#midi drift

[unknownfromtag1]

Ive been theory crafting some new awful control schemes for games. Been enjoying two turntables mapped to each joystick axis as well as knobs to set inputs before a big comical lever is used to activate them (so like in tekken to do a a forward 1+2 tackle youd have to set a series of knobs to each of those inputs and then pull the big lever) would dream of taking some dumb American fotoplayer lookin ass contraption to locals

[hannie-bees]

𝟹:𝟺𝟽 ᴀᴍ

The clock on your laptop screen glows faintly in the corner:

3:41 A.M.

Your fingers move steadily across the keyboard, the gentle tapping the only sound besides the occasional rustle of paper behind you. Your code is coming together — slowly, stubbornly, like a puzzle with pieces that resist being found until just the right moment. Your eyes sting a little, but your brain’s still running, still chasing logic through the loops.

Across the room, Woozi sits hunched over his desk, headphones loosely hanging around his neck, a pencil tapping lightly against a notebook filled with scribbles only he can decipher. A soft glow from his desk lamp paints the slope of his nose and the curve of his cheek in gold. His laptop screen illuminates bars of audio waves, tiny dots on a timeline, the heartbeat of whatever melody he’s birthing tonight.

He doesn’t look tired.

You don’t say anything, and neither does he. You don’t need to.

It’s been this way for the past few hours — maybe longer. You’d both drifted into your respective work zones sometime after midnight, playlists overlapping, snacks forgotten on the table between you, the room growing still as the rest of the world fell asleep without either of you noticing.

Now, at 3:41 A.M., it’s just you two and your projects and the quiet hum of comfort that lingers between people who don’t need to fill the silence to feel close.

Woozi shifts in his seat, stretching one arm overhead with a little groan. The chair creaks. You glance over your shoulder at him.

He meets your eyes for a second. No smile, no words. Just the soft recognition that you’re still here. He nods once. You nod back.

He goes back to his melody.

You go back to your code.

The lamp beside your desk flickers for a second. You tap it gently, and the light steadies. Woozi notices but doesn’t comment — just quietly pulls the blanket draped over the couch and tosses it toward you without looking away from his screen. It lands half on your head, half on your laptop. You blink at it, then tug it down and wrap it around your shoulders with a huff that makes him smirk faintly.

It smells like him. Soft detergent and a little like coffee.

Another hour passes. Maybe more.

At some point, Woozi gets up, walking barefoot and quiet toward the kitchen. The fridge hums. He returns a moment later with two cold water bottles, one of which he places silently next to your elbow. You murmur a soft “Thanks,” not bothering to look up from the lines of code you’re debugging. He doesn’t respond, just rustles back into his chair with the kind of peace that says he didn’t do it for praise.

Outside, the sky is still dark, but it’s the kind of dark that’s about to be broken — a soft hint of something bluish grey at the edge of the window. Dawn is flirting with the horizon.

You finally push back from your desk and stretch, groaning with a satisfying crack of your spine. Woozi’s pencil has been replaced by a midi controller. His headphones are on now, bobbing slightly to a beat you can’t hear, fingers tapping keys, head tilted. You could watch him like this forever — so quietly brilliant, so wrapped up in his own world, but still so tethered to yours.

Your chair rolls slightly as you stand up and pad over to him. You don’t say anything. You just lean down and rest your chin on the top of his head. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pause — just reaches up absently and laces his fingers through yours where your hand drapes down.

A few seconds pass. Then a quiet, raspy whisper:

“Almost done.”

You nod against his hair, then yawn.

“You should sleep,” he adds gently.

“I will,” you mumble. “You too.”

He doesn’t argue. Just squeezes your fingers once and keeps working.

Eventually, you crawl onto the couch, blanket and all, and lie facing his direction. You leave the lamp on — he doesn’t like working in the dark.

Somewhere around 4:20 A.M., you fall asleep to the soft clicks of his keyboard and the muffled melody of a song only he knows the ending to.

He’ll join you later. Maybe in ten minutes, maybe in two hours.

But it doesn’t matter.

You were together. Working. Dreaming. Existing.

In the same space. In the same silence.

And that was enough.

🌸 Masterlist 🌸

[lxzy-bxby]

Dessert First

Husband!Leon Kennedy × Fem!Reader

Summary/TL;DR: Your husband just cannot handle going on a gathering without a taste of your pussy beforehand. WC: 1,685 CW&TW: 18+ MDNI ♡ Cunnilingus (oral fem!receiving) ♡ Pussy pronouns ♡ Explicit language ♡ No proofread ♡ No use of Y/N Tags: @writingwisterias | Taglist

~ ♡ ~

“Do we really have to go?”

Leon literally pouts as you tighten his bow tie around his neck. His thirty-eight more felt like eight. It would be irritating—if it wasn’t so cute.

“What do you think?” You huff, making sure you tied it not too strong. “It’s your best friends’ wedding anniversary.”

He doesn’t even blink. “So?”

You give him a look—the one he calls ‘the look’. For all many years you two have been married, he got it often enough to learn how to soften you back to mercy.

And you know all his tricks, too.

So when he leans over, a picture of innocence that is seemingly trying to kiss you, you gently push him off. “No,” you say sternly, pointing to your lips. “That’s Dior Addict.”

Leon grunts at the way you warn him, as if that small tube worthy of fortune wasn’t bought off his money.  “Yeah right, I was the only addict on your lips before you even got this thing.”

You chuckle. “No, seriously, we definitely do not want to smudge it. So aim somewhere else.”

He grumbles some more, but eventually settles on pecking your cheekbone. Distinguished mix of foundation and blush, AKA perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass once again, fills Leon’s nostrils.

“You’re overdoin’ it, don’tcha think? It’s not like it’s our anniversary. And, by the way, I doubt you put that much effort into it back then.” Leon scoffs. Frankly speaking, he’s just saying it to be a grump—he never minds you wearing makeup as long as you’re not doing it to hide your insecurities, the very same ones he has grown to adore. Because Leon absolutely loves your bare face. There’s nothing better than seeing it first thing in the morning, your eyes hazy and cheeks slightly flushed for whatever reason. Or last thing in the night before drifting to sleep, having the reason he wakes up engraved to his mind. Or seeing it somewhere in between—in between lunch and dinner and in between his knees, his cum clinging on to your cheeks, his cock twitching next to your lips, spurting off some more ropes of viscous salty seed, painting the corner of your mouth silver.

Thinking about it was a bad idea. The worst, actually. Leon’s cock twitched with interest, his suit pants initially being too tight. With semi, they are insanely tight.

Half-hard just from reminiscing. See-through dress you are wearing did not help, as well.

Okay, it isn’t see-through. Quite modest, actually—midi, crimson, zero body parts exposed.

But Leon? Leon is seeing right through it.

He, for a fact, does know that you aren't wearing any bra because the straps would be visible and you hate when that happens. So if Leon does as much as whisper in your ear about how bad he wants to bend you over and slam into your cunt from the back until your slick drips down your thighs, he will see the way your nipples will get hard with arousal. 

Leon also knows you got those white panties on. The ones that get wet especially fast and noticeable—something he learned from experience. As soon as he pulls your skirt up, he can see a big wet patch vividly, thin fabric soaked through with your slick and giving him so many ideas about what to do—rub his cock on your pussy, feeling your chubby labia part as his swollen head nudges it; spreading precum and mixing it with your lube, causing saturated gusset of your underwear to cling to your rotund cunt.

Or, best-case scenario—delve into your wet cunt and feast like it’s his last.

Leon throws a glance towards the clock on the wall. Seven thirty three. Drive to the restaurant would take like fifteen minutes.

And even though he wishes he could eat you out for eternity, he thinks that he’ll be done on time—or more like he thinks that you’ll be done on time.

The question is, how do you ask your wife to let you eat her out?

“Ya in the mood for a head to go?”

Like that, for example.

You blink three or four times, staring at him as if he told you he doesn’t wanna hit it raw—because he’s a Plan B type of person.

“You expect me to suck you off with this lipstick on?” You point to your lips for a millionth time, eyeing him annoyedly.

Leon raises his eyebrows. “You wound me, babe. If you think that by suggesting head I mean I’m wanting you to do it… then I treat my woman wrong.”

You scoff. “What, you mean you want to eat me now? Right now? Are you insane?”

“More like pussy-drunk,” Leon shrugs, smoothing an imaginary crease on the fabric of his sleeves. “Come on, wifey. You’re the one who’s insane for declining the offer. And I’m… very impatient, y’know.”

To prove his words, Leon’s hands start tugging on the hemline of your dress. Before you can tug him off, his head already disappears under the skirt.

“Ever had a standing orgasm?” Leon muffles against your skin, making you strain your ears to hear him and your legs to keep standing. “Wonderin’ if I can make you come just with my mouth.”

