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ariesthetouchdeprivedgirl · 4 days ago

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Behind Closed Doors

Smoke x Black!OC

I am #FINALLY done with this little story.. It only took a couple of days lol. I am very excited, and nervous, but overall happy to share this lil story. It’s definitely a small bit of mischaracterization as I believe Smoke is reallll good man, but I don’t know.. Something about this story, and this idea just gives me that 🫦. lollll… anyways. I hope yall enjoy, and I will greatly appreciate any feedback!!

Jane sat at her vanity, admiring the pearl necklace that sat almost perfectly on her dark skin. She tilted her head, a small satisfying smile gracing her lips.

Smoke had gifted it to her around six months ago, a spontaneous reveal made her swoon.

After a night of passion, Jane expected smoke’s side of the bed to be cold and empty. Instead, to her surprise, resting on his pillow was a black velvet box.

When Smoke came back that night she was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him, box in hand. He walked through the door, his faint and familiar scent of tobacco cutting through the air, instantly flooding her senses.

His eyes found Jane immediately, the light above the stove casting soft shadows over her face. Moonlight slipping through the blinds highlighting the gift he left for her.

“You ain’t like it” he asked, peeling off his hat and coat, and throwing it over a chair before he moved over to the bar.

“No” she said her voice soft but steady.

He cut his gaze to her as he poured his whiskey. “I love it” she held a knowing smile, a hint of mischief in her words.

She rose from the table and walked to him, affectionate eyes locked on his. “I want you to put it on me” her gentle hand placing the box in his rough hold.

Smoke did as she wanted, clamping the pearl necklace around her neck, calloused hands contrasting with her delicate skin.

Jane faced him again, fingertips ghosting over the cool pearls, before she looked up at him.

“How does it look?��

Smokes eyes dragged over her, lingering at the swell of her breast beneath the silk fabric of her nightgown.

“Looks good baby” he sipped on his whiskey, leaning against the counter.

Jane stepped closer, pressing her body against his and draping her arms around his neck.

“Thank you daddy” she pressed a gentle kiss around his lips. He grunted a “mhm” as he watched her with intense eyes.

Her lips curved into a teasing smile, “I just wanna show you how thankful I am” her whispered voice dripped with promise.

Smoke, amused sat his drink on the counter and wrapped his hands around her waist.

“Mhm, and how you gon do that baby?”

Jane’s face grew warm as she reminisced on the memory. It was restless and intense, they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other that night.

The sound of the telephone ringing broke her from her train of thought. She jumped up excitedly, expecting to hear Smoke’s voice. He was probably gonna tell her he was on the way, or that he’d be a little late. But it wasn’t him. instead Jane recognized the voice of her friend and coworker, Bernice.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jane..”

“Bernice? Hey, what’s up?”

“Is anyone else around?”

Jane furrowed her eyebrows. “Um, no. It’s just me.”

Jane heard Bernice exhale on the other end of the line. A real long and uneasy breath that put Jane on edge.

“Okay good, cause I got something to tell you.”

“It’s about your man”

Jane’s stomach dropped. The warmth she held from her earlier thoughts completely vanishing.

What did Bernice’s messy ass know about Smoke that she didn’t?

“I was at the club last night, with Terrance, and I saw Smoke.”

Jane sat silently. Smoke didn’t come by last night, said he had things to handle, or whatever, she learned not to ask.

“And he wasn’t there alone”

Jane zeroed in on Bernice’s voice. It felt like she couldn’t see, think, hear, or breathe anything in other than Bernice’s words.

He wasn’t alone..?

Then who was he with?

Was it Annie?

“You there Jane?” Bernice asked.

“Yea.. Yea I’m still here Bernice.”

“Okay good. But yeah like I was saying, I was with Terrance when I saw Smoke, with some woman. And from the looks of it they seemed to know each other pretty well”

Jane was about to ask to for a description but stopped herself. What would be the point? She ain’t know what Annie look like anyway.

“They were sitting in front of us, and girl. he ain’t even have no shame, looked me dead in my eyes and ain’t say a thing!” Bernice exclaimed.

“I walked past their table a couple of times, you know tryna see who the girl was, and I noticed, ain’t nann one of em had a ring on they finger!”

Jane’s stomach churned. Smoke never wore his ring around Jane, at least when they were at home.

When he came to her job, sure, it was on. But once they were alone it was tucked away in his coat pocket.

So who was the other woman? And why was she so upset, as if she wasn’t already the other woman.

“They was all over each other girl, I mean the man was cheesing all in her face. And I don’t know about you, but shit I never seen such a sight before.” Bernice kept gossiping , as if Jane wasn’t losing her mind on the other end of the line.

She continue talking about whatever else her and Terrance had seen at the club, but it was all background noise to Jane. Her mind overcome by thoughts of Smoke and some other woman.

“Bernice, I gotta go, I’ll see you at work” Jane said, seconds away from hanging up the phone.

“Wait Jane, I just.. You okay?” she asked.

Jane wanted to scoff. Of course she wasn’t okay. But there was no reason to be mad at Bernice. She had given her a glimpse into the man she thought she knew.

“Yeah I’m good” Jane lied through her teeth.

Bernice sighed, “I just want you to be happy Jane, and that man.. he just ain’t no good.”

“Obviously Bernice” Jane thought to herself.

She was his mistress for crying out loud. She knew exactly how ‘not good’ Smoke was. If he were a good man they wouldn’t be involved with each other in the first place.

“Okay Bernice, imma go now, thanks for calling”

“Okay girl, let me know if you need anything”

“Mhm I will”

And with that, Jane slammed the telephone against the wall, the sharp chatter echoing through her empty apartment.

Jane’s mind was racing a million miles per hour. So many questions, so many feelings, all of it just crashing into her at once. Was she really that naive, to think she was the only one. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, and she felt a faint pang of pain in her chest.

She stumbled to the bathroom, convinced she was going to be sick. But her reflection in the mirror stopped her in her tracks. The pearls gleaming under the harsh bathroom light. The weight of it suddenly felt heavier, and they began to sting against her chest.

A beautiful, yet painful reminder him.

Of them.

Jane stared at herself for a moment. She ran her fingers over the necklace, the cool pearls began to feel suffocating. She considered yanking them off. So she could watch them scatter against the floor in the same manner that her thoughts were. But something in her resisted.

Maybe it was that foolish part of her that believed the lie they had built together was still strong. Shit they built it together, they were.. they are together.

With a shaky exhale Jane turned away from the mirror. Flicking the light off as she walked to her bedroom. She didn’t bother changing out of her slip, not even thinking to take the pearls off. They now rested on her skin as a bitter kiss.

She sank into the sheets, the scent of Smoke calming her just as much as it pained her. The ache in her chest making her force her eyes shut, hoping to sleep the pain away, and forget everything she just heard.

About an hour after midnight Smoke let himself into the apartment. Tired from the streets he figured he’d spend some time with Jane before heading home. The faint smell of the candles Jane loved to burned flowed through the air.

And the light from them made Jane glow. He saw her, sitting in the middle of the bed. Her fingers absently playing with the pearls around her neck. She didn’t even look up at him, either too lost in thought, or too exhausted to care about who walked in.

Smoke watched her for a long moment, before he slowly walked into the room. His footsteps heavy against the wooden floors. Yet, Jane still hadn’t acknowledged him.

“Baby” his deep voice rung out.

Jane slowly lifted her head, eyes glassy and filled with emotion. But her expression was unreadable. Smoke took a quick scan around the room before his eyes landed on her again. A small twitch at the corner of her mouth catching his attention before she spoke.

“Hi Smoke” her light voice let out, a forced smile on her lips.

A frown settled on Smoke’s face. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on, and something about Jane felt.. off.

“Whats up?” he questioned her with narrow eyes.

“Hmm?” She tilted her head, a hint of faux confusion in her eyes. “I just missed you baby, that’s all.” She walked over to him, she laid her hands on his chest, her fingers tracing the fabric of his shirt.

“Where you coming from” she questioned, her eyes watched his face intensely for any sign of guilt, or surprise.

But his expression remained impassive, he was still his stoic and unreadable self.

“Work” he muttered, brushing past her into the bedroom. He started getting comfortable, shrugging his coat off, throwing that and his hat on her vanity’s chair. He sat his shoes in the corner, and began working on his cufflinks.

“You ain’t cook nothing” he cut his gaze to her.

“No, but I can” she said leaning doorway, her arms crossed loosely.

Smokes eyes lingered on her, watching the way her jaw clinched, ever so lightly, and noticing the tension in her posture. “So you ain’t eat nothing, that’s why you looking frail”

Jane’s expression faltered for a split second. Eyebrows furrowing a small unsteady breath leaving her lips.

She cleared her throat, “what you mean baby, I’m the same size I was last time you saw me” she forced that tight, unconvincing smile again.

Smoke’s jaw tightened. Something was off and he knew that she knew he knew.

He pulled his dress shirt off, tossing it in the hamper, leaving him in his undershirt and slacks.

“I’m staying over tonight” he said, vision fixed on her.

Jane’s eyes widened, “What?”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “You don’t want me to?”

“No it’s just—i didn’t expect it.. that’s all” she straightened up, a fake ass brightness as she walked towards him. “I’m happy you’re staying.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against his. Her warmth seeping through his shirt. He placed his hand on the small of her back, his other hand reaching up to her neck, toying with her pearls.

He felt her breath hitch.

Smoke’s grip tightened around her neck, forcing her to look up at him. “What is it?”

She blinked, eyes wide with surprise. “What’s what?”

Smoke’s eyes hardened as he stared at her. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Jane’s lips curved into a small pout, her eyes softened, trying you disarm him. “I’m not baby.” She reached up, handing cradling his face, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks like she always did. “I keep saying I missed you, it’s been a few days now” she threw in a small laugh for good measure.

Smoke’s jaw flexed, searching her face for any sign of a lie.

“Want me to run you a bath?” She offered a little too eagerly. “I’ll cook something while you wash up” she tried to pull back but he held her in her place, his grip firm and unmoving.

Panic flashed across her face, she tried to conceal it but he noticed.

“Nah” his voice gravely, “stay right here.” He let her go and walked out the room.

Smoke did a quick sweep of the apartment, looking closely at every shadow and corner. but he found nothing.

On his way to the bedroom, his eyes caught the telephone, still hanging from the cradle. Smoke started to connect the dots.

“Come here Jane”

She hesitated, his voice was firm, but it was a little too calm. Jane’s heart pounded in her chest as she forced her legs to walk to Smoke.

Smoke’s eyes flickered to the phone, then back to her.

“You broke the phone?”

She smiled, forcing a short nervous laugh, “It was an accident, i’m sorry.” She tried to casually wave it off.

Smoke didn’t blink, eyes boring into her.

“Who called you?”

Jane cleared her throat, smile wavering a bit, “oh it was just Bernice”

Smoke tilted his head, “what she say to get you to break the damn phone?”

Jane felt her throat tighten. “She was just gossiping, you know how she gets.”

“Gossiping about what”

Jane looked away from his gaze, eyes darting to the kitchen.

“Oh.. nothing” she smiled at him, before walking to the kitchen.

