#me from 2016 would be proud

[fishblade-koi]

oh god it's happening

i'm overwhelmed because i have too much sketch ideas WHICH IS GOOD BUT ALSO NOT SO GREAT because i don't know what I should focus first and I end up doing nothing in the end😭

SO UUUH POLL ⬇️⬇️⬇️

[xamitras]

For many of years I had this tradition of drawing Wirt and the beast once a year to see how much I have improved, then depression hit in 2023 and couldn't continue, but it left so really amazing art in the process

[midnight333-studios]

Who remembers Five Nights At Pinkie’s?

Part 1 ~~~ Part 2

[iniziare]

Reminder to self when I've done some more writing: Remind people that I'm canon-strict, what that means, and how I guess it means that I'm reclaiming yet another term that has been rendered as being something akin to negative by the masses. Better known as, a... 'lore purist'. Hi, yes, that's me! Hi, hello, my name is Sae, how do you do?

[madamdionysia]

Goooooood morning!

Starting a little tarot journal today~

[hamilton-here]

ORDER UPPPPPPP !

Uhhhh lemme get a one piece lewis hamilton fic with nico rosberg’s sister and their kid with the “I’m so hungry I could eat a..” but it’s the 2016 world championship and its’ a whole ass mess 😩☝️ ik reader be shaking her head like dayum.. here we go..

𝐹𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓎 𝐹𝑒𝓊𝒹

Authors Note: Hi all! Here’s a short one-shot. Still have many to go. Lewis finished P4, very proud! Now just praying for Silverstone. Lots of love xx

Summary: A family dinner spirals into chaos after Lewis and his wife unwittingly ignite an old rivalry with a TikTok trend that sends Nico and Lewis into a petty war all over again.

Warnings: slight angst

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The soft hum of your blow dryer filled the bedroom, blending with the occasional taps of your child’s fingers against your phone screen and the quiet shuffle of Lewis tying his boots in the corner.

It should’ve been a peaceful moment of getting ready for dinner, surrounded by your little family but your chest was tight, and the reflection staring back at you in the mirror wore the expression of someone heading into battle.

Your brows furrowed as you struggled to tame an uncooperative section of hair, the strands slipping stubbornly out of place no matter how much heat you applied.

Maybe it wasn’t the hair. Maybe it was the fact that this dinner - this dinner was going to be a test. A delicate, exhausting balancing act that you had been mentally rehearsing for days.

You weren’t nervous. You were prepared because you had to be.

From where they sat cross-legged on your bed, your child swung their little legs back and forth in an endless rhythm, giggling at TikTok audios that blasted from the phone’s speakers at half-volume.

They were completely unaware of the political minefield you were about to drag them into a dinner where every polite smile would be razor-thin, every conversation a tightrope walk over unresolved history.

Lewis, on the other hand looked completely unbothered. He perched in the armchair near the window, carefully lacing up his boots like it was any other casual night out, like you weren’t about to throw him into the same room as Nico. Your brother. The one person who could still pull sharp edges out of Lewis with frightening ease.

“Okay,” you started, voice firm but your back still to him as you fussed over the final curl. You weren’t sure if you were talking to yourself, to him, or to the universe at large.

“I need you to behave tonight.” Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the amused tilt of his head as he leaned back, fingers now idly spinning his car key around his thumb. “I always behave.”

You spun on your heel so fast the curling iron in your hand nearly smacked the dresser. “No. No, you don’t. You behave until you don’t. Until Nico says one thing - one tiny thing and suddenly it’s like 2016 all over again and I’m sitting there watching you two throw verbal grenades across the table.”

Lewis’s grin pulled lazily across his face, sharp and unapologetic. “Babe, I’m chill.”

“You are not chill,” you snapped, pointing the curling iron at him like a weapon. “You are the opposite of chill. You simmer until you boil over and suddenly, we’re re-litigating Abu Dhabi over appetisers.” He held his arms out as if to display his innocence. “I’m chill. I’ll be good.”

You shot him a deadly look, stepping closer now, because you knew him. You knew that smug smile meant he was already thinking of a hundred things he could say. “Promise me,” you said, planting your free hand on your hip. “No side comments. No smug remarks. No snarky digs and most of all -”

“Mummy, what’s snarky?” Lewis’s and your child interrupted without looking up, too engrossed in their phone to realise they’d cut the tension like a butter knife through soft cake. You sighed, casting a glance over your shoulder. “Daddy. Daddy is snarky.” Lewis grinned like he’d just been handed a badge of honour. “Damn right.”

You levelled him with your stare. “I mean it. This is family dinner. For our child. These are the moments they’ll remember. I want them to remember laughter, not you and Nico trying to kill each other with bread knives.”

Lewis finally stood, crossing the room in three long strides to wrap his arms around you from behind. His hands splayed across your waist, the press of his lips soft against your bare shoulder. “Relax, love,” he murmured, resting his chin atop your head. “It’s just dinner.”

You turned in his arms enough to catch his gaze in the mirror. “It’s never just dinner with my brother. You know that. I know that. The whole paddock knows that.” There was something in his eyes something softer, weightier beneath the cheeky surface. He kissed your temple next, lingering a little longer this time. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

You narrowed your eyes, unconvinced. “I swear to God, Lewis, if you so much as breathe in a passive-aggressive tone tonight, I will switch cars with Nico and leave you stranded at the restaurant.” He snorted, pressing another kiss to your temple, amused. “Babe, you love me too much for that.”

From the bed, your child finally looked up, beaming. “I love Daddy too much too.” Lewis winked at them in the mirror. “See? I’ve got backup.”

You exhaled, shaking your head with a small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. He was infuriating. He was impossible. He was yours. “Just…try. Please.”

“I will,” he promised, voice soft but with that maddening glint still lingering behind his eyes. He leaned into whisper, “Unless he starts first.” You slowly turned your head to glare at him.

“Okay, okay! Kidding. Promise.”

Your gaze lingered on him a beat longer, searching, waiting, before you finally nodded, letting the warmth of him seep into your frayed nerves. You knew him too well - knew how much he still carried from that championship, the grudges he’d carefully buried but never truly let go of. But you also knew he would show up for you, for your child, even if every inch of his pride told him to pick a fight.

For now, that was enough.

You pulled away gently, grabbing your bag from the dresser. “Come on, we’re going to be late.” Your child leapt off the bed still clutching your phone, still giggling at whatever TikTok had been playing on loop. Their footsteps padded softly alongside you as you headed for the front door, Lewis trailing just behind.

Somewhere in the universe, the stars were probably already laughing, because that little TikTok audio would soon be the exact thing that would blow this entire dinner straight to hell.

The car ride was comfortable but in that dangerously deceptive way, like the stillness before a summer storm you could feel vibrating in your bones, the thick air warning you that something was coming, something you wouldn’t be able to stop once it started.

You sat in the passenger seat, elbow pressed against the cool window, fingers lightly massaging your temple as the city rushed past in streaks of deep orange and purple. The sunset washed the streets in soft, bleeding gold but you barely registered it.

You weren’t watching the skyline you were carefully walking yourself through every possible version of tonight, scanning for the ones that didn’t end with you dragging Lewis out of a restaurant by his collar.

Your list was short.

Beside you, Lewis hummed low under his breath, following the soft beat of the music crackling through the speakers. His left hand rested on the wheel, easy and loose, while his right hand stayed comfortably on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy absent circles into your skin like it was second nature. His body language radiated relaxation, his breathing unhurried, his shoulders light like he truly believed this dinner wouldn’t implode.

You dragged your gaze over to him, unimpressed. The way his head tilted gently to the rhythm, how his foot tapped along like he was on some laid-back Sunday drive it was infuriatingly calm. As if he wasn’t about to sit across from Nico Rosberg for an hour and be expected to play nice.

You watched the soft pull of his jawline as he chewed his lip thoughtfully in time with the music, and part of you wondered whether he was this relaxed because he had absolutely no plan to behave or because he had already made peace with the fact that he wouldn’t.

You wanted to believe it was the former.

From the back seat, your child’s voice broke into the quiet hum of the car, all innocent brightness. They were strapped into their booster seat, kicking their feet rhythmically against the leather, looking at the passing cars as they spoke. “Mummy?” they chirped, oblivious to the delicate storm cloud forming between you and Lewis. “Do you think Uncle Nico’s gonna race me to the restaurant door again?”

You cracked a tired smile, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. “Probably. You know he can’t resist trying to beat someone to something.”

Your child giggled happily, proud to be in on the family’s signature tradition: racing each other to every restaurant door, every front step, every park bench. The last time, Nico had let them win, arms outstretched in faux defeat as they tagged the door handle and declared themselves the fastest Rosberg alive. You were hoping tonight he’d let everyone win by simply walking in, sitting down, and not lighting a match.

Beside you, Lewis gave your thigh a soft squeeze. His voice was smooth, almost teasing. “You stress too much, you know that?” You slowly turned your head toward him, your jaw tightening. “You promised me. Remember? Just before we left the house, when I literally held your face in my hands and made you repeat it?”

He arched a brow, lips curling into that maddening half-smile the one that had gotten him out of trouble so many times you’d lost count. “I remember.”

“You said you’d be on your best behaviour tonight.”

“I am.”

Your stare sharpened. “Lewis, please. I need you to actually mean it. I just want one dinner. One normal, peaceful night. No sideways comments, no smug digs, no conveniently timed stories about team radio strategies or tyre choices in Abu Dhabi or -”

Lewis snorted, biting his lip like he was barely suppressing a laugh. “You make me sound like a walking PR crisis.” You shot him a look that was somehow both bone-tired and dangerously close to setting him on fire. “You are a walking PR crisis. Especially around my brother.”

Lewis chuckled, slow and low, like he was enjoying this way too much. He briefly released your thigh, theatrically crossing his heart with his free hand. “Scout’s honour. I’ll keep it cool.” You narrowed your eyes. “Cooler than you kept it in 2016?”

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. You caught it. “Low blow,” he murmured, but his thumb returned to its soft circles against your skin. “But fair.”

You faced him fully now, desperate to crack through the carefully maintained armour. “Look at me, Lewis. Please. You and Nico haven’t really spoken in years not properly. I know you’ve both moved on or at least pretended to but tonight isn’t about that.

It’s not about what happened, it’s not about proving who was right. It’s about our kid. It’s m about being a family that can sit at one table and not make it feel like there’s a ticking time bomb in the breadbasket.”

His expression softened just for a moment his bravado slipping like he was finally, finally listening to you instead of just performing calm. He reached over, lacing your fingers with his, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“I’ll try. I promise.” His voice was quieter now, and you could hear the sincerity there, but you also heard the unspoken but if he starts hanging in the silence.

From the back seat, your child’s voice chimed again, bright and curious. “Are we gonna talk about racing at dinner?” You tilted your head toward Lewis, silently daring him to answer wrong.

Lewis’s thumb grazed your skin again, almost mischievous. “Probably,” he answered, then added, “but only the good parts. Like how fast your Uncle Nico used to be, you know, before he…” You narrowed your eyes. “Finish that sentence and I will walk to the restaurant.”

His grin stretched across his face. “I was gonna say, ‘before he got busy being the best uncle ever,’ but alright.” You hummed, unconvinced. “You’re far too pleased with yourself right now.” He shot you a wink. “I’m composed.”

“You are not composed,” you muttered, folding your arms and staring firmly out the window again. “You are walking into this dinner like you’ve got a full deck of Uno reverse cards hidden in your jacket.”

“Maybe I do,” he teased.

Your child giggled behind you, entirely absorbed in the rhythm of the drive, quietly humming TikTok audios to themselves - a soundtrack that had been following you around the house for the last week. They’d been hooked on that viral trend, the “I’m so hungry I could eat a…” one, rattling off increasingly ridiculous endings all week. Sandwiches. Clouds. Entire bicycles. It had been funny the first few times. Now, it was white noise.

You should’ve known. You should’ve known they’d find a new punchline when you least expected it.

When you finally pulled into the restaurant’s small parking lot, a flicker of unease settled low in your stomach, wrapping tight around your ribs. And there he was.

Nico. Standing by the entrance, scrolling on his phone, his weight leaning lazily on one foot like he’d been waiting, but not really waiting for you. His posture said he could leave at any time, but his expression neutral, vaguely bored said he wouldn’t. He’d shown up. Probably because you’d given him the speech too.

Lewis killed the engine, the music cutting out, the last note fading like a warning. He stepped out and quietly came around to your side, his hand finding the small of your back as you slipped out of the seat, warm and familiar and steady a silent I’m here. I’ll try.

Your child wasted no time sprinting across the lot, arms wide. “Uncle Nico!” Nico’s entire face transformed in an instant, his walls crumbling as he crouched down to catch them in his arms. “Hey, little one! Look at you getting so big!” He pulled back, hands on their tiny shoulders as he beamed. “Are you gonna beat me to the table tonight?”

Your child puffed out their chest, determined. “I’m gonna win!”

“I don’t know, I’ve been training.” Nico winked, ruffling their hair. His eyes finally drifted upward, settling on Lewis. The warmth bled out of his face like someone had flipped a switch.

His polite smile barely touched his eyes. “Lewis.” Lewis’s smile was just as tight, just as carefully measured. “Nico.” The handshake that followed was firm. Too firm. A second too long. The kind of handshake that said we are still not okay but I’m going to fake this for the sake of the people watching.

You slid between them like a well-practiced referee, giving both of them a long, warning look. Do not start this in the parking lot.

“Shall we?” you offered sweetly, your voice honeyed but your eyes sharp enough to cut glass. Lewis gestured toward the entrance, his grin returning with a dangerous glint. “After you, champ.”

You sighed, dragging a hand slowly down your face as you fell into step behind them. You could already feel it that electric, delicate crackle in the air. Like the dinner was already primed to blow and all it needed was a spark.

Here we go.

It was supposed to be a peaceful dinner.

Supposed to be.

You had planned the evening with the kind of precision normally reserved for hostage negotiations, space launches, or defusing nuclear bombs. You’d spent weeks agonising over the details calibrating guest lists, assessing locations for their psychological neutrality, running stress simulations in your head like some war general planning for the last supper.

But you weren’t dealing with average people.

You were dealing with Lewis Hamilton your husband, living legend, seven-time world champion, expert in deflection, dramatics, and devastating charm.

And Nico Rosberg your older brother, reigning king of passive-aggression, ex-Formula 1 champion and lifelong smug menace with a jawline carved from salt and spite.

Some families argue over who brings the stuffing to Christmas dinner. Yours argues about engine maps and tyre strategy. This dinner was not about catching up. This was a demilitarised zone. A ceasefire summit. A desperately choreographed ballet of fake smiles and carefully neutral cutlery.

You had chosen the restaurant with the delicacy of a bomb squad defusing an armed toaster. It was tucked into a quiet corner of the city hidden from cameras, fans and any mention of Sky Sports. No team memorabilia. No automotive decor. Just soft lighting, boring jazz, and napkins the colour of emotional repression.

The table was chosen specifically to avoid conflict. Round so no one sat at the head. Set for four. Five, if you counted the emotional hand grenade in a booster seat currently chewing on a breadstick like it held state secrets.

Your child. Your sweet, precious, inquisitive child. The tiny person currently playing god with crayons and Parmesan dust.