“Leon!” You squeal, looking down at the obscene bulge of the fabric in between your legs. The bastard just smirks—not like you’d see it anyway—and next thing you feel is a trail of kisses upwards to your inner thigh.

“Kennedy, we’re running late!” You all but hiss, biting on your lip.

He lets out a low chuckle. “Okay, okay. I’ll speed up. No need to get all fussy.”

So he does speed up. Leon clenches his teeth around the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down. And you’re too weak of a woman to miss the show that made your cunt gush relentlessly.

You lift the hem of your dress to your waist, exposing Leon who already successfully dragged your panties down to your knees.

“Peek-a-boo,” He grins smugly, nuzzling his head against your bare mound. “Pussy so sweet, gon’ have a sugar rush.”

You automatically spread your thighs a bit wider, making room for him. Leon fits there perfectly like he was made for worshipping your pussy, not wasting any more time and parting your folds with his calloused fingers just for the sake of it.

“Wet,” He states proudly as if it wasn’t obvious at this point. “I like ‘em wet.”

Leon doesn’t do any more talking. He licks a first stripe between your folds, slow and deliberate, smearing your arousal, savouring it on his tongue. You let out a moan, and so does he. Leon nuzzles your pubis; then presses a kiss directly to your swollen bud.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, the ones you spent so much time smoothing out half an hour ago. Now you forget all about it, pulling him closer, making him bury his whole face in your cunt.

“That’s right, baby,” Leon rasps, voice muffled against your pussy. “Suffocate me with her.”

And then he starts to munch so sloppy the sound echoes through the bathroom. Leon seals his lips around your aching clit, sucking it in, loud and messy with it as his prickly stubble only adds to the sensation.

You feel like every flicker of your tongue milks you for more juices. You look down to see his glistening chin, the view making you tug on his hair. He doesn’t stop, not for a minute, licking your clit like a man possessed.

“So sweet,” Leon mumbles into your clit, chomping loudly, “My favourite… dessert.” He accentuates the last word with a soft nip.

You moan stupidly and uncontrollably, feeling your thighs shake. You desperately search for any support, digging your fingers into the countertop, hoping it would help you to keep yourself on your feet.

And Leon does everything to keep those knees buckling, his tongue moving to your fluttering opening, delving deep inside your tightness. You hold onto his hair for dear life as his tongue fucks your gummy walls, pushing in and out, stopping plunging into you only to lavish your soaked cunt with wet kisses.

Your knees weaken at the feel of his tongue swirling and prodding that deep. Your hips buckle towards, urging him on while he eagerly laps up on your wetness and nibbles on your clit with redoubled efforts.

“Cream for me, baby,” Leon groans, flicking the tip of his tongue against your bud. “Need to feel that sweet pussy clench around my tongue.”

You need it as bad as he does as you keep mewling desperately, and by the time his tongue makes his way back into your hole, you fall apart.

With a modulating moan, you come right into his mouth, feeling him slurping on your juices, eager to swallow every last drop of your luscious essence.

He looks up at you, his whole smiling face shining with your nectar, stubble practically saturated, and can’t help the shakiness of your legs.

Before your mind registers it, Leon is already up on his legs, hands going to your waist to stabilize you, making you lean your back against the sink. You encircle his torso, waiting for the sudden dizziness to pass.

You suddenly remember that you need to keep a disapproving facade in front of him for pulling that stunt. Regaining what remained of your composure, you cleared your throat.

“My dress is all wrinkly now.” You frown, pulling the skirt down and attempting to smooth crumpled fabric.

“Mhm. And panties are all drenched.” Leon grins shamelessly, leaning down to tug them off you. 

With a roll of your eyes, you step over them, leaving them abandoned on the floor. He is right, of course—they’re definitely… moist. Just another day of being married to Leon.

That’s the exact thought chanting in your mind as you see the sudden devious glint in his eyes.

“Now that I think ‘bout it, hmm… You ever been out with no panties on?”

~ ♡ ~

[sturnioz]

shy!matt finds himself struggling when you show off your new outfits.

"what do you think about this one?" you ask, stepping into your bedroom in your new skirt, admittedly a lot longer than your usual style, but with the cold, crisp air settling in, you wanted to be as warm, prepared and cute as possible — choosing a pretty midi skirt with delicate floral patterns that sway gently with your movements.

matt lounges on your bed, his back propped against the headboard, one leg casually crossed over the other, and he's absorbed in his phone, scrolling through his social media feed, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his face.

when he hears your voice, his eyes dart up, and he tilts his head to the side, taking in your look. a soft giggle escapes his lips, breaking the momentary silence.

"you um, look like a librarian or somethin'," he says, and when you respond with an unimpressed look, he fidgets, his smile turning sheepish as he backtracks, "a comfy librarian?"

"yeah, yeah, whatever." you murmur, tugging off your skirt with a huff and tossing it aside. matt chuckles softly, but he respects your privacy, returning his focus to his phone as he settles more comfortably on your bed, waiting for you to try on the next skirt.

the next one is shorter than what you were expecting — but paired with thick tights or even some thigh-highs, you're almost positive that the length of the skirt and the chilly air wouldn't be too much of a problem.

you smooth the black fabric with your hands, flattening out the creases as you gently call out matt's name, eager to hear his thoughts. when he looks up, his phone slips from his fingers, tumbling to the bed as his gaze locks onto your bare thighs. his mouth falls open in stunned surprise, shyness crawling over his features.

your eyebrows knit together at his odd behaviour, waiting for his approval or disapproval, but then you notice it — the unmissable tent in his pants.

"it's good, s'great," matt chokes out, his voice strained as he clears his throat. he rubs his clammy palms on his thighs, desperately averting his gaze to a random spot on the wall as he swallows thickly. "yeah, uh, that one — it's um, yeah.. s'nice."

"nice?" you repeat, a smirk spreading across your face as you glance down at the skirt, playfully tugging at the hem. "don't you think it's a little.. short?"

"short—yeah, s'kinda.. short. a little — yeah," matt stutters, nodding rapidly while blinking as if trying to clear his head. he reaches for your pillow behind him, laying it over his lap, fingers tugging at the pillow cover as though it could hide his embarrassment. "but it — it's pretty, y'know. nice."

you can't help but laugh softly, enjoying the way he fumbles for words, his shyness only making you feel more confident. you take a step closer to the bed, leaning forward slightly.

"pretty, hm? you like it?"

matt's eyes widen, and he shifts beneath the pillow awkwardly, his gaze flickering back to your legs for just a moment before he quickly looks away again. "yeah — yeah, i like it. s'just different, y'know? you... i like it."

you lean in more, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper. "you can look, matt... it's okay."

he stills for a moment, caught off guard. then, with a subtly shift of his hips against the pillow, his eyes slowly drift back to you, cheeks dusted a faint pink that deepens with every passing second.

but he doesn't let his gaze linger for long as he snaps it away, stammering, "yeah, no, m'good. m'soooo good."

"you sure?" you tease, biting down on your plush lip. "because to me it seems like you're having a hard time focussing."

matt lets out a choked groan, his tongue rolling across his cheek as he shakes his head, fully aware of your innuendo and teasing tone. he slips further down on the bed, rolling onto his side to turn away from you, burying his flustered face in the blankets.

"can't believe you're fuckin' doin' this to me.." he mumbles into the fabric, voice muffled but laced with a mix of embarrassment and shyness.

you grin to yourself at the scene, making a mental note to wear the skirt more often — especially if you're going to get a reaction like that.

© STURNIOZ

[foxybrownsugababe]

𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢��𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Franklin Saint x Black!OC

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - In which a promised night out reveals more to two unexpected parties.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mature themes, implied tension, gossip, emotional restraint, let me know if I’m missing something

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - I’m not a slow pace kind of girl at all, this is the third chapter and things are already getting a lil hot….but I’m writing this to get my fix of Mr.Idris, so trust, I will be doing that the way I see fit! I hope yall like it though.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 12,081 +

It had been a week or two since Kimora and Franklin really talked—nothing major, just life getting in the way. Between work, family, and everything in between, there wasn’t much room for anything else. They still greeted each other when they crossed paths—quick nods, soft “hey’s,” polite smiles. Nothing deep. Nothing that implied they were anything more than neighbors, because they weren’t. Not really.

That was until tonight. But that’s a later topic.

It was the weekend, in a way. Friday night. Her parents were finally taking a much-needed date night, and Mason was spending the evening at his girlfriend’s place. That left Kimora with the whole house to herself and no excuse to stay in.