“You want some breakfast, you know I don’t keep much in this fridge” she forced a weak, hollow sound that was supposed to be a laugh.

“What she tell you Jane?” He asked as she lit the stove up.

Jane froze there for a moment, watching the blue flames come to life. Her pulse thundering in her ears.

“Jane” he snapped her out of her daze with his rough voice.

She blinked. “It was nothing Smoke, just girl drama”, her words quick and rehearsed as she grabbed a pan from the cupboard.

Smoke didn’t move, his gaze never left her, he still didn’t believe her. He stepped closer, his presence starting to overwhelm her. “Girl drama? You acting strange over some girl drama. You sure?”

She nodded her head, not looking at him. “Yeah baby, just some gossip. Nothing to worry about”

Her hands trembled as she adjusted the pan on the stove top, tears starting to flood her vision.

Smoke took another step closer, “you know I don’t like that lying shit. Especially about something so simple” he spoke, tone dangerously low.

Jane still kept her head down, watching the stove. “Nothings goin on Smoke, I promise” she whispered, trying to convince herself.

Smoke didn’t move, and she felt the heat of his gaze pouring into her, but she didn’t move either.

“You gon keep lying”

The question hung in the air for what seemed like forever. As each second stretched she fought to keep her composure.

“Nobody’s lying to you smoke” her shaky voice said, barely above a whisper. She felt a sob rising in her throat, but she wasn’t willing to let it out.

Smoke stood there, and let her look at the pan she found so interesting all of a sudden. He placed a gentle hand on the nape of her neck. Jane felt her stomach tighten.

He rubbed it softly, thumb stroking her skin. “Look at me” he whispered what seemed like a command and a plea.

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to spill.

“Baby” he said in that smooth voice that always relaxed her. He pressed closer to her, hand laying flat on her stomach.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, the weight of the pearls and his hand moving to her neck slowly bringing her to her demise.

“What’d she tell you” he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Fingers tracing the line of her jaw.

Jane slowly lifted her head, meeting his gaze. He tried to read her face, trying to find any crack, any sign of the truth. They stared at each other for a second before her breath hitched and a sob broke free.

Jane quickly turned her body to bury her face into smoke’s chest. Her sobs weren’t loud or dramatic, instead raw and broken.

Smoke stilled for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, rubbing her back in slow steady circles. Hoping to calm her down. And for a while, he didn’t speak, he just held her. Letting her drench his shirt in tears.

#sinners #sinners 2025 #smoke x black!oc #smoke au #smoke x annie #sinners au #sinners fanfiction #elijah moore #elijah smoke moore #smoke moore #smoke #atouchofaries୨୧ #behind closed doors

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msbigredmachine · 5 months ago

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An Angelic Christmas (Roman Reigns)

On their first Christmas together, Roman and Naima share heartfelt gifts, tender moments, and an intimate celebration that deepens their connection. A glimpse into the unlikeliest of love stories that’s about to unfold.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is based off characters from my upcoming multi-chapter Roman fic (yes I know, it's been a while, lol) to be out in January. Look out for it!

gif belongs to @romanreigns

divider belongs to @bernardsbendystraws

The Miami sun is high in the sky, casting its golden rays over the famed city. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, adorned with twinkling lights that sparkle even in the daylight, giving the vibrant streets a festive charm.

Roman’s penthouse, perched high above the bustling streets, is no exception. Ornaments of red and green and gold glimmer on a ten-foot high Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, a towering contrast to the sleek modernity of the space. It’s not exactly the snowy holiday Naima grew up with in Atlanta, but she’s not complaining. Not when she’s with her man.

Naima hums along to “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasting through the speakers, twirling a wooden spoon in her hand as she checks on the smoky jollof rice in the kitchen. The turkey is ready and well stuffed, so that is settled. Her bare feet pad softly across the hardwood floor, her movements fluid and effortless, the dancer in her kicking in. Chief, their three-month-old Staffy puppy, is sprawled nearby, lazily gnawing on a holiday-shaped chew toy that she bought him.

Roman sets the table, looking at his girlfriend with an amused smirk. “Mariah again?” he teases, his deep voice cutting through the music.

Naima turns, feigning offense. “Not you actin' like you don’t love this song, big guy.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to her. “It’s a classic, I’ll give you that.”

She rolls her eyes, scoops a spoonful of rice and blows on it before holding it up to his lips. “Here. Taste this.”

Roman takes the bite, chewing slowly. The smoky flavor hits his tongue first, followed by the rich spices that taste even better than the last one she made a month ago. He lets out a low hum of approval.

“Damn, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Naima grins, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling. “That’s just the rice. Wait till you try the turkey and plantain.”

Roman glances at the counter where the massive golden-brown turkey rests, surrounded by perfectly caramelized plantains and a big bowl of sapasui specially made for him. His diet, meticulously planned for his wrestling, is going to take a serious hit tonight. But he doesn’t care. It’s Christmas, and Naima’s cooking is worth every cheat day.

“Diet starts tomorrow,” he declares, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close.

“Tomorrow,” she insists, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Tonight, you’re eating everything I made, handsome.”

Roman chuckles to himself as she kisses his cheek and walks away, his gaze dropping to those long, shapely legs of hers. Naima has been in his life for a while now, but every time they are together, it feels like a fresh challenge—a battle of wills he doesn’t mind losing. Most of the time.

The table is set with mismatched plates—his playful touch—and candles flickering softly in the center. Chief sits obediently at the side, eyeing the turkey but making no moves toward it, as if he knows better. The couple sits right next to each other on the table. Roman’s red-and-green sweater fits him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and muscular chest. Naima’s matching sweater is oversized and hangs loose on her frame, exposing one shoulder and riding up her thighs each time she moves. Of course, Roman notices, and his hand rests possessively on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles in that affectionate, sensual way that always leaves her weak.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Naima says, nodding toward the huge tree and the perfectly arranged garland along the fireplace. “I know Christmas isn’t your thing like that.”

Roman smiles, his hand tightening just slightly on her leg. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d cry if we didn’t at least have a tree.”

Naima smacks his shoulder, though a grin spreads across her face. “You ain’t right!”

“I’m just sayin’,” he teases, his baritone laced with humor. “You been talking about Christmas since Halloween ended. Couldn’t let you down, mamas. After all, this is your first Christmas outside Atlanta. Am I right?”

Naima nods and sips her glass of champagne. “Yep. Feels weird not being with Adara and Julien, but…this is nice. Different, but nice.”

Roman cuts out a large piece of turkey and places it in Chief’s bowl, the little puppy gobbling the meat happily. “You talk to them today?” he asks. Knowing how close she is to her sister and nephew, he can already guess the answer.

“Of course,” she replies, “Adara says hi. And Julien was hyped about that new wrestling game you sent him. You officially won Christmas with that.”

He chuckles, proud. “Kid’s got good taste.”

Naima leans back in her chair, watching her boyfriend for a moment. There's something so easy about the way they’re together, the way they fit into each other’s lives despite their wildly different worlds. She loves this version of Roman—relaxed, unguarded, a far cry from the intense Tribal Chief persona that dominates the squared circle. Here, he gets to be just him. With her. His safe space.

She's honored.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” she tells him, affection in her voice.

Roman’s gaze softens. “Me too, baby girl.”

After dinner, they retreat to the couch, plates of leftover plantain and wine glasses in hand. Chief curls up at their feet, munching on a leftover turkey leg. Roman’s arm is draped over Naima’s shoulder, his fingers lazily playing with her long hair. She rests against him, her legs stretched across his lap as “Home Alone” plays on the 64-inch TV.

“You got one more present,” Roman announces suddenly.

Naima raises an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on no more presents.” They've already exchanged small gifts earlier in the day—she gave him a custom leather wrestling gear bag embroidered with his initials, and he surprised her with a sleek pair of Saint Laurent knee-high boots she’d been eyeing for months.

“I ain’t agree to shit,” he smirks, a small, wrapped box materializing in his hand. “Here.”

Naima sits up, taking the box from him and unwrapping it carefully. Her jaw drops as she takes in the unmistakable Harry Winston packaging, her fingers trembling slightly as she unties the ribbon. She carefully opens the box, her breath catching as her eyes fall on the exquisite piece inside—a diamond necklace that glimmers like a constellation of stars. The delicate chain, made of intricate diamond clusters, forms a flawless, radiant circle that exudes elegance and timeless luxury, leaving her utterly speechless.

“Baby…”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he says, his tone casual, though the way his eyes linger on her face betray how much the gift means to him. “You light up my life, mamas. Figured it was fitting.”

Her throat tightens as he helps her put the necklace on, the cool chain resting against her skin. “Thank you. It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

“Well, it was either this or the anklet,” he adds with a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows as he caresses the back of her leg, “Woulda been great for these long-ass legs I can’t stop staring at.”

“You always gotta be so extra,” she giggles, her voice teasing but shaky.

Roman grins, his eyes bright and happy. “You bring it out of me,” he whispers, his heart swelling as she holds him tight. He will never tire of moments like this with her.

“Your turn,” she announces, reaching behind the couch to grab a flat, rectangular package.

Roman unwraps the paper carefully, revealing a framed portrait of the two of them sitting on an equipment crate backstage after his match at Summerslam. He was still in his wrestling gear, his Undisputed Championship resting on his lap, while Naima sat beside him, close enough for their thighs to touch. Her arms are around him and their eyes are closed, heads tilted and leaning against each other as if the world had disappeared for just that moment. The image, captured by Naomi, radiates intimacy and quiet strength, capturing everything unspoken between them in that stillness.

He is quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the frame.

“You don’t like it?” Naima questions, suddenly uncertain.

“I love it,” he breathes, his voice low but full of emotion. “This…” He trails off, his fingers grazing the edge of the frame. “This is amazing, baby girl.”

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of who’s always in your corner,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

Roman sets the frame down carefully and hugs her again. “I love you. You’re my everything,” he murmurs, the weight of his words settling between them.

Naima shivers, her heart racing for him like it always does. “I love you too. And you’re mine.” Her fingers clasp behind his neck as she pulls him in for a kiss. It starts slow, purposeful, their lips meeting in a way that feels as natural as breathing. Naima’s hands frame Roman’s face, her fingertips brushing against his beard as their mouths move in perfect sync. It's sensual, unhurried, yet electric enough to send shivers down their spines.

Roman’s large hands roam down her back, possessive and sure, pulling her closer until she’s in his lap. When she moans softly into his mouth, it ignites something primal in him. The sound drives him crazy, her lips and her voice working together to undo him in a way no one else ever has. It’s a reminder of everything they share—the connection that goes beyond words, beyond the teasing and playful banter.

When they finally pull apart, she rests her forehead against his, her breathing unsteady. “Believe it or not, I got one more gift for you,” she informs him, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “It’s red and made of satin and lace.”

“Yeah?” Roman’s voice roughens, his hands still on her hips.

She leans in close, her teeth tugging on his earlobe as she whispers, “Mm-hmm. But you get to see it later.”

Roman groans low in his throat, his hold on her tightening. “You really tryna test my patience, huh?”

Naima laughs, sliding off his lap before he can pull her back. “Ya know what they say, baby; patience is a virtue.”