The evening began almost tolerably. There were forced pleasantries. Smiles that belonged on toothpaste commercials. Lewis complimented Nico’s shirt. Nico pretended to be flattered. No one mentioned 2016. You were practically weeping with relief.

And your child? A delight. They asked Lewis to cut their ravioli into little stars. They offered Nico their last breadstick. They whispered, “This is nice,” with the conviction of someone who didn’t yet understand the concept of emotional landmines.

You even began to believe the worst had passed. That this night might by some miracle not devolve into a fiery, petrol-scented death-match.

And then -

As Nico reached for the olive oil and Lewis was mid-sip of his wine, the sweet voice of doom piped up.

“I’m so hungry,” your child declared, stabbing the air with their tiny fork like they were about to knight someone. “I could eat -”

You felt the warning signs before you even processed them. A sharp chill swept over the table.

The napkins fluttered faintly, like they knew. Time slowed. Your breath caught in your throat.

Please. Not tonight. Not -

“ -the 2016 World Championship!”

There it was. The sentence landed like a missile on the table, cracking open a trench that had been papered over with polite laughter and stale focaccia.

You didn’t move. No one did. It was the kind of silence normally reserved for crime scenes or wedding toasts gone horribly wrong. Nico’s hand froze mid-butter-spread. Lewis blinked once. Slowly. Like a sniper sizing up a target. Your child smiled proudly, pleased to have contributed something “relevant.”

And then -

Lewis set his glass down with the delicacy of someone resisting the urge to hurl it. “Is that so?” he said softly, his voice dipping into that dangerous register. You knew that tone. That was Lewis at Monaco in a press conference when asked if he still talked to Nico.

You reached for your child’s fork too late.

Nico leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and replied with a carefully neutral smile. “Funny,” he said smoothly. “I thought that was a little…hard to digest.” You closed your eyes briefly, a migraine blooming behind your forehead like fireworks made of pure rage.

Lewis gave a short, cold laugh just one exhale of really now? “Not for everyone,” he replied coolly, cutting into his mushroom risotto like it owed him money. Nico’s eyebrow twitched. Oh no. You knew that twitch. That was the twitch from Brazil 2015 when Lewis refused team orders. That was the twitch that once caused a three-week WhatsApp cold war.

“Well,” Nico drawled, reaching for his wine and swirling it with theatrical flair. “Some people just can’t handle losing.” Lewis tilted his head. “And some people can’t handle winning without FIA intervention and a deeply suspicious final lap.”

You silently begged the table to collapse into the floor and swallow you whole. Meanwhile, your child sat there beaming, completely oblivious, buttering their roll like they were hosting a PBS cooking show.

“Daddy says it was stolen!” they chirped, like they were quoting nursery rhymes and not nuclear-level trauma. You felt a full-body shudder ripple through Lewis. Nico inhaled sharply, fork hovering mid-air like a dagger in a Shakespearean tragedy.

“Oh, does he?” Nico asked lightly, eyes flicking to you for the briefest second. “Interesting. Maybe I’ll ask my daughter to write a rebuttal.” Lewis’s knife made a noise against the plate that sounded alarmingly like a threat.

Your child, delighted to have found a topic that had everyone’s attention, leaned forward eagerly. “And Mummy says we don’t talk about it because Uncle Nico has feelings!” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “Oh my god.” Lewis bit the inside of his cheek.

Nico looked affronted. “Excuse me, I have feelings?”

“Yes!” your child chirped. “Like ‘smug’ and ‘winner’ and ‘sore loser!’” You felt the moment Lewis almost fell out of his chair laughing and had to disguise it as a cough. You slammed your palm flat on the table so hard the spoons jumped.

“Okay. Enough.”

“But Mummy -”

“I said enough, future tabloid source!” Your glare could’ve melted carbon fibre. You turned to Lewis first. “Do not make me kick you under this table like it's 2016 and you're ignoring pit strategy again.”

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “I was just defending my honour.”

“Your honour,” you said flatly, “is on a five-year timeout.”

You turned to Nico. “And you. I grew up with your smug face, I can smell it from across the table. Wipe it off before I dump your wine in your lap.” Nico rolled his eyes. “You always take his side.” You gave him the look. “You peed on my Barbies when we were kids. You have no moral ground here.”

Nico grinned, unrepentant. Lewis snorted into his napkin.

The air remained tense, brittle but nobody said another word. For five seconds.

Then, your child, ever the agent of destruction disguised as a cherub, tilted their head innocently. “So…who really won?”

The table cracked. Nico leaned forward like a man prepared to present a ten-slide presentation and an onboard camera feed. Lewis opened his mouth, already halfway to launching into a full-blown conspiracy breakdown. You didn’t give them the chance.

“Check, please!” you snapped, rising from your chair with the speed of a lightning bolt. The waiter appeared so fast it was almost supernatural.

You grabbed your child who was still cheerfully licking spaghetti sauce off their fingers and stormed toward the door, muttering, “Family dinners are a scam created by therapists.”

Behind you, Nico and Lewis sat in stunned silence half fury, half amusement and a little bit of something else. Maybe respect. Maybe just heartburn.

But as you reached the door, you heard your child call out from your arms, voice sweet as sugar and loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear -

“I think you both won! One got the trophy and one got Mummy!”

Explosion.

Behind you, two grown men combusted in silence. Nico made a strangled sound like a broken espresso machine. Lewis’s hand gripped the back of his chair like it was holding him to earth.

You walked out into the night, your child babbling about dessert and alternate championship endings while you made a mental list of therapists, nannies, and sedatives.

Next time? Next time you were having dinner alone. With wine, with noise-cancelling headphones and maybe a name change and a fake passport. Lastly absolutely no world champions.

The door clicked shut behind you with a finality that reverberated through the heavy silence, sealing off the chaos of the evening like a dam snapping under pressure.

The sound lingered, echoing faintly as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, reluctant witnesses to the fragile peace you’d fought so hard to maintain only to have it shattered in a single, unguarded moment.

Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to the heat that still radiated beneath your skin. It burned like a restless ember, glowing fiercely in the pit of your chest, impossible to shake or ignore.

The cold night wrapped around you like a shroud, but inside, the storm raged on, a tempest of frustration, exhaustion, and a deep, aching desire for calm.

Your fingers slid down until they found your child’s small, warm hand, curling gently around it. The softness of their skin, the steady, trusting squeeze in return it was the only anchor in a sea of turmoil, the only certainty in a world fracturing around you. Their hand in yours was a quiet sanctuary, a tether to the purest kind of peace that no rivalry or rancour could touch.

Lewis finally ran out of the restaurant and fell into step beside you, his presence close but taut like a coiled spring ready to snap. Every muscle beneath his skin seemed wound tight, his jaw clenched with a tension you could almost see etched into the lines of his face.

His eyes flicked sideways toward Nico, who now stood a few paces away, rigid as a soldier awaiting orders, shoulders squared with the weight of unyielding pride and long-standing defiance.

Their gazes locked, sparks flying in the fading light, a silent conversation loaded with years of unspoken grievances and battles fought in boardrooms, press rooms, and on tracks across the globe.

You refused to meet their eyes. You fixed your gaze ahead, deliberately carving out a quiet bubble around your small family a fragile space where you could breathe, even as the undercurrent of conflict threatened to drag you back into its depths.

Your child who you had now placed down to walk, was oblivious to the storm swirling behind them, chattered happily, their voice a bright, carefree thread weaving through the heavy air.

They recounted the shapes of their spaghetti twists and bows that transformed a tense dinner into a childish adventure and giggled at their own silly observations.

Their laughter, pure and free, was a balm to your soul, a sharp reminder of what truly mattered amid the ruins of old resentments. For a brief moment, it made your heart ache with a bittersweet longing a hope for something better than this endless war.

Behind you, voices rose and fell in clipped exchanges, the cadence cold and jagged as knives sliding past one another. You caught fragments of their words, sharp and loaded with years of rivalry.

“Maybe next time, you keep your mouth shut after my kid makes a comment,” Lewis muttered, voice low but edged with barely contained irritation. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but it carried the weight of a warning, meant only for Nico’s ears.

Nico’s laugh was dark and humourless, a sound heavy with reluctant respect tangled in scorn. “Or maybe you learn to lose like a man.” You swallowed hard, the bitter taste of their feud settling in your throat. Lips pressed into a tight, unmoving line, you kept walking, refusing to let their toxic dance pull you back into the fray. This was not your fight not tonight.

Ahead, the car waited like a beacon of escape. Its sleek surface shimmered softly under the glow of the streetlights, promising quiet refuge from the simmering tensions that still crackled in the night air. The low hum of the engine was a whispered lullaby, a promise that this night could end without further damage.

You reached the driver’s door first and slid inside, the familiar scent of leather and a faint trace of your favourite perfume welcoming you like a sigh of relief. Lewis exhaled sharply as he opened the backseat passenger door, his shoulders stiff with tension as he carefully lifted your child into their car seat.

You watched the small, trusting face light up with innocent delight as Lewis buckled them in, their eyes fluttering closed in sleepy contentment. The simple intimacy of the moment this small, perfect family unit was almost too much to bear. It was the fragile prize you guarded fiercely amid the wreckage of old wounds and unresolved battles.

Your child hummed contentedly through the entire process, cheeks flushed from the cold, mouth still faintly stained with marinara. As Lewis tightened the strap, your child leaned forward and whispered conspiratorial and gleeful “I think I won.”

Lewis let out a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a sigh. He pressed a soft kiss to their forehead and pulled back slowly, like someone afraid to trigger another mine.

Settling behind the wheel, your hands found the steering wheel with a familiar, practiced grip. You inhaled deeply, the cool night air filling your lungs and steadying the wild beat of your heart. Your eyes narrowed, focusing on the road stretching ahead, the streetlights blurring into gentle halos of gold as you prepared to leave the chaos behind.

Behind you, voices lingered like ghosts, faint echoes swallowed by the night breeze. The battle between Lewis and Nico was far from over it never truly ended.

You caught the sharp movement as Nico turned his back, shoulders squared in quiet defiance, disappearing into the shadows alone to his car. No parting words. Just the heavy, suffocating quiet of a war paused but far from finished.

You felt the invisible sparks trailing behind the residue of their rivalry and carried it like a second skin, tight against your ribs, pressing in with relentless weight. Not long after, Lewis eased into the passenger seat beside you, quiet but present, the silence between you less heavy than before but still fragile.

The driveway lay silent beneath a generous moon, casting a silver glow that softened the sharp edges of the night. You eased the car forward, the tires whispering against the gravel as you pulled into the familiar sanctuary of home. The quiet click of the garage door sealing shut behind you sounded like a small victory a barrier between the chaos you’d left behind and the fragile calm you desperately needed.

Inside the car, Lewis sat unusually still. The tension that had been taut between you all evening now seemed to settle heavily into his posture.

The sharp lines around his eyes, usually so fierce and animated, softened only by fatigue, shadows of the long, exhausting day etched into his features. He glanced back to see their child’s head resting gently against the side of the car seat, their breathing slow and even a serene island in the storm of the night’s battles.

You killed the engine and let the silence stretch between you. It wasn’t a comfortable silence far from it but it was a truce, fragile and necessary.

Lewis finally exhaled, a long, slow sound that carried a hint of regret. His gaze flicked toward you, searching, but cautious, unsure of the ground between you.

You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead, deliberately avoiding his. With practiced movements, you unclicked the seatbelt securing your child. “Let me,” Lewis said quietly, voice rough with weariness but genuine.

You nodded, silently grateful. Even after the war of words and tension, this moment of cooperation was a balm. Together, you lifted your child from the car seat, their small feet padding softly across the porch as you stepped inside. The house greeted you like a warm embrace, its familiar scents and quiet corners a stark contrast to the battlefield you’d just left behind.

In your child’s bedroom, you sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing the wisps of hair away from their forehead. Their eyes fluttered closed, the excitement of the evening melting into peaceful sleep. You whispered the usual bedtime lullaby a quiet promise of safety and love, a shield against the storm outside the walls.

Lewis lingered by the door, a silhouette carved in the dim light, watching with a mixture of longing and regret. When your child’s breath evened out into steady sleep, you finally met his eyes raw and honest in the quiet aftermath.

“About tonight...” Lewis began, his voice low, hesitant, fragile in a way it rarely was. You raised a hand, stopping him gently but firmly. “Lewis, you promised. No snark. No jabs. No starting fights.” He winced, the weight of his broken vow pressing down on his shoulders. “I know. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

You let out a slow breath, the tight knot inside you loosening just a fraction. “It’s not just the words. It’s the years wrapped up in them, the wounds they tear open every time.” He stepped forward, the hardness in his expression softening. “I hate that it’s come to this. Between me and Nico…between us.”

Your heart tightened at the admission, raw and unguarded. “We all want peace, Lewis. I want peace. For us, for our child. For this family.” His fingers reached out, brushing yours tentatively a silent plea for forgiveness, a promise to try harder. “I swear. No more stirring the pot. No more throwing punches in the dark.”

You studied his eyes, searching for the truth beneath the exhaustion and stubborn pride. Finally, you squeezed his hand a fragile truce, fragile but real. “Good. Because tonight? Tonight wasn’t it.”

Lewis cracked a small smile, genuine and weary. “Noted. Next time, I’ll be the diplomat.” You chuckled softly, feeling the first flicker of warmth you’d had all evening. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a long pause, heavy and full of the quiet hopes and tensions between you. Then, leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to Lewis’s lips gentle, grounding, a tether to something better amid the wreckage.

He pulled back just enough to grin, mischief teasing the edges of his tired eyes. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and playful, “if Nico’s got a victory lap planned, I hope it involves at least one plate flying across the table. I was running low on popcorn.”

You raised an eyebrow, smacking his chest lightly, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Lewis laughed a rich, warm sound that filled the quiet room and cracked open the tension like sunlight through a window.

“Hey,” he said with mock innocence, “I’m just trying to keep dinner entertaining. Who needs Netflix when you’ve got family drama?”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well, if you keep it up, I’ll start charging you admission.”

He winked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Deal. But only if you promise to be my co-star.”

You smiled against his cheek, the warmth between you a balm against the bruises of the evening.

And for the first time that night, hope stirred gently in your chest quiet, fragile, but unmistakably real.

[nouvellevqgue]

✦ FULL OF FAN BEHAVIOR, M. VERSTAPPEN

everybody knows that this account is full of max. from his first win to now, from his most random things to his glory time, she's always there to post his pictures. they only know her as his friend and nothing more, but who is she actually?

req: Saw your post for smau requests, maybe a Max Verstappen where people don't realise his girlfriends account is you know her official verified account. Because practically every single post is about Max. Full on fan behaviour, in the sense she was his first fan as his childhood friend, she has been there supporting him since they were kids, and now they're adults and together, but some habits doesn't change.

(bonus if the posts makes people question why she choose Max as her mans.)

2016 - 2018

verstappenight

liked by maxverstappen33, and 1,942 others

verstappenight WOOOO P1🏆🏁 congratulations to you maximus, i'm soo proud of you!

view all 125 comments

maxverstappen33 I won't say anything about the name Maximus, but thank you 😄

danielricciardo Well deserved! 👍🙌

username look how young he is

username I love a supportive fan ^^ Plz post more of this man.