That how she found herself at the mall with Lexie. It was buzzing with life that afternoon—families weaving through department store aisles, teens huddled in food court booths, sneaker scuffs echoing off the tiled floors, the soft hum of mall music blending with chatter and the occasional ring from the payphones. Posters of Aaliyah and Boyz II Men hung in store windows, and the air smelled like soft pretzels, popcorn, and perfume samples.. Kimora had a mission, and she was determined to stick to it: find her mama the perfect birthday gift. Something elegant, useful, maybe a little sentimental. Kimora clutched her purse tight under her arm, determined not to get distracted. “I’m only here to find Mama a birthday gift,” she reminded Lexie as they passed a Claire’s bursting with glittery barrettes and chokers. “Nothing else.”

Lexie, however, had a different goal entirely.

“I’m just saying,” Lexie called over her shoulder as she stopped in front of a window display for a trendy boutique, “You came all the way out here, might as well grab somethin’ cute. You always talkin’ about how you don’t got nothin’ to wear, but you pass up every sale like you allergic to spending money.”

Kimora rolled her eyes, shifting her purse on her shoulder. “Because I came here to get a gift, not act like I got money just to some like that.” She coffee softly. Lexie turned to her with a tried look. “You do have money to spend like that, little miss spoiled. You’re the youngest and only daughter of your rich ass family.”

“We’re not rich.” Kimora stated.

“You see how that’s the o my thing you took from that? Right.” Lexie scoffed and pushed open the glass door anyway, motioning for Kimora to follow. “One dress won’t kill your budget. And I know you got it like that—you just like being responsible and boring.”

Kimora grinned despite herself, letting Lexie lead her inside the store filled with sleek racks and soft lighting. “Being responsible isn’t boring.” She argued as she glanced at a display of silk tops. “It’s called being an adult. Try it sometime.”

Lexie waved her off. “Whatever. I’m just trying to keep you from showing up to places lookin’ like you came from work when we not at work.” She said, giving the girl a once over.

That earned her a light smack on the arm and a shap look from Kimora, even though she was laughing. “This is a sweater set, not a uniform. And you’re the one always talkin’ ‘bout savin’ for bigger things.”Lexie shrugged. “Yeah, but that don’t mean I gotta look broke doin’ it.” She grinned, and the playful energy stayed between them as they drifted through the aisles. Lexie grabbed things off hangers left and right—a velvet crop top, a body-hugging midi dress, a faux leather mini skirt—while Kimora kept her arms folded and her wallet zipped tight, eyeing a silky button-down blouse for a moment before stepping away.

“I still need to check JCPenney.” She said. “Mama mentioned wanting a new robe last week, and I think they got that soft kind she likes.”

Lexie waved her off, one hand already full of hangers. “A robe? Girl, she’s gonna be forty-five, not eighty-five. Get her something fly.”

Kimora ignored her and made her way across the mall, Lexie eventually falling back in step beside her after ditching half the clothes she’d picked. They cut through the beauty section of a department store, where women in red lipstick and blazer skirts offered paper perfume strips to anyone who passed.

Lexie caught a whiff of something floral and spun around. “Hold up. That smell good. What’s that?”

Kimora leaned over the counter. “Ooh, that’s the one I was tellin’ you about. It’s by Dior.” She grinned.

Lexie squinted at the fancy cursive on the bottle. “You know they ain’t cheap.”

“I ain’t buyin’ it,” Kimora said, spraying a bit on the white card. “I just want to see if it smells like Mama. She like powdery scents. Clean ones.”

Lexie took a sniff and tilted her head. “Mmm… that’s like Sunday morning.” She said before taking another sniff. “Han picked flowers before church, and don’t touch my tablecloth.” She said and Kimora chuckled, holding the strip close to her own nose. “Exactly.”Kimora smiled. Her mom was picky, but it wasn’t about brand names or big price tags—it was about the little things. The ones that told her someone had paid attention.

“Ooooh, girl, come smell this!” Lexie called, waving Kimora over with exaggerated urgency. “I’m not tryna spend $140 on a scent I’m gon’ wear once a month.”

“That’s why I’m smelling it for free,” Lexie shot back. “I swear, you act like we 40 and got mortgages.”

Kimora smirked and stepped beside her, reaching for one of the testers. “That Dior one wasn’t bad though,” She said, spritzing it on a card and waving it gently in the air. “It got that powdery kinda warmth. Like… fresh laundry.”

Lexie leaned in to sniff and nodded with approval. “And it smells expensive. But like… soft expensive. Not ‘I sell lashes out my trunk’ expensive.”

They both cracked up, the easy laughter settling between them like old times. They were just about to head toward the checkout when Lexie paused, her brows lifting as she spotted someone a few counters over. “Who is that?”

Kimora looked up to see a man with neat cornrows and a trimmed goatee leaned casually against the counter, talking to a salesgirl. He wasn’t dressed loud—just a white tee, some dark jeans, and spotless sneakers—but there was something sharp about him. Like he didn’t need to talk much to get his point across.

As if sensing eyes on him, he glanced over—and when he saw Lexie, he grinned.

“Damn,” Lexie muttered, straightening herself just a little.

He walked over, two of his boys trailing behind at a distance, hands in their pockets, peering around the mall with their head on a swivel.

“Wassup, Ma, how you doin’? You from around here?” He asked Lexie, giving her a once-over with a grin that said he already knew the answer. “I might be.” She said, arms crossed, trying to keep it cute. “Who’s askin’?”

“Name’s Leon.” He said. “My people just opened a spot not far from here. New club. Thought you might wanna stop by.”

Lexie gave him a skeptical look, though she was clearly intrigued. “And how do I know you not just saying that? I ain’t heard about no new club.” She questioned as she crossed her arms.

Leon’s smirk widened as if he found her challenge cute. “I don’t have a reason to lie to you, mama. They just got it up last week. It was being renovated, closed for a hot minute.” He said, licking his lips.

That’s when Kimora spoke up, her curiosity getting the better of her as she stood behind Lexie, holding the bottle of Dior in her hand. “Oh, you mean the old joint behind the laundromat? That’s been boarded up since summer? Southside Peach?”

Leon’s eyes flicked to her, his eyes skimming her face before dropping briefly to take in the rest of her. A glint of interest sparked behind his lashes. “Yeah.” He said with a nod. “It’s under new ownership now. Called Candy Paint now.“ He looked back at Lexie. “You should come to the door.” He said to Lexie, a little smirk on his lips as he gave her a slow once-over. “Tell them Leon said let you in. They’ll let you right in. Should be no problem.”

Lexie raised a brow. “You sure about that? I ain’t tryna stand outside no club like a dummy.”

“You won’t.” He said, stepping closer just a bit. “You—beautiful—and your pretty homegirl too. Y’all should come through. See what it’s about. Speak to a fella.” He gave them both a last look, tongue wetting his lips in a way that made it clear he wasn’t shy about his intentions. “If not… I’ll catch y’all somewhere else.”

With that, he turned and walked off, rejoining his crew and leaving behind a silence filled with perfume and surprise.

Kimora blinked after him, a little stunned. She wasn’t used to being hit on like that—so boldly. So confidently. All she could really do was stand there, unsure if she was flattered or caught off guard.

Lexie turned slowly, arms still folded, eyes narrowing as she looked Kimora up and down. Then, without missing a beat, she said, “We’re going to that club.”

Before Kimora could argue, Lexie grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the next store. “Come on. We need outfits.”

“What?” Kimora asked.

“Girl, we are not missing this.” She said, already pulling Kimora toward the nearest boutique. “You heard him. New club, new energy, and you saw the way he looked at us.”

Kimora let out a soft laugh, still trying to shake off the encounter. “He was lookin’ at you. I was just standing there like a third wheel with a perfume strip.”

“Please,” Lexie scoffed. “He called you pretty too, don’t act like you ain’t clock that. You know what that means?”

Kimora rolled her eyes, though a small, amused smile tugged at her lips. “That we gotta go spend money we wasn’t supposed to spend?”

Lexie tugged her into a cute store, the loud music from the speakers almost drowning them out. “Exactly.”

Inside, it felt like stepping into a fashion capsule curated by every cool, grown woman—silky slip dresses in rich jewel tones, cropped leather jackets, sheer blouses with lace trim, and high-waisted trousers that hugged in all the right places.

Lexie made a beeline for the rack of halter tops, her eyes locking onto a pink satin one with a low cowl neck and a delicate tie that dipped low at the back. It was bold, grown, and perfect for the kind of night that didn’t start till after midnight. “This right here?” She said, holding it up to her chest. “This is a ‘you gon’ regret not speakin’ to me twice’ top.”

Kimora looked around, her brow furrowed. “I don’t even know what I’d wear to the club. I wasn’t prepared for none of this today.” She shrugged. “I done even know the vibe of the place.”

Lexie snorted. “You already got the body, Ki, you don’t gotta do too much. Just do enough.”

Kimora picked up a black satin mini skirt, hesitated, then tucked it over her arm. “You think this with a crop top would work?”