The rest of the night passes in a haze of laughter, wine, and stolen touches. Chief dozes near the fireplace, his tiny snores filling the silence of the now-muted TV. As Naima cleans up the dishes from their late-night snacks, Roman leans against the counter, watching her.

“You ever think about what’s next?” he asks suddenly.

She glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“For us,” he elaborates, his voice unwavering.

Naima pauses, her hands stilling. “I mean…I’m happy right now. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I am. But I’m talking like, big picture. Like, what happens when we’re not doing this flying-back-and-forth shit anymore? What if you moved to Miami permanently? With me.”

Naima turns to face him fully, leaning against the sink. “That means leaving Adara and Julien in Atlanta. Leaving Exotica. I know you’d love that,” she rolls her eyes.

Roman shrugs. “Well, it is your workplace, regardless of my feelings towards it. But we can figure that out together. Right?”

She exhales, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much. Kinda feels like jinxing it.”

He pushes off the counter, narrowing the distance between them. “I get it. I just want you to know I’m serious about this. About us. I don’t care where you came from or what you’ve done. I just…I’m all in with you.”

Naima gazes at him, her chest tightening. “You sure you know what you’re gettin’ into, Reigns?” she whispers.

Roman grins, his hands finding her waist. “Baby girl, I’ve been sure pretty much since the day I met you.”

Her smile is wide and her heart feels impossibly full. “Guess I better go put your present on, then.”

Roman’s laughter echoes through the penthouse as she saunters off, her long legs carrying her toward his bedroom. “Don’t take too long,” he calls after her.

Ten minutes later, Naima’s heart is still racing with excitement. She can feel the heat of the shower still lingering on her body, buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. Roman’s words echo in her head; “Don’t take too long.”

A playful grin crosses her lips. It will definitely be worth the wait.

The silk robe is soft and gentle on her skin as she moves around the bedroom. The lights are dimmed just enough to set the mood. She reaches for the speaker, turning on a playlist full of sultry, slow R&B songs that she uses for her private dances. Usually, she has an audience of several, tossing dollars at her, hungry for more. Tonight, her audience consists of just one, the most important one; Roman Reigns himself, her man…her everything.

She stands in front of the full-length mirror and lets her long, damp hair cascade down her back, shimmering under the soft lighting. She takes a deep breath as she eyes her reflection, seeing a stark difference between the woman staring back at her and the one from seven years ago.

Well done, Naima. Well done.

She quickly goes to the gift bag she’d tucked away, pulling out the lingerie she had purchased specially for him—a festive red set with white fur trim and a playful Santa-inspired design. The bra and thong set hugs her curves perfectly, and she can feel herself getting wetter, more eager. She doesn’t need much of an excuse to get her man all worked up, but tonight? Tonight is different.

She peeks her head through the door and calls out to him, her voice low and teasing. “Baby, I need some help in here!”

As he enters the bedroom, his gaze immediately falls on her—no longer in the oversized sweater, but in blood red lingerie, looking like a vision. His mouth goes dry, his pants tightening as he drinks in the sight.

“Goddamn, baby girl,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with desire. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes scanning her, taking in the way the fabric clings to her slender body. “You look fucking incredible.”

“You like it, big daddy?” she asks, her voice dripping with temptation as she strikes a pose that extends her already long legs.

“Like it? I fucking love it,” he growls, his voice rough with desire. “But how the hell are you not tired from all the cooking?”

Naima’s lips curve into a sultry smile as she inches closer to him, her hips swaying with every step. “I’m never too tired to please you, Ro.”

Roman’s expression softens, but there’s a spark of something else in his eyes—anticipation. He doesn't respond at first, just watches as she takes his hand and leads him to the bed, motioning for him to sit. He obeys without question, his body already tingling with desire.

She walks over to the speakers and turns the volume up just enough. The sultry, slow beat of “To My Bed” by Chris Brown fills the room, its sensual tone ensconcing them both like a velvet blanket. She stands for a moment, letting the rhythm of the song take over her body. The satin fabric of her lingerie shimmers as she dances, her movements sensual and determined, drawing him in. There’s no rush from her—each motion is deliberate, designed to drive him crazy.

Roman’s hands rest on his knees, gripping them tightly, the intensity in his gaze saying more than words can express. His breath quickens as she turns and gives him an eyeful of the thong that’s swallowed up by her fat, bountiful ass cheeks. Then, she slowly approaches him, her legs long and lithe, flexing with an effortless grace. She leans forward, pushing her chest in his face, her hands smoothing over his broad shoulders.

“You like what you see, big guy?” she inquires, her voice low and smokier than her jollof, dripping with sex and authority, knowing she has him in the palm of her hand.

“Damn right I do,” Roman growls in response, his hands closing over her breasts, the tension in the air as thick as a storm about to break.

A slow smile plays across her lips, a smile that sends shivers through him. She reaches up and places a Santa hat on his head, her fingers brushing over his scalp before letting the hat sit on top.

“Guess you’re my Christmas gift, huh?” she teases, winking at him, her fingers lightly tapping the top of the hat.

Roman can’t help but snicker despite the lust pulsing through him. “You know it, mamas. Just unwrap me already.”

Naima stands in front of him for a moment, her body swaying, the sheer satin glistening against her skin as the lights of the room catches the fabric just right. Roman’s eyes roam over her, memorizing every inch. Her body, her long legs, that damn sexy smile of hers, the way she looks in the tiny underwear. She knows how to play him like a violin, and tonight he is her willing instrument.

Naima’s smile grows as she slowly unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor, exposing the breasts and pierced nipples that never fail to make his mouth water. She drops down low, then slowly rolls back up as her hands run over her curves, caressing herself. She hears his breathing getting heavier, and that only fuels her further. She lets the music take control, her body moving with a confidence that only Roman can bring out of her.

His eyes are glued to her, his expression a mix of lust and admiration. “You’re killing me, mamas,” he growls, his voice clogged with desire.

She stops for a moment, standing in front of him, her ample chest rising and falling with each breath. “Oh, I’m just getting started, big guy,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry. “You’ve been a good boy tonight, so I think you’ve earned a little something special.”

Roman chuckles darkly, his hands resting on the bed now, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You’ve got no idea what I’m gonna do to you after this.”

Naima smirks, her confidence skyrocketing as his hungry stare stalks her every move. With her back to him, she sensually shimmies between his parted legs and lowers herself onto his lap. Her backside rests right on his crotch as she keeps moving, rolling her ass back and forth in a manner that makes his jaw clench. She throws a sly glance over her shoulder, catching the way his hands twitch, aching to touch her again.

“What’s the matter, big guy? Can’t handle it?” she taunts, her voice low and teasing.

Roman exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling as his hands shoot up to grab her waist. His fingers dig into her skin as she bounces her ass on him, the enticing rhythm making his entire body flare up with heat. “Goddamn, baby.”

Naima’s laugh is rich, full of mischief and lust as she presses back harder, causing him to groan. “That’s right, daddy, watch me throw this fat ass on you,” she moans, steadying herself with her hands on his knees while her hips and ass do all the talking.

Roman tilts his head back for a moment, shutting his eyes tightly as he feels himself throb from the near unbearable friction. “You keep this up and I’m not gonna last long,” he growls, reaching out to squeeze her backside wreaking havoc on his stiff crotch.

“That's the plan,” she shoots back, grinding against him some more before standing up abruptly, leaving him gaping at her like she’s just snatched his soul. “Gotta give Santa his Christmas dance,” she giggles, stepping back and twerking to the music again.

Roman licks his lips as he adjusts himself and the hat on his head. “Santa’s getting impatient, baby girl. You better finish that dance quick before I take what’s mine.”

Naima's eyes are fixated on her man as she tugs on the waistband of her thong and slips it down her legs, tossing it playfully at him which he catches easily. Her body is now completely bare, save for the light sheen of sweat that clings to her skin, making her glow. She straddles him again, leaning in so their noses almost touch. “What if I don’t wanna finish, big daddy?” she murmurs, her lips brushing his teasingly.

This time, Roman doesn’t hesitate. He grips her thighs and flips them over, pinning her beneath him. The bed shifts under their combined weight as he stares down at her, his smirk widening. “I know where I wanna finish,” he mutters, his voice catching right before he crushes his mouth to hers. His big hands eagerly roam her curves as he presses himself against her, the warmth of her naked body sparking a fire he can’t extinguish.

With a teasing grin, Naima pulls his sweater off him and helps him shove his pants down. Then, moving with surprising speed and strength, she rolls them over so she is back on top. Her hands smooth down his chest, running her fingers over the muscles of his abdomen, and she reaches down to grip his length, massaging him for a second or two before sliding him inside her.

With a soft moan, she sits up and presses her hands on his chest, pinning him down as he drops his hands from her waist to her ass, squeezing the supple cheeks. His grip tightens as she rides him with the skill of an equestrian, her shapely hips rolling and rotating, seemingly spelling her name on him. He can feel her wetness seeping between them, the friction driving him crazy.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You make me lose my fuckin' mind.”

Naima dips down, capturing his lips with a passion that sends fireworks off in his brain. The kiss is deep, intense—needy. Their tongues tangle with an urgency that speaks volumes to their never-ending lust for each other, Roman’s hips joining the frantic dance of want as he meets her halfway with deep thrusts right against her sweet spot. The scent of her perfume—something floral and warm—mingles with the sweet musk of desire, and his head spins from the intoxicating combination.

“Shit, Ro…” Naima moans. She grips the pillow behind Roman’s head as she pounces and bounces on his dick with increased urgency, the slickness of her pussy, the feel of him deep inside her, making everything feel like it’s about to explode. She lets out another breathy moan, her face nuzzling his neck, her heavy pants sprouting goosebumps on his skin. Roman’s breath catches in his throat as the feel of her beautiful body writhing on top of him, along with a dizzying myriad of sensations, nudges him closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he growls, his eyes hazy with pleasure as he stares up at her, “Baby, I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

Naima smiles down at him, her hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves, her chest rising and falling in tandem with her rising and falling on his dick. She cups his face, gazing right into his eyes as she whispers, “Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Roman’s eyes darken with lust. It’s the easiest confession he’ll ever make. “You're the best I’ve ever had, baby girl. By a mile. Don’t nobody fuck me like you do,” he professes.

Her body responds to his praise like a fine-tuned instrument. Her movements become faster, more desperate with every dropdown. Their foreheads press together, and she groans as he suddenly shifts and flips her underneath him. He hitches her legs higher around his waist and pumps into her determinedly, cursing as the new angle deepens his reach inside her. Overwhelmed, Naima's eyes squeeze shut, her fingernails in his back, swept away by the intensity of their passion, reverberating through the entire master bedroom as euphoria comes calling. The bed rocks harder from the force of Roman's thrusts, indescribable pleasure drawing them closer and closer.

“Open your eyes, Naima. Look at me when you come,” Roman coaxes her with a kiss, his voice almost pleading as his fingers brush along her stomach and find that sensitive spot between her legs. He toys with it, his personal pleasure button, playing with the sticky mess she’s made and luxuriating in the sounds of her shaky moans as he fucks her into the mattress.

