoarsely, leaning my head back against her shoulder.

- What's wrong with your voice? Why is it so hoarse and low?

- And you shouldn't give a fuck about that,” I lost all the fun, ”Let me go, I'm not going to drown myself. If I wanted to, I would have done it a long time ago.

-No-she moved her hand right to my waist and took it from the other side and with some incredible ease lifted me over the fence and set me beside her.

 My face expressed what must have been an extreme degree of displeasure. I raised my head and looked her in the eye. Now standing in front of her without heels, I could feel the incredible difference in height. Considering that I was also very frail, it probably looked ridiculous.

 I rolled my eyes and walked over to the fence again, this time just sitting on it.

- What are you doing here?

- The warrior who was guarding you reported that you left the room with a very aggressive demeanor,” I rolled my eyes and snorted quietly. - I knew it wasn't true; he was being punished for his lies.

- Punishing your loyal warriors because of your trophy? - I laughed again, feeling her back come up to me again, but this time she didn't touch me, just put her hands on either side of me, leaning over my head.

- Do you consider yourself my trophy?

- Isn't that what it is? I personally think that word describes my situation perfectly. - I swung my legs, I felt the vise of anxiety release my heart. To my surprise I felt impossibly comfortable being around her. Under other circumstances I would have fallen in love with her and fallen in love with myself, but unfortunately not now.

- Not like this. - A menacing wheeze sent a small shiver through me, and I was slightly surprised at my body's reaction to her proximity, her voice...

- Who then? I'm at a loss as to what status I'm in.

- It has not changed, Princess Ras. I took you away in exchange for a peace treaty, whatever your parents may have annexed to some other country. - The woman took her hands off the side and just when I thought she was about to leave, I felt her lean her elbows on the rail so that she grazed my palm. She hummed and looked up into the starry sky - You think I haven't tried peace talks with them? I offered them safety and my support in case they were attacked, but they refused. So I went to war on them, I couldn't let my enemies get you and your magic. It's easier to fix a problem when it's small. You can't wait for it to grow. Do you understand?

- I see,” I thought for a moment, raising my head too and looking up at the night sky, ”I doubt my mother will be able to rule. If I were you, I'd send proxies to make sure she doesn't run the kingdom into the ground and- - I stammered, realizing that Ambressa has no need to preserve my state. She didn't care deeply if it collapsed or not. She only wanted my magic from my kingdom. And to keep it from becoming stronger than hers.

-And? - The head of the clan hummed and turned a smiling face toward me. But that smile wasn't mocking, rather it was sweet and soothing.

- And that was it. I've already realized that it's in your best interest...” I looked away, ”I'm sorry I made your job easier by killing my father. I should have let him live.

- Do you regret killing him?

-No, I regret that my state will collapse in my lifetime. -No.

 We were silent for a while, each of us thinking about something else.

- If you get over your pride and ask me to send my men there, I'll do it. As a sign that I'm not going to be your enemy. It's not in my best interest after all. - I could feel the woman's gaze on my face, attentive, scrutinizing.

- What's in your best interest? - I turned my head and looked earnestly into her eyes.

- To be my confidant, to make your magic my greatest weapon.

- And in return, you will not let my country decline? - A flame of hope flickered in my eyes that I couldn't seem to hide. Ambassa smiled at my face with the softest and most charming smile I had ever seen in my life.

- Yes, but you still have to ask for it.

 I narrowed my eyes and puckered my lips, showing my displeasure, which made me hear a raspy laugh.

- You're different now, not like you were in your palace. Too emotional....

-I held my face there, in front of my parents and my people. I couldn't look weak in front of my people, then they would lose confidence that everything was fine, and my family would lose respect. They would definitely start a revolution there, and my mother... She could never in her life rein in even the servants, let alone the rebels. Now I don't see much point in putting on a mask. And what's the point, you'll understand what I'm feeling anyway, you've obviously had a lot of experience in this matter.

- You won't even try.

- It's not rational. I'll just go crazy if I keep masks on all the time, and besides, why would I do that? I'm no longer a member of the royal family.

- What makes you say that? I already told you that you haven't lost your status. Once you learn how to rule, I'll let you go back to your homeland and you can continue to rule in your homeland.  I'm not going to take away your heritage.

 - Will you make a comfortable ruler out of me? - I laughed hoarsely again at the disrupted voice and stared silently at the sky, pondering the dialog that had just taken place between Ambessa and me. I took a deep breath of fresh air and turned my head.

  Mrs. Medarda was leaning back, relaxed, on the railing, looking up at the sky, her face was completely calm, not a single muscle in her face was trembling, she was breathing deeply, seemingly enjoying the sea breeze too.

 “She's especially beautiful right now...”. I twitched from my thoughts.

-Okay, then as Princess Ashara I ask you to send men to my state to prevent the decline of the kingdom. - I stood up from the railing and looked at her again.

- If you say so, darling"-the woman straightened up and grinned at me. She hooked my chin and forced me to look her straight in the eye - Sometimes, you have to swallow your pride. I'm not telling you this as a pejorative, but as a fact. From time to time, there are no options left but to ask for help. Like you just did. - And while I was recovering from either the shock of her touching me or her words. The girl picked me up in her arms like a bride. - You walk barefoot on a ship whose decks are lined with wood. You'll get splinters and diseases. What do you want, princess?

 I just stared at her in shock, unable to get anything coherent out of my mouth. The woman, on the other hand, looked at me with a slight smile, starting to walk.

- Fuck, Ambessa, put me on the floor! - I jerked my legs, trying to get out of her arms - Stop it, I understand, of course, but I'm not a kitten that weighs a few hundred grams and can be picked up whenever you want.

 Medard laughed hoarsely, not even thinking of stopping and letting go. She didn't seem to care at all about the strength with which you were thrashing about in her arms.

- You think I can't hold you in my arms? You're sorely mistaken, you weigh nothing to me. What did you say, “kitten”? Well, you are a kitten.

 I rolled my eyes, but I stopped kicking, enjoying the warmth of the woman and the feeling of safety. I heard her snicker softly.

- Have you been in situations where you needed to temper your pride? - I decided to revisit the subject.

- A long time ago, before I came to the throne. And I made sure I would never be in that position again in my life. - Ambressa carried me like a jewel, carefully, making sure I didn't hit anything, head or feet. - Because of the vines you braided around the door, Maria couldn't get to you, so I can send people to wake her up and bring her to you. - In a hurry Ambessa translated the conversation; it seems that this topic of conversation was unpleasant for her. Well, I didn't insist, I found out everything I wanted to know.

-No need let him sleep. - I didn't want to see anyone; I just wanted to close my eyes and wrap myself in a warm blanket and fall asleep. I could feel my body freezing, and the only thing I wanted was to be warm at last.

-The woman opened my cabin and sat me down.

 I looked around the room and realized the place had been cleaned up. The ashes that lay everywhere from the burned cushions and parts of the dresses had been removed, leaving no trace. The dresses themselves were gone, either put back in the closet or taken away. There were sheets of paper and new pens on the table again. What was new was the first aid kit on the bed.

Ambressa crouched on one knee in front of me and took my ankle in her hands. She pulled something from the medicine cabinet and began to wash the blood off my legs.

 I watched her movements mesmerized. Her touches were light and gentle, even though she was the epitome of strength and courage. When all the blood was washed away, she soaked a cloth in alcohol and put it on my skin, which made me yank my leg and hiss. But she didn't let me pull it out, just squeezed my leg tighter.

-Hush, princess. You've cut your feet into meat, you need to work on them.

 She looked at me with her lovely eyes, tilting her head to the side, letting me prepare for the pain. I clenched my fists, held my breath, and nodded slightly, letting her know I was ready.

 She went back to treating the wounds. I could feel her hands twitching at my slightest moan of pain. The only excuse I could come up with for why she was doing this was that she only wanted to establish communication between us.

- I looked down at her exhaustedly and exhaled a sigh of relief. - I'll just bandage your legs and you'll be free to go.

-Why are you doing this? You know I could have done it myself, or you could have had a doctor come to me. - The question just came out of me.

- I like taking care of you,” she finished dressing me without looking up. - And I want you to trust me. Neither I nor my men will harm you, I want you to understand that.

 She stood up again, towering over you, pressing her power again.

-Good dreams, Princess Ros, -she left the cabin without waiting for my reply.

-I whispered absent-mindedly in the empty room and climbed under the blanket. Using magic, I turned out the light in the room and closed my eyes.

 “I'll think about it tomorrow,” was the last thought that flashed through my head.

[deandoesthingstome]

Ode to COD Writers

First of all: No, I'm probably not back. At least, not writing.

Second: No, I'm not changing my URL, icon photo, or...well, I guess I can't really say my concentration, but honestly. Who knows?

It isn't like this account has ever been exclusively one thing, and COD posts haven't been unheard of until now, but it certainly hasn't been where my attention has been. Until now.

I took a Tumblr break, but during one of my quick check ins I came across an amazing Ghost x Reader fic that had me hooked from the get go. Now, Ghost is not my type. Not really. But Soap sure as fuck is. So while I ran, ran I say, to AO3 to follow the rest of the Ghost series (tattooer!Ghost??? I bit hard), I also took the time to swing around the author's other works and then the tags to find more of what I crave.

Good. Fucking. Stories. (No, they don't have to be about fucking. But it's nice.) Stories written with passion and care. Stories that sink into you brain, swim around in your blood, and take up the breath in your body. Stories that put a new twist on an old idea, or come up with their own idea. Stories that make you want more, crave more.