Lexie’s eyes lit up. “See, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

From there, it was game on. They bounced between stores like they were on a timer—Contempo Casuals, DEB, even a quick detour into Wilsons Leather to feel on some jackets they definitely couldn’t afford. Lexie tried on three outfits, finally settling on a skin-tight spaghetti strap dress with a thigh-high slit in a deep plum that hugged her like it was made for her. She turned to Kimora with a satisfied smirk.

“I’m about to break hearts in this.”

Kimora stepped out in a black ribbed crop top with short sleeves and silver buttons down the middle, paired with the satin mini and strappy block heels she already had at home.

Lexie eyed her up and down. “Yup. You look like a problem. Like one of them girls that walk in and got every man adjusting his collar.”

Kimora turned to the mirror, smoothing her skirt down as she looked at herself. “I don’t know… it’s cute, but I don’t want to look like I’m tryin’ too hard.”

Lexie leaned against the dressing room wall. “You not. You look grown. That man at the counter gon’ wish he’d stared a little longer.”

They both laughed, walking up to the cashier with their selections, trying not to look at the growing total. As they left the store, shopping bags in hand, Lexie looped her arm through Kimora’s. “Now we just need some lip gloss, a cassette with slow jams for pre-game, and somebody sober to drive.”

Kimora then rolled her eyes. “I’ll drive us back, Lex, damn.”

Lexie grinned. “Perfect.” She cheesed as they walked off, bags swinging, already buzzing with anticipation.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

It wasn’t long before the car slowed in front of Kimora’s house, tires crunching lightly over the gravel. The sun was now behind the horizon , the last peaks of lights waving them goodbye from afar. Lexie leaned over the steering wheel, her bangles clinking against the leather as she parked.

“You good?” She asked, glancing over.

Kimora nodded, arms already full with shopping bags and the small box for her mother. “Yeah, I’m good. You sure you don’t wanna come in?” She asked, pointing over to her home.

Lexie shook her head, already unbuckling. “Nah, girl. I gotta go home and beat this face. My palette’s there and I need time to marinate. But I’ll be back in a couple hours. Don’t be late to get dressed!”

“I won’t,” Kimora laughed, pushing the car door open with her shoulder.

Lexie waited until Kimora made it to the porch before she pulled off, music already blasting through the rolled-down windows. The echo of her engine faded down the block, leaving Kimora alone under the porch light, her arms aching with bags and her heels clicking against the wooden steps.

Balancing everything on one arm, she started digging through her purse with the other.

“What the hell…” She murmured, brow furrowed as her fingers combed through lip gloss tubes, receipts, gum wrappers—everything except her damn keys. She crouched down and shuffled through the shopping bags next, even checking inside the box with her mother’s gift, though she knew better.

Still no keys.

“Fuck.” She hissed, louder now, as she dropped her bags with a thud and sat down on the porch swing. Her head sank into her hands, the soft creak of the chains and the distant sounds of the neighborhood filling the quiet frustration swelling in her chest. She took a deep breath, then another, trying not to get too hot too fast.

After a moment, the realization hit her like a slap.

She’d left the keys sitting on the kitchen counter. She was too busy talking to her mom about her plans for the day that afternoon, but was distracted thinking about the woman’s birthday gift, as well as simply being used to someone being home to unlock the door.

“Shit.” She muttered, leaning back on the swing and staring out at the street. It was full-on nighttime now. A few porch lights glowed, some windows still flickered with television static, while others dimmed one by one. The air was warm, still sticky with the last traces of the day’s heat.

She blinked slowly, her eyes drifting toward the house to her left.

Franklin’s house.

Though the lights were off upstairs, she could see a faint, warm glow coming from one of the downstairs windows. She sat there, chewing her lip, her eyes on that window. For a second she hesitated—but just a second.

Then she was up.

With a soft grunt, she tossed her purse strap over her shoulder, grabbed her mother’s gift, and hopped down from the porch and hopped the fence instead of cutting through the side gate that separated their homes, just like she had done that morning weeks ago. She moved quickly across the grass, her sandals barely making a sound as she stepped up onto his porch.

She took in a small breath before she knocked gently. A few taps. Just once.

Her knuckles met wood, and then—silence. And then more silence.

She sighed, already turning to leave. “Of course.” She whispered to herself. One foot hit the first step.

And then the door creaked open.

She turned, eyes widening just a little.

There stood Franklin. Dressed in a casual dark button-down and khakis, looking freshly showered and relaxed, with that same calm expression she couldn’t ever seem to read all the way through. But tonight, there was a softness to it. Like he didn’t mind being caught off guard by her.

“Hey.” He said, voice low and almost amused, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small smile.

Kimora smiled too, a little embarrassed, a little grateful. “Hi.” Kimora said, her voice soft as her arms crossed behind her back.

They stood there for a moment, just staring. The glow from inside his house spilled across the porch and lit her face, casting a faint golden hue on her cheekbones and catching the gloss on her lips. Franklin looked down at her, not saying a word just yet, his face unreadable, and Kimora suddenly became hyper-aware of how long the silence had stretched.

“Uh… sorry if I disturbed you or anything.” She mumbled, breaking eye contact.

“Oh—nah, it’s fine. I wasn’t doing anything,” Franklin said quickly, straightening a little as he shifted in the doorway. His voice was calm as ever, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Interest.

Kimora adjusted her footing, looking at him. “Well… my keys are locked inside my house, and I was wondering if I could use your phone to call Lexie?” She asked.

“Of course.” He said without hesitation, stepping aside and nodding toward the inside. “Come on in.”

“Thank you,” She breathed, brushing past him as she stepped inside. The citrusy scent of her lemon perfume trailed behind her, and Franklin clenched his jaw slightly as his eyes shut briefly, exhaling through his nose. He shut the door gently and followed her toward the living room, where the dim amber lamp lit up the couch and a little side table.

“The phone’s right there.” He said, gesturing.

Kimora rushed to it and picked up the beige rotary phone. She brought the receiver to her ear and began to dial Lexie’s home number from memory, her finger slipping into the round slots.

But then she paused.

The dial hovered above the last number. Her shoulders slumped a little as her hand dropped back to her side, the phone still pressed to her cheek.

“What’s the problem?” Franklin asked from behind her, folding his arms across his chest.

“It’s no use,” Kimora sighed and gently set the phone back in its cradle. “Lexie’s probably not even home yet. She left to go get ready, and her folks don’t even know we’re going out tonight. And I don’t wanna be the one to tell ‘em.”

Franklin nodded, slowly stepping a little closer. “Makes sense.”

“Everyone else is busy. I can’t tell her I’m not gonna make it… can’t even get ready for the the party.” She huffed and let out a breath that puffed her cheeks before collapsing onto the couch. “Ugh, and I left my clothes outside.” She groaned, throwing her head back before springing up again. “I gotta go grab them before someone snatches my stuff.”

“You can get ready here,” Franklin said casually, but his words stopped her in her tracks.

She paused mid-step and turned to look at him. “Huh?” She asked, a bit genuinely since she couldn’t quite hear him but also a little shocked if she heard him correctly,

“You said you had your clothes with you, right?” He asked. “You can just get ready here. Bathroom’s clean. Ain’t no big deal.” He shrugged,

Kimora blinked, surprised. “Really?” She asked, her voice rising just a little with hope.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his mouth curving into that soft little smirk he wore sometimes.

A gasp escaped her as she lit up with joy. “Oh my goodness, Franklin!” She gushed, rushing over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck without thinking.

The sudden contact caught him off guard—his hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a beat before settling gently on her hips, his fingers warm and grounding against the thin fabric of her dress. “You don’t even know how much this means.” She said sincerely. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s cool,” He chuckled quietly, feeling the way she melted into the hug just for a second.

And that second felt like more.

Kimora’s heart was fluttering now, thudding loud in her ears. The contact, the scent of his cologne—woodsy and clean—so close to her face, his voice low and near her ear… it was all suddenly too much and not enough. She drew in a sharp breath, her chest rising against his. Slowly, she pulled back just a little, her arms still draped over his shoulders as she looked up at him. Her eyes met his and held them there.

She started to pull away further, suddenly aware of how intimate it all had become. Franklin, as if on instinct, gave her waist a gentle pat before letting his hands fall.

They stepped back from each other, the air still thick with something neither of them could quite name—but both of them felt.

And for the first time in a long while, Franklin couldn’t help but smile for real.

“Go grab your stuff.” He said, voice still low. “I’ll clear the bathroom for you.”

Kimora nodded, her heart still fluttering as she made her way back to the porch. “Ahh!” She squealed with delight, darting back across the lawn to her place. Her sandals slapped against the grass as she bounded over to the fence, jumping against it with the careless energy of someone still high off a small but important win. The night air hit her skin, cool against her flushed face, but her mind was still stuck inside—still stuck on the feeling of Franklin’s arms, the tone of his voice, and the way he looked at her like.