Naima obeys and locks glazed, unfocused eyes with him, barely holding on as the world crescendos around them. Only a half-minute later, it all comes crashing down like a tidal wave—powerful, overwhelming, all-encompassing. Naima screams as her juices gush from the impact, all over his dick, her entire frame shaking with the bone-tingling intensity of her orgasm. Roman’s grip on her and on reality falters as her pussy tightens around him, sparking his release, his drenched dick pulsing and twitching as he fills her to the brim. They collapse together, panting and sweaty, spent and wrecked. He rolls onto his back and immediately pulls her close, his face buried in her hair as he struggles to catch his breath.

Naima lets out a contented sigh, smiling as she nestles against his chest. “Guess that was a Christmas gift for both of us, huh?” she murmurs.

Roman chuckles, his lips meeting her forehead. “You’re the best gift I could ever ask for, baby.”

She smiles up at him, her heart warm and full. “And you’re mine. You don’t know what you’ve done for me, Roman.”

And with one more heartfelt kiss, they cling to each other, their bodies still buzzing from the most beautiful experience, knowing that the holiday season has brought them even closer—if that was even possible.

🎄THE END...for now.🎄

Read Finding Angel here

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

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lupinqs · 6 months ago

Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN ━━ Home, For Christmas

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 4.3K

☆ ━ warnings: subtle talks of dani’s bitchass homophobic dad what’s new

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: in honor of gameday 🫡sorry this took so long you guys!!!! hopefully the next one won’t lol ALSO! y’all i wrote julia in for a reason, she will end up being important :)

CHRISTMAS DAY at her grandparents’ house is always cozy and warm, filled with laughter and the smell of cinnamon and pine. Dani’s family fills the living room, sprawled across couches, perched on armchairs, and gathered around the fireplace. Her aunts and uncles are trading stories, her little cousins are running around in holiday pajamas, and there’s a pile of presents under the tree, each one wrapped in brightly colored paper.

Dani sits in the corner of the couch, balancing her youngest aunt Julia’s newborn, Grey, in her lap. She’s been fawning over him all day, enchanted by his tiny fingers and the little yawns he lets out every now and then. His downy dark hair sticks up at odd angles, and his soft little hands rest against her arm as she holds him, his eyes drifting closed with that peaceful look babies seem to have mastered.

Julia, who’s only twenty-five and just as warm and lovely as Dani remembers from her childhood, sits beside her, watching Dani with a smile. “You’ve got the magic touch, Dani,” she says, nudging her gently. “He hasn’t fallen asleep for anyone else yet today.”

Dani grins, glancing down at Grey as he lets out a tiny sigh. “Guess he knows I’m his favorite already,” she jokes, stroking the baby’s soft cheek.

Julia shifts a little, leaning back against the couch, and after a moment, she glances sideways at Dani. “How’s your dad been doing?” she asks quietly, her tone careful.

Dani rolls her eyes, her expression slipping into something neutral. “It’s… whatever,” she says, keeping her voice low. “We don’t really talk much.”

Julia nods, understanding written all over her face. “Yeah. Me neither.” There’s a heaviness to her voice, and Dani knows why. Julia is certainly not married to Grey’s father, him having left long before Grey was born. It’s something that Dani’s dad has shamed Julia for, his conservative views casting his half sister as some kind of disgrace. Dani’s heard the things he’s said about her—heard him scoff at Julia’s life choices like they were some kind of moral failure.

She looks at Julia, her heart aching for her. “I’m sorry,” Dani says quietly. “He’s like that with everything, not just you.”

Julia lets out a soft sigh, her gaze drifting to Grey, who’s now fully asleep, his little face relaxed and peaceful. “I know,” she murmurs. “But it still sucks. I just wish he could see… it’s not like I planned for things to turn out this way. But I love Grey. And I wouldn’t trade him for anything.” She smiles down at her son, her expression soft and full of love. “It’s just a difficult situation.”

Dani nods, her throat tight. “Yeah. I get it.” She glances down at Grey, feeling the familiar warmth in her chest. She doesn’t understand why her dad has to be so harsh, so unwilling to forgive. She’s been on that side of things when her own secret came to light, and when that same judgment had been turned on her, it was terrible.

Dani adjusts her grip on Grey, who shifts a little in his sleep, tiny fingers curling around the edge of her sweater.

After a moment, Julia speaks again, her voice soft. “So… are you and Paige still not talking?” she asks, her tone careful, but curious. “Last I heard, you two weren’t friends anymore.”

Dani’s stomach tightens a little, her gaze shifting to the floor. Julia’s met Paige plenty of times—Paige was practically family, as far as her grandparents and aunts were concerned. Dani can still remember how much her mom adored Paige, how her mom used to say that Paige was the best thing to happen to her, that Paige brought out this light in her daughter that she hadn’t seen in anyone else. It’s something that, in her quiet moments, Dani clings to—thinking that maybe her mom really would have understood her situation.

“Paige was always so sweet,” Julia continues, almost wistfully. “And I remember how much your mom loved her, Dani. She always said Paige was the best friend you could ever have.”

Dani sighs, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on her. Her chest tightens with the urge to spill everything—to tell Julia about how it was so much more than just friendship, how Paige is basically her entire world, how they love each other in a much different way than most know. Dani knows Julia isn’t homophobic, and she can’t imagine Julia judging her, especially after everything Julia herself has been through with her dad and such.

But the words catch in her throat. Her fear is too strong, a familiar, icy weight. She imagines what would happen if anything she said got back to her dad, even by accident. She remembers the camp, the isolation, the way it felt like she was being slowly erased. The thought of going back there makes her stomach twist with dread.

She takes a slow breath, then finally says, “No, we’re still not friends.” Her voice is flat, and she hates how empty it sounds. “And we’re… we’re not ever going to be friends again.”

Julia frowns, reaching over to place a comforting hand on Dani’s arm. “I’m sorry, Dani. That must be so hard. Losing a friend like that… I can only imagine.”

Dani just nods, swallowing back the ache in her throat. “Yeah,” she murmurs, her gaze fixed on Grey, who’s still blissfully asleep. “It is.”

Julia gives her a soft smile, a silent offer of comfort, but Dani barely notices, her mind drifting to thoughts of Paige. She feels like she’s buried that love as deeply as she can—hidden it away in a place where her dad and the church can’t touch it.

And she’s going to stay that way. Because that is what is going to keep it safe.

DANI SINKS into her blankets, watching Christmas Vacation play on her laptop, the warmth of the bed comforting against the bite of winter outside. She’d asked her dad to watch the movie with her, hoping for at least a little shared Christmas cheer, but he’d just brushed her off with a brief mutter of how tired he was. So here she is, alone, her room dimly lit, a quiet feeling of loneliness settling in.

The Griswold family is just finishing fitting their huge Christmas tree in their living room when Dani’s phone lights up beside her. She glances down and finds Paige’s name on her screen. Her heart does a little flip as she picks it up, biting back a smile.

Paige ❤️‍🔥

You home yet?

Dani ❤️‍🔥

yeah i got home like an hour ago

Paige ❤️‍🔥

you doing anything?

Dani pauses, glancing at her screen.

Dani ❤️‍🔥

watching christmas vacation in my bed

She sends the message and internally cringes a little as she realizes how lonely it sounds.

Paige ❤️‍🔥

By yourself?

Come over and watch it with me and my fam

Dani laughs softly, rolling her eyes. Of course Paige wouldn’t let her stay alone, not tonight. Paige always has that unwavering energy, that impulsive streak that Dani has never been able to resist.

Dani ❤️‍🔥

paige my dad’s home

Paige ❤️‍🔥

Sneak out!!!

I’ll come get you by your window

Dani stares at the screen, a little stunned, a little thrilled. Her fingers hover over the screen, her thumb hesitating over the keyboard.

Dani ❤️‍🔥

you’re insane

Paige ❤️‍🔥

And yet ur not saying no 😁😁

A grin tugs at Dani’s lips, and she feels her pulse quicken. She glances at her door, hoping and praying for her sake that her dad was true on his word and that he’s asleep, then quietly swings her legs off the bed. Closing her laptop, she grabs her thickest hoodie from her chair, pulling it over her head. She finds her Uggs under the bed, slipping them on and making her way to the window, heart pounding in anticipation. Her fingers fumble a bit as she undoes the lock, the cold air hitting her face the moment she slides it open.

Peering outside, she feels her heart skip as she spots Paige standing below. Paige is bundled up in her coat, hands deep in her pockets, and despite the shivering, she’s grinning up at Dani like this is the most natural thing in the world. Snow has started to fall again, gentle flakes catching in Paige’s hair and dusting her shoulders. She looks really pretty.

“Hey!” Paige calls up softly, her voice a mix of excitement and impatience. “You comin’ down, or what?”

Dani can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. She leans out a little, gripping the window frame for balance. “This is so stupid, you know that?” she whispers, trying not to laugh too loud.

Paige just shrugs, her grin undeterred. “Live a little!”

Dani laughs softly, the sound swallowed by the stillness of the night. She glances down, assessing the climb, feeling a pang of nervousness when she sees just how far the ground looks. Her window isn’t exactly low, and she can’t be sure the snow is soft. She swallows, feeling her pulse quicken as she considers her next move.

“Paige,” she whispers, trying to keep her voice down but still sounding panicked, “I’m going to fall!”

“If you do, I’ll catch you!” Paige whispers back, her voice carrying a confidence that only makes Dani’s heart beat faster. “Besides, there’s like a foot of fresh snow down here. You’ll be fine.”

Paige waves, motioning for her to climb down. Dani takes a deep breath, telling herself she’s done more dangerous things in her life than sneaking out of her own house. She slowly climbs through the window, her fingers gripping the cold edges of the siding as she carefully makes her way down. She’s almost to the bottom, just a couple of feet away from the ground, when her foot slips on the last ledge.

She lets out a small yelp, her fingers losing their grip, and she starts to tumble. There’s a split second of weightlessness, her heart in her throat, and then Paige’s arms are around her, just enough to slow her fall before they both collapse into the snow in a heap. The impact sends a puff of snow up around them, freezing and soft at the same time. Dani’s breath catches as she feels Paige’s arms around her, the warmth of her body cutting through the biting cold.

For a moment, they just lie there in the snow, laughing softly, breathless and tangled together. Their faces are close, so close that Dani can feel Paige’s breath against her cheek, warm and sweet, mingling with the cold night air. Paige’s cheeks are flushed pink, her nose red from the cold, and there’s a light in her eyes that makes Dani’s heart skip a beat.

Paige reaches up, brushing a few stray snowflakes from Dani’s face, her fingers lingering on her cheek. “You good?” she asks softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dani nods, her own cheeks flushed. She’s suddenly hyper-aware of every point of contact between them—their knees, their hands, the faint tremor in Paige’s touch as her fingers trace along Dani’s cheek. She shivers, but this time, it has nothing to do with the cold.

Paige nods back, looking thoughtful, her hand dropping to swipe a bit of snow off Dani’s shoulder. She glances around, making sure no one’s watching, before leaning in. Her eyes search Dani’s face for a moment, just a flicker of hesitation, before she closes the distance, her lips brushing softly against Dani’s.