   ⤷ yourusername glad to be on your service, ma'am

username how old is he?

username He's so happy, he turns red.

username I usually don't trust redbull after Sebastian, but he might be my new exception🤷‍♀️

verstappenight

liked by danielricciardo, and 1,230 others

verstappenight that eyes glint with mischief. #throwbackthursday

view all 65 comments

maxverstappen33 Oh my god, I thought I trusted you by taking this years ago

   ⤷ yourusername never trust anyone

username The half smile😂

username He's been pulling the red string with Red Bull from a long time ago, and look at the hat. I bet it's not a coincidence.

username how is she even managed to get this out? this looks so ancient

   ⤷ username It's not ancient, it's probably old, but not ancient.

danielricciardo He looks like he's planning to steal one of the cars steering wheel

   ⤷ username exactly! 😂😂

username if it's a throwback, how old is this pic then?

   ⤷ username i mean he looks way younger than him on her recent post, so just figure it.

   ⤷ username he always looks younger

verstappenight

liked by victoriaverstappen, and 963 others

verstappenight how is it feel to have a duplicates?

view all 72 comments

maxverstappen33 Why are you taking the second one?

   ⤷ verstappenight and why are YOU posing to that one?

username Why is he looks younger and younger each time?

   ⤷ verstappenight i don't know, but i definitely recommend him to have a slug treatment for anti aging.

   ⤷ username username it's him in torro rosso, so that's why he looks more like a teenager.

username it's not even thursday yet, but i had a bad feeling for this week's throwback thursday.

verstappenight

liked by carlossainz55, and 3,573 others

verstappenight boo! happy halloween #throwbackthursday

view all 269 comments

username what did i say, my feelings are never lying

carlossainz55 Got you! 😆🤣

   ⤷ maxverstappen1 If I got a heart attack next week, it'll be completely your fault

landonorris is halloween on 29 or 30?

   ⤷ username depends on what region you're in, i guess?

   ⤷ landonorris don't guess, answer.

maxverstappen1 And how are you even managed to take this?? Seriously. yourusername

username I can't believe it's actually Carlos who did this

   ⤷ username Yeah, but I think this is so Carlos-like behavior.

username i would do that face too if someone dressed as scream beside me

username Who is running this fanpage?

username why are you liking him so much?

   ⤷ yourusername because he is so nice, cool, and he looks like sid from ice age which is my favorite character.

   ⤷ danielricciardo we got a whole stack of characters here: first we got maximus the horse from tangled, sid from ice age, and then what? jimmy neutron?

username 😂😂😂ajajaja mira su cara!

verstappenight

liked by redbullracing, and 3,782 others

verstappenight found this on twitter and now i can't stop laughing! can't wait to send this to my family group.

view all 90 comments

maxverstappen1 I really can't trust you with my digital footprint 🤦🏻‍♂️

   ⤷ verstappenight i found this on twitter alright, it's not taken by me!

   ⤷ maxverstappen1 Still.

   ⤷ carlossainz55 Ooh, someone's upset...

username who is this person behind this account?

username Why is his reaction is always looking so hilarious

username Max: 😦

username i feel him

username you sure it's not throwback thursday?

MID 2023

verstappenight

liked by charles_leclerc, and 97,182 others

verstappenight i changed throwback thursday with this questionable sense of max's fashion. hope that's alright.

photo credit via verstauri on twitter.

view all 348 comments

username NOOOOOOOOOOOO

username #bringbackthrowbackthursday

charles_leclerc If you get rid of throwback Thursday, how am I going to tease him?

   ⤷ verstappenight by searching it on pinterest🤷🏻‍♀️

username Is that real or photoshopped?

username Okay, I know throwback thursday is made a long time ago since 2015 but man I really miss it sm... 💔💔

   ⤷ verstappenight same, but some people don't need that old max (except for charles). we need the new one because life goes on -max via my message

   ⤷ maxverstappen1 I don't remember saying it

   ⤷ verstappenight shut up

username oh cmon i know charles want it because he's in love with max

   ⤷ username should i be surprised?

   ⤷ username i mean if there's no throwback thursday, who's going to tease him with his past when she's not there

   ⤷ username Daniel and Lando or Y/n could...

   ⤷ username oh come on, i don't even know who's the person behind this account anyway, for EIGHT YEARS

   ⤷ username As if you've never heard of twitter, just search her username and you'll see her REAL face.

THE TWEET SHE MEANT:

verstappenight

liked by schecoperez, and 113,809 others

verstappenight guess which one is the real one

view all 462 comments

schecoperez The first one of course!😂🤣

username since when did checos ass becoming that juicy

   ⤷ username since he listened to daddy yankee's song on repeat

   ⤷ danielricciardo His actual morning routine:

username the first one because what else would he be doing if not eating omelette and seeing checo's ass in the morning

   ⤷ username even checo himself agrees

username I'm glad that she still post here, even though there's no throwback thursday anymore😞😔

   ⤷ username but i guess even though we did not have throwback thursday anymore, we still have this crack post of him😄

TWITTER, 3 DAYS AFTER THE COMMENTS ON VERSTAPPENIGHT'S DADDY POST:

maxverstappen1 added a photo to their story! 2h

ON THE OTHER HAND, HER ACTUAL IG:

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and 82,147 others

yourusername good moooorniiiiinggggg from my room<3

view all 97 comments

username Thank God it's not private

username damn yall work faster than the fbi

username Anyone come here from twitter?

username Omg I've never realized max pulled this hottie ever since they were born

username THIS IS VERSTAPPENIGHT ADMIN?????

   ⤷ username eight years of waiting is finally getting payed off..

username why are you even choosing max to be your man when there's charles or daniel who's sexier

   ⤷ yourusername sometimes i don't need looks to see to be having someone like max. he's my best friend first, and i'm glad i choose him right the first place.

   ⤷ username Oh that's sweet...

   ⤷ maxverstappen1 I love you too, My biggest fan.

   ⤷ username I LOVE YOU TOO??????💔💔

   ⤷ username oh my god max is having a REAL relationship with a fan account admin

   ⤷ username AWOOP🚨🚔 THEIR MEDIUM LAUNCH????

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, and 278,903 others

yourusername nobody knows that this phone addict is once my best friend. happy birthday maximus! 🥳🤍

view all 486 comments

landonorris happy birthday facebook dad.

maxverstappen1 I once again not going to take the Maximus name. It makes me feel like a horse from Rapunzel.

   ⤷ yourusername wait, you've watch tangled before?

danielricciardo Happy birthday, Big boy.

redbullracing Happy birthday to our number one champion! 🥳🥳

username awww baby maxiee🥺🥺🥺

lewishamilton Happy birthday, mate!

carlossainz55 To be honest, your real account is sometimes still kinda feels like your other one.

   ⤷ yourusername force of habit probably?

   ⤷ carlossainz55 No, it's because you're acting like Max's biggest fan everywhere.

   ⤷ maxverstappen1 That's probably because she is.

   ⤷ yourusername wipe that smug smile off your face while you're typing

username He looks the same weirdly or not

username AHA I FOUND YOU VERSTAPPENIGHT ADMIN

username i love how she just hanging to his arm like they're been a couple since god knows how long

username SHE'S SOO LUCKYYY

username i'm gonna melt

username i feel like it's a hard launch, but she have been doing this for a long time ago

sophiekumpen 🥳🥳🥳

maxverstappen1

liked by zedd, and 627,834 others

maxverstappen1 How was I going to get her bad side if she's there and looking so beautifully?

👤: yourusername, verstappenight

view all 446 comments

landonorris poetic. remember your other girlfriend's waiting

   ⤷ maxverstappen1 I don't remember having another one?

   ⤷ charles_leclerc How are you even forget about us?

yourusername awww i can't believe you tag the fan account one too!! i love you so much!!!

   ⤷ maxverstappen1 I love you too❤️

username #justiceforcharles #lestappenforever

username SHE'S SOOOO CUTE no wonder max pulled her

victoriaverstappen I didn't know you pulled this cutie

   ⤷ danielricciardo Me too until I found out yesterday at the club

username poetic max is going to be the end of me

username I really had a bad feelings of he becoming poetic and gets all over like this

username Okay, this is max's hard launch. And now I'm waiting for Y/n's

   ⤷ username i thought she already doing it for so many times at verstappenight? 😏🤭

yourusername

liked by redbullracing, and 579,420 others

yourusername 💌

📸: landonorris

view all 461 comments

username PARENTS CONFIRMED???

username YESS (adopt me pls)

username is verstappenight still going to be there? let's see for the next two days...

username verstappenight nation how do we feel after this? (we can get a new max pic daily)

username i'm gonna thank lando forever for this

username With the bouquet, the dim light, and the black and white + sepia filters. What are they doin that night?

username AWWW ROMANTIC😍😍

danielricciardo They left Charles in the back that night

⤷ landonorris aww poor him. but anyway...

username how are you converting from lestappen to this one so fast?

TAGLIST @queenofmanydreams @muglermami @4limq @avengers-assemble123456 @cabbyhabs @meowtastick @4mula-1 @miarabanana @amel1ee @dinosushilun1 @auggieblogs @namgification

[libraford]

I've had some time to think about it a little more because the people who are angry with me say that people who were in cults like MAGA can't be fully rehabilitated and they'll just follow the next fascist that comes along with big promises.

I am thinking about my uncle.

He voted Trump in 2016. It was the expected thing to do as a farmer in a very rural town in southern Ohio. He was very much MAGA. So we're all of his friends. They always voted republican. They all watched fox news.

He didnt know much about the economy, but he was tired of politicians, I liked the idea of draining the swamp.

I think it clicked for him that something was amiss when tge deregulation of farming practices started having longterm effects. Which was sooner than most people! But he went to school for ag and knew about listeria and e.coli, and I think it got the wheels turning, even if it took longer than it could have.

And then covid. He was eligible to get vaccinated early because he was over 50, and he took that. Which was hard for him.

I can't remember how he voted, or if he voted at all in 2020, but I know he didn't vote for Trump because when January 6th came around he said 'well, glad I didn't vote for this shit.'

Maybe he hasn't gone full Democrat and maybe he's not 100% supportive of leftist things. But when his friends are talking about which of them got food poisoning this time, he's quick to point out what's causing the listeria outbreaks and start a conversation about deregulation. Because he might not know much about tge economy or gay rights or deportation, but he at least knows THAT.

People would look at this story and say that he's a piece of shit for not caring about kids in cages, or trans rights, or for not thinking about deregulation before it started causing problems. Or because he didnt do a 180 and go from MAGA to Lefty. Or because he was a republican in the first place.

I'm proud of him. He broke the spell.

I don't know if that's the same as rehabilitation. By some definitions maybe not. But he's more critical of his media intake now. I think you're supposed to want that.

[residentwordsofaffirmationdealer]

Audio Log BT-70 & what it reminded me of

"I don't often have dreams. But this morning, I woke up from one about Nightwing. Dick came back to Gotham. We sat here in this room. Together. He let me explain myself, apologize for pushing him away. I found all the words I should have said before he left." (Gotham Knights audio log BT-70)

"I'm sorry I shut you out. All of you. I didn't want you getting hurt... I'm going to get you out of this." (Forever Evil (2014) #6)

Wait-- you know I'd rather lose both arms than you! (Batman (1940) #13)

"Alfred would have told you that I am inspired by you. He would have told you that I am so proud my son has grown to be the best of us. I'm sorry if you've ever thought differently. I'm sorry if I failed you. I'm sorry for every time I tried to push you away because of my own--" (Nightwing (2016) #100)

"That boy meant more to me than anything in life..." (The Brave and the Bold (1955) #83)

In order to cover up my Batman work, I had to pretend to be a playboy. And now it's made me lose the person I love the most! It isn't fair! It isn't fair! (Batman (1940) #20)

"I'd tell him how proud I really am. That Nightwing is the better version of what Batman was meant to be." (Gotham Knights audio log BT-70)

"Dick? A clearer version of what Batman was meant to be." (Batman and Robin: Eternal (2015) #22)

"Then he stopped for a second and said... 'The only time I ever feel pride is when I look at Nightwing. Sometimes I think he's the only thing I ever did right.'" (JLA (1997) #73)

"Didn't you think I was good enough to be you?" "You're better than me, Dick." (Detective comics (1937) #725)

"But believe me I couldn't have loved any son more. I know I haven't said it much, but I'm proud of you." (Tales of the Teen Titans (1984) #50)

"Dick Grayson. Alfred once described him as my greatest success." (Nightwing (2016) #111)

"That because of Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne became a better man." (Gotham Knights audio log BT-70)

"Alfred would have said that you saved me. Before you, ever hit was a little harder. I know what Batman could have turned into without you. I know what could have consumed me if you weren't in my life." (Nightwing (2016) #100)

"I've been thinking that you've stayed this long because you thought you needed to protect me... from myself." (Robin 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular (2020)

"And the truth is, I didn't save you from some dark fate, those years ago. You saved me from one. And you still are saving me, every day." (Batman (2011) #11)

"I'd tell my son that I miss him." (Gotham Knights audio log BT-70)

"I think about when he was younger. When I was younger. it was a different time. Simpler. And... I miss it. I miss those days. For that... it's hard to be around him." (Under the Red Hood (2004))

+ another one from Dick

"I love you, Bruce, for everything you've done for me my entire life. And you need to know I always will." (Robin 80th Anniversary 100-Page Super Spectacular (2020)

[whowrotethenote]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐖𝐞 𝐃𝐨

Summary: Alana has lived ten different lives since she met the infamous Tribal Chief. And once again, she finds herself entering into another phase of her life where things are ending and she has to make room for what’s to begin.

Warnings: NSFW // Smut // Profanity // Age gap // Angst // Themes of abortion // Mentions of disease // Adultery

Word count: 12.8k

Inspo: All We Do by Trey Songz

Disclaimer // Part Two // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

Saturday, April 27, 2024

“Jesus, Anthony,” Demi cackles grabbing ahold of his wrist. “Leave some room for the damn orange juice.”

I shake my head at the champagne flute he has eighty percent full of the expensive house champagne. Saturday brunch at The Terrace and Outdoor Gardens—located in a very vibrant Manhattan. Outside feels like when Controlla dropped in 2016. The sun is unforgiving on my caramel skin, despite it only being the end of April. The table cloth is an unrealistic white, matching the aprons of the waiters strutting around, hands high with trays of fresh food.  Laughter of the wealthy, glasses clinking, and the background noise of a hot and moving New York fill the atmosphere. 

He purses his lips shaking her off. “It's a lituation. My two favorite girls are officially graduating.” He continues to fill my glass and soon after Demi’s. He follows the same pattern, blessing each of our glasses with only a splash of orange juice from the decanter. “And honestly—even that was too much.”

A lot has changed since the semester started. My life looks completely different. Feels completely different. I am completely different. It's almost unbelievable what time can cycle in and out of your life. I feel like I’ve lived three different lives since this time last year. 

The donation for my tuition was the seed planted that grew the forest. Now my reality is rooted and tangled in luxury I only used to dream of. The donations and compensation for my time and abruptly being tugged out of my life and into his, come more often than not now. 

So much so, Demi and I were able to wish the studio apartment a long awaited farewell. Twenty-eight hundred dollar rent would’ve made me choke on absolutely nothing just a few months ago. Now, it's the minor cost I pay to live comfortably, in our three bedroom condo planted in the heart of Manhattan. 