Franklin stepped out onto the porch after her, watching with a faint smirk playing on his lips. His brow lifted slightly as he observed her shimmy halfway over the fence and then almost trip as she walked up her porch and grab the bags she’d left behind. The girl had no business being that graceful and that clumsy all at once.

He walked over, shaking his head a little but unable to look away. “Damn.” He muttered to himself, just low enough that the night could swallow it.

By the time he reached the fence, Kimora was bent over grabbing her tote and the little shopping bag she’d left on the porch. Her shorts lifted just enough to reveal the soft curve of her back. Franklin quickly looked away, pretending to fix the cuff of his sleeve.

“Here.” offered, stepping forward and gently taking the bags from her hands when she walked back over, before she could hop the fence again.

Kimora glanced up at him, her cheeks flushed from rushing, and gave a small smile. “Thank you.” She said, softer now—less excited and more… intimate? At least, that how he felt by the effects of her tone.

Franklin didn’t say anything, just dipped his head in a short nod before turning back toward the house. Kimora climbed the fence again, a little more carefully this time, as he held the bags steady for her on the other side.

Back inside the house, the air was warm and quiet—softer than outside, like stepping into another world entirely. Franklin led her down a narrow hallway, their footsteps muted against the worn carpet runner. He stopped just across from what looked like a study—glass-paned doors slightly ajar, papers scattered across the desk inside—and opened the door to the downstairs bathroom.

“Here you are.” He said, setting the bags down gently inside.

Kimora stepped in behind him, eyes darting around the decently sized bathroom. Cream tiles, soft lighting, and other intricate and fancy details. It smelled faintly of soap and something else—a cologne lingering in the space.

She turned toward the doorway, where he still stood, leaning a shoulder lightly against the frame.

“Thank you so much, again, Franklin.” Her voice was quieter now, a little breathy. “Really.”

He shrugged one shoulder, though his gaze stayed steady on her. “It’s no big deal, Kimora.” He said, and the way he said her name sent a little ripple through her chest. “Just… have fun.”

He offered her that signature half-smile then—the kind that made people nervous because you never quite knew what he was thinking. Kimora leaned against the edge of the doorway, her fingers gripping the trim lightly as she looked up at him. The space between them felt heavier again, thick with the kind of tension they’d danced around all evening.

There it was again.

That stare.

That lingering moment where neither of them moved, where it felt like the world dipped into slow motion just to give them a beat too long in each other’s eyes.

Franklin’s gaze swept her slowly, not in a rude way, but measured—like he was taking in all the little details of her, memorizing the way she looked standing in his hallway, holding onto her nerves and excitement at the same time.

“I’ll be over here.” He said finally, nodding toward the study. “Catching up on some business.”

“Yeah…” Kimora breathed, not fully moving just yet. “Okay.”

They peeled away from one another slowly, like something inside them didn’t want to let the moment go. Kimora slipped inside the bathroom and gently closed the door behind her. Franklin crossed the hall and pushed one of the glass study doors open, but left it cracked—whether for air or for her, it wasn’t clear.

Inside the bathroom, Kimora stood still for a moment, leaning back against the closed door, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her heart was racing. She touched her lips absently, then smoothed her clothes down with trembling fingers. The scent of soap and tile cleaner mixing faintly with her own floral body spray. She paused for a moment, then let out a soft breath as she dug into her bags on the counter. With practiced hands, she unzipped the small makeup pouch she always carried—her “just in case” kit that never failed her—and pulled out a compact mirror, a tube of brown lip liner, and the soft mauve lipstick she swore by.

The mirror lights were soft overhead as she leaned in, touching up her lips with precision. Her roller set had settled nicely last night, but it needed styling. She pulled out a few pins and began twisting sections of her soft curls upward into a loose, elegant updo. Her nails clicked gently against the bobby pins as she secured the final curl into place, letting two face-framing tendrils fall forward to soften the look.

And across the hallway, Franklin sat behind the desk in his study, the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating stacks of papers and notebooks spread out before him. He adjusted his reading glasses, tapping the eraser of a pencil against the wood, his eyes scanning numbers he’d already memorized but double-checked out of habit—but his eyes kept drifting back toward the door.

Some deals were clean. Most were not. The money still coming in from the projects needed a wash—he had a few fronts still operating, but one was behind on rent and the other had too many eyes on it.

The music of the house, the tension of the night, the quiet pull between two people who weren’t quite sure where the line was—but were getting dangerously close to crossing it.

And the night was still young.

He rubbed a hand down his face, the weight of the work pressing behind his temples.

Then—

“Franklin?”

His head snapped up, the sound of her voice slipping through the open door like smoke. Soft. Sweet. That same slow melody she always spoke in, like honey dripped on hot cornbread.

He looked up to see her in the bathroom again, leaning over the sink. Her updo was styled now, her dress smoothed out as she touched up her eyeliner. She didn’t even look his way.

“Yeah?” Be answered.

“If you don’t mind me asking…” She paused to check the angle of her blush, dabbing at her cheekbones with a steady hand. “Where’s Lucia?”

Franklin’s fingers hesitated over the corner of a sheet of paper.

“She’s out.” He said, flipping to another page he wasn’t really reading. “Dinner with some of the women from the neighborhood. Something about them wanting to start an HOA.”

“An HOA?” Kimora blinked, eyes going wide in the mirror. She opened the bathroom door a bit more and turned her head to glance across the hallway. “She’s out with Lauren McAllister?” She asked.

Franklin looked up at her again, brows raising slightly.

“Uh… yeah. I think so.”

Kimora gasped, stepping just outside the bathroom now with her mascara wand still in hand. “Franklin, you cannot let those women get their hands on Lucia. They will suck the life and all of the ethnic qualities out of that woman.”

Franklin blinked, sitting back a little in his chair. “What?”

“Lauren McAllister and the rest of her little PTA-HOA-Bring-Your-Own-Botox crew,” Kimora started with a hiss. “They’ve been trying to kick out the Black residents on this side of the block for years.”

She pointed her mascara wand like it was a pointer stick in a classroom. “They’re all mad they live at the front of the block, and want the houses in the back. But majority of these houses? Generational. Been here. And now that Lucia done snagged one back here, they’re either gonna snatch it from under her or get her in on their scheme.”

Franklin gave a dry chuckle. “I can guarantee you Lucia isn’t interested in that kind of thing.”

“Oh, I’m not saying she is,” Kimora said quickly, spinning back toward the bathroom but pausing at the doorway. “But Lauren? Lauren is not the type of woman you want your wife around.”

“Fiancée,” Franklin corrected gently.

“She recently got caught cheating on her husband of fifteen years,” Kimora said without missing a beat, “And they have six kids together.”

Franklin blinked. “Six?”

“Six.” She repeated, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers. “She was sleeping with the yoga instructor.”

Franklin leaned back in his chair, blinking. “Wow.” He mumbled, more so just playing into the young woman’s gossip session instead of actually being that interested.

“I know, right?” Kimora said, crossing her arms now. “Is that the kind of woman you want around your wife?”

“No,” Franklin admitted, chuckling airily. “That is not the kind of woman I want around my fiancée.”

“Exactly.” She turned back toward the bathroom and looked into the mirror, brushing her lashes delicately with the mascara wand. “And if I’m being completely honest with you, Frank—can I call you Frank?”

“No.”

“Well, Frankie.” She continued with a sly smirk in the mirror, “I just don’t like the woman.” She shrugged.

Franklin tried to suppress a grin but failed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, still holding onto a half-filled ledger but no longer reading it. “And why is that?”

Kimora gave a little shrug, as casual as a summer breeze. “She’s a bitch.”

Franklin’s brows shot up. “She’s a bitch?”

“She’s a bitch,” Kimora repeated without flinching. “Always has been. Hates anything that isn’t up to her standards, like she doesn’t live in Bankhead. Her sons are misogynistic assholes who hit on Black girls for some ‘exotic’ thrill. Her daughters wanna be thugs, like they not out here wearing Guess jeans and lying about their curfews.”

Franklin let out a low whistle, watching her in the mirror as she smoothed a bit of setting powder across her jawline.

“And her husband?” Kimora added, lowering her voice just a touch. “I think her husband has been hitting on me since I was about sixteen but I can’t necessarily prove it. It’s just this vide he gives off when we he’s around. You know that vibe?”

Franklin’s face went still, the humor draining from his features just enough to show a sliver of something protective. “Yeah.” He said carefully. “I know that vibe.”

Kimora paused in the mirror, catching his reflection catching hers.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she broke the silence with a small, teasing smile. “So yeah. Just… keep an eye on your girl.”

Franklin nodded, his voice low. “I always do.” He said, staring at her intensely, trying to fight the double meaning that flickered in his mind at his own words.

Kimora’s gaze lingered for a moment more before she turned back to the mirror, eyes soft but steady.

And Franklin, for all his business and numbers, didn’t even remember the papers sitting in front of him.