The kiss is barely more than a whisper, a featherlight touch that’s over almost as soon as it begins. But it leaves Dani breathless, her heart racing in her chest as she looks up at Paige. There’s a warmth in Paige’s eyes that makes Dani’s stomach flutter, a tenderness that feels like the best Christmas gift she’s ever received.

Paige pulls back, her eyes sparkling with mischief, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Come on,” she whispers, her voice warm, filled with a quiet joy that Dani feels mirrored in her own chest. Paige helps her to her feet, brushing snow off their coats as they stand together, grinning like conspirators in the snowy silence.

They link arms, Paige’s hand slipping into Dani’s pocket to hold her hand, the feeling of Paige’s fingers warming her whole body up. Together, they start making their way toward Paige’s house, the snow crunching beneath their feet, their laughter echoing softly in the stillness of the night.

They go through the back door of Paige’s house, each of them letting out a relieved sigh as the warmth surrounds them, chasing away the icy chill of the Minnesota night. Dani takes a moment to close her eyes, basking in the feeling of warmth creeping back into her fingers and toes, the familiar smell of cookies, cinnamon, and evergreen filling the air.

There in the kitchen, Drew is perched on a stool by the island, his legs swinging idly as he chews on a Christmas cookie dusted with red and green sprinkles. Bob, Paige’s dad, stands near the stove, pulling sprinkles out of a cabinet. A tray of freshly baked cookies cools on the counter, the sweet scent drifting through the room. Bob’s face lights up when he sees Dani and Paige sneaking in, a broad grin stretching across his face.

“Dani! Merry Christmas!” he exclaims, waving her over as if she were his own daughter. “I saved a couple cookies for you, but they almost fell victim to that creature—” he points to Drew, who giggles at the wording, frosting dusting the corners of his mouth “—over there.”

Dani laughs, an easy grin drifting to her face as she says, “I can see that. Thanks for letting me come over; I didn’t mean to intrude on family Christmas.”

Paige rolls her eyes, her hand on Dani’s hip as she pushes her toward the island. “Shut up, Dan, you’re never intruding.”

“She’s right,” Bob says cheerily, grabbing a couple plain cookies from the tray and placing them in front of the two empty stools next to Drew. “You’re family, Dani.”

Dani feels her face flush at his words, and her chest warms, too. It’s nice to know that they’re glad she’s here, that they don’t feel as though she’s intruding, that maybe she really belongs in this corner of her world. She’d really, really like to.

Dani sits on the bar stool next to Drew, and Paige sits on the other one so the brunette girl is in between the two Bueckers siblings. However, it seems as though the small distance between Dani and Paige is too much, because Dani feels Paige’s hand graze her thigh as she grabs hold of the stool Dani’s sat on, pulling it so close to her own that the two of them are practically sharing a seat. Their shoulders press against each other, as do the sides of their legs, and it’s enough to send a warm jolt through Dani.

Dani sends a little look to Paige, her brows raised ever so slightly, smirk playing her lips.

“What?” Paige asks, though she’s got a look that mirrors the Callan girl’s. “You were too far.”

Dani just shakes her head at the blonde’s words, watching as she grabs the remote and flicks through the Christmas movies until she finds Christmas Vacation, having told Dani that she should watch it with them instead and holding onto her word.

Dani feels a smile lifting her lips as she reaches for a cookie in the tray in front of her, placing it on her plate. She grabs a piping bag, too, squeezing a tiny bit of green icing onto her finger just to get a taste.

“Oh, you’re gettin’ into the icing already?” Paige teases, leaning in with an arched brow. She grabs her own piping bag and, without warning, dabs a bit of red frosting on the tip of Dani’s nose, laughing as Dani’s eyes widen.

Dani gasps, swatting at her with a laugh. “Paige!” she exclaims, grabbing her green icing before leaning over and spreading some onto Paige’s cheek in retaliation.

Paige’s mouth open in mock outrage, but before she can protest herself, Drew interrupts with a grin, reaching for another piping bag, and asking, “Are we having an icing fight?”

The seven-year-old’s words seem to catch Bob’s attention, who turns from where he was watching the movie to see what’s happening behind him. Dani watches his eyes trail over the green on her nose and the red on his daughter’s cheek and he gives them a playfully stern look before telling Drew, “No, buddy, no icing fight. You’ll get on Santa’s Naughty List next year if you do.”

Drew laughs a little, pointing at the two girls sitting next to him and saying, “Ooh, Naughty List.”

Paige just playfully sticks her tongue out at her little brother before grabbing a napkin. She dramatically uses it to wipe the red icing off of her cheek, before balling it up and tossing it back onto the island. Dani rolls her eyes at the blonde’s dramatics, reaching to grab her own napkin to clean up her nose. But Paige swats at the hand Dani was reaching. Dani sends Paige a look, watching as the girl beside her cautiously glances at her dad and Drew—whose attention’s have both been captured by the movie—before leaning in and grinning as she kisses the tip of Dani’s nose and then sticks her tongue out to lick the icing away. She pulls back and Dani’s sure her face is red—especially due to the proximity of Paige’s family—but Paige is just smiling mischievously, using her tongue to swipe away any remaining frosting on her lips.

Dani finally takes the liberty to actually decorate her cookie, deciding for the traditional Christmas tree route. She’s spreading the green icing along the sugar cookie carefully, her eyes occasionally flicking between Christmas Vacation and Paige decorating her own cookie. It’s more endearing to watch the latter—she’s decorating with exaggerated precision (though if Dani’s honest, she can’t tell what the glob of frosting is meant to look like… it might be an ornament), her tongue sticking out in concentration, her hair falling into her face ever so slightly. Dani flicks her eyes away, back to her own handiwork.

At one point, Paige leans over to whisper to Dani, “Look at Drew’s cookie… the sprinkles…”

Dani does as the blonde says, her gaze finding Drew, to the left of her. He’s humming quietly to himself, concentrating on drowning his cookie in red and green sprinkles, his fingers sticky and his cheeks dusted with sugar. Dani stifles a giggle as she leans in even closer to see the cookie piled high with so many sprinkles that it’s almost unrecognizable. She catches Paige’s eye, and they both burst into quiet laughter, trying not to let Drew hear.

“Hey, it’s nice!” Drew defends, noticing their stifled laughter.

From where he’s standing, Bob chuckles, watching the exchange with a fond smile. “You’re doing great, Drew,” he says, reaching over to ruffle his son’s hair, eyes flicking across the three cookies the kids before him are making. “Though, I think you and Paige both have some competition in Dani here.”

Dani watches as Paige looks at her dad in betrayal, though it’s true—her cookie is terrible. Dani just grins, nodding, nudging Paige’s knee under the counter. “Years of practice,” the brunette says in a mock-serious tone before carefully adding a few more sprinkles to her cookie.

Paige rolls her eyes, mumbling, “Whatever. Mine tastes better.”

CHRISTMAS VACATION ended not too long ago, and Drew and Bob went upstairs to bed, leaving Dani and Paige alone. The warm glow of the tree casts a soft light over the living room, and Home Alone now plays quietly on the screen, adding to the late-night comfort. Dani’s curled up against Paige, the two of them snuggled under a thick fleece blanket, Paige’s arm wrapped securely around her. Dani lets herself drift, lulled by the movie, the warmth, the way Paige’s fingers trace soft circles over her shoulder.

But then Paige shifts slightly beneath her, murmuring, “So… I know we promised not to get each other anything…”

Dani’s eyes immediately flick from the TV to Paige, her brow furrowing as she pulls back slightly, a hint of accusation in her gaze. “Tell me you didn’t get me something.”

Paige, looking a little sheepish, averts her eyes and rubs the back of her neck, mumbling, “Well…”

“Paige!” Dani sits up fully now, her voice holding a mixture of surprise and mild reproach. “We promised not to!”

“I know, I know!” Paige protests, her face flushed as she tries to defend herself. “And I wasn’t going to, I swear! But then I was at the mall literally yesterday, just doing some last-minute shopping for my family, and—” She pauses, looking a bit embarrassed but determined to explain. “I saw this thing that really reminded me of you…”

Dani sighs, her shoulders dropping a little as she shakes her head. “Paige…”

“I know,” Paige says quickly, hands lifted in a half-hearted attempt at appeasement. “But it was on sale because of the holidays! I hardly spent any money on it.”

Dani narrows her eyes, trying not to let the affection she feels soften her mock glare. “Still. I feel bad. If I’d known you’d gotten me something, I would’ve gotten you something.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Paige says, shaking her head earnestly. “I was the one who went against our promise, not you.”

They fall silent for a moment, the only sound in the room coming from the movie on the TV. Dani’s gaze flickers to Paige, whose face is shadowed in the dim light. There’s something vulnerable in the way Paige looks at her, something almost tentative, and it makes Dani’s heart ache in a way she can’t quite name.

Finally, Paige speaks up again, her voice soft. “Can I go get it?”

Dani nods, and Paige disentangles herself from their cozy nest of blankets, slipping upstairs while Dani stays on the couch, her mind racing a little. She knows Paige put thought into this, that whatever it is, it’s going to mean something.

Moments later, Paige is bounding down the stairs again, a tiny jewelry box held carefully in her hand. She pauses by the couch, her gaze flickering between the box and Dani, and Dani watches her, heart thudding with a mix of anticipation and warmth.

“Here,” Paige says softly, holding out the box as she sits back down beside Dani, even closer than before, their entire sides pressed up against each other.

Dani takes the box, feeling the slight weight of it in her hands, and slowly lifts the lid. Inside is a delicate silver necklace, the pendant small and simple—almost nondescript, but close up she can see the engraving on it, the tiny, intricate letters that spell out a single word: home.

Dani’s breath catches as she stares down at the pendant, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifts it. She can feel her throat tighten, emotion welling up inside her as the weight of the word hits her fully. It’s more than a necklace; it’s a message, a reminder of everything Paige has been to her, a promise that wherever Paige is, she’ll always have a place to belong.

She glances up at Paige, her eyes stinging, her voice barely above a whisper. “You… you really thought of me when you saw this?”

Paige nods, her gaze soft and steady, her fingers reaching out to brush lightly against Dani’s. “Yeah,” she says, her voice equally soft, almost like she’s afraid of breaking the moment. “I know things have been… hard, with your dad and everything. I just… I wanted you to have something that reminds you that you’ll always have a home with me. No matter what.”

Dani feels the tears slip down her cheeks, and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. She just lets the words sink in, lets herself feel the weight of Paige’s thoughtfulness, her kindness, the unwavering support Paige always seems to offer, even when Dani feels like she doesn’t deserve it.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Paige moves closer, pulling Dani into a hug, her arms wrapping securely around her. She rests her chin on top of Dani’s head, her fingers gently stroking her back, and Dani melts into her, closing her eyes and breathing in Paige’s familiar scent.

“I love you,” Paige murmurs into her hair, her voice soft and steady, filled with a warmth that wraps around Dani like a blanket.

Dani’s own arms tighten around Paige, and she whispers back, “I love you, too.”