So, I need to tell you about this. It may not mean anything to you. But if you know me, you know I love to tell you what I love about a story so that if it tickles your fancy in any way, maybe you'll take it for a spin and see if I lied. Check the cut for recommendations:

I haven't listed all elements of every fic, so be sure to read the tags and the warnings if there is something you don't like to read. I just needed to get this love letter out. I've added Tumblr account links where I could (and if my budding Nancy Drew skills failed me, I'm happy to remove the link.)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

it happens. - jo_lapeno (soap x reader) (I THINK this is @jolapeno here, but in a round about way. Her masterlist links to AO3, where the author has a pseud, so make sure to check out the jo_lapeno link also. I'm sure her Pedro fics are just as bomb.

This wasn't my first Soap fic. It won't be my last. But it's one I wish I could crawl into and wrap myself in. The push and pull, the way the story is crafted, the build of passion, desire, need, the worry, the love. Just see if this enemies to lovers doesn't fuel your desire.

Hung Scot Can’t Hold Himself Back, Huge Oneshot (Girlfriend POV) - callmepoison (soap x reader) (@goaskpoison - https://goaskpoison.tumblr.com/ I can't tag you. But also, I think this post explains why I'm still waiting for my hunger for storm chaser to be sated. And you better believe I switched my playlist from The Roots to The National as I write this. I'm not sure this is the vibe I envisioned while treading those steel halls, caressing those big birds, sneaking into quarters, fighting in the streets, but I like it just the same. It honestly feels like it fits the fic I was actually trying to rec just now...or maybe it fits "it happens", above?)

Unrelated to the playlist garble above, you aren't in the military in this one; you're a medical resident at UCLA Health. You find Johnny in the best way. You take the right risks and come away with the best prize. He is so. fucking. charming. The consummate co-pilot. An absolute dream come true. I'd happily crawl into this universe, too.

This Chapter 8 of Kinktober 2024 - Call of Duty - 1478963255 (yes that's the account name; I cannot find them on Tumblr) (soap x reader)

Like, all of them really. But this Soap x Reader quickie in the rain outside the bar down the alley where Ghost is watching will make you wish your back was against that brick wall.

storm chaser - callmepoison (soap x reader, ghost x reader, soap x reader x ghost?)

This is not complete. This is an interesting take on A/B/O. This had my heart racing, fingers clenching, breath held. I wanted to care as much about the ships as the author did, but I was too mesmerized by the OFC (you) to spend the time. I wanted to know everything, EVERYTHING, about her. I needed to know her name, her scent, the way her skin feels under my fingers... oh shit, that was Soap. That was how Soap felt. And it's funny, 'cause I'm 99.9% sure Soap is fucking Ghost (or maybe the other way?), but you're gonna end up fucking both maybe? I don't know because we're only 5 chapters in, but, my god! do you have a fun time getting here. Johnny is my hero.

The (Scottish) Cabin in the Woods - Charlie_M (soap x reader x ghost) (EDIT: @charliemwrites - I'm Charlie, too! )

Technically speaking, not just Johnny. This may have been one of the first COD fics I found and read on AO3, but it was well before this most recent foray. It started with you and Johnny at a cabin in the highlands, through a delicious vision of Johnny chopping wood, before it sent you to a masked man's cabin - chained to the wall next to Johnny. It's a total mindfuck. But beware - it also is not complete. There purports to be one more chapter, but who knows if it will ever come. I don't care. It's gorgeous.

Everything in Kinkmas 2024 - GloomWitch @gloomwitchwrites

Yes, the author of Ink & Needle, that tattooer!ghost x reader fic I mentioned above, is back with a quintet of cute little vignettes with Soap, Ghost, even Gaz. They are all special, but For Long Distance Fun is a beautiful homage to your favorite Scot.

Kinktober 2024 also gave us Monster (S)mash, the absolute best porn set you've ever been on. Soap, Chost, Gaz AND Price! Get 'em all in one! Just love everything about the detail, the world building, the admiration and love.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

I know I said he wasn't really my type. But good stories are and if they put me in his way, who am I to question it? Expand your horizons.

A Brute, Brute Heart - GloomWitch

Is also sending me to my knees for this man. It's only just begun, but if it does what it says, you are about to get dommed by Ghost. like. yes. please. This first chapter will set the mood. Enjoy.

ever yours....

[chirpingfromthebox]

The Fleet's Post-game Press Session from 1/5/2025 - BOS vs. MTL at Seattle

The Boston Fleet's post-game press session from after their Takeover Tour game against the Montréal Victoire in Seattle.

At the table were head coach Courtney Kessel, and forwards Susanna Tapani and Hannah Bilka.

A transcription is under the break.

[To keep it on par with the other side I did a marginally looser transcription on this one as well. Basically just cut out some of the stutters and filler words/phrases that you always get in these sorts of interviews as people try to phrase an idea on the spot. I usually keep them in for accuracy, even though they make the text a little muddier, but they do slow things down as they are trickier to get down properly.

Although there were definitely still some reporter bits that I couldn't quite make out.]

[Video seems to begin after a question was asked, as even though the players are still appearing to be getting situated at the desk the video begins with Courtney Kessel speaking.]

COURTNEY KESSEL:

I think just an unbelievable experience. Our players have got to do some fun things yesterday and the day before that. And it’s just really nice to come out with a win. A good hard-fought game and I think we really earned those points today.

Reporter:

Coach, what do you think the turning point of this game was? Obviously that second period was a lot of special teams play. What did you see from your group to pretty much stay with it and not get down going down a couple goals early?

COURTNEY KESSEL:

I think our ability to sustain offense from line to line to line and to continue that was a huge difference for us to continue with the momentum. And then finding ways to get pucks in was one of our biggest things too.

Reporter:

For both players, and similarly to what coach was just talking about, what were some of the conversations or things you were doing on the bench to really turn that tide in that second frame?

HNNAH BILKA:

I think just staying with it. Not getting discouraged with what the score is. I feel like we have a very calm group and kind of a steady vibe to our bench. Just that internal confidence that we know that we’re gonna come back.

Reporter:

And Susanna, for you, especially thinking about that shootout goal, is that something you know where you were going to go with it? Do you just kind of take what’s given?

SUSANNA TAPANI:

That’s actually a long time that I’ve scored that goal, but it’s something that I’ve done in the past for sure. I waited a little too long maybe, but- [chuckles] I’m glad that it went in.

Reporter:

So this game is kicking off the Takeover Tour for the PWHL and I believe that you all have 2 more games left that are going to be in these different neutral sites. How are you approaching this tour? In terms of going to different cities that don’t currently have teams, but have people that want to come see you, and those kinds of things?

COURTNEY KESSEL:

It’s an exciting time for our game and I think you see the growth just continue to grow every single day and we had an amazing audience here today. Hopefully moving forward we can continue to grow this. But if you think about where we were one year ago from today, who would have thought that we could expand so soon. Right? Just reach out to all these young girls and so I think just continue to grow it each and every day. That’s really what these players do.

Reporter:

Two questions please. First, for both of the players, can you tell me about Jessica Campbell coming into the room before the game? Whether you had a chance to talk to her individually, what her message to you before the game, what it meant to you?

SUSANNA TAPANI:

I think it was a big moment for all of us. The work she has done here and we saw on the ice how big she is in this city. Yeah, it was awesome. Awesome moment that she came into the locker room and told us that we should be proud, all of us, for what we have done here.

HANNAH BILKA:

Yeah, it was really cool. I feel like I’ve been following her for awhile and she’s just paved the way for women’s hockey. To be an assistant coach in the NHL, that’s a huge deal. So it was so cool getting to be able to hear her talk and be at the game here today.

Reporter:

And coach, can you speak a little bit about yesterday’s clinics and the autograph signings and the whole vibe? And how did what you experienced in Seattle compare to what you experience in the 6 PWHL cities?

COURTNEY KESSEL:

I think one of our core values as a team is to impact the community. And I think when you come into a place that doesn’t have a team just yet in the PWHL, it’s great to get out and to reach out to those little girls. They were at our practice cheering for us, so I think that’s a great environment for practice. And then to be able to get on the ice with a few of them, the players got out to throw the fish and kind of experience the city a little bit. So it’s really great to get out into the community and express our love for the game and give back a little bit.

Reporter:

I was wondering, before the final [???] changed the tone of things a little bit, do you think your team deserved a little better than it had going for it?

COURTNEY KESSEL:

Yeah, you know, heading down the stretch here, we’ve been on a little bit of a long road trip looking for a puck to kind of find the back of the net for us and see the light at the end of the tunnel. So it was really nice to see that go in. I think the biggest key is just to stick to our gameplan. We played a great 60 minutes. When we went into the first period- or the first intermission down two, I don’t think it was an indicator of how we were playing and I love to see us battle back.

Reporter:

Down two goals you still had some pretty stellar goalkeeping behind you. Knowing you were going to have to take some risks do some [???] what does the level of goalkeeping you have behind you allow you to do in situation like that? Knowing that you do have that kind of an anchor.

HANNAH BILKA:

I think it just gives us so much confidence as group. We know she’s gonna come up with a big save and really keep us in the game. So she’s our anchor back there. Yeah, just can’t say enough great things about how good of a goaltender she is.

Reporter:

Kind of keeping the theme here, it was a pretty marquee metric for the goaltenders in this one in general. Players, coach, can you just speak to what you saw out of [Ann-Renée] Desbiens in this one? Obviously she had a good game going on before you guys let things kind of [???].

COURTNEY KESSEL:

I think across the league we have tremendous goaltending and that’s probably why the scores of the games are always kept pretty low. But two tremendous goaltenders going head-to-head in the great city of Seattle, with a great fan base; I think we gave them a game that everyone wanted. Some physicality and brought us all the way into a shootout, so it’s exciting. But I think when you have the top 10 goaltenders in the world you’re gonna see great goaltending every single night.

Reporter:

And then I’d just like to ask, you kind of touched on it a little bit there coach, but what do you hope the fans who were at attendance today and were able to see you at practices yesterday, take away from this one? Obviously when the Jocks In Jills podcast mentioned expansion to the city it was pretty loud. It looks like that’s what people want here.