But he eventually had to go back to. He couldn’t stare at her all evening when he had things to do. So his eyes scrolled through the papers in front of him. Numbers. Notes. Numbers. Notes. The balance of his world was wrapped up in these sheets, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Kimora’s words from earlier still lingered in his head like the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above him.

She’d told him Lauren wasn’t the type of woman he or Lucia should be associating with. Lauren McAllister—PTA president, neighborhood whatever but the things that seemed to stick the most was that she was an all-around snake. Kimora’s assessment of the woman was blunt, but sharp. He wasn’t wrong to be cautious. He wasn’t wrong to protect Lucia.

His fiancée was could be too naive for her own good, and he knew it. That’s what got them in the situation to begin with. This dilemma of a faux marriage since she wanted independence from her psychotic mob family.

But before he could think more on that, the office phone rang, cutting through the silence. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Yo, Franklin!” Leon’s voice came through, loud and clear, like a breath of fresh air after a long day.

“Yeah?” Franklin asked, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his forehead as if he’d already been through too much today.

“I’m gonna need you to pull up to the club tonight, Candy Pain,” Leon said. “We got some fine girls coming through, and you know how it is. A little fun never hurt nobody, right?”

Franklin immediately shook his head, even though Leon couldn’t see him. “Nah, man. I’m not really up for it tonight,” He replied, his voice dismissive but not harsh. “I’ve got business to handle.”

Leon sighed on the other end of the line, clearly not deterred. “Come on, man. I’m telling you, it’s not just about partying this time. I need you to come check out the club, see how the money’s moving now that it’s up and running. We need your eye on it. Business, you know?”

Franklin paused, the flicker of the neon sign outside his window casting shadows across his desk. Business. That was what he was about. That was what he needed to focus on.

“Alright.” He said, relenting, but his tone remained firm, detached. “I’ll come by. But only for the business, Leon. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, yeah, man,” Leon replied, and Franklin could hear the grin in his voice. “I got you, I got you. See you tonight. But aye, I also wanted to say….”

Franklin was leaned back in his chair as he listened to his closest homie talk, just as the bathroom door softly clicked open, and Kimora emerged. His eyes instinctively trailed to her as she stepped out, her figure now transformed.

Her hair was styled into a sophisticated updo, the glossy curls twisting into a neat, elegant shape at the back of her head. The dress she wore was a slinky black slip with delicate spaghetti straps, clung to her frame and swayed gently at her thighs. Vibrant flowers bloomed across the fabric in shades of deep red, violet, and fiery orange, their petals wrapping around her like nature’s own armor. Her earrings—tiny gold hoops shaped like tiny hummingbirds frozen mid-flight—glistened as she turned her head, catching whispers of candlelight. Emerald-green stones circled one of her fingers, and on the other hand, a chunky gold ring gleamed like a secret. She walked in heels that clicked softly on the floor, her black bag tucked neatly under one arm, her presence confident, untouchable.

The dress was short, just enough to be playful but still mature, a perfect balance of sex appeal and sophistication. The thin straps highlighted the grace of her shoulders, and the little black leather handbag she carried was a small but elegant touch that completed the ensemble.

Franklin couldn’t help but stop whatever he was doing. His eyes traced the length of her from the tips of her mules, up the curves of her legs, over her hips, and finally resting on her face. His gaze lingered, slow and deliberate, almost as if he was savoring the sight of her, taking it all in. His breath hitched as his gaze lingered, and he felt a slight heat rise in his chest. It wasn’t just the dress, though that was enough to make any man pause. It was the way she carried herself, the effortless grace, the poise in every movement. She knew she was captivating. The tension in the room thickened as his mouth went dry, his thoughts clouding for a moment.

“Damn…” He muttered, almost under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear.

“What?” He heard a nice say, and that’s when he realized he was still on the phone with Leon. “Uh, yeah, I’ll be there, Leon.” He muttered, cutting the conversation off with the click of the receiver. He didn’t need to hear Leon’s “goodbye” or whatever else. His attention was firmly on the woman in front of him.

Kimora stopped in front of the mirror, adjusting the lipstick in her hand. Franklin stayed rooted to the spot, lost in her presence. He tried to shake himself out of the trance but couldn’t. Kimora stopped what she was doing and turned to face him, the smirk on her lips growing. “Be honest, Frankie. How do I look?”

Franklin sat there, speechless for a beat, his eyes still locked on her. The words didn’t come right away. His gaze slowly drifted up to her face again, his lips parted slightly as he swallowed hard, his eyes following the curves of her body again before slowly meeting her gaze. She was a vision, and his breath hitched. He could feel the air in the room thicken, the tension between them almost palpable. He swallowed hard before he spoke, his voice rougher than he intended. “You look…wow.” He said, his eyes not leaving her figure. “You look good, Kimora.”

Kimora took a small step forward, the heels of her mules clicking softly against the floor. She stood in front of the study’s door, the air between them charged with something unspoken. “Good enough to turn heads tonight?” She asked, a playful grin creeping onto her lips. She hit a few more poses for him, almost too comfortable in her skin. She was feeling herself, the way she always did when she wore something that made her feel like she owned the room.

Franklin’s throat went dry, and he swallowed hard, trying to shake off the haze of desire that clouded his thoughts. His eyes were still fixed on her, his chest tightening with a growing intensity he wasn’t used to. He cleared his throat and forced himself to focus. “I’m sure you always turn heads.” He said, his voice steadier now, though the tension still clung to the air between them like a heavy fog.

“Oh, why thank you, Franklin.” She gushed, crossing her arms lightly over her chest as she assessed him with a look that made Franklin feel like she was reading him. “You look good yourself, you know?” She added with a wink, her tone dripping with playful flirtation.

Franklin’s response was cut short by the sound of a horn honking outside. Kimora glanced down at her watch and her expression shifted to one of mild surprise. “Opp! That’s Lexie, I gotta go.” She didn’t waste any time, grabbing her handbag and rushing toward the door. “Catch you later, Franklin. And again, thank you so much! You’re spectacular, love!” She said over her shoulder as she was already halfway out the door, not even waiting for his response.

Franklin sat frozen for a moment, his eyes still on the door she had just walked out of. His mind was reeling, his body betraying him in the quiet of the room. He could still feel the weight of her presence lingering, the warmth of her figure still fresh in his thoughts. Her voice echoed in his ears, and his body responded to the image of her in that dress, those heels, her confident grace. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he felt his khakis tighten.

“Shit.” He hissed under his breath, his body betraying him as a wave of desire hit him unexpectedly. He was still sitting there, eyes closed for a moment, trying to force the image of her out of his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape it. The memory of Kimora’s curves, her scent, the sound of her heels, all of it lingered in his mind, and his body reacted accordingly.

Franklin’s pulse quickened as he reluctantly peeled his eyes open. His hands were tense as he moved from the desk, trying to distract himself. His gaze fell to the bathroom door she had just left ajar, her bags still scattered across the floor. It was a mess, a little bit, but it was better than the alternative. He knew he couldn’t just leave them there; that would raise too many questions with Lucia. Questions he didn’t even know where to begin to answer.

With a heavy sigh, he bent down and started gathering the shopping bags she had left behind. They were filled with clothes, trinkets, things that were far too personal to leave lying around. He knew if he didn’t handle it, the story would end up being something he’d have to explain later — and he didn’t need any more explanations tonight. So, he took the bags, grumbling under his breath, and made his way to his study.

The closet door creaked open, and Franklin tossed the bags inside, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible due to the lingering scent of her lemon perfume wafting in his nose. But when he placed the clothes Kimora had changed out of onto the shelf, his eyes caught a glimpse of something that made his heart skip. Her undergarments—black lace panties and matching bra with white polka dots and a tiny bow at the center—were still partially visible, tangled in the fabric. Franklin’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t help but stare for a second longer than he should have.

His pulse raced, his mouth dry as he swallowed, snapping himself out of his daze. His hands moved mechanically as he placed the clothes into the wardrobe, but his mind was still consumed by the image. He shut the closet door with a slight snap, trying to regain control of himself as he caught the sight of the tent in his pants.

“Shit.”He muttered again, his voice low, almost lost in the quiet of the room. He exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the desire building in him. But it wasn’t working. Franklin leaned back against the desk, a low groan escaping him as he adjusted himself, still trying to ignore the rising tension in his pants.

Everything about Kimora had him off-balance. She was a temptation he couldn’t seem to avoid, a complication he had yet to sort through. And he knew deep down that tonight was only going to make things worse.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The moment Kimora slams the door shut and buckles her seatbelt, Lexie peels off from the curb with a grin that practically glows in the dark. “Okay, and here the hell are you coming from?“ she asked, glancing over at the girl in her passenger seat. Kimora just sighed, leaning back against the leather with a soft shake of her head. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m glad you said it because we don’t have the time, let’s tune on some music.” Lexie grinned before she twisted the knob to let the radio up, letting the R&B flood from her speakers.