They stay like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world fading away. Then, slowly, Paige pulls back, her gaze meeting Dani’s, and there’s a question in her eyes, one Dani answers by leaning in, pressing her lips softly to Paige’s.

The kiss is gentle, almost tentative at first, a quiet meeting of emotions unspoken. But as the seconds stretch, Dani lets herself get lost in it, her hand slipping up to rest against Paige’s cheek, her fingers brushing along her jaw. Paige’s hand finds the small of Dani’s back, pulling her in closer, and Dani feels her heart pounding, the warmth of Paige’s touch grounding her, steadying her.

When they finally pull back, their faces are close, their breaths mingling, and Dani can’t help but smile, the kind of smile that’s soft and true, filled with a happiness she rarely allows herself to feel.

Paige grins back, her fingers brushing over Dani’s cheek as she murmurs, “Merry Christmas, Dani.”

Dani’s voice is quiet, but full of warmth. “Merry Christmas, Paige.”

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #hopkins p fic #take me to church #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wbb #uconn #wcbb #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x reader

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sunshineangel0 · 3 months ago

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chapter one

pairing- Bang Chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) summary- Chi Nakamura, the owner of a cozy Seoul bakery, has a seemingly ordinary early morning encounter with a mysterious customer—one that lingers in her mind long after he’s gone. Little does she know, her small act of kindness has left an impression on none other than Bang Chan, leader of stray kids. genre- Slow burn, fluff, slice of life, a hint of romance (?) word count- 1.1.k warning- pure fluff, caffeine addiction (lol) a/n- This was just supposed to be a simple small idea with an oc I created in my head, but now I’m obsessed with their dynamic. Chi’s bright energy vs. Chan’s quiet exhaustion? Yes, please. Let me know what you think! 💕

The warm glow of early morning seeped through the tall windows of Mochi and Bean, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floors. The air inside the small bakery was rich with the scent of vanilla, espresso, and fresh-baked pastries—a comforting aroma that wrapped around Chi Nakamura like a familiar embrace. She hummed softly along to the music playing through the speakers, a gentle K-R&B track that blended seamlessly with the quiet hum of dawn in downtown Seoul.

It was just past 5:15 AM. The streets outside were still sleepy, wrapped in the lingering hush of the night, where only the occasional early commuter or delivery truck broke the stillness. This was Chi’s favorite part of the day. The world felt softer, slower, like a deep breath before the city exhaled into the chaos of morning traffic. In these early hours, it was just her, her oven, and the quiet anticipation of a new beginning.

Behind the counter, she moved with precise, practiced ease, organizing the latest batch of butter croissants and matcha financiers onto their trays, each pastry arranged with delicate care. The polished glass display case gleamed under the soft café lighting, the golden layers of the croissants catching the light just so.

The bell above the door chimed, the sound crisp in the tranquil stillness. Chi glanced up, expecting to see one of her usual early birds—perhaps an office worker needing a caffeine fix or a delivery driver grabbing breakfast before the rush.

Instead, she was met with someone new.

A man stepped in, his presence quiet but deliberate. He wore a black hoodie pulled low over his forehead, gray sweatpants, and a mask covering the lower half of his face. He moved with the kind of energy that suggested he was used to going unnoticed—each step purposeful yet unassuming, blending into the background without effort.

Chi, ever the bright presence, propped her elbows onto the counter, resting her chin on her hands as she offered a natural, easy smile. She didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter.

"Good morning!" Her voice was warm, gently breaking the silence between them. "What can I get for you?"

The man hesitated for a second, as if her friendly greeting had caught him off guard. Slowly, he reached up, pulling his mask down just enough to reveal a glimpse of his lips and sharp jawline before tucking it under his chin. When he met her gaze, his deep brown eyes—slightly hooded with exhaustion—held an unreadable expression.

"Uh… just an Americano, please," he said, his voice a quiet rasp, the kind that came from too many late nights and not enough sleep.

Chi tilted her head slightly, observing him with a light curiosity. There was something about him that felt oddly familiar, but she didn’t press on it. Instead, she nodded, pushing off the counter with an easy grace.

"Coming right up! You want anything to eat? I just pulled out some fresh croissants—like, literally five minutes ago. Still warm," she offered, gesturing toward the display case where the golden, flaky pastries sat invitingly.

The man hesitated again, like he was about to refuse out of habit. But something in the way she looked at him—expectant but not pushy—made him pause.

"Yeah… sure. One croissant," he relented, voice softer this time.

Chi grinned, already turning toward the espresso machine, her movements fluid and practiced. "Great choice," she said as she punched in the order. The familiar hum of the machine filled the space, rich coffee dripping steadily into the cup. Meanwhile, she grabbed a pair of tongs, carefully placing a perfectly golden croissant into a small paper bag.

As she worked, she glanced over her shoulder, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "So," she started casually, "you’re out pretty early. Work?"

The man let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Something like that."

Chi didn’t push for more. Instead, she simply nodded, setting the finished Americano on the counter alongside the bagged croissant. "Well, hope the coffee helps. It’s on the house since it’s your first time here."

The man raised a brow, clearly surprised. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know," she said with a small, knowing smile, "but I want to. I just opened like a week ago. I thought it would be nice offering a few things at first"

He exhaled through his nose—a quiet laugh, amused by her kindness. As he reached for the cup, his fingers brushed against hers—just for a fraction of a second, barely there.

Something flickered in his expression, like he was about to say something else, but instead, he just gave her a small nod.

"Thanks… Chi," he murmured, glancing at the name tag pinned to her apron before turning toward the door.

Chi blinked, slightly surprised that he’d noticed her name.

"See you around, uh…" she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He hesitated for a second before answering simply, "Chris."

And then, he was gone, slipping out into the early morning, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his presence and the quiet weight of an interaction that felt like the start of something.

Chi exhaled, watching as the door swung shut behind him. Something about that guy was… interesting.

She just didn’t realize yet that Chris was Bang Chan—the leader of Stray Kids. And that was only the first of many mornings to come.

As the café settled back into its usual rhythm, Chi pulled out her phone, unlocking it with a quick tap. She hesitated for a moment before opening her messages and typing.

Chi: you ever just serve coffee to someone and feel like... that was kinda important???

A few seconds later, her best friend, Mina, responded.

Mina: girl it’s 5:30 in the morning what are you even talking about

Chi rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. Before she could type back, Mina sent another text.

Mina: wait. was he hot.

Chi snorted, shaking her head.

Chi: idk??? maybe??? also kinda familiar but idk from where. anyway. just felt… different.

Mina sent back a string of eye emojis before typing.

Mina: oh you’re DEFINITELY seeing him again.

Meanwhile, across town, Bang Chan stepped into the JYP Entertainment building, the weight of exhaustion still lingering but… lighter, somehow.

Han looked up from where he was sprawled on the studio couch. "You look… unusually chipper for this time of day."

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his coffee cup down beside the mixing console. "Do I?"

Han squinted. "Yeah. You actually look like you slept more than three hours."

Chan just smiled to himself, the faintest trace of warmth still lingering from the morning’s encounter.

"Maybe it’s just good coffee," he mused before slipping on his headphones, the soft hum of the bakery and Chi’s bright voice still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

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mazeeelabyrinth · 12 days ago

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❃.✮:▹ DAGGERS AND KISSES ◃:✮.❃

❃.✮:▹ CHAPTER III: The Devil Waits For His Turn

You scoffed, though your pulse was hammering. “And you? You’re so much better?”

“No,” he said, rising to his feet in one smooth motion, voice a whisper wrapped in steel. “I’m worse. Because I don’t just want to own you—I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ Pairing: Sylus x AFAB Fem!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ Tags: 18+, power dynamics, possessive behavior, jealousy, public display of affection (?) lol, stockholm syndrome (?), explicit sexual language, dubious consent, dubcon kissing, verbal humiliation, public humiliation, minor violence, reader is not mc, canon divergence au, ooc?, minor male original characters, slow romance

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ Summary:

The debauched masquerade night had left you marked, used, and more entangled with Sylus than ever.

When morning came, he stayed. Calm. Smug. Sipping his coffee like he hadn’t ruined you in plain sight. But you weren’t finished playing. That afternoon, you flirted with danger—and with other men—testing the limits of his possessiveness. He watched it all, smiling like a wolf, letting you hang yourself with the very rope he gave you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ Word Count: 5.1K

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚➷ A/N: I went crazy for the smut last chapter, so I dialed it down a bit and added another oc for the plot.

➷ D&K TAG LIST ➷ MASTERLIST ➷ AO3 ➷ NAVIGATION

The world came back to you in fragments.

Soft sheets against your bare skin. A dull ache between your thighs. The subtle soreness of overindulgence, of being taken, claimed, and paraded like something beautiful and broken.

Your eyes snapped open.

Dim morning light spilled through the window of the luxury suite, casting delicate gold bars across the polished floors. The soft hum of the ocean beyond the glass sounded too serene for what had happened the night before.

The dress was gone. So were the heels. You were dressed in one of those silk sets from his closet—a powder-blue camisole and matching shorts, expensive enough that your resentment sharpened. Your wrists were still marked, faint bruises peeking out beneath the lace trim. You hated the way your body remembered him. Hated it more that it… thrummed at the memory.

But what twisted your gut even worse was the scent.

Bitter, roasted, dark.

Coffee.

You turned your head sharply.

Sylus sat by the window, languid as a panther post-hunt. His suit jacket was gone, sleeves rolled up, the crisp white of his shirt tugged open just enough to reveal the curve of his collarbone. His legs were crossed, one ankle resting on his knee, and in his hand was a delicate porcelain cup—his morning ritual, already underway.

He didn’t even look at you. That smug bastard didn’t need to.

"You’re awake," he said lazily, without turning. His voice was like the steam rising from the cup—smooth, scalding, unforgivably calm. As if he hadn’t had you writhing on his lap and made you suck his cock in public—a moaning, ruined mess behind velvet curtains while the world danced mere feet away. "Slept well?"

The silence clung to your throat.

Your body rebelled, shifting uncomfortably under the sheets, the memory of his touch branding every inch of your skin. Your mouth was dry, your jaw tight. You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw something.

You sat up, the sheet falling to your waist, and his gaze finally flicked to you. Like a predator assessing the movement of prey it already knew couldn’t escape.

“Don’t pretend this is normal,” you snapped, dragging the blanket higher with sudden defensiveness.

Sylus finally looked over his shoulder. A flick of his eyes down your form—messy hair, flushed skin, bare feet on the cold floor—and then he took another sip.

"It’s only as normal as you let it be." A pause. “But I do enjoy how you pretend you hated it.”

He sipped his coffee slowly, now watching the rim of the cup instead of you. “You’re glaring like I’m the one who should feel embarrassed.”

You barked a humorless laugh. “You should.”

His brow arched lazily. “For what? Reminding you how easily your body gives in to mine?” He set the cup down on a glass table with a gentle clink, then leaned forward. “Or was it the way you moaned into my neck while a dozen strangers laughed and drank two meters away?”

You flinched, not because the words weren’t true—but because they were. Vivid. Seared into your memory like a hot brand.