The space was a bit much for just two girls, who were barely there—by virtue of our packed schedules. So we took in a stray, as Demi would call him. Anthony—or as he referred to himself as, our Fairy Gaymother—was the perfect fit to our complicated puzzle. A twenty-four year old alum to Columbia, and the children’s hospital’s youngest surgical technician—who prides himself on dating the most giving and generous of foreign men, who only come to the city for business purposes. 

Only three weeks shy of graduation, we decided to take a much earned breather. Celebrating on the rooftop of this hotel, with an overflow of mimosas, conversation about men and the things we hate about them, consuming food at the highest prices inflation can convey. 

Dressed in all white, brown skins accentuated by the gold we decorate ourselves with, and champagne glasses held up to heaven.

“I’ve watched you two bust your asses for four months now. So, this is well deserved. I am so proud of y’all. Cheers to being young, black and educated.”

“Exactly,” Demi agrees.

“Raising the bar,” he continues. “And deleting that damn Canvas app… until med school.” A sharp clink of our glasses sounds off like a bold period to his cheers speech. 

Bzzz! Bzzz!

I place the glass down after downing half of it, to replace it with my phone.

Your Tribal Chief wanted me to let you know you’re needed in Miami next weekend. Flight information has been emailed. 

It's not even an inquiry anymore. They already know I’ll show. 

Butterflies erupt in my diaphragm nevertheless at the realization that I haven’t seen him since the beginning of the month. He was generous enough to provide Demi and I Wrestle-mania tickets. In the wake of our schedules, we were only able to attend night one. 

I’m sure he had desired to spend night two surrounded by family anyway. He took the pin and ended a legendary title reign. He’s been the top guy for so long—I’m sure it took a piece of him regardless of the preparation for the shift behind the scenes. 

Demi and I watched in horror from the condo. Mouths catching flies, even minutes after the fact. We had just been there. I had just been with him. He gave no signs of anticipated defeat. He wasn’t moving like a man ready to step down from greatness. Or maybe he did. Maybe it was in between the lines of him practically demanding I be waiting for him in the trailer immediately after his match. Or the unsolicited aggression as he took me from the back. The unforgiving grip on my neck. The scandalous and countless slaps to my ass, followed by painful grips of flesh. The fine lines that garnished his nose as his upper lip curved into a snarl in between strokes. The sharp bites like a feral python in place of kisses. 

Okay, thanks.

Call me if you have any questions. I’d pack very light. It’s scorching down here.

Miami…a city in such close proximity to his home. His real life. A territory nether of us touch as if it's poison ivy— opting to pretend it doesn’t even exist. But we know. It's all in the way I’m still only able to get in touch with Paul and not him. All in the days that pass between one getaway to the next. All in the routinely compensation for services. It’s disguised as a helping hand, but I already know it’s hush money. Insurance. A pretty bow wrapped on a box that guarantees his secret stays exactly that. 

This isn’t the first time he’s flown me out. Our arrangement started as him just dipping into me every time he was on this end of the map. Now, wherever he is, is never too far to get me to. 

The first time was in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Christmas was approaching. New York was covered and knee deep in snow. He was already in Wisconsin, preparing for Smackdown. Thursday, the night before, I received the regular text from Paul.

Locked away in another five star hotel, I waited all day for him. Watched the show air in real time as The Bloodline faced heat from none other than Mr. Voices In My Head himself—Randy Orton. The wee hours of the night crept up on me as I laid stretched out on the plush, king-sized hotel bed. The clock read 1:41 a.m. when the subtle buzz of the room key granting access, reached my ears. Like a dog awaiting its owner’s arrival, I shot up. Daddy’s home.

Lines of defeat and hard work all over his golden face. Rich beard, grayer than I had ever seen before. His bun, loose and not as pristine as usual. He was still the finest man I had ever laid eyes on. Every encounter—every late night as he shed another layer of Roman off to reveal Joe, it only made my attraction to him spread like wildfire. 

Still, always reeling myself back to the impenetrable truth, that this was just sex. An exchange. Bearing witness to the lessons of my business classes— his market has a need and I’m his supplier. I know my role. And for him I act it out with grace and confidence every time.

He removed his Nike hoodie and emptied everything from his sweatpants’ pockets on top of the dresser. Again, twisting the black band off and burying it in the drawer with the rest of his guilt.

“I need a massage,” he declared with hands rested on his hips. The expression on his face and his tone suggested it was a question, but I knew better. I sat planted on my knees that sunk into the mattress, longer than I intended because the sincerity sparkling in his eyes—the neediness shook me. 

Hastily, I disappeared into the ensuite bathroom as he took my place on the edge of the bed. The complimentary lotion and some type of oil, is what I return with. He’s shirtless laid out on his stomach. Eyes already shut in comfort. 

Situating myself on his butt, I squeezed what I thought was a sufficient amount of lotion and scented oil into my palms. Rubbing it into my hands before sliding it evenly across his defined back in erratic patterns. Digging deep and showing supplemental love to every ridge and dip I find. I didn’t think my small hands were making an impact until he released a deep breath paired with a moan.

“Mmm.” The vibration transmitted from his core, to my hands flattened on his back, landing in my hot center. I’m sure he could feel her heating up—but nothing came of it.

That was how the night carried on. Me kneading and caressing his hard back and soft skin, until I heard the soft snores I’m accustomed to dozing off to after a long night. We didn’t do our usual. No sex. No head. No lingerie. No dirty talk. Just a much needed massage to a man who offers his life to his fans and the mat—followed by sleep.

As expected, when the sun hit my face through the drapes, I found myself alone. No trace of him. Just the lingering and faint smell of his natural scent mixed with whatever he uses for his hair. And the note on the dresser. Same message every time.

Thanks for last night.

Followed by his name and the two R’s.

I learned quickly that this little arrangement between us was exactly as Paul described that first night. He was just in need of company. Comfort on the road. An outlet. I’m here to help him unwind. That’s going to look different some nights. Some nights we fuck. Some nights he just wants to be held in complete and serene silence. Other nights I'm his personal masseuse. I know the declaration I made that night in the Hamptons, but I can’t help but always wonder if he’s like this with the others. I deem it exhausting to be spread so thin, wearing different faces for all of us.

I keep those inquiries to myself now, though. The less I know, the better. The thicker the line between us, the better. For me and for him. He’s living a double life as is. I’m here to help ease the other one or ones—and pull him away from it all, even if just for a few days. Catching feelings defeats the purpose, not making me useful anymore. And I’m not in the business of not being useful to him.

Yet and still, it nudges the back of my conscience how the inevitable split will come. I know this won’t last forever. It can’t possibly. I do have my own life too. Maybe it didn’t seem that way to him because every time he puts a Bat signal out, I’m here at the ready. 

I yearn to be someone’s wife one day—yearn for love. Motherhood possibly. I can’t hang onto whatever this is forever. So yeah—the thicker the line, the better. That way when we have to break, it’ll be easy…Right?

“I’m actually a little tired of hearing about you and the Italian. All you two do is make love. Call me when y’all get into a scuffle or something.” Demi yawns.

“Well, someone has to share their mancapades. You’ve been single since Obama was in office.”He flicks a long finger my way. “This one here has a mystery sponsor she refuses to talk about.”

An unpremeditated grin adorns my me at the mention of him. Sponsor. I think I like that term better than Demi’s Sugar Chief.

“Mmph,” She catches my smile. I wish she’d get out of my head sometimes.

“I mean seriously— what is the big deal with him? I’m starting to think the man is famous…or married.”

Tight-lipped, I shrug, pulling my oversized Chanel shades over my face— to avoid lying straight to his. How has he hit it on the nail twice? Demi and I have been working like ants to keep Anthony at bay. He’s always interrogative of the secret phone calls, random deposits and last minute trips. I can feel his discovery creeping up like a lion on the prowl.

“You don’t worry about my friend and her mystery man. Her services have been keeping us all fed.” She gestures to the contents of the table. I shake my head at her mocking Paul.

“Yeah, well whatever the arrangement,” Anthony waves a hand. “Next time you see him, just whisper in his ear about me, would you?” I raise a brow. “Just tell him you have a roommate that’s on the hunt for a rich mantoy. And not one I have to hide.”

“Mantoy?” Demi’s face scrunches up.

“Yeah! I know baby boy has to have a cousin or something.”

“Yeah.” Demi chuckles bringing the mimosa to her lips. “It depends. You like seeing double?” I pinch her under the table, covering my laugh with my other hand.

“Oh, no. Maybe he prefers they come solo,” I add. We erupt into a fit of laughter together. coaxing Anthony’s wrinkly forehead as he looks between us both— smiling apprehensively.

“Wait,” Demi holds a hand up, lip quivering from all the shenanigans. “Twilight. Were you into the vampire or the werewolf?”

“Alright!” I reach into my purse pressing my lips together, barricading any more giggles. I pull  out six crisp hundred dollar bills and slide them to the middle of the table. “On that note, I’m gonna go. It’s been real, gal and gay.” I raise up to kiss them both goodbye.

“You’re insufferable,” I whisper into Demi’s ear after a kiss to her cheek.

“You love me,” she replies lowly, flashing her teeth.

“Whisper in his ear!” Anthony reminds me before I reach the elevator that leads to the rest of the hotel.

“Believe me I will!”

“Thank you for your services,” Demi waves the hundred dollar bills in the air.

In the back of the Uber, I decide to check in with Paul.

“Lana,” he greets me over the phone. My phone. Thats right—we’ve also wished the payphone a farewell. 

“Paul,” I greet back with the phone smushing between my ear and shoulder to shuffle through my purse. “I’m just calling to make sure it's only for the weekend?”

“Yes, the weekend is all he said.”

“Good.” Still with a million and one things in queue before graduation, I can’t afford to go M.I.A for a whole week.

“And you’ll be taking the jet again.”

“Lovely. Nice doing business with you.”

“Pleasure as always.” Ready to take the phone away from my ear to hang up, I hear my name again. “Oh—and Lana?”

“Yeah?”

“Congratulations.” For a man that presents himself as an evil, flip-flopping mastermind on screen, behind the scenes he sure is an empathetic softy. 

“Thank you.”

“I know the concept of graduation and the real world is quite scary, but trust me, before you know it you’ll be thirty.” I cringe. “Married, with babies, wishing you had these same problems instead.”

Babies…babies.

The energy in my walk-in closet was charged with nothing but irritation and the doom of dare I say it—judgment. She sat on the white ottoman in the center as I moved about—sharply hanging shirts and folding jeans, that on a normal day, would’ve sat in the hamper for weeks until I found the drive to deal with them. But it's not a normal day. Nothing is ever normal anymore.

It's one of those days that’ll stick with me. One of those days that I’ll think about on a random day when everything is seemingly fine. One of those days that if I’m lucky, I'll never have ever again.

She’s not talking anymore since I revealed my verdict. Demi and silence didn’t go together. It was an unlikely pair. One that gave you angst—a tornado in your stomach. Usually a context clue that something was deadly wrong. She didn’t need to speak. Four years now—living together, learning each other—loving each other. I already knew. I could already feel it.

The stinging sensation in my eyes expanded the longer she waited to speak. I knew it was coming, but the anticipation was useless. That lump in my throat grew, until swallowing brought physical pain.

“—I can’t believe you wouldn’t even just tell him.”

“What is there to tell? Huh?” My eyes widen at her even as she purposely avoided my heavy stare. “What am I supposed to do? Call Paul? And say what exactly?” I ridicule. “It won’t change anything. What do you think will happen here?”

I’d rather be anywhere else. Doing anything else. And talking about anything else. But I had been hiding already. I knew this was coming. The appointment was made days ago. And I had the nerve to walk around the condo, not even mentioning it. Leaving out whenever she came in. Eating in my room, instead of hers or the living room. Making it painfully obvious. There was nowhere else to go now. 

“You don’t think he at least deserves to know?”

“The appointment is already made. It's done.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do it. Thats not for me to say. It’s your body—”

“So, what are you saying?”

“It’s half apart of him—”

“It,” I slapped the jeans in my hand against my thighs. “Is not anything. Okay? It is not even conscious. It has no cognitive abilities. It isn’t even the size of my fist. It's a fucking tumor— a parasite if anything.” I don’t know what took over me. All of the stares, bullhorns, signs with messages of hate and condemnation— the campaigns in the wake of all thats been going on with the laws surrounding it— was all starting to consume me. A problem I never thought I’d have to bear. But isn’t that what we always think? A problem isn’t really a problem, until it's our problem.

“And it's gonna ruin my life.” My voice cracks. “And his.”

I have things I want to do— accomplishments untouched collecting dust on the shelf, that I’d like to see through. This would put the ugliest blockade on that. I’m an absolute mess. Nothing that permanent would even fit into my life.

“It’ll change everything. This thing we have going—it's gonna be over and done with. I know it.”

“Thats what you’re scared of?”

The words get stuck in my throat—choking me. It's not about this new life and I really wish it had been. It’d be so much easier for me to just say I don’t want the perks to stop. But it's not about that. I hate that it isn’t. I hate that every time I wait in the five star hotel room, or his condo in Miami—that I’ve already forgotten about the lingerie, shoes, or bag he’s left on the bed—and my heart picks up speed when I see him walk through that door. 

“I don't know.” I lie through my teeth.

“I don't think he’ll respond the way you think he would.” 

“Let me guess,” I laugh mockingly. “He’s gonna come with me?” I raise a brow. “Come hold my hand? Tuh!” I shove the stack of jeans into a slot on the wall. It wasn’t fucking fitting, so I forced it— not having the capacity to figure out anything as simple as folding and putting clothes away. My mind too cluttered for simple every day tasks. “I know I don’t say what’s going on—mainly because I can’t. But you’re smart. You know exactly what’s been going on. I show you the lingerie—the shoes—my account. You see it all.”

“You’re a fool if you think it's still just sex, even now—”

“Demi, I don't need to hear this right now. Don’t you have to go to the hospital soon?”

“I told Miss Tonia I can’t come in today.”

Of course. Shaking my head, I lose the grip on the jeans in my hands. They slipped as I held the back of my hand to my nose, to ease that tickle. It started as one tear. Then another from my other eye, even heavier than the first, joined the race to my chin. Before I knew it my shoulders were shaking violently, and my vision was blurred.

I felt small arms encompass me from behind. Face pressed against my back as I came undone in the middle of the closet. If anyone was to walk in, they’d find two young girls, who had seen way too much, way too soon. Everything passing them by, but only one thing remained—stable and unwavering like a coast redwood tree. Their friendship.

“Right,” I force a laugh. “I have to go—thank you.” Without giving him an opportunity to respond, I press the red button and slam the phone face down on the leather seat. Breathe, Lana.

Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Brows turning down and nose turning up from the smell of books, books and more books—I stick a palm to my forehead, while jotting down the same notes repetitively in red pen. They say it helps to remember it this way. 

The library is ironically empty, considering it’s final’s week. On the top floor like always, I sit alone at the extensive shiny, dark-wood table. A single antique lamp in the center of it, giving life to this corner of the library.

I take my last final of undergrad tomorrow morning. Marking the official end of my best and worst chapter in life. College. 