Kimora lets out a soft laugh, looking out the window as the streetlights strobe across her face. Her mind tries to stay in the moment—focus on the bass she can already imagine, the drinks she’ll sip slow, the warmth of bodies under flashing lights—but her thoughts keep snagging on a pair of slow, trailing eyes… and the way Franklin said, “You look good, Kimora.”

She shifts in her seat, pressing her thighs together and shaking the memory from her head.

The glow from the neon signs outside washes over the dashboard—gas stations, liquor stores, the outlines of bodies posted up on the corner like statues in the night.

Kimora leans back, finally letting a small smile spread across her lips. She wasn’t ready to unpack what happened at Franklin’s—not yet. Not until her blood warmed with something stronger than tension. Not until she could bury that look he gave her in the blur of lights, smoke, and sweat. “Let’s just have a good time.” She said softly, once they stopped at a red light. Lexie looked over at her, a bit confused on where this was all coming from but smiled at her nonetheless. “That’s the only kind I believe in.”

The light turns green. The bass in the car kicks in, loud enough to blur thoughts. They speed off into the night, headed straight for Candy Paint.

And when they arrived, the old Southside Peach was unrecognizable.

Gone were the boarded windows and weathered paint—Candy Paint glowed now, bathed in pink and purple neon like a candy-coated mirage. The line stretched halfway down the block, a living display of gold grills, bold prints, baby hair, and high-top fades. The bass hit deep, like a second heartbeat for everyone standing outside.

Lexie eased her freshly oiled legs out the Cadillac, high heels clicking onto the cracked pavement. Her fit was tight, red, and didn’t leave much to the imagination. She checked her lip liner in the side mirror, then glanced at Kimora—who looked less like she just left a man’s house and more like she meant to shut the club down.

The club glowed like a jewel in the middle of a dimly lit block, its name flickering in hot pink neon above the entrance. Music throbbed from inside, pulsing right through the pavement as the line wrapped around the building. Bodies were already swaying to the bass on the sidewalk, heels clicking, gold glinting, perfume cutting through cigarette smoke and cologne.

“Let’s just make sure we don’t get stuck outside lookin’ crazy.” Kimora said, eyes bouncing around at all of the people waiting to get in. Lexie scoffed, looking over at her. “Girl, please.” She said before flipping her ponytail over her shoulder and strutting forward. “He said tell ‘em Leon sent us.”

They walked past the velvet rope, heads turning before they even made it to the door. A few men called out soft “damn”s and “what’s your name?”s, but Lexie kept her focus. So did Kimora, even though she felt her own nerves trying to rise—like she was stepping into something bigger than just a club.

The bouncer squinted down at them when the duo walked closer, suspicion clouding his gaze. “Y’all on the list?”

Lexie didn’t hesitate. “Leon said to let us in.”

There was a shift in the bouncer’s demeanor—subtle, but there. His eyes moved over them, lingering just a moment too long on Kimora. Then, with a grunt, he nodded toward the entrance and unhooked the velvet rope. “Go ’head.”

Lexie’s lips curved into a smug smirk as she stepped past him. Kimora followed, her expression unreadable, though her eyes scanned the dimly lit entryway. In the shadows, near the wall, she caught sight of a familiar face—one of the men who’d been with Leon at the mall. He stood like he was casing the place, casual but alert. For a moment, their eyes locked. Then he looked away.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The night had folded in heavy around Candy Paint, and the inside of the club pulsed like a living body—thick air, sweet smoke, and a bassline that rattled through bones. Neon light painted everyone in shades of violet and rose, glinting off gold hoops and slow-rolling sweat.

Lexie and Kimora were deep in the crowd now, just left of the dance floor but still in the orbit of it. They’d been posted at the bar for a while, but now, a couple drinks in—Patrón for Lexie, gin and pineapple for Kimora—they were loose-limbed and laughing. Not quite drunk, but definitely buzzed, shoulders relaxed, filters low.

Lexie was throwing her head back mid-laugh, pointing out a girl across the club wearing the same dress she almost bought earlier that day. Kimora was leaned against the table they’d claimed, her glossy lips parted in a dreamy smile as she swayed slightly to Jodeci playing in the background. She hadn’t thought about Franklin in at least twenty minutes, which felt like a record.

She didn’t notice the shift in energy near the entrance.

But Leon did.

Near the entrance, he stood just past the velvet rope, posted up like security with a little more swagger. He dapped up a few regulars, exchanging nods and hand slaps, when Franklin Saint walked in—cool, calm and collected, cutting through the noise with that signature slow stride of his in his father usual attire. The short-sleeved black button-up he wore was crisp, tucked neatly into dark slacks, a gold watch flashing with every flicker of light overhead. Always clean. Always quiet.

Leon grinned wide when he spotted him.

“Look who crawled out the house.” He quipped

Franklin smirked, hands in his pockets as he walked closer to him. “Had to see it for myself. Heard y’all flipped this spot and needed to see how serious this was.” He said as he looked around at the place before nodding subtly. “It’s nice.” Leon’s chest swelled with pride. He nodded toward the back booth, where a few men leaned into a quiet conversation, and behind a curtain, a girl in fishnets was counting out a thick wad of cash.

“Yeah, we movin’. Right now, it’s just frontin’ as a club, but give it a minute. You see all them bottles flyin’ off the bar?” He chuckled. “That’s two-fold. Half that liquor ain’t come from no distributor.”

Franklin’s eyes sharpened. “And the other half?”

“Clean money, bro. Every bottle sold, every door cover paid? That’s straight wash. We got dancers pullin’ tips too, we runnin’ games upstairs, and we lookin’ at a late-night kitchen next month. Whole other stream.”

Franklin gave a slow nod, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. “You got it runnin’ smooth?”

“Couple bumps, but it’s under control. No heat yet.”

Then Leon’s gaze shifted—and a grin stretched across his face as he caught something far within the crowd. “Aye… hold up. Ain’t that shorty from the mall?” He asked himself before he nodded subtly across the club.

Lexie was near the dance floor, hips rolling slow to the beat, fingers slicing the air in rhythm as she hyped the DJ’s drop. But it wasn’t Lexie Leon was really looking at.

It was Kimora.

She stood by a table, drink in hand, head tossed back in laughter at some guy she talked to. Her curls bounced with every breath, her hips swayed lazy and loose like the music was something her body understood better than words. The blue lighting kissed her skin, gave it a glow. And the way she moved—unguarded, carefree—made her look like someone else entirely. Not the girl Franklin remembered in his kitchen. But he still recognized her.

Even before she saw him.

His jaw tightened as he stared, a strange weight settling in his chest as he and Leon walked closer. Not jealousy. Not exactly. But something close.

“…Kimora?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the bass just enough.

She turned.

And blinked.

“Franklin!”

A grin broke wide across her face. Her eyes, glassy from liquor and surprise, lit up as she stumbled forward without hesitation. Her heels clicked fast against the floor until she landed in his arms.

“What are you doin’ here?” She asked, her voice slurred just slightly, full of joy.

Franklin caught her easily, his hands firm on her waist to steady her. For a second, neither of them moved. Her body was soft, warm against his. The scent of her perfume drifted up, sweet and expensive. And she was looking at him like nothing else in the room mattered.

“I could ask you the same.” He murmured.

Kimora pulled back just enough to see his face. “Lexie said we should come, remember? This is the spot I was talking about. This dude from the mall told us to say his name at the door. Leon.”

She gestured vaguely in Leon’s direction, still beaming.

Franklin glanced past her, catching Lexie near the bar. She’d clocked the whole thing and was already sipping her drink as Leon eased his way over to her.

Kimora looked up at him again, and something shifted in her face—just a flicker. A moment of clarity. Of awareness settling in, like the haze of the night was starting to lift. The club thumped behind them, neon lights washing the place in flashes of pink and red, but Franklin and Kimora stood still—caught in a silence the music couldn’t touch.

The beat of Aaliyah’s “Back & Forth” rippled through the open doors, a low, seductive pulse that vibrated in the air. But Franklin barely registered the sound. His focus was on Kimora, her voice a little slurred, a little soft—still touched by whatever she’d been sipping on inside.

“You didn’t answer me.” She said, head tilted, lips glossed and parted slightly. “What you doin’ here?”

Franklin didn’t rush to answer. His voice came quiet, steady. “Just checkin’ on some business.” He said, tilting his head down some so she could hear him over the speakers.

He cast a quick glance toward Leon, who was conveniently turned away, playing dumb as he whispered something in Lexie’s ear. Franklin’s eyes returned to Kimora, and his gaze traced her—how the thin straps of her black dress seemed to slip off her shoulder, how her curls framed her face like they’d been made to do it. There was something a little unraveled about her at this moment, opposite of her normal demeanor. A little reckless. A little magnetic. It didn’t line up with the girl-next-door image he’d filed away. But he didn’t hate it.