You stood abruptly, dragging the sheet with you like a flimsy shield. The expensive fabric of your dress—the one you wore last night—lay discarded across the chaise lounge, bearing a dried, telltale stain near the hem.

“Or you secretly enjoyed that little interruption from the server?” Sylus taunted, a grin played about on his lips. “After all, I had felt your throat tighten around my cock.”

The humiliation rose, acidic and sharp. You crossed the room before you realized what you were doing, hand raised, fury clenching your jaw.

He caught your wrist mid-air—swift, unflinching. The force of his grip was subtle but undeniable. Not pain. Not yet. Just power. His fingers coiled around yours like a snake testing how hard it needed to squeeze before bones cracked.

“I humored you at the masquerade,” you spat, breathing heavily. “That doesn’t mean you own me.”

A smirk played on his lips. “No. But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

He stood, releasing your wrist, and you hated the flutter in your stomach when he towered over you again, invading your space with his heat, his scent, his certainty.

“You didn’t crawl away,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with mock tenderness. “You didn’t stab me in my sleep. You didn’t even scream.”

“I thought about it.”

“I bet you thought about other things too.” His thumb trailed along your jawline. “Like how my cum still stains your thighs.”

You struck out again—not with your hand this time, but words. “You're not special, Sylus. You're just another controlling bastard who thinks he can break me.”

His smile didn’t falter. “Darling, if I wanted to break you, you’d already be in pieces.”

“You think you’ve won,” you said, the words trembling with restraint, with shame you refused to name. “You think this is some kind of game—”

Sylus stepped closer, slow, deliberate. There was no urgency in his movements, no apology. Just the slow unfurling of a wolf who hadn’t yet finished playing with its food.

“It is a game,” he said simply. “One you keep losing because you’re still pretending you’re not enjoying it.”

You clenched your fists, your teeth, anything to keep your expression unreadable.

“You humiliated me last night.”

“You asked for it. I made you mine,” he corrected, voice low, inching toward a growl. “I didn’t hide it. I didn’t lie. Everyone in that room saw you leave with me. But only I got to hear how you begged when I touched you.”

The silence between you cracked like ice. You could hear the way your breath hitched, feel the goosebumps rising along your arms. The tension between you wasn't just lust or anger anymore. It was something murkier. Something worse.

Because you didn’t know which one of you wanted to win more. And you didn’t know if you even could anymore.

Sylus stepped back first, only to walk toward the small table near the bar, where a second cup sat—steaming, untouched. He lifted it, walked back to you and held it out.

You stared at him.

“Americano,” he said, voice lowered. “No cream. No sugar. Just the way you take it. Bitter, like your pride.”

You took it with a clenched jaw, fingers brushing his for the briefest second. But the thing that unsettled you most wasn’t that he remembered. It was that he remembered everything.

And he wasn’t going to stop. Not until he had it all—your body, your loyalty, your rage, your surrender.

You sipped the coffee, eyes locked on his.

It was bitter. It was perfect. And you hated how much you liked it.

The air between you stretched tight like a wire pulled to the edge of snapping. You could taste the tension—metallic, electric.

Sylus reached for his coffee again, and without looking back, he murmured:

“Get dressed. We’ve got a full day ahead of us. And I want to see how long you can keep pretending this isn’t exactly where you want to be.”

You dressed in silence.

The garments laid out for you—impeccably tailored, undeniably expensive—reeked of Sylus’ influence. A deep crimson dress with a plunging neckline, soft enough to seduce but structured enough to command attention. Underneath: matching lingerie, thin as a whisper and deliberately snug where your skin was still sensitive. He wanted you to remember every mark he left. And you would.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Sylus was already waiting, his jacket casually slung over one shoulder. His eyes tracked the curve of your thighs, the slight limp you tried to hide in your step. That smug little smirk tugged at his lips again.

“Better,” he said. “You look like you belong here.”

You couldn’t ignore the way his hand lingered at the small of your back as you exited the suite together. Nor the fact that no one—not a single soul—so much as looked surprised to see you on his arm as you entered the upper decks of the cruise ship.

The afternoon played out like a power play disguised as paradise.

The upper deck was hosting a private garden brunch for “investors and VIPs.” Champagne flowed like water. Gentle music drifted on the breeze. The ocean sparkled beyond the glass balustrades. If not for the predators circling in suits and designer sunglasses, you might’ve believed the illusion.

He kept you close, always a step behind or to his side. Every time you tried to step out of sync, his hand would settle on your hip, or your wrist—subtle, yet binding. A constant reminder.

Still, you learned.

You noted which lieutenants deferred to him and which ones hesitated. You memorized names, power structures, flirtations that doubled as threats. If you couldn’t strike back yet, you could at least gather your knives.

And he noticed.

He watched you like a chessmaster eyeing an opponent too clever to be sacrificed early. His fingers trailed up your spine as he leaned in to whisper behind your ear.

“You’re sharper today,” he murmured. “Good. I like you better when your claws are out.”

You didn’t answer. You simply clinked your champagne glass against his and smiled.

Later, he brought you to the observation deck, quiet and wind-kissed. A place to “catch your breath,” he said, though the way he pressed you against the railing said otherwise.

“Look at that view,” he murmured behind you, both hands braced on the rail, boxing you in. “Hundreds of miles from land. No escape.”

“I’m not trying to escape,” you said, gaze fixed on the horizon. “I’m gathering intel.”

He chuckled. “Are you now? What have you learned?”

“That you’re surrounded by yes-men and sycophants who kiss your ass because they’re afraid of what you’ll do if they stop.”

“And you?”

You turned your head slightly, smirking. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your temple, a breath too warm. “Liar.”

His hand slid down, tracing the sides of your breast, snaking around your waist, pausing just above your mound. A subtle pressure. Teasing. “You still tremble when I touch you.”

“Muscle fatigue,” you replied, voice razor-thin. “From holding back the urge to kill you.”

He laughed again, low and pleased. “Now that’s my girl.”

You hated how your pulse reacted. How part of you wondered—just for a flicker of a second—what it would feel like to push him over the edge instead of always being the one dragged there.

You both stayed in your spot, nestled in somewhat seemingly… a couple’s embrace. The tense verbal sparring juxtaposed whatever you two were doing.

Every barbed remark was delivered with a small kiss on your temple or the crown of your head. His arms wrapped around your waist as your back pressed against his chest. Every so often, he would nip your earlobe—not meant to hurt—or deliberately push the bulge tenting beneath his trousers against your derriere.

Yet, you didn’t pull away. Instead, your body revelled on it—violating every inhibition you had been holding on to. Maybe his soft kisses drowned whatever filth he was murmuring behind your ears.

As the sun dipped toward the sea, casting golden fire across the deck, Sylus finally pulled away.

“We’ll dine with the executives tonight,” he said, adjusting the collar of your dress like he had every right to. “Try not to embarrass me.”

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

The Onychinus executive dining hall was an ode to decadence—dark wood panels, crystal chandeliers, and velvet-draped windows framing the sea like a captive mistress. The table spanned half the room, laden with wine, glass, and greed. A string quartet played something delicate in the corner, and laughter curled like smoke between crystal glasses.

You were now donning a dress of his choice, of course: a black velvet gown clung to you like sin, slit high up your thigh, the neckline low enough to make liars stammer. It wasn’t just revealing—it was possessive. A silent brand. But this time, you didn’t shy away from it.

You embraced it.

You’re going to test just how unshakable Sylus really is by dancing on the edge of defiance and seduction… in front of his peers. After all, if you’re going to be displayed, you might as well shine blindingly enough to burn him.

Sylus walked in beside you, hand low on your back, the weight of his ownership tangible. You played the part for the first ten minutes: obedient, sleek, silent.

The lieutenants filtered in—men and women who commanded fleets, who’d slit throats for favor, who whispered empires into being. You gave each one your smile: not demure, not sweet. No. Yours was the kind that suggested secrets shared in candlelight and claws raked down backs.

And they noticed.

You let your gaze wander across the room. Caught a man staring too long at your lips. Another whose knuckles tightened around his wine glass when your thigh brushed the edge of the tablecloth. They weren’t weak, these men—lieutenants, billionaires, killers in suits—but none of them were Sylus.

But then, a man took the seat beside you, occupying the empty chair on your other side. A lieutenant you remembered from the brunch, his gaze lingering a little too long on your chest, your lips.

Irevan—as you remembered it—was his name. Tall, blond. Broad-shouldered. Smug, too pretty for someone with a confirmed body count in the triple digits. He slid into the seat beside you with a predator’s grace, offered you a half-smile and a greeting wrapped in flirtation.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he said with a slow grin. “I was hoping you weren’t just a one-night ghost.”

You didn’t answer right away. You felt Sylus’ attention tighten like a snare beside you, his wine glass pausing at his lips.

“I’m full of surprises,” you replied. “Depends who’s watching.”

Sylus didn’t speak, but you felt the shift beside you. A stillness. He was listening now.

Good.

Irevan smiled, and it was all teeth and intention. “I didn’t get the chance earlier. But what’s your name, beautiful?”

You turned to Irevan with a tilt of your head and that wicked curve of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m no one,” you purred, offering your hand. You turned further slightly, letting your cleavage do the rest of the seduction. “Address me as you wished. Though… make sure it’s apt for dining.”

You winked at the man, sipping your wine, your lipstick stained the rim.

Irevan chuckled as he shook your hand.

“Keeping things mysterious,” he said, gaze slipping down from your lips down to your cleavage. “I like that.”

Sylus stiffened beside you. Just slightly. Enough. But his knife hit the plate with a clink that spoke volumes.

Perfect.

Dinner passed in a blur of veiled glances and charged silences. You laughed at one of Irevan’s dry remarks, leaned in too close when passing the wine. You even whispered something in his ear that made him choke on his drink—and left Sylus' jaw rigid.

He kept silent. Just giving occasional chuckle and terse replies to his other subordinates who wanted his attention.

But you felt it—the stillness in him. The simmer.

His leg pressed against yours under the table, firm and unyielding. At first, you thought it was by accident. Until his hand found your thigh.

You didn’t flinch. You spread your legs slightly, just to see what he’d do. You never pulled away from Sylus’ touch. That was the genius of it.

Sylus couldn't call you out. Couldn’t drag you away in front of his own subordinates without admitting you were slipping through his fingers. So he watched. Smiled coldly. Sipped his drink like it wasn’t the only thing he wanted to break.

By the second course, the storm in his eyes was undeniable.

You pressed a cherry between your lips slowly, deliberately. Let your gaze flit toward Irevan’s lips. You smiled at him, bit into the fruit. Juice slid down your lip.

The man’s smirk widened, his head subtly shaking in amusement—or arousal.

Sylus' wine glass cracked in his hand.

You turned to him finally, like you’d just remembered he existed. “Something wrong, Syl?”

Audacious—calling him by a nickname.

His smile was sharp, calm. Too calm.

“No,” he said. “Not at all. I’m simply enjoying the food.”

A challenge.

And beneath the table, his hand slid higher.

You kept your face neutral, your breath steady, even as he slipped his fingers beneath the silk barrier of your dress, his touch cool and unyielding. A punishment, a reminder, a warning all in one.

Still, you leaned closer, whispered against the shell of his ear.