They give all the trainings and seminars before they send you off, but they never really prepare you for the end. All month long, thoughts of what happens next sneak up on me. 

Where will I go? What will I do? Sure I have a plan, but if there’s anything I’ve learned about life in twenty-two brisk years—it's that plans are just suggestions. Nothing is definite in this life. The curse and the gift.

My pen hits the thick college-ruled notebook, watching my phone buzz. A picture of a baby Lana being held by her five year old, toothless brother overrides my home screen.

“Yes?” 

“You know—robbing banks even if you do it electronically—is still illegal.”

“The word you’re looking for is scamming, dickhead. And what the hell are you talking about?”

“There she is. That’s the Lana, I know. Not the one who buys me thirty-five hundred dollar paintings for my birthday.”

“So, you did get it?”

“Alana.”

“What?”

He chuckles. “Girl, where did you get the money for this?”

“Does it matter?”

“Uh— yeah, kind of? Especially since me and Chloe been throwing theories back and forth and all we could come up with was scamming or prostitution.” Well…he’s not completely out of range.

Something like a laugh escapes my throat. “How is Chloe?” I haven't seen my brother or his long-term girlfriend since Christmas. He didn’t show for the weekend I spent home on New Year’s and untraditionally of me, I didn’t come home for my birthday last month. 

I miss him in only the way siblings can miss each other. We can spend an hour together, at the most—laughing and reminiscing about how we grew up and things we miss about it—before we start fussing about nothing and disagreeing about anything. Then, I need distance again and maybe I’ll miss him again in another two to three months. 

“We broke up.”

“What?!” I shriek and immediately swivel my head to find I am in fact not the only person on this floor. Shit. “What?” I press in a fierce whisper.

His boisterous laugh fills my left ear, influencing my shoulders to drop a little. I shake my head—picking up the red pen I dropped again on the notebook. “I’m just fucking with you. Everything’s good. She’s good.”

“I can’t stand you. I don’t know how she does—willingly.”

“Don't try to switch the subject up. The painting?”

“You know—usually when people receive a birthday gift—especially a really expensive one—they say thank you.”

“I’m getting there. I’m just trying to figure out first, what my little sister has been doing to afford said really expensive gift.”

“Did you like it?” I side step his curiosity the same way I do with my parents. I plumule them with questions of my own. They’re still asking with every phone call,“how are you paying rent in a condo in Manhattan?” They bought the random donor for my bill. Everything else, they were absolutely not going for.

“You’ve never been this consistent with anything in your whole life.” It's not a secret that my brother is a nomad in careers. In high school, he fixated on basketball. In undergrad he wanted to get into tech. And now as an overgrown graduate, his new thing? Art. “Who’s paying you?” I probe.

“I don't know what you talking about…” I wait. “It's mommy. She said she’d pay my rent for the month if I got it out of you.” There we go. “She told me about you moving out the condo and going to Miami for your birthday. I didn’t believe her. Then I got the painting last week.” I exhale deeply. “She’s really worried, Lana.”

“Mommy starts her day worrying about something. How is me having money and living comfortably, cause for worry?”

“Because just last year you were asking to hold two hundred dollars and sharing a studio. Come on now. And when we ask—you do this. Deflect.”

“Make something up. I don’t know. Believe me—it's nothing to worry about.”

“I hope you’re leading with your head and not your heart.”

My face balls up. “You sound like your father.”

“That’s not good…” He’s quiet for a beat. Probably thinking of another angle. He can poke and prod like the detectives Benson and Stabler. I’m solid. He releases a breath through the phone. “Looks like I’ll be paying my own rent.”

“Damn.” It wasn’t just about the NDA. It was the weight of the judgment I anticipate. Hell, I look at myself sideways some nights thinking about this life I’ve created that’s sewn in lies and adultery.

“I saw your mans lost his title a while back. Shit crazy.”

I freeze up—pen stopping mid stroke at the mention of him. How does he find his way in every part of my life? “Crazy,” I agree with no inflation in my voice.

“You still watch wrestling?”

“Not really,” I lie. “Haven't really had that much time to, anyway.”

“That last lap is a bitch, ain't it?”

“Shitting me?” He chuckles.

“Don’t be expecting a thirty-five hundred dollar graduation gift. It’ll be more like thirty-five dollars. Seeing as I have to pay my own rent and stuff.”

“Still waiting on my thank you.”

“Thank you, Lana. I really do appreciate it.”

“There you go. Did that kill you?”

“Where’d you get it?”

“I went to this art show in Brooklyn. I saw it and it immediately felt like you.”

“So, this new Lana is paid and she has feelings? I don’t know who he is, but send ol’ boy my love and blessings.” 

Thursday, May 2, 2024

“Completely bald?”

“Completely bald.” Demi confirms. “Wasn’t a single hair left on that bitch. I almost asked him did he have business hours. My wax lady don’t even get me right like that.”

I shake my head, continuing the assault on my MacBook keyboard, racing to the finish line of this paper before 11:59 strikes. The last lap, I remind myself. Curling further into the corner of the cream-colored couch—toes sinking into the spongy cushion—I use Demi and Anthony’s pubic hair exchange as background noise.

Unfortunately, for my best friend, she’s experiencing another failed attempt of “getting out there.” Everything was seamless with the younger twenty-one year old quarterback, who plays for St John’s an hour away from us. Closing in on two weeks of thoughtful dates and suggestive texts, she finally decided to see what he was talking about in the bedroom. To her dismay, she discovered a whole lot more than a horse. The horse was bald.

Demi and Anthony sit on the carpet below me by the coffee table. Their lax game of Go Fish on complete pause after her revelation to the group.

“Wow.” Anthony puts his entire deck face down now, too invested in her dilemma. “Now, as a ponk—I prefer it. I didn’t know straight men did that shit too?”

“Neither did I! I mean he pulled it out and wham! Like am I fucking a seven year old?” My unsolicited snort causes her to swivel in my direction. “He could’ve at least left a little bit. A nice trim. I don’t need the whole forest.”

“So you like a little hair?” Anthony presses with dents in his brows. You would’ve thought they were sharing how they like their steak to be cooked. “Thats interesting. La, what about you?”

Demi leans back on both palms where she sits—face fixing with amusement. “Yeah, La. What about you?”

“This mystery man—he’s older isn’t he?” I nod. Nonverbal. “I feel like older men don’t even bother with that type of stuff. They just let it do its thing.”

My Samoan giant definitely trims. My mind is overrun by the soapy smell as he forces me all the way down until my nose is buried in the black hairs. “Trim,” I reveal. 

He gasps. “Really? Every thing I thought I knew is wrong.” 

Capping the last sentence on the screen with a period, I release the deepest sigh. Proofreading. Yeah, right. The graduation application has been accepted already. Clicking submit, I shove the pink device off my lap. “Well, was it big?” I break the silence.

“Eh.” She waves a hand. “Now that mouth? Something completely different.”

Anthony swats her leg. “You naughty girl. I thought y’all didn’t do anything.”

“No.” She beams. “I told you we didn’t have sex.”

“Did you return the favor?” I ask.

“I wasn’t putting my mouth anywhere near that hairless hotdog.” I feel a buzz underneath my outstretched leg. “Back to abstinence I go.” 

Without even knowing the contents of the message, a giddiness—girl-like and dainty—possesses me upon seeing the football and black heart emoji combo. 

i’m outside

Like I said—my life looks completely different now. 

“Uh oh.” Anthony retrieves his deck from the carpet. “I know what that means.”

Biting my lip between a smile— I stand, stepping into my Ugg slippers. “I’ll be back.” I regret to inform.

“Mmhmm.” Demi grins. “Tell him I said hi.”

Down the building elevator and through the lobby, the pit in my stomach grows with every advancement. Exiting my building into the night air of May—sounds of sirens and music from cars speeding by are powerful. New York is a different animal when the temperature rises. I spot the matte black Mercedes AMG a few steps up the block. Lights still on with a familiar sultry R&B beat, muffled and pounding from it. 

I knock on the tinted window, placing my hands in the pockets of my Spider hoodie. Seconds later the door is pushing open to reveal him.

Jaire Alexander. Twenty-seven year old cornerback for the Green Bay Packers. He sinks back into the leather seat, getting comfortable, marinating into all his five foot ten energy. The car smells brand new despite him having it for over a year now. Always carrying the energy of “chill, but still a big deal,” he’s dressed in a black Nike Tech, accompanied by something very sparkly on his wrist. His Creed cologne, overpowering the small space in the best way. A smoke signal to anyone near by, that a man—a well established one—is in the midst. 

I turn in my seat as we perform that same dance we do every time we see one another. Smiling like two teenagers who just passed the “do you like me,” note in class. His dimple is soft, a contradiction to his sharp jawline. He reaches to turn the knob on the radio—lowering the comforting sounds of Dilema by Nelly and Kelly Rowland.

“What you smiling at?” My shoulders rise and fall as my cheeks grow tender. His low chuckle fills the car. “Still not a woman of many words?”

“Still trying to figure you out, is all.”

A drunk night in Miami for my twenty-second birthday, had me literally colliding into him. I shut him down—like I do every man that crosses my path. But Jaire was consistent and charming as fuck. He was hard to sidestep and ignore. His laid back southern charm captivating me from the start. 

It's unfortunate what lies behind the curtain. My life just doesn’t call for whatever this is. It was a classic case of right person, wrong fucking time.

I really wish we had met at a different time. Under different circumstances. Maybe five years from now—when I’ve exhausted all my use to him and he’s retired the ring, ready to live out the rest of his days with his football team of kids and the one that actually makes his heart beat like mine is right now. 

“I could say the same thing about you.” He looks down—tongue sliding over his perfect top row of teeth. “Wouldn’t have to wonder no longer if you’d just let me take you out. A real date.” It's my turn to shy away from his intense stare. His pear-colored eyes with specks of brown, enough to make any woman fall to her knees. “Don’t you think this car thing is getting a lil’ old?”

This is as far as we’ve got. From Miami, to random phone calls and text messages, to unforeseen visits when his schedule permits—like right now. The most we do is talk about surface stuff.  School. Major news. Our favorite things. How our day is going. Nothing too deep. That’s my doing. I don’t want the strings to get too tight in the event I have to cut them altogether. The most intimate thing we’ve done includes him taking my small hand into his large one as he compares the size.

“Soon,” I promise for the umpteenth time. I can’t see a near future where this works with what else I have going on, but the way my soul relaxes when I’m around him just won’t allow me to cut this off. 

While in the spirit of disappointment—I release a deep breath in preparation to keep it going. “I’m gonna be M.I.A again this weekend.”

His head rolls back until it hits the head rest. “You killing me, Lana.”

“I know—I know.” I shake my head, fixing my gaze out the windshield, watching a couple hand in hand pass by on the street. “It's just the weekend.”

“And after that?”

My mouth opens and closes, because I have nothing for him. No plans. No good news. Just more words I can’t say. More half stories mixed with half truths.

This isn’t how any exchange between two potential lovers should start. A foundation built on lies, secrets, and deceit. No—thats reserved for him. This… This is something completely different. Or at least that’s how it feels. He feels good to me in a way that not just the other one doesn’t, but in a way no man ever has. It’s genuine. It’s organic. I’m myself. He’s hisself. There’s no angst— no looking over my shoulder. No confusion. No grey area with him. You know that feeling when you meet a man and you can just tell from the burn of your cheeks with every laugh, every word in that first exchange—that he’ll be in your life for a very long time? The heat—the jump in your heart when he says his name to you for the first time.

“Balls in your court…always has been.”

Friday, May 3, 2024

The cool water from his condo’s infinity pool is a soothing contrast to Miami’s humidity. Even now, at eleven at night. Paul was right. If the emerging heat in New York is unforgiving, then the heat ensuing down here is just relentless. 

The city is lit up below me. Lively and vibrant—leaving me to wonder what could be happening. I down the rest of the costly champagne he had waiting for me, wrapped in a pink bow on the bed. No note and of course he wasn’t there with it. I’m not sure of the occasion, but there never really is one when I’m greeted with expensive gifts from him. Just candy to keep the baby quiet.

I’m sure he’s oblivious or rather careless to my recent accomplishments. 

My insides heat up—face growing hot as I grow restless. Champagne bottle half gone. I push myself over to the opposite side of the pool where he’s seated. 

I waited all day as usual. Excitement diminishing when he finally entered just to be on a business call. What fucking business is there to discuss at eleven at night?

I missed him—or maybe the dick. Either way I’m feigning for something that’s lacking. I rest my chin on my forearms—holding myself steady on the edge. 

“That’s what I’m saying. If he wants more—the numbers have to go up.” He talks with a large hand. Legs spread apart, just begging for me to sit on him. Saying fuck the glass—I bring the bottle to my lips. A battery in my back to execute the plan in my head.

Reaching behind me, untying the knot of the colorful Pucci bikini top, I release the double D’s that never fail to steal his attention. The material pops as it comes undone, resting in between my now exposed breast. Nipples a shade darker than my skin and hard as rocks due to the cold water and stretching arousal. 

He didn’t even need to do anything. Just thinking of him all day—the anticipation built since Paul’s text letting me know I would see him soon—was enough to turn me on. 

His bottom lip sinks into his mouth as he squints in my direction. Shuffling in the lounge chair with a strong hand running down his thigh.

“Right,” he agrees with the other party of his phone call with a flat tone. I bite my lip failing to hide my amusement. I push away from the ledge to dive back. The water—cold and powerful swallowing me until I pop back to the surface. Fingertips wrinkly and chlorine invading my senses. Placing palms on the ledge— I push myself up and out. Breast bouncing freely with every step that leaves a trail of water on the stone flooring. 

He hasn’t blinked once. Eyes bright—the lights from the city and pool reflecting off them. Fixating like a movie projector lens, recording my every move. I pay him and myself a favor— untwisting the cap off with a loud pop and pouring a double shot of whatever brown liquid was housing the decanter he brought out with him and hadn’t even touched. It runs smooth into the glass—mimicking the much broader sound of the pool’s filter. 

I extend it to him. Tongue sliding over my teeth, watching him watch me. Instead of taking ahold of the glass itself, he wraps a large hand over mine—prompting me to pour the shot into his mouth. He doesn’t even react to the alcohol.

In the spirit of temptation, I turn to plant myself on top of his inviting manspread. Shifting to the side so both my legs can drape over his toned thigh. Dripping wet from the swim I took—he’s not even fazed. He just sinks deeper into the lounge creating more space for me to get comfortable. 

“Mmhm,” he hums in agreement. The strong and persistent voice echoing from the speaker of his phone, a straight cockblock. 

Sliding a wet hand up his black shirt, I find the soft skin of his abdomen stretched over his rippling muscles. Acrylic black French tips dragging up and across. Then down, brushing over the tent begging for attention despite its owner’s current distractions.

Rising to my knees, I maneuver one on the other side to straddle him. Making sure all of the heat from me brushes right up against the beast. All the while, leaning over to retrieve another shot from the decanter. This one is for me. 

It hits me right in my chest and spreads—not showing any mercy on the furnace that is already growing in pussy. Literally aching— I shift in his lap, creating much needed friction. Taking his free hand in mine, guiding it to my slim stomach. His fingers spread, damn near covering my entire mid section. Eyes locking on me. I slide it up so he’s covering my entire left titty. 