COURTNEY KESSEL:

Yeah, a very warm welcome from Seattle and I think our players enjoyed it. I want them to see our game and how amazing it is and how amazing these players are and how hard they work. And, you know, the game is fast, it’s physical, and we’re just at the beginning of where we want this league to take off to.

[End of video.]

[thenationofzaun]

The circumstances of his death should have been a MASSIVE plot point this season. Imagine if Jinx lied to everyone and blamed his death on Caitlyn. From the general undercity's POV, it would be reasonable considering that just a few hours prior, topside raided one of his factories and killed a Chembaron's child. No one else knew about Jayce reaching out for a peace deal, so people could buy that topside had him assassinated, and that Jinx took that as a declaration of war and retaliated by firing at the Council.

But Caitlyn and Vi would inform the Council of the truth, and now there's an information and propaganda war between topside and the undercity, with topside insisting it was Jinx who killed Silco, and Jinx insisting it was them. Sevika being stuck in the middle because on one hand, she knows damn well it's possible Jinx fucked up and killed Silco on accident, and she wants to kill Jinx for that. But on the other hand, Jinx makes a powerful ally against topside, is finally willing to fight for the cause, and is actually gaining followers and rallying more people to the cause. Sevika having to stamp down her suspicions and work with Jinx because she has no other choice.

Something. Instead the show just brushes the actual way Silco died under the rug. No one cares, no one questions, we don't even know what anyone thinks actually happened to him.

I really can't stress enough how actually disastrous it is that Silco's role in the series is so downplayed in s2 and even in fandom. Writers and some people seem to treat him as sort of a Vander/Heimerdindong/Cassandra/Ambessa type of character, but he is not one in the slightest. He absolutely IS a part of the main cast, it is an objective truth. Yes, he's the oldest character out of the bunch, he doesn't leave buildings/offices often and most of the things he does is talk, not even invent something like Viktor. The Vander/etc type of characters are mostly reactionary, they enter the stage only when one of the main characters does something, while Silco is very proactive. He does start his plan early due to kids blowing up Jayce's apartment, but even that was partly a direct consequence of his own actions, because he would've gotten this information much later if not for Deckard, who he himself employed to keep an eye on the kids. And like I emphasized many, MANY times, he's connected to almost every single character and plotline in the series, so given all these factors he just can't be considered a side character. He just can't.

I mean, imagine if for example Cait died in ep9 instead of Silco. Writers wouldn't let us forget this fact for the entirety of the second season and even possibly some of the spin-offs, because how can they? She's one of the main characters, here, you see her on the poster! But here's the same question: why Silco doesn't get the same treatment? Why does the character who with his actions shaped most of the plot post act1 is so completely ignored? I mean, I know the answer, you know the answer - the writers for s2 didn't like him and had a very obvious bias against him. I just don't understand why some fans follow them suit. How can you be so disingenuous towards one of the core characters in the whole story? Because he's a villain? Well damn, I guess we're supposed to ignore Joker now when we talk about the Batman universe.

[hsslilly-blog]

hollywood u never specified what addison’s mother is sick with, or if it’s terminal; just that she’s really sick, right? rather, that she has been really sick (for a while). personally, i’ve always read it as if it were terminal. lmao not surprising. anyway you know what that means *hits her with dead parent beam*

[lisbonsteresa]

i'm going to SCREAM

[gibbearish]

btw similar to the whole "if you try adderall at a party and it calms you down, get an adhd test" thing, if at some point in your life you try microdosing shrooms with a friend and end up feeling like a functional person for the first time in your life, get tested for depression. like yeah hallucinogens come with elation so youre probably gonna have some "this is the best ive ever felt in my life" vibes regardless, but like. if that in and of itself feels like finally breathing in for the first time in years, thats for sure a sign that something is up with your ability to process serotonin most of the time. feeling better than ever before should be a nice bonus, not a crushing weight off your chest

[freydis-freydat]

She did not especially appreciate the way he looked at her, although she figured it was her mistake for using more words than necessary, even in Elvhen. It had been some time since she had dug her heels in so firmly, long enough that she wasn’t sure how the last time she had been truly stubborn had turned out. The difference here was she was trying to abide by his boundary for the time being once she noted how it affected the dragon, at least for as long as it managed to be within her control. Freydis didn’t answer him knowing that anything she could think to say in the moment would only be her additional assumptions and possibilities that vexed him. She didn’t necessarily feel like touching him, but it felt like more work to back out from her drawing him toward her now. Her temper settled again over the minutes-long stretch of silence she spent sitting slightly above him first pulling the oil through his locks before methodically massaging it into his scalp. In another life, one of her twin girls had curls, and the other pin straight hair–the only discernible difference between the two. Through muscle memory alone she separated and coiled his curls around her finger so they’d dry in soft, orderly spirals. “I simply meant I wouldn’t go looking for them,” she said quietly after she had finished, “but I won’t hide or abandon my own purpose for fear they’re somewhere unexpected. Like the Feywilds.” 

Freydis dropped her hands to her lap when she spoke again and she raised a disapproving eyebrow and moved a few inches to the left to hide the bottle of warming oil she’d brought expressly to massage any pain or knots from his back. She wouldn’t be doing so now, although her soured expression wavered momentarily at his amusement, and in the next moment her agitation was nearly washed away entirely. But she still felt like she had become tiresome and that quiet was the best insurance policy against further agitating him that evening or making him cross. “I forgot them,” she lied.

Eivor gave her a look, tilting his head as she spoke. He refrained from scowling, but he wasn't very good at controlling his confused expressions. "You can do what you want, but you're asking to involve yourself in my past. My issues. And I've said no." The dragon wasn't going to budge. He understood Freydis was different, asked of him help where he could be of benefit – such as Nintra. But Aetheron was his own demon to carry, and if it found her, then he would feel responsible enough as it was. "And I can't promise my heart will change." His frown stayed for the time being, even as she beckoned him closer. He moved towards her so she could do what she wished, but Eivor was silent as she admitted enjoying what he thought. It wasn't like he had a lot of those that were remotely sane, but something about that must do it for Freydis.

If the shieldmaiden was looking for comfort, Eivor was not the best suited to do so. He had made that clear before, but this was another thing as he looked at Freydis, "I use you for massages, you use me for information?" He thought it was a good joke, a great joke even, and he grinned despite himself as he sunk lower into the water. The questions that she saved for next time just may not get another answer, dependent on his mood upon return. As it was, he was going to have to tell her the South was calling him, and this visit was going to be the last for however long until he saw her once more. He would have to test the Vanguard on how much they'd heard, if anything. "Ask."

[seospicybin]

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART I

Bangchan x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II / Part III / Final.

Synopsis: Having issues to break up with your boyfriend, you seek help from the boy next door and the number one fuckboy in the area, Chan. (10k words)

Author's note: I went through a nasty break up a few weeks ago and this is basically just me trying to cope by being delulu about having a fuckboy Chan as a neighbor. Enjoy x

It becomes a habit now that Chan doesn't know where he is when he wakes up in the morning.

The first thing that he'll do is retrace everything to last night. He was DJ-ing at a club, had a few drinks in between, met a girl who was eyeing him the whole night, had a few more drinks, there was a little touching and a quick makeout session in the dark alley and people can guess what happens after that

So this is where he is right now, the girl's bedroom and he can recall everything that happened last night except the girl's name.

"Fuck!" Chan mutters under his breath.

Judging from how bright the sun is outside, he knows he only has a little window to make his escape so he quickly gets off the bed as calmly as possible. He then tiptoes around to gather his clothes and put them on without making any noise.

However, he fails at it as the head from his belt hits the bed frame and the clanging of metal meets metal echoing in the room.

The girl steers on her sleep and rolls over to the side, she brushes her hair away from her face, catching Chan putting his belt on.

The plan to make a quick getaway has come to a failure but he keeps his cool, continuing to buckle his belt and then plants his hands on each side of his waist.

"Morning," He awkwardly says with a forced smile.

"Morning," the girl replies with a smile then props an elbow against the mattress, sending the duvet sliding down her body and exposing her bare chest to him.

Chan might have been a little drunk when he met her but damn, his fuckboy radar works well even under the influence of alcohol.

"You're leaving already?" She asks, flipping her hair to the back to expose more of those beautiful mounds to him.

Chan has to tell his pervy brain to focus actively, he looks away and picks up his jacket from the floor.

"I promised a friend to help him move out today," He lies, then pretends to check the time on his phone, "And I'm kind of late."

The girl nods then twirls her hair around her finger, "Well then... when can I see you again?"

"I hope soon," Chan says with his charming grin that disguises the insincerity in his answer.

The girl smiles at that which confirms that the grin works, "But seriously, I can't wait to see you again," she says.

"I'll call you," he says because that's what he can promise her at the moment but whether he'll do it or not is uncertain.

"But you don't have my numbers yet," she says with her eyebrows wrinkled in suspicion.

"No, I'm sure you already did," he says, convincing her by scrolling the contacts on his phone.

"Yup. I have your numbers already," he lies again, showing her a random contact on his phone for a quick second.

"But my name is Thalia," she says, cleverly catching the name on the contact.

"Yes, of course, you're Thalia," he says with utmost confidence and his ultimate weapon of a dimpled smile.

The girl seems alarmed though. She sits up on the bed and clutches the duvet close to her chest, "We're going to see each other again, right Chris?"

"Yes," he answers without a beat, and at this point, lying is as easy as breathing to him.

"Can I get a kiss before you leave?"

"Sure," he says, coming around the bed to give her a quick peck on the lips.

The girl smiles when he lets go and watches as he walks to the doorway, "I'll call you, Tanya."

"It's Thalia," she corrects him with an apparent displeasure on her face.

Chan shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans and takes the time to properly bid her goodbye. Nothing a girl likes more than a sweet mouth and a little assurance, he'll give her exactly that.