“I thought you wanted me to make an impression.”

His gaze met yours. Hungry. Infuriated.

By dessert, you were dancing on a knife’s edge. You brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, exposing the bite he left last night, just beneath your jaw. You caught Sylus watching. He knew what you were doing. He was letting you—for now.

But then Irevan leaned in. Close enough to put pressure on the invisible string of tension brewing between you and Sylus—now stretched stretched taut and left humming, until it would finally snap.

“After this,” the blond murmured, “come find me. I want to see what kind of war you start when you’re not sitting beside the devil himself.”

You didn’t get to answer.

Sylus stood. The scrape of his chair echoed like a gunshot.

“Dinner’s over,” he said, voice calm and icy, like a glacier before it cracks.

No one argued. Chairs shifted. Conversations halted.

You bid farewell at the other man as you rose with the grace of a queen. But as you stepped past him, Sylus’ hand gripped your elbow, deceptively gentle.

You didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured, so low only you could hear.

You leaned in close, lips barely brushing his ear. “Well, you said this was a game, remember?”

The silence that followed the dinner was louder than any reprimand.

Sylus didn’t speak a word as he guided you from the dining hall with a hand at the small of your back—civil, polite, possessive. His expression was unreadable, carved in marble. No one stopped you. No one dared.

You half-expected him to drag you back to the suite, to slam you against a wall, to rip the dress off your body with words made of fire and ice. But instead, he let go.

Just outside the elevator, his hand slipped from your back like a breath exhaled. He stepped in first. You didn’t follow right away. You hesitated.

That infuriating smirk now wiped out from the curve of his lips. “Coming?” he simply asked.

You said nothing, but your heels clicked against the floor as you entered, keeping your chin high. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what he was thinking. Because you knew exactly what he was doing.

He was waiting. Letting you simmer in your own defiance. Letting you think you’d won.

He didn't touch you in the elevator. Didn’t so much as glance your way. But you felt him, like heat rolling off a blackened sun. The way his gloved hands stayed loose in his pockets. The slight twitch of his jaw.

Predator restraint. Whatever.

By the time the lift opened onto the suite floor, you were nearly breathless with anticipation. And still, he said nothing.

The hallway back to the suite was quiet. Too quiet.

You walked ahead of him—your heels echoing like gunshots on marble, your back straight despite the tremor in your breath. He barely said anything since dinner. Not a glance. Not a whisper. But you felt him.

A shadow at your heels. A pressure behind your ribcage. Still, you expected him to finally break the silence—but Sylus simply unlocked the suite and stepped aside like a gentleman.

Mockery in manners.

"After you," he said, his voice carved from polished restraint.

You didn’t thank him.

The suite was dark, lit only by moonlight pouring in through glass windows. A storm brewed far across the sea, lightning flashing in the clouds like something ancient and vengeful. You watched it as you stepped inside. He shut the door behind you with a soft click that sounded… final.

You waited.

And waited.

But Sylus just walked past you, loosened his tie, and sat in the velvet armchair like a king watching a jester who didn’t realize the punchline was her own neck. That scared you more than a slap would have.

You turned, arms crossed, defiance on your lips.

“Well? Nothing to say?” Your voice rang out too loud in the suite, brittle around the edges. “I expected you to at least be a little more—possessive.”

That earned you a slow blink. A cruel smile.

“Oh, I am,” he murmured. “But I prefer to let the poison soak in before I carve it out.”

You swallowed. The air between you turned lead-heavy.

“Irevan’s cute,” you said, pushing again, reckless now. “Smart. Attentive. He knows how to flirt without using threats.”

Sylus didn't move. But you saw it—the barest flicker of something behind his eyes. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands steepled before his mouth.

“You really think he wanted you?” he asked quietly.

Your smile faltered.

“Men like Irevan don’t flirt. They hunt. They test the boundaries. He probably thinks you’re too easy to get. You were a dare, not a desire. And he was audacious enough to do it.”

You scoffed, though your pulse was hammering. “And you? You’re so much better?”

“No,” he said, rising to his feet in one smooth motion, voice a whisper wrapped in steel. “I’m worse. Because I don’t just want to own you—I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

He stepped toward you.

You backed up once, then steadied. “Is that what this is? Some power trip? You think you can just—”

“I know I can.”

He was in front of you now, lifting your chin with two fingers. His voice was low, venomous velvet.

“You flaunt yourself in front of my lieutenants like a lamb trying to dress as a lion. Do you really think I’d be threatened by your little rebellion?”

“I wasn’t rebelling,” you hissed, eyes flashing. “You parade me around like a trophy, dress me up like your doll, and when I flirt back to remind you I’m not yours, you—”

“I never said you weren’t mine.” His voice cut through yours—low, quiet, final. Those crimson eyes weren’t cold anymore. They burned.

“I just like watching you forget,” he continued.

“Watching you twist and squirm to prove you’re untouchable.” He took another step. “You want to bait me, darling? Fine. I’ll bite.”

Sylus then raised a hand. Not to strike—to touch.

He traced his fingers along your collarbone, slow and light, until you shivered. His touch ghosted down to the dip of your cleavage, not claiming—claiming control by not claiming at all.

“You didn’t humiliate me at that table,” he said softly. “All you did was remind them that you’re exquisite. And when they touch themselves tonight,” he added, his thumb grazing your lips, “they’ll all think about how you moaned for me. Only for me.”

You hated how your body responded. The ache blooming again. The flush rising to your throat.

“You want me to snap, don’t you?” you spat.

“I want you to beg. And you will. But not tonight.”

He pulled away. The cold rush of air between your bodies nearly made you stumble.

“You’re not punishing me?” you asked, wary now.

“No,” he said, walking past you to the bedroom like a man dismissing a meal he planned to return to later. “I’m marinating you.”

The door shut with a whisper. And you were left alone in the stormlight, trembling with a cocktail of rage, arousal, and dread.

The storm outside now engulfed the cruise ship as the clock ticked.

Not silent, no. Silence is peaceful. This was quiet in that eerie, unnatural way—like the moment before the crash of a wave or the split-second before lightning sears the sky.

You stood alone in the sitting area, staring out at the sea, your reflection ghosted faintly in the glass. The ocean was black, ink spilled over the edge of the world. In the distance, the storm Sylus had ignored rumbled, low and hungry.

That bastard. That utter bastard.

You turned away from the window and moved through the room slowly, deliberately, trying to ground yourself. Stripping off the ridiculous luxury gown he’d made you wear. Each layer felt heavier than it should, like you were shedding pieces of a role you hadn’t agreed to play.

In the bathroom, you caught sight of yourself again—neck still bruised, lips still painted with a burgundy shade, a flush still lingering on your chest. The mark he left in the booth peeked out from your collarbone, mocking you.

You stood before the full-length mirror in the dim suite bathroom, the overhead lights turned off. Only the suite sconces filtered in, golden but cold, painting you in sharp contrast.

A stranger stared back at you.

Not the bounty hunter. Not the predator. Just a woman—barefoot in borrowed luxury. Skin brushed clean but marked in ways water couldn’t wash away.

You traced your fingers over the red indent still fading from your wrists, where the cuffs had bitten into you the first night he caught you after your failed attempt at assassination. The ache was dull now. Familiar. You’d lived your whole life surviving pain—this should’ve been no different.

But Sylus was not pain. He was corruption. And you weren’t surviving him. You were sinking into him.

“I’m not his,” you whispered to the mirror. It sounded weaker than you'd meant.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the cleanser on the counter. Branded luxury, of course. Everything here was expensive, curated, soft on the surface and sharpened underneath.

Like him.

You washed your face roughly, trying to scrub the sensation of his fingers from your skin. But it lingered. Everywhere. In the throb between your thighs. In the ache of your sore wrists. In the possessive way he’d watched you—always watching, as if you were a puzzle to be dismantled, not solved.

He’d said he was marinating you.

God.

You clenched the edge of the sink and breathed deep, trying to anchor yourself with logic. You’d been trained to outmaneuver people like him. To seduce, manipulate, endure. You knew how to lie, how to survive.

But this wasn't a strategy anymore.

This was… personal.

Too personal.

You grabbed one of the silk robes from the hook and wrapped it around yourself tightly, knotting the belt twice, as if it might hold you together. Your legs moved on autopilot back to the bedroom’s edge, but you paused before crawling into the bed.

His scent was still there—masculine, earthy, crisp spice. You hated that you’ve come to know it so well.

You stood there, arms folded, the ache in your chest finally louder than the hum of arousal he’d left you with. You wanted to hate him. You should have. But the problem was, your body remembered too much. And worse—it wanted more.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn you.

You had to find a way out. A real one.

You wanted to leave. To escape. To sabotage everything he built and watch it burn. You had a mission. A past. A purpose.

You couldn’t keep playing his game and pretending it wasn’t doing something irreversible to you. The plan B had been to spy, to bait, to use what you gathered to expose him then kill him. But now? You weren’t sure anymore. You didn’t know if the real plan had drowned somewhere between your thighs in that velvet booth.

Now you were tangled in something far more dangerous than any bounty: desire, veiled and vicious. You weren’t a captive in the physical sense—you knew that. No guards stood at the door. No chains kept you bound.

And yet, when you looked toward the bedroom where Sylus had vanished, your legs didn’t move.

That was the worst part.

You could run, if you try hard enough. But some dark part of you wanted to stay.

You padded barefoot before the bed, the storm outside howling its warning. The sheets were turned down again, pristine and welcoming, like he knew you’d eventually come crawling back to them. You slipped beneath the covers, but sleep didn’t come.

Your body was too awake. Your mind, too full. Memories of the few days you spent time with him burned through you in flashes:

The press of Sylus’ palm between your thighs under the table…

His voice—a threat disguised as devotion…

That brutal, breathtaking orgasm you fought so hard to hide in public last night at the masquerade…

The way he’d whispered afterward, “No one else will touch you like this. They’ll try. But they’ll fail.”

And worse, the truth that your body believed him. It was nothing but brief, charged moments with him, but it felt like forever as you stayed longer on his cruise ship.

You turned to your side, curled into the pillow, gripping it like an anchor.

Was this all part of his game? Was he letting you sabotage yourself? Letting you try to resist so that when you broke, it would taste sweeter on his tongue?

You swallowed hard.

“I need to find a way to turn this around,” you whispered to the empty room. “Before he makes me forget who I was.”

But even as you said it, you knew you were already forgetting. Not everything. Just enough.

Enough to dream of his hands on your throat and wake up wet.

Enough to crave his approval even as you plotted his downfall.

Enough to think, maybe, the only way out… is through him.

There were only two paths now:

One, find leverage, gather intel, escape before he sank his claws in further.

Two… fall. Give in. Let the mask slip. Let him see all of you—and gamble with your sanity.

You pressed your lips into a thin line.

No.

You’d play the long game. Let him think he was winning. Let him think he’d broken you.

You’d let him taste the illusion of control—and when he needed you the most, when he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you…

That’s when you’d strike.

But until then…

You stared up at the ceiling. The sheets were soft. The air smelled like him.

You hated how safe it felt.

And you hated how much you wanted him to come back.

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