This is backfiring. Teasing him only makes me more antsy, feeling like a boiling pot of water with the lid shaking off.

His mouth widens—eyeballing the two thick fingers of his I slide all the way up to my warm mouth to suck.

“Sounds good…Yup—alright. See you soon, man.” In a rush, his thumb is on the red button and he tosses the phone to the table, not even looking to ensure its landing. Before it even hits the table I’m on him. Biting, licking, sucking everywhere that’s available. He’s no better. Gunning for my neck at the same time I angle to find his. 

“We don’t know patience tonight?” He smiles through a kiss. 

“I don't have any left,” I answer in between assaulting his mouth with licks. His smile deepens, advertising a single dimple peaking out from underneath the thick hairs on his cheek. Rough hands grip my face, stilling me. Everything pausing for a moment.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi.” I greet back—a small giggle ensuing. All confidence burning out under his immediate attention now. But he’s on me and there’s absolutely nowhere to hide.

He’s slimmed down a lot these last couple of months. I don’t know if it's intentional, but he looks damn good either way. Almost like his younger self when he used to run around with Seth and Dean. The ridges and valleys that map his body—from his arms, strong back and his core—more defined than ever. The grey in his beard a permeant staple now. Damn.

I look down between us—his stare too intense. I’ll never get used to this. No amount of alcohol—no drug can suppress the young Lana gawking at the one and only, Roman Reigns. 

My eyes make the trail back up to his. Smiling with his eyes and nothing else. “There she is,” he whispers.

My heart thumps just a little harder. A little faster. Yielding to the courage of alcohol—slow and deliberate—I lean in again, but not to kiss his lips this time. Once over his forehead. Another over the crinkle in the corner of his left eye. The definition of his cheekbone. Then, finally I arrive at his mouth. He takes the initiative to slither his tongue inside, after a drawn out peck. Our breath picking up again as another power struggle ensues. My hand sneaks behind him to tug at the bun until it comes undone. My wild Samoan. 

The kiss is sloppy and dizzying much like the alcohol is slowly but surely making me. So much so, I barely register the push of his hips, as he slides his shorts down just enough to release himself. The hand he has digging into my hip, unties one string on my bottoms, freeing me. 

A sharp gasp pulls from me as I crane my neck up at the feel of him—wide and strong filling every inch of me.

“This shit…” The wind he releases from his nostrils is heavy against my neck, before he sinks his teeth into my throat. 

I can’t wait to adjust. I need it now. My hips wind up and down chasing that feeling that’s closer than it usually is. Heat possesses me as I lean a hand back on his leg continuing to grind on him. Massive hands cover the entirety of my breasts, only heightening this euphoria. 

“So tight.” He strains with a locking jaw. The depth in his voice another brick stacking itself atop of my nagging climax.

His mouth falls open with shut eyes, relaxing as I do my thing. “Oh my god—I’m gonna cum already.” I pant. Thigh muscles aching, breathless and grip on his leg slipping—but I refuse to slow up. This shit just feels too good.

He grows unbelievably stiffer inside of me. My end so close if I reach out I can touch it. I whimper and nearly throw a fit when he rises all the way up, standing at full height with my legs wrapping around him.

Top row of pearly whites sinking into his plump bottom lip, while he lays me flat on the lounge chair. My frustration is snipped watching him lift his shirt up and off, exposing that masterpiece of a body. The ink on his arm jumping when he grips himself to sink back inside. 

“Unnhh!” A muffling moan erupts at the feel of him bottoming out, but as quick as he’s in, he’s back out to slide his full length between my lips. I jump at the tingle on my bundle of nerves where his head grazes. “Joe, please,” I beg. Vacant of any shame. One hand tangled in my wet hair, the other cupping my breast. Both our stomachs rising and falling at the thrill we’ve orchestrated.

My hole clenches around nothing and it’s enough to make me go mad like a woman possessed. Earning a full view of him and his naked glory will only make me spiral. I squirm against him and the soft cushion under me. Eyes inching down where he continues to rock on me and not inside of me. 

I quite literally take matters into my own hands, reaching to bury him where I need. My breath coming out shaky. He goes as deep as humanly possible—heavy hands on the back of my thighs, spreading me apart. My everything on display for him. Lips glistening under the moonlight, pink skin pulling him in, and even pinker nub distended completely. 

His eyes switch back and forth over my face and my center. “Touch it for me,” he urges not slowing his strokes. 

His obedient soldier. I reach a hand down, eyes closing, mouth in an “O” shape. You would think I’m back at the condo, locked in my room during that small window on Friday afternoons, where Anthony is still at the hospital and Demi is in her last class. It's like he’s not even here. Just a silent passenger in the vehicle as I drive myself to the big bang. That is until the weight of him is crushing me as he accelerates, capturing my mouth in an invasive kiss. The hairs of his full beard scraping my face—a complete deviation from his delicate lips. I hum at the taste of him. Warm and commanding, just like the liquor he consumed. His tongue is everywhere. My neck, collarbone, shoulder, chest, nipples, the valley between them—until he finds his way back into my mouth. Warm, solid and wet.

He pulls back just enough to watch me. Brown pupils dancing over every inch of my face. Studying me. Every hit, loud and forceful. My whole body jerks with every entry up and down the long chair. 

Eye to eye—no words exchanging. No need for them. It's all seen and felt where we connect. The “i’ve missed you,” being pummeled deep inside me. The “i’ve missed you too,” tangled with my fingers in his fluffy mane, pulling his face as close as possible and making sure he stays here.

The orgasm comes like a meteor. Catastrophic. Once you realizing it’s coming—it's too late. It's already here. My own scream is cloudy in my ears as my whole world comes crashing down. His face is buried in my neck. My nails pressing into his scalp. Eyes pooling with tears of passion, pain and pleasure. The twinkling lights from Miami almost look like stars in the sky watching us. 

If sex was the equivalent to wrestling, he’d hold every title in the WWE universe stacked on his shoulders. He leaves no stone unturned.

The come down is cut short as I’m flipped on all fours. Full of him again. My back pressing to his front. His strong hand cupping my jaw. The other, squeezing the life out of my left titty—trapping me in his web of gentle dominance. He rocks into me. Slender nose pressing flush against the side of my face.

I take a hold of this wrist to get some type of grip on reality. I don’t know what to center on. I feel him everywhere he can possibly be.

Wet curls clinging to my neck and face—I gasp every time his hips snap against me. Huffs and pants in my ear, he breathes out like a dog. His tongue making shapes of every kind wherever it can reach.

In his strong embrace I feel untouchable. Nothing feels better than this. 

“Mine,” a gruff declaration. Ready to default it as a figment of my vibrant imagination—enhanced by alcohol— I hear it again with twice the aggression. “Mine,” he growls directly in my ear, making it impossible to ignore. His shallow breaths and forceful thrusts picking up in unison. Knocking the very wind from my lungs. I'm helpless to think, respond, or react. Bagging his claim and wrapping it to save for later.

“Where do you want it?” He begs to question low in my ear still. I’m helpless. Mouth opening and then closing tight in a twisting pout at him hitting the spot still sensitive from my first release. “Huh?” His choppy strokes snap me to my sense. Please, not in me.

“My mouth.” Looking up at him with pleading eyes, I urge again. “In my mouth.”

Face contorting in pain almost, he fits in four good thrusts before pulling out. I scrape my knees rushing to them in front of him. He stands grand and tall like a statue. I take him in my hand to finish what I’ve started. His balls jumping with every jerk of my small fist. Underside of his thick tip pressing against my tongue that I hold out to catch what he offers me when it comes. 

A much larger hand waves mine off his thickness so he can take over. His other hand gripping the top of my head—fisting a mess of wet curls, forcing my neck to crane harder as an intense wince escapes me. Still, I offer my mouth—wide and waiting at the ready. Eyes bouncing from his intense face to the head of his dick, so hard the tip is turning a pale color.

“Give it to me,” I plead. “Please—please. I want it.” Knowing exactly what sends him over the edge, I request desperately like I’m a woman in the dessert and he possesses the last ounce of water for miles.

“Ughnn! Aw, fuckkk!” It comes out heavy. Spurts of thick white fluid in my mouth. Strays landing on my chin and my chest. 

“Mmm,” I hum in satisfaction listening to his guttural moans. Fixating on his stare locked in on me, as he doesn’t let up his strokes until he squeezes the very last bit on my lips. 

“Damn,” he mumbles—fine lines forming in between his brows. A smug look resides over my face, right before I gather the saltiness from my tongue, allowing it to drip down to my chin. “Filthy.” He shakes his head. 

The night is long and busy. He makes up for the weeks spent apart, tenfold. Filling me in just one night, with enough to hold me over for another month without him, if I had to. From the lounge chair, to the pool, to the shower, to the bed. We break in the condo and make our mark the same way we’ve done a hundred times before. 

By the time we close our eyes, the Miami skyline was turning blue.

It’s not long before I hear the shower running. Morning’s burnt orange rays nearly blinding me from the glass balcony door. I groan, burying my head under the stack of fluffy pillows to drift back into slumber. 

Consciousness didn’t see me again until a couple hours past noon. This is how it is when I’m in his world. I sleep all day and come alive in the night time like a bat out of hell.

My body is aching, sore with all the evidence of merciless sex. Bruising on my hips, my neck and my knees. Tiny scratches in the most hidden places. I observe them all with a sadistic smile in the steam ridden mirror after a much needed shower. 

He left a key fob on the nightstand. I’m assuming it grants me access to the condo. Good. Theres no way I’m staying in here all day again.

The elevator dings as I exit into the lobby on the first floor. Three chandeliers in the center, looking like the price of my tuition. Ceiling high to heaven covered with artwork I didn’t even notice yesterday. I find myself staring up in awe and almost bumping into someone coming in my direction before I focus back on the task at hand.

I catch the eye of the young brunette behind the desk that’s almost as tall as her.

“Hello!” She acknowledges me cheerfully. I offer a closed mouth grin.

“Hi. Do you a have a phone I could use?”

“Eh—sure.” She sits on top of the counter a digital telephone that looks like it's never been touched, fresh out the box, with not a speck of dust on it.

“Thanks. I won’t be long, I swear.” She nods and I make my way to the other wall near the steel elevators.

I dial the number I was forced to memorize by heart. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Oh—bitch don't scare me like that. I thought you were that Iota from sophomore year calling me from another unknown number.” I stifle a chuckle in the eerily quiet foyer, with at best, only four other people.

“What’s going on back there?”

“Same shit—different day.” I return the stank face to an older lady eyeing my unkempt, “I just had sex,” hair paired with his t-shirt that only stops right below my butt. One raise of my arm and every one in this lobby would get a free show. 

“Any calls?”

“Mom called twice. I text her and said it's a really busy day at the hospital and I’ll call when I can.”

“Good girl,” I commend. Demi and I have a routine down pack. It's full proof and hasn’t failed us yet.

“Your dad called. I sent him a question mark. He said nothing—just wanted to check in on you. Uhhh… Mariah from your business policy class asked if you know anybody that takes good grad pics.”

“Send her the boy who took ours.”

“On it. And Jaire called last night…” My eyes flutter closed, running my nails along my forehead. The line is grotesquely silent. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly. When do you ever have nothing to say.”

I hear her huff. “What are you going to do about him? I don’t think it’s right that you got him hanging on like that—”

“Hanging on like what? You think this is on purpose? I already told him he couldn’t have came at a worse time.”

“So, then where do you go from here? Cause every time he pulls up you go outside.”

“I don't know,” I snap in an undertone. We don’t speak for a while. I marinate in this dilemma. I like Jaire. I mean—I really like Jaire. He’s charming, respectful, funny and patient. There’s no guess work with him—no mystery. He’s like a breath of fresh air in the line up of men who want nothing but to waste my youth and take what they can, while they can. 

“I can tell that you like him, Lana.”

“I can’t really do nothing about that— can I? What am I supposed to do? Tell him, ‘yeah I really like you and we can start dating as long as I can still fuck my Sugar Chief on the side and go missing for days at a time?’” I smile coyly at the front desk lady, praying she didn’t catch any of that before turning away from her.

“Something has to give. You don’t want this thing to last forever, do you?” If I’m lucky, it will. But lucky, I have never been.

“It can’t.” 

“You think Jaire will wait for you?”

“Honestly? No.” Great catches are hard to come by. I know in my heart theres another girl that actually deserves his time on her way to him. And when she crosses his path—what would make him choose me over her? “Say I do cut this off. What does that mean for us? Me and you?” It's no secret that it's not just I who benefits from this arrangement. Demi and I barely lift a finger these days. The strife of living paycheck to paycheck has been wiped away thanks to the head of our table.

“I don't know…I’ve been meaning to bring that up. Like—what if he wakes up next week and decides it done and over with? That he wants to be a family man for real? I know we’ve been stacking the money we make from work and the hospital—but that’s chump change. We’d have to downgrade. Like a lot. Are we really ready for that?”

“Can we talk about this when I get back?” The high from the events of last night are slowly being seized by conceptions of the days to come. 

Too often I find myself wishing I can just stay in his world, and my world be the distant secret. But the thought leaves as quickly as it comes. I shouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t want this set up. Sneaking in and out of cities, never seeing him in the light of day and fitting in calls from a condominium’s front desk phone. The whole thing is like period sex. In the dark it feels good. Once you turn the lights on to get a clearer look at the mess you’ve made—my god.

“Okay—I’ll leave it alone. The moment. We’re still in it. Worry about that shit another time.”

“Right. Well, I guess if you need me you can call this number back. Just ask for me. I’ll give the girl at the desk my name.”

“Okay. See you when you get back. I love you. Be safe.”

“I love you too.”

He returns earlier than he did the night before. So early, I was taking my routinely nap so I’d have enough energy to tend to him when he comes. I’m woken up by the softest kisses mixed with the coarseness of his facial hair. On my back en route to my ass. I’m wiping the drool from my mouth and lifting my hips for him to slide my panties down. The appetizer to yet another long and restless night. 

Finally, we make it to my favorite part.

“Quizlot and all that other shit—we didn’t have none of that when I was in school.”

“Quizlet,” I correct. Tracing the lines of the intricate artwork on his chest piece where my chin is resting. 

“Yeah—that. I saw my daughter using that stuff and I couldn’t believe it. I’m like— you’re only in high school. It’s only gonna get harder from here on out.”

“Oh my god. What did y'all do if y'all didn’t study?” I ride over the mention of his daughter like a bad pothole.

“That depends. Now, if it was a big lecture hall?” He waves his large hand in the air. “Just send somebody in to take the test for you. I was a football player— I could do things like that.” He nods in contempt with a toothy grin, pulling an eye roll from me. Fucking athletes. “Or just go in and say a prayer. Hopefully my coach could work something out. Most of the times I really just had to study. Even for the electives I didn’t give a shit about.”

“Wow. You’re like a fossil.” His sour face has my stomach aching with laughter.

“I’m the finest fossil you ever seen, babygirl.”

"I won't argue with you on that.”

“Just stay the course,” he continues with his original point. Taking me by surprise, he brought up graduation. I guess he does pay attention. “Stay focused. Work hard. I’m telling you, it’ll pay off. What’s next? Medical school?” I hum and nod. “Survival of the fittest, I hear.”