"I'll see you soon, Thalia," Chan says with a smile.

"See you soon, Chris," and the girl naively believes him, if only she knew that this will be the last time they're seeing each other.

Yet again, Chan makes another successful getaway.

-

The warm weather of spring makes it a pleasant walk from the bus stop to his apartment building. He wants to stop somewhere for breakfast but his head feels heavy from the hangover, he just wants to go home as soon as possible, have a bowl of cereal then take an aspirin for the pounding headache.

In the lobby, he makes a quick stop to collect his mail and takes a quick check at it, sorting them out on the spot so he knows which ones he should bring upstairs.

From the corner of his eyes, Chan catches his neighbor, you with your boyfriend chatting by the elevator. He notices the gestures, the expression, and the whole interaction, it doesn't take a genius to know that something is going on there that the naked eyes can't see.

Chan throws the unnecessary mail into the trash bin nearby and walks to the elevator, hearing the little conversation going on between you and your boyfriend.

"...the waffles were delicious. We should have breakfast there again," the boyfriend says as he looks at you, "What do you think?"

"Yeah," you meekly answer while looking at the little screen that shows the floor the elevator is stopping in.

Chan tries to remain invisible but his eyes accidentally make contact with your boyfriend so he may as well make his presence known.

"Hi, neighbor," he greets, he knows your name but you seem to prefer to be called that way.

You do what you always do whenever you meet each other in the building, give him a quick judging look and a courteous smile.

"And hi neighbor's boyfriend," he greets your boyfriend next.

"Hi," your boyfriend greets back, "Chris, isn't it?"

"Yes and you are Lee," Chan responds.

"Right. So how was your Friday night?" Lee initiates a small talk.

"I believe it wasn't as good as yours," Chan playfully answers.

"Oh, we just stayed in and watched a movie, right baby?" Lee says, putting his arm around your shoulder.

All of a sudden, you take a step forward and say, "It's here."

The elevator doesn't chime until a moment later but you seem to be more than eager to get in. You turn around to give your boyfriend a quick hug.

"I'll try to leave early so we can have dinner together," Lee says with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay. Take your time," you say with a faint smile.

Chan quietly gets into the elevator and holds the door open for you, he tries not to look at what's happening in front of him not out of politeness but it's just painful to watch.

"I'll call you," Lee adds, catching your hand as you enter the elevator and kissing it.

"Okay," you say then wave your hand at him.

To help you get out of it, Chan releases his finger off the buttons and sends the doors sliding shut.

"Bye, baby," Lee says for the last time before the doors completely close.

It's just another awkward elevator ride with you and he'll usually try to endure it but after watching all that and trying not to say anything is hard, he can't help but impose.

He glances at you to check whether you're ready to hear about what he has to say but you always have the same stoic expression. Then it occurs to him that he has never seen you smile impolitely or out of joy, or even hear your laugh, but maybe after you hear what he's about to say, he'll get to see a different facial expression on you.

"Oh, man! That was painful to watch," he sighs as he keeps looking straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny furnace of the elevator.

There's no one else in the elevator so you're fully aware that he's talking to you but you don't respond until a while later.

There you go, with your judging look and stoic expression, looking at him as you say, "Excuse me?"

Chan doesn't want to sound rude but beating around the bush isn't his thing, he prefers to be straightforward. He knows it's all based on assumptions but he's pretty sure his judgements are pretty accurate.

He's going to just do it and lay out the facts, he turns to the side, then leans his back against the cold surface of the elevator.

"Your shoulder tightens when he called you baby and the fact you lied about the breakfast tells me that you didn't actually like his choice of restaurant," he pauses to let out a cynical chuckle, "the waffles weren't that good, I guess?"

When he wants to see a different facial expression on you, he doesn't mean seeing your angry one, but oh well, the damage has been done.

"Because I'm a good girlfriend that's why I let him choose the restaurant," you become defensive all of a sudden but that's an unconvincing answer.

"No, you let him choose out of pity," he simply remarks, "And just now, your nostrils flared when I pointed it out."

With all of these signs combined with his personal experiences, Chan narrows it out to one conclusion. He looks at you in the eyes and says, "You're about to break up with him, don't you?"

It looks like you've been slapped right on the face except that the slap doesn't come from someone, it's from the truth that comes out of Chan's unfiltered mouth and he instantly regrets it for meddling in in someone else's business.

"I'm sorry, but why are we having this conversation?" You ask, crossing your arms together in front of you.

"It's not like you're any better. You slept around, you're scared of commitment and now, sticking your nose at my business. You are the kind of person that I deeply despise!" You angrily say with your chest heaving.

It seems like you're saying all of those things about him out of anger because he sees right through you but now he knows why you always give him that judging look. He's the one who started it so yeah, okay, maybe he deserves that but that doesn't change the truth. The problem is what he said and your response, they're heading in the opposite direction.

"I think someone has her panties in a twist," Chan coyly responds.

"Look, there's nothing wrong with wanting to break up. That doesn't make you a bad person," he adds and decides to end the talk right there.

It gets quiet in this enclosed space and it's already suffocating as it is but how lucky that he has to patiently wait for the elevator to ride through three more floors to get out of here.

When the elevator finally dings open, Chan lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding but he's not the one in a hurry to exit both this space and the situation. He stays where he is and lets you out first.

When he thinks you don't have anything else to say, you stop right outside the elevator and look at him with a piercing gaze.

"Don't, for one second, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties!" You emphasize every word in anger, then storm off.

Know what? Maybe Chan should skip the bowl of cereal and take two aspirin instead. As for you, maybe you need to chill the fuck out.

-

Just because you've been neighbors with Chan for the past three years doesn't mean that you know each other on a personal level.

All you know about him is that he's a DJ which explains why there's always music playing in his apartment, he always wears a sleeveless top to showcase his muscles, and he always has a stupid grin on to show off the stupid dimples on his stupid face, an annoying Australian accent and from how many times you caught different girls taking a walk of shame out of his apartment, it's safe to say that he's the number one fuckboy in the area

So how dare he say all of that stuff in the elevator when he doesn't know anything about you at all? Moreover, what does a fuckboy like him know about relationships?

It shouldn't be hard to ignore because it's something you usually do but gosh, the memory of the conversation still vexed you a few days later.

Then it hits you that it bothers you so much because deep down, you know what he said is true. You've been wanting to break up with your boyfriend and hearing that comes from someone outside that relationship only solidified that thought.

There's nothing wrong with your boyfriend, Lee is nice, too nice even, and when you think about it, maybe that is the problem, he is too nice and that leads you to another problem, you don't know how to break up with him without hurting his feelings.

But you know who can help you with that? Someone who has a lot of experience in breaking up with people.

Oh, what a joy that you find the answer right across your door!

Before you get to ask for his help though, you're fully aware that there's another thing to do and there's no other way to do it but walk up to his apartment, knock on his door, and apologize.

As you're standing there in front of his apartment door, you're dreading it. All sorts of thoughts crossed your head like why did you have to be so riled up that time in the elevator? Why did you have to say that thing about the panties? Just why? Ugh!

Let's just get it over with, you mutter inside your head.

With hesitant hand, you knock on his door and then hold the urge to turn around and run back to your apartment. You let yourself take a step back as you wait for him to come for the door.

Do not open the door, do not open the door, you chant inside your head while tapping your foot against the floor. However, things are not always going the way you want.

The door swings inward and a second later, Chan appears with disheveled hair and he only has one arm in the sleeve of his t-shirt, then you spot a girl's shoes next to his feet.

Oh no, please don't say you're coming at the wrong time.

You reflexively take another step back but he grabs your forearm and then opens the door wider, showing you that there's a girl there.

"It's my neighbor, she's here to remind me about the tenant meeting," he says to her.

The girl looks at you rather suspiciously and crosses her arms together in front of her as she glares at Chan.

"No. Don't you dare try to get out of this, Chris!"

"But it's true. We have to leave now," Chan says, then gives you a look that tells you to lie along with him, "Right?"

Running a quick assessment of the situation, you're certain that Chan is trying to get himself out of it to avoid having a difficult conversation with the beautiful lady. You hate to be the accessory to his crime but if this means that it would help you earn his forgiveness...

"The pigeons!" You make up a lie on the spot.

"The pigeons are ruining our rooftop garden so we held this urgent tenant meeting," you add with what you hope is a convincing smile.

"Oh, those damn pigeons!" Chan heavily sighs with a phony expression.

The lie makes your throat dry and your cheeks hurt from forcing a smile, you have to keep it going as the lady considers whether to believe that the tenant meeting is true or not.

Chan grabs his jacket from the clothes hook and puts it on, "We'll continue this later, okay?" He says to her.

Without waiting for her answer, he gets out of the door and drags you with him to go to your apartment. Once both of you get inside, he immediately closes the door behind him and lets out a long sigh.

"Oh, wow!" He exclaims once he realizes that he's inside your apartment.

He allows himself further inside and leisurely walks around your apartment, checking your kitchen, trailing his fingers on your book collection on the shelf, and observing the potted plants lining up on the window sill.

He walks back to the middle of the room and takes another 360-degree look around the apartment, then nods in approval.

"So, this is what the inside of your apartment looks like," he says in a cryptic tone.

Not sure if he wants you to respond to that or if should respond at all. You choose to remain silent and only respond when his intentions are intelligible.

Chan then sits on the sofa, making himself comfortable, and looks at you, then at what you're holding in both hands.

"Is that for me?"

The jar of cookies you've been unknowingly holding in your hands is a token of apology and it is for him.

"Yes, it is for you," you say, handing it to him with both hands.

"I'm sorry about the other day," you sincerely apologize, but you know you have to let him know what you're apologizing for, "for what I've said to you. I'm terribly sorry."

"Well, since you're helping me with the uh... situation," he coyly says as he scratches his eyebrow, "consider us even."