“That’s what they say. When I do my residency, that’s when they say I’ll know for sure if I really wanna be a doctor. That’s the real test. No more books. It's time for the real stuff.”

“Mm. You can handle all that—cutting people open and stuff?”

“Well, I wouldn’t do that. The surgeon would. But I’m pretty sure I won’t make it out of med school without cutting some stuff.”

The noise of Miami, cars blasting music as they ride by, horns honking—fill the room distantly. I collect his chin hair between my index and middle finger, watching him. He really is beautiful from any angle.

He clears his throat. “Did you always want to go into oncology?”

His inquiry catches me off guard. My hand releases him as he angles his head to look down at me. 

“Um—no actually. I wanted to be a make up artist like my mom. When I was like twelve or something like that.” I shake my head laughing. “She didn’t have the heart to tell me I was shit.” He flashes a smile. That thumb running familiar circles on my bare hip under the covers. “And then—” My voice snags on apprehension. It's been years since I’ve talked about this. It's one of those things you bury inside. A block hidden all the way in the middle of a Jenga tower, that only if you’re skilled and worthy, I’d let you pull out of me. A story I choose not to tell to anyone who wasn’t there to live it with me.

“My uh—my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer. I was like fourteen when they sat me and my brother down to tell us. It was only stage two, but at that age—that didn’t mean very much to me. All I heard was that my dad’s brain was killing him.” He’s still as a statue. Gaze on me unwavering. “He’s good now, but we had a rough couple of years before he got to that point. My whole family fell apart. They got divorced. My brother left for school. It just…didn’t feel good.”

“But to answer your question—I wanted to get into oncology because I thought, yeah my dad made it, but he was lucky. Might’ve lost some other things.” I shrug carelessly even though it haunts me and has shaped eighty five percent of the attitude I’ve morphed towards life. “But he made it out with his life. Some other people aren’t so lucky. So—I thought I wanted to be one of the ones to change that. And I know I’m just one person and there’s been thousands of doctors before me. I probably won’t make much of a difference. I don't know.” I shrug again.

It's too quiet. The weight of his stare is heavy regardless of the fact that I can’t see it. I’m not looking at him so I can't gauge his thoughts. He’s almost impossible to read anyway. I should’ve just shut the fuck up. Made up some bullshit story about wanting to save strangers. My roots are way too deep for the shallowness of whatever we are to one another. 

“That’s beautiful,” he expresses in an octave as soft as the sheets we lay in. Bringing my heart rate back down to normal with the comfort and reassurance of his words. "So beautiful," he repeats. Pools of brown jumping around my whole face in a matter of seconds. His big thumb running over my cheek. A part of me, tangling in what he means to refer to as beautiful. Me or the confession?

Before I can think too deeply, his lips are on mine. Soft and deliberate. Not like all the other times. No, this kiss is a little different. It might be the shots we took earlier. Or just the fuzziness that comes with staying up at the wee hours back to back like this. I don't know and I don’t really care in this moment. All I can seem to care for is the way his tongue glides over mine, igniting tiny fires all over me. The way his rough hand grips my chin to keep me in place. The look in his eyes—a look I’ve never seen before on him as he pulls away. And finally, the way he pulls me closer up under him before we close our eyes and choose our dreams over reality. 

Sunday, May 5, 2024

“Uhn…Uhn…Eh…Uhn.”

Grunts and pants. Thats what pulls me from my slumber. I think I might be dreaming still. But the more cognizant I become, the louder they grow. My eyes shoot open. Big mistake. The shots taken the night before dig their nails into my head as I groggily lift up. “Mmm.” I groan in pain. 

I’m floored as my attention is drawn to the source of all the ruckus. All man—big, burly and covered in a sheen of sweat—he pushes himself up and off the floor repeatedly. The digital clock beside me reads 11:03 A.M.

What the hell is he still doing here?

Mesmerizing. Watching his large frame break a sweat. Veins pumping. The muscles in his back prancing while the cuts in his arms pump to their full capacity. Hair hanging loosely around his broad shoulders. The rhythm of his deep pants waking up other parts of me before my brain can catch up. 

I’m stuck in place, refusing to move on the bed even as he rises from the floor to his full height. It's evident that we shock each other.

“…Good morning.” He speaks first. 

His attentive gaze, a reminder that it is in fact morning and we sit in the light of day. I grow self-conscious with every second that passes, realizing what that must look like on me after a full night of drinking and fucking like a wild animal. I run a hand through my curls which are most likely wilder and out of place from air drying. I pull the sheet up tighter avoiding his stare. 

“Morning.” I clear my throat.

My eyes follow his every movement as he retreats and returns with a water bottle to his mouth. Basketball shorts hanging low around his waist. He moves in my direction and holds the half empty water bottle out for me.

 I look at it then him, and back at it again. “Thank you.” 

He’s gone right after passing it to me. The shower runs from the conjoined bathroom. “You getting in here?” 

We don’t have sex. He barely touches me. Just washes himself. We do a funny routine of looking and then looking away once we realize the other is looking too. It's a weird kind of intimacy. Void of any sexual guise. Just two people—comfortable enough in each other’s presence, in each other’s nakedness—showering together.

It's about that time. I’m zipping my carry on after gathering the last of the strays spread across his condo inside. I peak over where he’s sitting in the chaise lounge chair by the balcony door, fiddling with something in his hands. It's too small for me to see.

The room is decorated with silence. Not an awkward one. It's not comforting either. It's that same silence when everyone is packing the last night on vacation. All the memories from the days before spent drinking, partying and relaxing are on replay in your mind. All the things back at home waiting for you, flood your mind shortly after. Every one is sad to leave, but no one really says it because it obvious.

My mind drifts to the last time I saw him before this weekend. Wrestle-mania. 

I don't know what comes over me. Standing by the bed just a few feet away from him—I blurt out the only words that I can think of.

“You’re still my champion…”

Elbows resting on this knees he averts his gaze my way. Features twisting at first from my sudden outburst, but they soften after a beat.

He holds a big fist out. I don’t even fight the lazy smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. The coolest motherfucker in and outside of the ring.

I take the necessary steps toward him to connect my minute fist to his larger one. He turns his hand so his palm is face up to reveal what I saw him messing with earlier. A dainty silver bracelet, adorned with charms that practically wink at me when the vibrant lights we sit under touch it for just a second.

Raising my brows—he mirrors my expression,  holding his hand out further, initiating me to take it. Surely, not.

The stones dancing on the hanging “A” charm are cold under my fingertips. Another charm—a graduation cap—shines even brighter. Too bright to be anything other than diamonds. “I left your name downstairs.”

“For what?” I question, still in awe of the fine piece of jewelry as I clasp it on.

“Whenever you’re in the city, you’ll have a place to stay.” He explains holding out the key fob I used earlier to return to the room. 

Twirling the key in between my fingers, I scan my brain for a reason not to accept the grand gesture, but I come up short. “Try not to have too much fun without me.” He adds, smirking. 

“I can bring people?”

“Long as you follow the NDA, I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you, Joe.”

I’ve grown immune to receiving hand outs from him. But, this time feels different. The bracelet has meaning. The “A” charm and graduation cap—maximizing a pivotal time stamp—makes it personal. It's not just a bag he thinks I’ll like. Not just a lingerie set with the intentions of taking it off. No—this is different. This is special. 

Saturday, May 11, 2025

I think about that last day spent with him all week. On the entire jet ride back to New York. The car ride back to my own condo. It's the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep every night. I can’t get that look he gave me as we laid in the bed, out of my head. It replays like a broken record.

Yet and still, it's not enough to ease the dilemma that was waiting for me back home.

The car thing is getting old… show me what’s new

Thumbs doing a little dance over the lit screen, I reread the same message for the twentieth time. 

I’ve decided to give Jaire a chance. After I walk across that stage in a week, I’d be entering into a whole new chapter—a whole new space. A new Alana. Which means I have to make room for new things to fit. Only thing is, starting a chapter with Jaire and it actually meaning something, would require me to end the one with him—Joe. I must be insane. Just delusional. There is no chapter. There is no anything. It’s just an excerpt. 

All we do is fuck, drink and sleep. He upgrades my life whatever way he sees fit. Not out of the kindness of his heart, but to make this arrangement more feasible. He doesn’t care about Alana. He doesn’t see me. He just sees a girl that looks at him like the star he is, so she’s willing to go the extra mile to stay in space with him. Well, not anymore. 

That night I keep replaying is a figment of my wild imagination. Just a blimp in his, that’s long forgotten. Fleeting. My life can’t stop for him. Surely, his doesn’t stop for me. I’m twenty-two. My whole life ahead of me. I should be getting flown out to Miami to see Jaire. Partying the whole weekend, in someone’s section not even dreaming of touching my own wallet. Throwing back shots and acting bad. Handing out my number like candy on Halloween. Not a care in the world. Doing what twenty-two year olds do. Reaping the benefits of youth while I still can. Not hiding out in hotel rooms, waiting for a man twice my age, grey in the beard—to come fuck me and dip in the morning before I even open my eyes and stretch. But damn—I’m going to wake up in cold sweats after dreaming about running my fingers through that beard while he sleeps. And damn—I am going to severely miss that dick like a man misses his family when he has to serve time. 

Just as I get a rush of confidence to press send, Demi’s call delays me. 

“Yeah?” I answer. 

“You gotta come back to the condo. Now.” My fight or flight immediately kicks in. Demi didn’t come into the hospital today because she didn’t feel well. God, what the hell is wrong?

“—Why? What’s going on?” I rise up from the nurse’s station briskly, making my way to get my stuff in the locker.

“Something’s…here for you.”

“Huh?” I stop jogging. 

“Just get here. You only have two hours left. Tell Miss Tonia you’ll make it up tomorrow.” Click.

Upon arrival to my condominium, I’m immediately bewildered at the scene unfolding through the window from the backseat of the Uber.

“Thank you,” I tell the older man before hopping out, but not before inspecting the matte black Mercedes G Wagon parked right out front. A pink ribbon plants itself on the hood. Someone is definitely loved. Probably the girl that lives across from us. I think her boyfriend is an actor or some shit like that. 

On the sidewalk, Demi, Anthony and a man I’ve never seen before meet me. “Is something wrong?”

“Are you Alana Floyd?” The man speaks first. I look past him before responding. Demi looks like she’s seen a ghost and Anthony looks like he might jump out of his own flawless skin.

“I am,” I finally answer.

“Do you mind showing me some ID?”

A chuckle escapes me. A product of discomfort and pure fucking confusion. When I see that he’s still waiting, I fish for my ID in the LV Neverfull hanging on my shoulder. He takes it. I look behind me. Every pedestrian walking by, gawks at the truck just as I did when I pulled up. 

“Here you go.” My head snaps back. He holds a clip board out. My ID and a pen sit on it. “Just need the signature at the bottom. Proof you received the delivery.”

“Delivery?” One brow shoots up.

“The truck ma’am.”

On cue, Anthony pops like a can of Pillsbury biscuits. “Joe!” He waves a card in the air, beaming down at me. “Aha! So that’s his name!”

Shaking her head, Demi snatches the card, offering it to me. I take it, not missing the smirk that tugs at her full lips.

Happy belated and congratulations.                    

                        — Your Champion, Joe

The card and everything else in my hand slips—hitting the pavement silently. The blood in my veins run cold in the heat of May. 

Someone must’ve hit the trunk button. And out falls the many pink roses that were stuck inside. They’re everywhere. Spilling from the truck. Onto the street. The sidewalk. Mimicking on the outside, exactly how whatever chakra is trapped in my heart is now overflowing and spilling out. 

This. This is special. 

A/N // in honor of Papa returning to work, i busted my ass tryna get this out lol. i wish i could post the warnings at the end lol they’re literally spoilers!

- any thoughts about Alana? any changes you noticed in her or her relationships with the other characters?

- any thoughts on the appointment Lana had to make?

- i know i didn’t reveal much about Jaire’s character, but that was on purpose. still, any thoughts about him?

- any thoughts on how Lana views what’s going on between her and Joe? do we think he sees it the same way she describes in her head?

- the graduation/birthday gifts? access to the condo??

- like her brother said, is Lana leading with her heart or her head?

- and just cause i’m nosy… trim, hairy or bald? lol

i would really love feedback. as always, if you read it or even just a portion, i am forever grateful and appreciative.

part 4 Desires is already in the works. depending on how y'all react to this, y'all might just hate me for some of the things i'm about to do lol

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[shawnlenore]

10 YEARS! I'VE BEEN MAKING HOW TO BE A WEREWOLF FOR 10 YEARS! Thank you to everyone who's followed me over this freaking decade, whether you showed up yesterday or found me on Tumblr in 2015. If you'd like to celebrate with me, please tell your friends about my little comic! howtobeawerewolf.com

I started making HTBAW after I was burnt out from college and the recession and grief. I had barely drawn a thing in five years and I thought I would give up art forever and move on to an office job. I wanted to give it one last shot. I came up with the premise while walking the dog lol

I had lost a lot of my love for drawing after scrambling my personal drawing preferences to try and fit into the animation industry at the time, and I think after a decade, I've finally hit a stride that I'm really proud of. I've leveled up a little more every year! My goal all along was to have a medium for my love of storytelling. I wanted to be able to prove to myself that I was good at telling stories, because I had always really enjoyed writing and creating characters, but never had an opportunity to do it on a large scale. So uh, I made an opportunity?

If you want to see the comic that inspired HTBAW that I made way back in 2014, check below the cut! Also please share this to help spread my little 10 year celebration :D

Anyway, if you want to see how far I've come since the original comic I made that turned into HTBAW, the progress between 2014 and my 1 year anniversary in 2016 was pretty huge lol

[draculasintern]

Jayce headcanons

I need him terribly. Sfw and Nsfw

Jayce who doesn't focus on anything but you after work. Asking if you're hungry, if you're thirsty. Never takes his attention off of you, as if you’ll disappear randomly if he even blinks. ‘Are you hungry?’ ‘Are you sure?’

Jayce who is an AMAZING cook. You cannot tell me he can't cook. If he can make hex-tech he can cook you a big pot of chicken Alfredo pasta. 

Jayce who follows you around like a big ol’ puppy. Big eyes, hands on some part of you. Just wanting the same amount of attention he gives you.

Jayce who has you do his hair and doesn't shut up about it. Even if you just brush it. "My partner did my hair, isn’t it great?” A big fat smile plastered onto his face.

Jayce who is the king of jokes. You’re sad? Jokes about silly things. You’re angry? Jokes about how your brows furrow in a certain way. You want him so deep in you that you’re begging? Jokes about how bad it would be if he just sucked at making you feel good. Anywhere and everywhere. Jokes.

Jayce who is filled with so much guilt when he finds out why you’re upset with him. Even more when you’re mad at him. He sinks to his knees in front of you, big puppy eyes, big hands slipping against your calves while he kisses up your legs asking for forgiveness.  ‘M’sorry… Please, my love, forgive me. I won’t do it again..’ 

Jayce who yearns for praise. Any waking moment you two are doing something together, he’ll ask if he’s doing good. ‘Am I doing this right? Is this good?’ Soft pleas for subtle praise. And loves it even more when you respond and give him everything he wants. ‘You’re doing that so good, baby. That’s perfect, love.’ And he’s a big puddle in front of you. Thanking you every time you tell him how good he’s doing. 

Jayce who is absolutely stupid when it comes to you. Wanting to give you everything. Wanting to make you laugh and smile. But also cry. Not in a bad way, no, of course not. He would never want to make his lover sad. He just wants you to feel good, so good. So good that you’re crying, begging him to keep going. And Most times if he sees you, makes eye contact, he’ll start to cry too. 

Jayce who draws you in his journals, his papers, his chalkboards all of it in the lab. Every hour of every day he’s drawing you. In old clothes, new clothes, no clothes. Every single drawing of you always makes him feel like you're there with him. Though, Viktor teases him, tells him if he doesn't stop drawing you everywhere Viktor might fall for you too. Which for some reason he’s proud of. 

Jayce who’s so proud of you, so happy you’re with him, that he shows you off to literally everyone. Whether it’s in drawings or pictures, writing or describing you verbally, he’s so proud. Praising everything you do, your rights, your wrongs. Outside, how beautiful/handsome you are. Inside, how kind and loving you are.. How good you feel..crying as he sinks in. Voice breaking. ‘M’so.. proud of you- fuc-” 

Jayce who cries when he sinks into you. Whether he’s using your mouth, or something else- though he hates saying he’s “using” anything, especially you. He wants you to feel good too.. So good.. And when he’s close he can barely think, hips bucking, tears streaming down. Hands on you or in your hair.  ‘My love- M’so close.. Please..” Begging you as if you’ll stop as soon as he reaches his high. But let's be honest, you’ve edged him to the point of dumbifacation, I’m sure he can handle it.

Jayce who loves biting. Marking. Bite marks. Sometimes when he’s trying to stop himself from moving he’ll bite your shoulder. Marking it until you let him move. 

Jayce who cries when he cums. Sobbing while telling you how good you feel. Apologizing for cumming too fast, or too slow. 

Jayce who can’t make eye contact with you or he’ll finish right there. Eye contact isn't a no for him, but when he’s needy and embarrassed, looking at you makes him feel so close.

Haven't used Tumblr since like..2016? If this is bad DON'T tell me, let me live delusional.

[drdemonprince]

I remember when civil unions for same-sex couples were legalized in 2016. I was only 17 at the time, and I was still dealing with a lot of stuff. Marriage was only a very far thought in the back of my mind, but still, I remember being so happy to hear that news. It was a new option for me, one that could also open up to the possibility of having a child someday, something I had never really considered possible before that time. It’s been several years now, and little to no progress has been made. I hate how slow this process is. And now we’re going backwards I’m still quite young, only 25, but I already know I would like to become a parent. It’s a difficult feeling to describe. I want to love another human being in the same way that my father and my mother have done with me. I want my boyfriend to become a dad and I want to be by his side throughout all of it. When I see my boyfriend playing with my one-year-old niece, I daydream about having a son or a daughter of our own. I want to see my parents love my child like they loved me. I want to see their smiles while they’re rocking my baby to sleep. I want to tear up at my son or daughter’s graduation. I want to be nervous about the person they’re bringing home for dinner. I want to fear for their safety. I want to trust them to make the right choices. I want to be sad about seeing them move to another city. I want to be proud of their accomplishments. I want to hope that they’ll be happy with the life they’ve chosen and that I’ve helped them build. I want to feel all of it.

A heartbreaking piece from Giulio Serafini on Italy's universal ban on surrogacy -- a policy that I'm embarrassed to admit I was not aware of until just now. Surrogacy was already banned within the country prior to this year, but this new policy now bars prospective parents from conceiving via surrogacy anywhere in the world and then bringing their children back. Between this and the country's complete ban on gay adoption, it's now impossible for same-sex couples to have children.

[velnna]

Do you have any advice you wouldn't mind sharing on reaching a level of comfort with stylizing? I get trapped in the land of understanding realistically what muscles, and especially what a more realistic face does, but struggle really hard to let go of getting things Right. Your art is such a lovely juxtaposition of understanding what is, but expressing yourself. I want to be there, but I dont know what steps to take to bridge that gap or even what it would look like over there.

I have a lot to say about this but it can all be TL;DR'd with (unfortunately) it mostly does come down to patience, practice and your own levels of comfort/the stuff you naturally gravitate to as an artist. Or at least that's the experience I have

The long answer is nailing the right level of stylisation for anatomy took me years of swinging between more realistic and more cartoony styles until my skill and level of understanding of actual anatomy stopped butting heads and stabilised. When I say my artstyle has been though it, it Has Been Through It

Back in 2016 or so I was swinging from this

to this

on the same breath lmfao

It was only in the past 3 ish years that I've felt like I hit a good spot that I'm proud of and comfortable in. The advice I can give based on my own experience is just to trust the process, study styles you like (and real anatomy) and above all don't be precious about your current art level. Sometimes you can get attached to a specific style and feel weird about going too far outside it, but if something seems fun I say try it out even if it's completely outside your usual technique

[thebroccolination]

KRISTSINGTO GAVE A COMPREHENSIVE INTERVIEW ON THE EVOLUTION OF THE QL INDUSTRY, THEIR PARTNERSHIP, AND THEIR PROMISE TO FANS

EDITED 19/3/25: @ysphcpb helped me make sense of some of the wonky subtitles. I added two clarifications below using this same text and color to make them easier to find.

A few hours ago, FEED uploaded an interview in which KristSingto almost made me cry. The full interview is subbed in English and available here on YouTube. It's thirty minutes long, and KristSingto cover a broad range of topics that show how invaluable their seasoned perspectives on the industry are.

If you're new to KristSingto or curious what they've been up to since you last checked in on them, this could be either a very good introduction to them or a refresher. :)

Note: As far as I can tell, the subtitles are mostly fine, but judging by some of the phrasing, I think they might have been auto-translated or else completely done by AI. Like, the subs call KristSingto "Christmas" twice, which I think a human would have caught. (Quick: who gets the angel topper and who gets the star?) Also, there are several times when Krist or Singto is referring to himself in the third person (as you do in Thai), so the subtitles say "he" rather than "I" so you have to pay attention to the context of what they're talking about to avoid confusion. Another day, another reason to study Thai.

HIGHLIGHTS:

Singto said he's gotten in trouble for giving short answers, so he said his main concern is Krist's health. He's said the same thing in other interviews, so Krist already knew. <3 I think he means in general, since Krist has been physically sick more often in recent years, but mental health is also quite important to both of them.

EDIT - Singto: Actually, there's not much I need to tell him, but lately, (what I'd like to say) can be condensed into a short word. And I think he's aware of it. "Health", okay? Short but enough, to the point. And I'm sure he's aware of it.

Krist said he's had to take on more responsibility within his family as he's gotten older. He's been very open in the past about his family's early struggles with money following the market crash in the 90s and how he cleared his family's debts through his work after SOTUS. More recently, he lost his grandmother in 2023 just before his solo concerts in Bangkok and now more recently his grandfather just before "The Ex-Morning" begins airing. He's always been extremely devoted to his family.

Meanwhile, Singto is an only child who lost his mother to cancer in university, so he said his priority has become taking care of himself more. Over the past year he's been very forthcoming about his mental health issues in the past and how he addressed them to get to a much healthier and happier place today.

After everything Krist has been through over the past five years especially, hearing him say he's not sad or stressed just healed something in my heart. I'm really so very proud of him. <3

Singto said that because they've both grown up over the past few years, Krist feels more like an equal to him now. They're only a year apart, but I think since they met in school and Krist has always been a little more excitable and trusting, that gap probably felt wider to Singto. He said they're able to communicate better now and that even though their working dynamic was already smooth, even that has improved.

They also talked about changes in the industry from their joint debut in SOTUS in 2016! I've seen Singto speak in the past about how he wanted to see the "BL" or "Y" removed because he thought it was othering, and in this interview he said he's happy that BL isn't considered strange anymore. As the first in the line of fire, KristSingto went through some fairly harrowing things, and he said that he and Krist weren't sure how people would respond to SOTUS.

Krist talked about the international spread of Thai QL and especially the rise of GL! I don't think the subtitles did what he said justice, so I'll toss the ball to resident GL protector @hallowpen in case there's a better way to phrase what he said in English. I think he essentially said that in the era KristSingto released SOTUS in, Thailand was still in a transitional period where queer media was neither accepted or rejected, and he's happy to see it become a normalized part of society.

EDIT - Krist: Moreover, in this era, we now have sapphic shows too, as in girl-girl pairings, something like that. So it's like, it's great, that we no longer have any of these separate lines (@ysphcpb's translation note: in relation to what he said before this, I think he means lines that separate "BL/Y series" from other types of series, in terms of content and target audience). If the work is good and worth watching, we'll love and appreciate it.

They discussed the importance of partnerships, and Krist emphasized communication above all to avoid fighting. Singto said that in the past they didn't fight, but they did overlook issues by not talking more. He said they're making a more concerted effort to pay close attention to each other's moods and to raise concerns as they develop so they can clear things up immediately.

Krist said he's much more at ease with Singto back. He's spoken in-depth multiple times before this about what it was like for him when he was on his own for the two years Singto was gone, and it wasn't great for his mental health. From the moment Singto left (amicably) to pursue his own path, Krist missed him and was actively trying to persuade him to come back. While GMMTV had been placing Krist in heterosexual lakorn series for years after SOTUS ended, his heart never really seemed to be in it, and I think he always wanted to continue and stay in the BL world. He always wanted the stability of a partner he knew and trusted, and with Singto home (so to speak) he said it's easier for him to plan for the future, which is less frightening for him now. (In 2023 before Singto returned, I really hoped Krist would pair up with Gawin based on the loveliness of their friendship and chemistry onstage and in "Be My Favorite," but it became clear to me over time that even though Gawin is Krist's most beloved nong and a good friend to him, Krist most likely never would have rebranded himself in another khuujin out of respect to Singto and what they established and built together. For Krist, Singto is and always will be his only partner, I think.)

Singto reiterated how much more smoothly everything is running between him and Krist now that he's come back. (Personally, I think they both really matured and grew enormously as people during those two years on their own.) Essentially, they're both back in their safe zone now that they've reunited, and while they're at a place in their careers where they don't have to fight to be seen or heard, they don't want to rest on their laurels either.

This was by far the most emotional point for me, and it actually got me quite teary-eyed. Krist talked about their fanbase, Peraya, who got so invested in KristSingto based on one series and a sequel in their first two years in the industry together, and then nothing else for years afterward. I've been here for almost five years and like Krist said, all I've ever seen in real time are concert streams and sponsored events. I remember when I became a fan in 2020 the fandom was still super committed to creating SOTUS fanworks and edits even though it was four years old by then. KristSingto obviously knew their fans wanted more series from them, but even back in 2017 they said they had to do what GMMTV gave them, and unfortunately GMMTV didn't yet see BL as a cash cow. KristSingto had the success of normalizing BL, but their fandom has had to wait this long to be rewarded for it with another KristSingto series.

And Krist promised not to disappoint. Which, of course, I trust. <3

See the full interview below:

(I'm calling them the Christmas Couple from now on and no one can stop me.)

[halestrom]

hungry man

“No.”

Bradley turned from where he was staring at Jake from the corner of his eye to look at Coyote who was squinting at Jake, and then looking at Bradley, back and forth before he shook his head.

“Oh, fuck no, Jacob.”

Bradley glanced at Jake who finally turned, raising an eyebrow at Coyote. “What?” Jake asked, face innocent.

“Don’t you what me,” Coyote said, pointing a finger at Jake, looking pissed off. “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to fuck Rooster anymore.”

The silence that followed was loud before everyone started speaking at the same time, the noise getting louder and louder as Bradley tried to figure out how Coyote had figured out he and Jake were doing something again. They had been quiet, they hadn’t been looking at each other in public, they hadn’t left at the same time, they hadn’t been doing anything that would give away that, for the fifth time in knowing each other, they had fallen back to bed together and this time, this time, Bradley felt like it might actually stick.  

“Since when is fucking Rooster a we thing?” Jake demanded, voice cutting through the noise.

“Since, we,” Coyote waved a hand around the room to include all twelve of them, “have to deal with the fall out each time you fuck. Flight school, Oceana, Top Gun even though you were in different classes, that one mission in Germany and fucking Lemoore.”

“I thought Lemoore was before Germany?” Nat asked.

“Was it?” Coyote asked.

“Definitely before,” Halo piped up.  

“Fuck all of you, especially you,” Jake said, glaring at Coyote. “For the record, we’re not fucking.”

That at least was correct. For the first time they weren’t fucking, they were dating, a fact they had agreed to keep on the downlow until they made sure it would stick.

“Bull to the shit,” Coyote replied.

“You’re an asshole,” Jake shot back.

The door opened and Mav appeared, thankfully breaking up the beginnings of a fight. Jake and Javy might be best friends, but they were also both stubborn assholes who could argue like top level prosecutors. Bradley remembered the aftermath of the 2016 argument that had started over something. Bradley had never gotten a straight answer, but he knew he never wanted to be around that again. He’d rather face the SAM’s.

“Yo, Mav. Did you know Rooster and Hangman are fucking?” Coyote called, leaning back in his chair.

Maybe a fight wasn’t the worst idea suddenly.

“Wow,” Bradley said, finally speaking up and glaring at Coyote who looked unrepentant. “Way to out me without my permission. Real fuckin’ solid ally right there. I never told Mav I was gay.”

That at least had Coyote suddenly looking nervous and guilty as he glanced between Bradley and Mav who had stopped part of the way into the door, frowning around the room before he shook his head and kept walking in.

“Oh, no worries. I knew,” Mav said, making it to the front and dropping his pile of folders on the table.

“The fuck you mean you knew? I never told you?” Bradley demanded, glaring at Mav.

Mav snorted, looking up at him. “Yeah, kid. I knew. What? You suddenly missed my cooking anytime Ice was visiting?”

Bradley sniffed, leaning back in the chair. “No one reheats a Hungry Man like you do, Mav. No one. Be proud of that.”

“Kazansky, really?” Payback said with extreme judgment.

“It’s like Hangman version one,” Harvard said.

“The lesser version,” Jake snapped immediately.

“Are you seriously comparing yourself to Admiral Kazansky?” Nat demanded, glaring at Jake.

“He hungry for a Hungry man? Or a Hangry man?” Fritz said, elbowing Omaha with a grin.

“Way to have a type, Rooster,” Fanboy called, causing more than one of them to chuckle and Bradley just rolled his eyes.

“We’re missing the point,” Coyote said, waving a hand around the room before pointing at Bradley and then at Jake. “Fuck…ing.”

“No, we’re not,” Jake said, getting the shit eating grin he always got on his face when he was about to drop a bomb, and Bradley loved that look. Loved Jake’s ego and loved how fucking smart he was. Jake turned, shooting a grin at Bradley that had him smiling back, incapable of not when Jake was looking at him like that. Bradley could hear the groans from around the room, but Bradley ignored them in favor of meeting Jake’s eyes and hoping he’d never have to go a day when he couldn’t see that look on Jake’s face directed at him.

“Nah, Yotes. We’re not fucking. We’re dating.”

The room was silent, and then Coyote groaned, dropping his head onto the desk as Nat started to rub her temples, the rest of the room breaking out into conversation, but all Bradley could do was smile back at Jake because they were dating, and Bradley had never been happier.

Never.