See? That wasn't so hard. You feel bad for lying to the girl but at least, you've been forgiven.

"Thank you," you add with a smile.

Chan doesn't say anything else but opens the lid and takes a cookie out of the jar. He gets comfortable on the sofa, sitting slumped with his legs spreading wide, and then he takes a big bite of the cookie.

It doesn't take long for him to notice that you have something else to say to him other than an apology.

Before he gets to it, you force yourself to start speaking.

"So, Chris..." you call, then abruptly stop talking. You suddenly have a second thought about asking for his help.

"What's up?" He asks while chewing on his cookie.

It's at the tip of your tongue but your mouth feels like they're sewn shut. You clasp your hands together and muster up the courage to just blurt it out.

"Do you want something to have with the cookies?"

You swear you plan on asking for his help but somehow, your mouth saying a different thing.

"Milk would be nice," he answers.

"Milk. Yes, I have milk," you awkwardly say, slowly making your way to the kitchen like a walking dead.

You take a carton of milk from the fridge and while pouring it into a glass, you're scolding yourself for being so cowardly.

After taking a moment to take a deep breath and muster up the courage to ask, you walk back to the sofa with the glass of milk in hand. With a smile, you hand it to him.

"Thank you," he says, his eyes catching something in your eyes.

You immediately break the eye contact and take another step back, standing and watching him finish his third cookie then wash it down with a sip of milk.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm going to stay here until the girl leaves my apartment," he informs.

"Oh?" You meekly gasp.

"But I can leave if you're uncomfortable," he says as he sits straight on the sofa.

"No, it's fine," you shortly reply, "Take your time."

"Okay, thanks," he says, reclining back on the sofa and continues munching on the cookies.

You can't decide if he stays longer than you expected is a good thing or not. You use the opportunity to reconsider it and walk to the kitchen to get out of his sight.

"Do you need help or not?" You quietly ask yourself as you pour yourself a glass of water.

Why is it so hard? He's right there. All you need is to go and ask for his help.

The water sloshes out of the glass as you fill it too full and you reflexively back away to avoid getting water all over the front of your dress.

"Everything good there?" Chan asks in a slight panic.

That's it! Enough time has passed from overthinking it! You walk up to him and just do it.

"You're right," you blurt out, "I've been wanting to break up with my boyfriend."

Sensing that it turns serious, Chan slows down his chewing and puts away the cookie jar. You expect the I-told-you-so grin on his face but no, he looks saddened instead.

"Things aren't working out," you openly share with a sad sigh.

You take a seat on the ottoman facing the sofa and sadly sigh, "I've been wanting to break up with him for a week now but I just don't know how."

"How long you've been dating each other?"

"Three years," you answer.

"Wow," Chan lowly gasps in awe.

Three years is not a short time, he understands why you hesitate to break up and it isn't an easy decision either.

"I need your help," you hopelessly say, unintentionally becoming vulnerable in front of him.

"My help?"

"Help me how to break up with him," you further explain.

"Of all people, why me?" He asks in utter confusion.

It's hard to answer that without being rude, you decide to let him process the question until it leads him to the answer. After a while, he lets out a dry chuckle and nods, "Okay, yeah. Make sense."

Chan takes another minute to accept the fact that his help is needed because he knows how to break up with someone without feeling awful about it afterward.

"I guess you want to let him down gently?"

"Yes," you answer.

"Well..." he inflates his cheeks then lets the air out through his pursed lips, "You can break up with him through a text."

Which part of 'let him down gently' did he not understand? How is it a good idea to break up through a text? But okay, it's just one suggestion, you give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Who knows he'll come up with better suggestions.

"I'm sorry. No, I can't do that," you kindly refuse his suggestion.

"You can send it when he's sleeping," he adds.

Oh, God! He gives you an even worse suggestion instead of better ones. You know what? This is a bad idea and you regret asking for his help.

"I don't—" You stop yourself from talking and get up from your seat.

"I'll just check if the lady is still..." Your words trail off as you walk towards the door and check through the peephole first, then you get out of the door to check his apartment next.

"Hello? Excuse me?" You shout from the doorway but no one is answering you.

You take it the lady has left and walk back to your apartment to deliver the news to the rightful owner of the apartment.

"She already left," you tell him.

Chan lets out a sigh and closes the cookie jar, he finishes the milk to its last drop and then gets up from the sofa.

"Thank you for the cookies and the milk," he says with his signature grin.

"No worries," you reply, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice.

Chan holds the cookie jar in one arm and takes a step closer to you, "if you need help on how to write breakup texts, I'm just across the hall," he says.

You don't respond to that but keep a smile on for him as to seem polite.

"And good luck!" He says with gentle pats on your shoulder.

The second he walks out the door, you collapse onto the sofa and dread it even more than before. Turns out, asking for his help is not helping at all.

The next day, you meet him as you collect your mail in the lobby and it's hard to ignore him when his mailbox is next to yours.

"G'day!" Chan greets you as he leans the side of his body against the wall while sorting his mail.

"Good day!" You respond and hurriedly walk toward the elevator. You push the button to summon it to the lobby and hope it comes soon enough for you to avoid talking to Chan.

Of course, things don't go as you want it. He comes just in time for the elevator about to arrive, he crumples a few letters in his hand into a ball and then tosses it into the trash bin.

"How did it go?" He asks.

"Pardon?" You nonchalantly respond.

Good thing that the elevator chimes open and you can pretend to forget about what he asked you a while ago. You get inside while clutching your mails in hands in front of you but it's not safe yet as you have to share the elevator ride with him.

"So... the break-up texts? Did you do it?" He asks again, going to the corner of the elevator and leaning his back against it.

"Chris, I think you can't just end a three-year relationship with a text," you put it as nicely as you can.

"Yeah, I reckon," he innocently answers.

It seems like Chan can't tell the difference between what is easy and what is right. It isn't a good idea in the first place to ask for help from someone like him who doesn't consider other people's feelings except his own.

"What are you going to do then?" He asks, shifting his weight on one leg.

Since his help is not helping at all, you have no answer to that yet. This should be something you have to figure out on your own in the first place.

"I'll figure it out," you not-very-convincingly answer.

Chan crosses his arms in front of him, making the muscles and veins on his arms more evident under the fluorescent light of the elevator.

"Lee seems like a nice guy," he remarks with a deep inhale of air.

Well, if you have to compare your boyfriend to Chan, then yes, Lee is a really nice guy. Lee excels in a lot of things, including how to treat a person with feelings.

"Yes," you settle with a simple answer.

"A drawn-out break up is only going to end in a big scene," he says, "Just saying."

Chan has a point. It's worse to prolong the pain for both you and Lee, you can't keep pretending that the relationship works and it's unfair that you keep Lee oblivious about all this.

"We can practice, you know," he offers.

"Practice?"

"On how you're going to break up with him," he explains.

He comes up with a better suggestion this time and is almost endearing even but again, he wouldn't know how a person with real feelings reacts to a break-up which makes you unsure if the practice would be any help.

The elevator is about to arrive anyway so you decide to skip on responding to his offer. Once it chimes, the doors part open and you take the first turn to get out with Chan getting off after you. You turn to the left to your apartment while he turns right. You take the key out of your pocket to unlock the door and push your way in while clutching your mail close to your chest.

"You know where to find me if you need help," Chan says just before you close the door to your apartment.

Hard pass, you answer in your head but you put on a smile for his kind offer, then close the door

-

Okay, you admit it. You were too haste when you said that you didn't need his help. You were doing fine for these past few days, you've been avoiding meeting your boyfriend to give you some more time to think of the best way to break the news to him until he calls you.

The phone rings and you just stare at it, considering whether to pick it up or not. If you pick it up, that means you have to lie to him and if you don't, it'll alert him that things are, in fact, not okay.

The latter seems like a better idea so you pick it up after taking a long, deep breath.

"Hi, baby. Am I calling you at the wrong time?"

Not entirely wrong but it would be nice if he didn't call you, you answer in your head.

"Yeah, sorry, I was in the bathroom," you lie.

"Coconut shrimp for dinner. What do you think?" he asks out of the blue.

"That sounds nice," you easily respond.

"I know you'll like it but, babe, do you mind getting us a bottle of wine on the way?

"I'm sorry?" You ask in confusion.

"For our dinner, remember?" he answers, "I'll cook tonight we'll be having dinner at mine."

You hardly paid attention to him because your mind was always elsewhere, you couldn't remember saying yes to the dinner but you did and it must be out of pity.

"No, of course, I remember, I'm just..." you rake your brain to think of something to say.

"I thought it was next week," you lie again with an awkward chuckle.

"You silly!" Lee says, "Aren't you glad that I called, huh?"

"So glad," you lie, again and again.

"I should start prepping the ingredients so they'll be ready when you get here," he says, his voice exuding enthusiasm.

"Okay."

"Don't forget the wine!"

"I won't."

"I can't wait to see you, baby," he sweetly says.

The lies are piling up so may as well add another one to the pile, "Me too."

"I love you, bye."

Don't think you can lie your answer to that, you gulp air, "Bye," you say to the phone, then quickly hang up.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and you don't know your desperate measure means knocking on your neighbor's door. Probably because you hate to admit that you need his help.

Not long after, Chan opens the door and his head pops out from the gap, "What's up?"

"My boyfriend just called and tonight, we'll be having dinner in his place," you blabber in panic.

It takes a second for him to process it then his face turns a little surprised, "What are we going to do then?" He asks in confusion.

You may be in dread but you catch the error in his question, "We? Now, you got your panties in a twist," you tell him.

"Shame on you!" He responds with a sly grin then opens the door wider and shows himself dressed in nothing but a white towel hanging low around his hips.

He puts one arm against the doorframe and leans close to you as he says, "Cause I'm not wearing any panties right now."

You should have noticed it from his wet hair and the beads of water rolling down his neck, and now that you're seeing the whole of it, your eyes immediately following where the beads of water going, they're going down the outline of his abs and eventually, to where they're all gathered as his pelvic bones leading down to one way: down south.

However, your instinctive reaction goes against what you're actually feeling inside.

"Ugh!" You groan and turn to the side, "Put some clothes on and I'll see you at my place!"

Without waiting for his answer, you rush back to your apartment and close the door behind you as fast as possible, then you rest your back against it.

The images of his naked body flashing through your head, his glistening wet pale skin, and how some parts of his body are blotchy red around the neck and chest. You get flustered all of a sudden, you immediately press the back of your hand to your cheek and you can feel them heating.

"Get it together!" You scold yourself.

After waiting for almost fifteen minutes, Chan finally comes knocking on your door like it's a musical instrument.

"Are you dressed?" You ask with your hand on the doorknob.

"Hardly," he jokes.

You peek through the peephole and see that he's already dressed to what you can say is his usual attire of dark short pants with a matching sleeveless top, showing off his bulging biceps. You open the door to let him in and he coyly walks in, treating your place like it's his own, sitting on your sofa with his legs spreading wide.

"Okay, so, why am I here?"

You stand in front of him with your hands clasped in front of you, "I've been lying to him the whole phone call and honestly, I've been doing it since the moment I decided that I want to break up with him, and I... I don't think I can lie to him again."

It's easy to admit your mistakes to him because he barely knows you and his opinions about you won't matter that much to you.

"I need to do it tonight," you hopelessly say.

"I take it you need my help to practice your break-up speech?"

You hate that he guesses it right but it's also convenient that you don't have to beat around the bush to ask for it. But first, you try to explain the situation as much as possible so he has ideas on what you're facing here.

"Lee is a man of many emotions and I'm not exaggerating when I say he'll likely cry," you inform.

Chan's forehead wrinkles as he processes this piece of information then stifles a nod. It seems like he still has no idea what you want him to do about it.

"I think it's less painful if you acknowledge the dumpee feelings," you blatantly explain.

"Okay, I got you. Let's practice!' He says, sitting up straighter on the sofa and then putting his hands on his knees.

It's just a practice but your anxiety takes over you not just mentally but also physically as your palms get sweaty. You wipe them down your jeans and take a breath.

"Lee," you call him by your boyfriend's name, and even though it's weird that you're roleplaying, you continue, "I want to break up with you."

Chan looks at you and gets quiet for a moment, "Wow. I'm in utter shock and it makes me very sad to hear that," he says with a rather serious tone.

Not the kind of reaction Lee would likely pull off but that will do if you decide to continue with it.

"I'm fully aware that this is so sudden but I've been thinking hard about it for some time and I think this is a decision that I should take," you say and you know it's a practice but you feel something caught in your throat.

"I'm sad and I need time to process it, but I'll be okay," he calmly says.

Chan gets the tone right but you believe breaking up wouldn't be this easy in real life, especially when there are real feelings to protect. To be honest, you're not ready to face the truth that you may hurt those feelings tonight.

"I think that went very well," Chan says, returning to his default settings.

"Yeah, I think that's it," you meekly say.

The worries and sadness are drawn on your face that Chan can easily see through your veiled expression, "If Lee is as nice as you said he is, then you shouldn't worry much," he says.

He waits until your eyes meet his to continue, "He may get surprised or shocked even, but he'll come around and respect your decision."

You can't believe that those words are coming out of his mouth or that he even tries to comfort you, but you appreciate it. Maybe his heart is still there, he just doesn't let it control him most of the time.

He gets up from the sofa and walks up to you, he takes your hands, ignoring how cold and sweaty they feel in his, "You got this," he assures you.

"Thank you, Chris," you sincerely say with a sad smile.

It is time to stop torturing both you and Lee with lies and forcing yourself to believe that the love is still there. It's time to accept the truth that if you can fall in love, you can also fall out of love.

-

It's a surprise that Chan worries about things that aren't his business. He's been playing some music to distract him from his head but he keeps the volume low because he doesn't want to miss hearing the sound of the elevator that will tell him any signs that you're back from the dinner.

Eventually, he tires himself out from worrying and falls asleep on the sofa. He startles always close to midnight after hearing the knocking on his doors.

Half disoriented, he trudges his way to open the door and finds you there, surprisingly, looking nice in a white cotton dress and your eyes dry.

But from the way you let yourself into his apartment, forgetting your impeccable manners and walking with shoulders slumped and carrying your shoes in your hands, he takes it that you did it.

"So... how did it go?" He carefully asks, following you as you're making your way to the sofa and then sitting on it.

You let a heavy sigh and your shoulders slumped even more, "At least, there's no crying," you answer with a sad smile.

Chan is unsure of how to react to that, is that a good thing or a bad thing? He just stands there with his arms crossed on his chest, thinking out loud.

"And even though it was ending... it was incredibly meaningful to me and I'm going to miss him," you say with your lips trembling.

Oh, no, Chan knows when a girl is about to cry, he quickly finds a remedy to it, one that he knows always works wonders for him. He runs to the kitchen and brings a bottle out of his alcohol stash, then hands it to you.

"Let's have a drink!" He says, realizing that he forgot the glass.

"Wait another second, I'll get the glass," he says, sprinting to retrieve two glasses from his kitchen cabinet.

When he returns, he sees that you're chugging the alcohol straight from the bottle. You gasp and then wince from the bitter aftertaste of it.

"Okay, straight from the bottle it is," he says, popping onto the sofa next to you.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and then hand the bottle to him in which he wastes not another second to take a sip of it.

"The thing is... I really care about him but he wanted to get married, and I'm just not ready for that," you share with your eyes blank and looking at the void.

You take a deep breath but it seems like it only sends your heart sinking deeper and deeper, and making it harder for you to breathe.

"And if I'm not ready with a guy as great as him then what if I'm never ready?" You say, turning your head his way with your eyes glassy, pooling with tears.

"What if that was it..." you lift your shoulders then drop them as you let out a low sigh, "my one chance at love?"

The tears start streaming down your face like a bursting dam and Chan knows he can't do anything about it but let them out.

Hearing your words makes him think about what his idea of love is. He used to think that it was something he could get whenever he wanted it but now he knows that he's wrong, because that's just a short-lived infatuation, just some sort of meaningless connection.

From you, he learns that love is a privilege that not everyone can experience.

"What if I never get a second chance?" You ask him the question that he doesn't know the answer to.

"I don't know. I'm just sad," your voice cracks, then you break into tears.

Chan is quick to catch you into his arms and offers you his embrace. He knows he can't do anything about this sadness but he can try to soothe the pain, he's placing gentle rubs on your back as you cry into his chest.

The cry is resounding in this space, echoing the sadness back to you and it makes him inexplicably sad too, and he gets the urge to make it stop.

"It's going to be alright," he murmurs at the top of your head.

You look up with your eyes wet and red with tears caught in your lashes, "Is it?" You croak.

He doesn't know when but he knows for sure that time heals everything.

"It will be," he answers with a gentle caress of his knuckle on your wet cheek, "eventually."

Your eyes tell some more assurance for him and he doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he leans in, then kisses you.

To his surprise, you kiss him back and he knows you're doing it because you seek his comfort and he wants to give you exactly that. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you that closeness you seek. He kisses you ever so softly because he knows he's kissing a broken heart and he wants to mend it. He can taste your sadness and the bitterness of it, and also the relief underlying all of it. As he kisses you, he lets his heart open just enough to take some of that sadness away from yours.

As the kiss deepens, the sadness withers, and something else emerges. Chan loses in it for a bit until he realizes what you're trying to do with your hand that reaches for the front of his jeans.

He abruptly detaches his lips from yours and shakes his head, "No, we can't do this," he says.

As much as he fancies you enough to have sex with you, he knows better not to do it when you're not in your right mind and your judgments are clouded with sadness. The last thing he wants is you waking up in the morning full of regrets.

"I want this, Chris," you croak.

"No, we can't," he adamantly says and takes your hand away from him.

"You're sad. You do want this," he says in an effort to put some sense into you.

You roughly crumple the front of his t-shirt and pull him close, "I want– No, I need this, Chris," you say to him with your eyes dark like two bottomless pits.

"Please?" You plead as a tear rolls down from the corner of your eye.

This is the most hopeless he ever heard of you and it breaks his heart. You said it yourself, you need this and he knows what you mean by that. You need the distraction, you need him to take this pain away even just for a fleeting moment, moreover, he can't break what's already broken.

He takes your hand off of his clothes and puts it in his, he leans in until his forehead is pressed against yours.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks once again.

"Yes," you answer without a beat.

That's all Chan needed to hear, he inhales air and puts an inch between your faces. He then tenderly holds your face with both hands and looks at you, unsure where to start but maybe, he can start by making those tears coming out of your eyes.

Chan dabs the tears pooling in the corner of your eyes with his knuckle and without the slightest of hesitancy, he places a gentle kiss on each of your closed eyelids and before you can open them, he captures your lips in a kiss.

Sex is not something new to him but Chan knows that this time is not about physical fulfillment, but a way to offer comfort and hopefully, to also mend your broken heart.

He takes his time to strip away every piece of clothing on you until you're bare, lying on the bed with nothing but sadness that fills your heart.

He touches you with utmost gentleness, using just his fingertips to feel the softness of your skin and you're so pliant, sensitive to his touch.

To make it fair, Chan takes his clothes off as well before joining you on the bed, caging you in between his arms and hovering only inches away above you.

"Touch me," he says to you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

He then glides your hand down his neck and chest, he makes you feel every inch of his pale skin with him. However, when he looks at you, your eyes remain on his.

"You feel so warm, Chris," you lowly mutter.

He brings your hand close to his mouth and kisses it, then crashes his lips on yours.

The gap between your bodies becomes non-existent as you keep pulling him close, he relents by lowering himself on top of you and props an elbow against the mattress to not put his whole weight on you.

Lips locked, hands around each other, bodies pressed together and the temperature keeps on rising in the room. Chan makes you feel every part of his lips brushing and gliding over yours. He skillfully parts your mouth open with his tongue so he can kiss you deep and hard, yet slow until you run out of breath.

At the same time, his hand makes its way down until his fingers land on your delicate flesh. He touches it tenderly, running his fingers between the folds, and drags them upward to rub on your bundle of nerves.

"Ah..." you moan against his lips as you curve your hand around his neck and pull him incredibly closer.

Judging from it, he knows he's doing it right and he should continue, he applies gentle pressures on your clit, making you drenched and that way, he can slowly put a digit inside of you.

You let go of his kiss to let out a moan and your head falls onto the pillow as he puts another digit into you, two fingers pumping in and out of you.

Chan intently watches as your face contorted along to the pleasure, how your jaws slack open and breathless moans keep spilling out of your parted mouth.

The way you clench around his fingers makes him impatient to feel you and how tight you feel around him, and the noises you make oh, they're his new favorite tune that he wants to keep listening to until his eardrums burst.

He glances down as he pulls his fingers out of you and finds them thickly coated with your essence, it doesn't stop him from shoving them into his mouth and lick them clean.

Chan holds you by the chin to keep you still as he kisses you, "Give me a second to get a condom, yeah?" He says to you and you nod in answer.

He makes his to the bathroom and pulls the drawer open to take a condom. To save time, he decides to put it on right away, he tears through the foil packet with his teeth and rolls the rubber down his hard length.

On the way out, he catches his reflection in the mirror and gets reminded that this is not about him. Tonight, it's all about you.

He returns to the bedroom, finding you still lying in bed naked and hugging yourself. He climbs onto the bed and lowers himself on you, letting you absorb his body heat to warm you.

Craving for another taste of it, he goes down and plants his mouth on your cunt next, tasting you right on his tongue.

You're squirming as his tongue laps over your wetness, drinking in on your essence and then using it to circle on your clit.

He's not the only one getting impatient and asking more of it, you both want it and there's no wasting time anymore. Just before he takes it to the next part, he places a long, tender kiss on your clit and immediately brings his mouth to yours again so you can taste yourself on him.

"I'm going in, mmh?" He says as he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face.

You hold on to his shoulder as he settles himself between your legs, aligning his cock with your entrance but before that, he rubs his length between your folds, lubricating it with your essence.

Your hands fly to your chest, hugging yourself again as you lowly moan to his hard length rubbing over your clit and then, pushing its way into you.

"Goodness fu—" he can't even finish his sentence without breaking into a satisfied groan.

It's just the tip but he can already feel how tight you are around him, he's scared yet excited to push more of him into you. He reorganizes his breathing and rests his hand on your abdomen to do it.

Chan looks down to check and he still has a little more of him that needs to be inside you, he sharply inhales air through his nostrils and pushes the remaining length in one quick push.

"Oh..." you breathlessly moan as you're squeezing on your breasts.

Chan allows himself to take a moment to adjust himself to being inside you and you seem to also need time to adjust to his size because you feel so incredibly tight around him. It makes him wonder how this little thing can take him so well.

He takes your hands away from your chest and puts them around his shoulders, that way he can put his body on top of you, lips locked with yours again in no time as you wrap your legs around his waist, sending him deeper inside you.

As he takes a breath in between kisses, you hold his face and look at him with a different kind of sadness in your eyes which only reminds him that his initial plan is to make it go away.

He starts thrusting into you, wanting to fuck this sadness out of you. He wants to make you think of nothing but how his cock fills you full and how good he is fucking you right now, and soon, he's going to make you feel nothing but immense pleasure.

"Ah... ah... ah..." you moan for every thrust going into you and the skin-slapping sounds echo along with it in the room.

Chan plants his mouth on your breasts to contain his grunts and groans while keeping the steady motion of his hips pulsating against you.

A hand reaches for his chin and forces him to look at you, instantly engaged in eye contact with you. He continues thrusting into you with eyes looking deep into you, they're no longer looking like bottomless pits, they look like deep oases that he wants to dive into.

The next thing he knows, Chan finds himself deep in you, not just physically but also connected with you in a way that he's never experienced with anyone else until now. He feels barer than he already is and instead of shutting himself off, he embraces it and lets you in.

Soon enough, he finds himself lost in it and fully connects himself to you in a way that lets him know how it feels to love without fears or insecurities holding him back, without worrying if it's being reciprocated or not, to love wholly and completely.

"Oh," you let out a broken moan and that's when he notices that you break into tears again.

Chan abruptly stops moving, afraid that something he does is hurting you without realizing it.

"No, keep going, keep going," you tell him with your voice hoarse.

He needs to make sure to continue, he cups your jaw and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, please, keep going, please," You repeatedly nod and plead with your teary eyes.

He wants you to stop crying, he wants you to stop thinking about what hurts you and start to see him as he tries to take this pain away from you. His body picks up the pace, going impossibly fast and also taking himself close to his high.

Your eyes are screwed shut, your breath is ragged and your hands are gripping onto his shoulders, overwhelmed by the pleasure that he brought on you.

The moment he's sure that you already come to your climax, he allows himself to let go and uses all of his strength to give you a few more thrusts until there's nothing left in him but waves of pleasure that wash over him.

"Chris..." you softly call and then pull him for a chaste kiss on his lips, "Thank you."

Chan's face hovers only inches above you as he softly gazes into your eyes, you look so fragile and open like a wound and he's just glad that he can make your heartache gone even just for a while.

"Shh..." he stops you from talking by running his thumb over your lips and then kisses you with his heart wide open. He lets this beautiful feeling pour out of him and into you.

"No, thank you," he mutters his gratitude between kisses.

Thanks to you, he experiences something he's never felt before with someone else, something new, something pure and real, something that feels a lot like love.

When he wakes up in the morning and finds you're not there, it hits him that maybe it is love but Chan is not ready to admit it yet.

-

A week passes and Chan hasn't seen you ever since that night.

He can't tell if you're avoiding him or needing the space and time to piece yourself back from the break-up, he hopes it's the latter. Gosh! Let him be right.

Regardless of what happened, he can live with the fact that you despise him but it would be sad to know if you choose to go down the path of believing that you're not going to find love again.

Chan just needs to know if you're doing okay, that's what matters for now.

Fortunately, the two of you have been neighbors for quite a long time to learn your routine and knockabouts. He knows what you like to do on a Saturday morning, he goes to the lobby and chats with the concierge as he waits.

At the first sight of you entering the apartment building, his heart palpation, and in all honesty, he's just so happy to finally see you after a while.

Are you not seeing him there? Or you're just pretending which only confirms his initial thought that you've been, in fact, avoiding him.

You're walking through the lobby carrying a bag of groceries in your arm, you skip checking on the mailbox and go straight to the elevator. It just happens that the elevator is vacant and the doors slide open after you push the button.

Chan decides to take the risk, sprinting to get into the elevator before the doors close. You already despise him so a little more hate shouldn't be a problem to him.

"Morning, sunshine," He greets you with his dimpled grin.

"Good morning," you politely reply without looking at him.

Things are going back to normal and he should be glad, right? At least, you're back to your usual settings of looking stoic and acting polite, and the best thing about it is you're still talking to him.

"I should learn to avoid people from you. You're good at it," he pushes it a bit just to see if he can crack through this facade.

"Excuse me?" Your head turns his way and with your eyes widen, "I have not been avoiding anyone."

Chan holds the urge to smile for successfully getting your attention and rests his back against the cold, metal furnace of the elevator, "Are you sure?"

"Well, we're seeing each other now," you tell him.

"That's because I know you like to go to the farmer's market every Saturday morning," he says at the same time, admitting that he knows about your routine.

You slowly turn your body facing him and squint your eyes at him, "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"It's my favorite pastime activity," he shamelessly answers then pokes his cheek with his tongue.

"It's better than watching porn," he playfully adds, something that he knows will annoy you the right way.

"Ugh!" You groan as you look straight ahead.

Oddly enough, that's what he misses the most about it, interacting with you and seeing your reaction to his antics, but you, especially.

"Don't be so uptight," he coyly says.

He takes a step closer to you and puts his hand on the handlebar, "it's not like we haven't slept together or anything."

You let out a scoff and hoist the strap of your grocery bag higher on your shoulder, "I'm shocked you even remember," you say.

You turn your head next and your eyes immediately lock in a gaze with him, "I figure I'm just a low notch on a very long bedpost," you add.

"Are you calling me a man whore?" Chan says, feeling offended.

You take a step closer to him and daringly stare back into his eyes, "I didn't call you a man," you answer with a sly smirk.

There's a few seconds of silence until Chan realizes what you just said to him but you know what? He's going to give it to you, for now.

He looks at you and smiles, "Touche!"

You both look at each other and at the same time, burst into laughter, and it keeps going until the hilarity subsides with each passing second.

Is this real? Did you just poke fun at him with a beautiful smile on your face? Did you really laugh and the sound of not only echoing in this enclosed space but also in the back of his mind? Did he just see a different facial expression on you? Either way, he likes it and he likes how it makes him feel.

The elevator chimes open and soon, the doors part open. He lets you get off first and then takes his turn after, he gets a little disappointed as you both are going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Chris," you call as he's only a couple of steps away from the door of his apartment.

His heart palpation again but he keeps his calm and then slowly, turns on his feet to face you, "Yes?"

"I'm cooking curry for dinner and I know it'll be not as good as the one you always ordered but you can come and..." your hand is fiddling with the strap of your grocery bag as you speak but your eyes remain steady on him, "see if it suits your taste."

And did you just invite him for dinner? Him, the neighbor you despise so much?

Chan acts coy and scratches the back of his head, he holds the urge to answer right away. He has a reputation to uphold and he reckons, you have to at least wait a minute for his answer.

"Yeah, okay, let's see," he nonchalantly answers but his smile tells otherwise.

You crack a laugh and nod, walking to your door with the keys jangling as you're unlocking it.

Chan thinks that's the end of it until you call his name again, his heart leaps this time and he almost flies his way to you.

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you what are we," you say with a smile then get inside of your apartment.

That's funny because, after that night, he was hoping that you would ask him that as most girls do but that's where he is wrong, you're not most girls, you are his neighbor whom Chan is secretly in love with.

-

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[truth4ourfreedom]

THINGS NOT IN THE NEWS ANYMORE. VERSION 6.0

Things not in the news anymore….

(Version 6)

-Maui wildfires. -East Palestine, Ohio -Joe Biden classified documents as a Senator. -Fauci working with China to create a bioweapon. -Pete Buttigieg’s best friend in prison for child porn. -Cocaine in the White House. (TWICE NOW) -The BLM and Antifa riots during 2020 causing BILLIONS of dollars of damage. -The data collected from the Chinese spy balloons. -Ukraine intelligence documents released that showed they were suffering massive losses and the American taxpayer was being lied to. -Nancy Pelosi’s “documentary” film crew on J6. -Veterans being kicked out of shelters to make room for illegals. -Pizzagate “debunker” jailed for possession of child pornography. -Gay porn film in Senate hearing room. -Veterans Affairs prioritizing healthcare of illegals over Veterans. -THE SOUTHERN BORDER CRISIS. -Afghanistan drawdown and 13 service members killed in an attack on Kabul International Airport, that they hid the severity of it. -Obama droning an American citizen in the Middle East. -George Bush’s false WMDs. -3 service members killed in Jordan. -Hunter Biden making over $1M for “paintings”. -J6 political prisoners that are still in jail. -85,000 missing children at the southern border. -Epstein’s clients. -Obama coordinating with John Brennan and 4 other countries (5 eyes) to spy on the 2016 Trump campaign. -Mail-in ballots were the cause of the stolen 2020 election. -Jeffrey Epstein mentioning that Bill Clinton liked his girls “really young”. -The (NOW TWO) airline whistleblowers that mysteriously died. -Benghazi (I won’t mention anything more about this because I care about my life.) -Nancy Pelosi’s daughter stating that January 6th wasn’t an insurrection. -The January 6th committee destroying encrypted evidence before the GOP took over the House. -Nancy Pelosi admitting that J6 was “her responsibility”. -House Speaker Mike Johnson claiming there wouldn’t be foreign aid without border security in the bill, which was a lie. -The recent riots from illegal criminal aliens at the southern border and the border in general. -Hunter Biden not complying with a Congressional subpoena and deemed untouchable. Democrat privilege. -Vaccine side effects. -“Lab leak” out of China -The Secret Service having to basically guide Joe Biden everywhere he goes. -Who leaked (Sotomayor) the SCOTUS Alito decision. -Federal instigators inside the Capitol including pipe bomb evidence against them. -Obama’s chef “passing away”. -HRC’s chef “passing away”. -The Sheriff that happened to be in Las Vegas (during the mass shooting) AND the wildfires in Hawaii. -P Diddy sex-trafficking allegations. Where’s Diddy? -Gonzalo Lira (an American journalist) that was killed in Ukraine -Congress approving warrantless spying violating American’s 4th amendment rights while they are exempt. -Americans that were left in foreign countries (Haiti, Palestine, Afghanistan). -The billions of dollars of weaponry left in Afghanistan and the Taliban receiving $40M a week in “humanitarian assistance”. -Biolabs found in California. -Joe Biden’s impeachment. -The scum in the UNITED STATES HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES waving the Ukrainian flag. -The over 300k ballot images that could not be found in Fulton County, Georgia; the same county Donald Trump on trial for “election interference”. -Democrats defunding the police causing massive rises in crime. -Kamala Harris’s record as DA in California. -The Transifesto from the school shooting. -Many U.S. Representatives and Congress receiving FTX funds. -They’re already working hard to bury Donald Trump’s àssassination attempt but we won’t let them bury that story. July 13th is never going away.

The distractions are out of control.

Share to show that legacy media is dead and that WE are the media now.

Please like,share and reblog to keep people aware!

[screampied]

boss at work and lovers in private w hiromi? He was very strict with the user at work and acts a bit rude/mean sometimes with reader.

But once they got home he fucks her nice and slow in bed as an apology for being mean at work <3

❤︎ ໋𓈒 higuruma who’s strictly mean in the workplace but makes sure to make it up to you at home.

warnings. fem! reader, dirty talk, unprotected, doggystyle, praise.

higuruma was a man who always took work seriously…

a workaholic if you will.

you always found yourself trying to tease him sometimes whenever he’d be working, and he’d just give you a glare. oftentimes, he’d be a bit stern and perhaps rude. although you couldn’t deny the bass in his tone whenever he spoke to you with such seriousness made you feel a bit…tingly.

just the rough rasp in his tone whenever he spoke directly to you, withholding intimate eye contact and telling you to stop fooling around and focus at the job at hand.

nevertheless, he did feel a bit bad, in fear that feasibly he was a bit too mean to his pretty baby. so he promises to make it up to you once the two of you get home. and that’s exactly what he does.

you couldn’t wait and neither could he. higuruma remained with his work clothes on, long black slacks pulled down briefly and the only sounds you could make out was the clanking of his belt. letting off a choked whine, you were willingly taking him from behind, and his touch..

higuruma stretches you out continuously with such ease, he’s got both of your wrists pinned behind your back before muttering, “i’m sorry baby. was i annoying you earlier?”

“y-yeah.” you moaned, feeling his tip brush right against that spot.

amorously, he slides a tongue across his lips while drilling into your cunt—you’re a stuttering mess. with a low chuckle departing from his lips, he hums.

“good,” and you bite your lip, his thrusts fulfilling you entirely. each sloppy hit that went against you time and time again, it left your mind completely dumbfounded. a quite perfect synonym to define your current state after all. “oh, don't whine all cute like that, y’know ‘m just teasing..”

higuruma’s words were so smooth and his tone was wholly soft spoken.

for a second, he dips his hips against you and you whimper, running your restrained fingers against his.

“god, you’re so pretty from behind. you know that, sweetheart?” his words went straight towards your pussy, that never failed to twitch on constant repeat. “such a perfect view. wish you could see for yourself, my love.”

“h-hirooo,” you’d mewl out, the right side of your cheek pressed down against the plump mattress. he knew just where to strike you with his dick, not too rough and not too soft.

just right. immensely, your toes curled each time he’d run his tip against your g-spot for a good two seconds, eliciting a loud moan from you. “fuck, f-fuck.”

“baby, you’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh?” he pokes fun, and you shiver once you feel the cold band of his watch trail against your skin. he presses a hand down your back, making you arch for him just a bit more and your eyes roll back yet again. “you’ve been pestering me at work all day, ‘s this what you wanted hm? wanted some attention—?”

the pleasures that pierced through your body was indefinable.

all you knew was that it felt so good, the way he pivots and smacks his hips softly against your ass, rolling and rotating them to where your head’s spinning like a merri go round.

“no,” you lied, and he huffs out a breath, grinning at you still having some brat left within you. once he deepens his thrusts for a short second, your mind pauses—you’re dumb, cock dumb if that even was a correct term for it, and you moan out. “y-yes.. you’re right, you were just so m-mean.”

he groans, feeling your slick start to stick against him throughout each movement he makes by rutting in and out of your greedy pussy.

“if i make you cum one more time, will that make up for it then, sweetheart?”

“m-mhm,” you’d nod, strings of your own spit falling against the sheets — oh, how much of a mess you were for him. only higuruma could have you like this, in this position. face nearly pushed against the mattress yet he’s presenting you with soft gentle thrusts. “make me cum, please hiromi.”

“pretty girl, you know i will,” he murmurs, and you let off a muffled moan once you bite your teeth into the pillow that remained underneath your chest. it was just the way his thickness dragged so easily against your folds. you could never get enough, his size had you drooling with such lewdness. “relax, don’t wanna strain that cute voice with all that moaning do ya?”

he watches you shake your head, and he chortles.

“sweet thing,” and his hips were so sensual against you, it was unfathomable to how good it made you feel. how good he made you feel. in the pit of your stomach—you felt something stirring, brewing up inside. butterflies perhaps, you pulsed between your thighs before he feels your leg start to jitter in utter anticipation. “ooh. ‘s coming isn’t it? you feel it too, my love?”

“r-right there,” you’d squeal, and by this particular point, your legs grew limp. his movements were unpredictable. higuruma’s jaw tightens as he’s balls deep, gawking at you clawing your nails down the white silkened sheets before bawling it up into the palms of your hands. “gonna c-cum, hiro. hiro.”

he slides a thumb against the corner of your back, maintaining a gentle tip against your hips before uttering in a husky voice, “yeah you are. c’mon baby. just let go for me. ‘s okay to be a little messy, yeah?”

“okay,” you’d babble, such thick inches that remained inside of you. your knees grew weak, he had such a grip against your waist that the pads of his thumbs pressed lightly down before caressing. higuruma always knew your most tenderest bits, the spots to drive you crazy. “h-hiro, ‘m cumming..”

a gasp exits from your mouth once you felt it, your entire body paused and juddered as a response.

your lips parted and the feeling made you grow quiet for a moment — ears, the very tips of them reaching such warmth of heat before you moan out his name once more. “t-thank you, thank you.”

“don’t thank me yet, gorgeous.” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss against your back. “we aren’t done,” he says, and your legs still shook, sensitive before he turns you over to face him, pressing a wet kiss against your mouth. “i need more of you, and you need to be reminded of your place,” and his words were filled with such flirtatiousness yet was delivered so sweet. “so, just lie back and let me fond over this body just a little while longer.”

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3