He didn’t shy away from it.

“…Didn’t think I’d see you here.” He said finally.

Kimora leaned in just enough to sway, a half-drunken smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, well. I didn’t think I’d see you either. Doesn’t seem like you vibe.” Her words teased, but there was a thread of curiosity underneath—like she wanted to know if she was wrong.

Franklin didn’t back up. Didn’t touch her either. He just held her gaze—still, unreadable.

“You here with… Lucia or something?” She asked next. Tried to toss the question out casually, but her voice dipped on the name. Like it tasted strange in her mouth. Like she didn’t want to say fiancée out loud.

Franklin didn’t flinch. “Nah. I came solo.”He said it smooth, not giving much away. “But that’s my boy Leon over there.” He added, nodding toward the man still wrapped up in Lexie’s laugh.

Kimora turned to glance, squinting slightly like the scene in front of her was funny in a way she couldn’t quite explain. “Oh, you know Leon? What?” He questioned before looking back over at him. “How crazy is that? Him and Lexie?” She blinked slow, a grin tugging at her lips.

Franklin let out a quiet, amused breath. “Yeah, I’ve known Leon a long time. That ain’t even the wildest thing I’ve seen him caught up in.”

Kimora raised a brow. “You saying Lexie’s trouble?” She asked, ceasing her arms as she looked up at him.

Her body swayed slightly, and Franklin reached out without thinking, placing a hand on her arm. Light. Steady. Just enough to keep her balanced.

She looked down at his hand, then back up, eyes searching.

He didn’t move it right away.

“Nah,” Franklin said. “Not trouble. She’s just sharp. Got teeth, you know what I mean?”

“Mm.” Kimora hummed as a reply.

He didn’t smile. Just met her gaze with the same even stillness. Whatever was between them wasn’t flirtation. Not exactly. It was quieter. More dangerous.

The beat from the club shifted behind them, rising, and a group of girls brushed past in a blur of perfume and laughter. But Franklin and Kimora stayed locked in their own space—unbothered by the noise, untouched by the crowd.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” She asked after a moment. Her voice was softer now. Less play. More curiosity.

“Say what’s necessary.” He replied.

“Necessary for what?”

Franklin didn’t answer right away. Just breathed out through his nose.

“Keepin’ things simple.” He said, tilting his head at her. Kimora copied him, tilting her head like she heard something between the words. She didn’t smile either. Just looked at him with something steadier. Something that saw through.

Her perfume lingered in the space between them. Warm. Sweet.

And close.

Franklin shifted slightly, eyes flicking toward the door, then back to her. “You got someone makin’ sure you get home alright?” He asked, his eyes darting across her obviously tipsy form.

“Lexie drove.” She said. “So I should be good.”

He nodded at that.

“Appreciate you askin’, though.” Kimora said softly, her eyes darting between his as she looked up at him.

Again, he nodded—barely a movement. No smile. No line. Just a weight in his expression that said more than his mouth ever would.

“Well…” Kimora said, stepping back, her shoulder brushing past his arm just enough to make him notice. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Wouldn’t wanna hold you up.”

She moved past him, heels tapping against the pavement. Not hurried. Not slow. Just sure.

Franklin didn’t watch her go. He stared ahead, jaw set, the pulse of the music swallowing him again.

He’d come to handle business. But now, business wasn’t the only thing on his mind. Not even close.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The hours blurred after that. Candy Paint got hazier—louder. The lights dimmed further, strobes slicing across the dance floor while the DJ spun from Janet to Biggie to SWV. Kimora stayed near Lexie, nursing a watered-down cocktail and laughing a little louder than usual. But every so often, her eyes flicked across the room, catching a glimpse of Franklin posted near the edge of it all, cool and unreadable like always.

He didn’t dance. Didn’t mingle. Just talked low with Leon every now and then, eyes always scanning—like his mind never quite sat still. But once or twice, she caught him looking back at her. And each time, he looked away first.

Around 1:30, the club began to thin. Bodies spilled out onto the sidewalk—some still laughing, others arguing, someone throwing up in the alley beside the club. Leon and Lexie were already gone by then, slipping out with their arms around each other, leaving Kimora behind at the bar with a half-empty drink and tired eyes. And slightly pissed since the girl was supposed to be her ride, even though she wasn’t supposed to be getting as tipsy as she was tonight. But and blamed all that on the man she couldn’t get out of her head.

She pushed the glass aside and grabbed her little bag off the stool. Her heels pinched now. Her curls frizzed at the edges from all the sweat and humidity in the room. She didn’t feel as pretty as she had walking in.

Still, she stepped out into the night.

The air hit sharp—cool and damp with the city’s leftover heat. She paused outside the club, one arm crossed over her body as she rubbed her own shoulder. A part of her was wondering whether she should call a cab. Another part was just catching her breath.

She didn’t hear him at first.

“You good?”

His voice came soft, low—cutting through the chill. She turned slightly, surprised. Franklin stood a few feet away, hands deep in his coat pockets, eyes steady. Like he’d been waiting. Or maybe like he’d just never left.

Kimora nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.” She mumbled.

Franklin nodded before he took a step closer. Not much. Just enough for his voice to land quieter. “You waitin’ on Lexie?” He asked

She shook her head, curls brushing her cheek. “She left with your boy.” She scoffed softly.

He didn’t seem surprised that and just gave a short nod.

“Need a ride?”

The pause that followed wasn’t about distance—it was about all the things wrapped in that offer. Kimora didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him for a long second, unsure of what she saw. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Franklin didn’t rush to respond. The streetlight above them flickered, casting a dim halo that outlined the space between them like a line neither was sure they should cross. He studied her.

“Why not?” He asked with a small shrug. “I did let you into my house and all. Just bein’ neighborly.” He said, and Kimoraa small, dry laugh, not unkind, just tired. “You’re a lot of things, Franklin. And though you are kind, I’m not too sure ‘neighborly’ is one of those things to make the list.” She chuckled.

His jaw ticked, something unreadable passing across his face as he tried to hold back his own amusement.

“It’s still an option.” He said, like that was all it needed to be.

Her hand clutched tighter at her purse as she gulped. “Don’t you have someone waitin’ on you?” She didn’t know why she said that, even though she had the urge, she couldn’t help but blame it on the alcohol she still felt in her system. She said it so softly. There was no sort of accusation laced within it, no heat. Just a question hung loose in the night.

Franklin didn’t blink.

“That can wait.” He stated, not taking his eyes off her.

Somewhere down the block, a car horn blared. A group of girls stumbled past, laughing too loudly, voices echoing down the emptying street. Life kept going around them, but not either of them budged. Kimora felt that moment land between them like a held breath.

She looked away first this time, eyes down the sidewalk. She didn’t move at first.

She stood on the sidewalk, one hand curled around the strap of her purse, the other tucking into the crook of her elbow like she could hold herself together.

Franklin stood a few feet away, hands tucked into his coat pockets, eyes shadowed beneath his brow. He hadn’t said much, hadn’t moved either. Just waited.

The space between them buzzed—something low, heavy, full of the things that shouldn’t be spoken.

Then, without a word, Kimora stepped forward.

Her heels tapped softly against the pavement as she followed him to the curb where a black ‘95 Chevrolet Corvette sat parked clean and quiet. He opened the passenger door for her like it was nothing, like it wasn’t 2 a.m. and she wasn’t someone he wasn’t supposed to be this close to.

But she slid in.

The leather was warm. The door shut with a muffled click. Franklin got in on his side and took a moment adjusting the mirrors, even though they were fine. His movements were slow, precise. A stalling tactic.

The silence settled thick between them.

Kimora glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You always this quiet?” She asked, voice low, more curious than annoyed.

Franklin started the engine, eyes straight ahead. “Sometimes quiet’s safer.” He mumbled, and that statement seemed to have a double meaning as they let it sit in the air.

She didn’t argue. Just turned her gaze out the window as the car pulled away from the curb, the glowing sign of Candy Paint shrinking behind them into the night. Inside the corvette , it smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne, the kind that lingered—warm, masculine, subtle. The dash lights glowed against Franklin’s profile as he drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose in his lap.

The car ride was quiet.

Not awkward—just full. Like there were too many words sitting in the space between them, none of them quite ready to be said. The night outside drifted by in slow motion—dim storefronts, the occasional blinking streetlight, flashes of gold washing across Kimora’s face before retreating back into shadow.

She sat still, composed, her posture deliberate. One leg crossed over the other, her purse tucked tightly in her lap like it might anchor her to the seat. Her curls had started to frizz from the heat of the club, and her lip gloss had all but faded—but somehow, in the dim glow of the streetlights, she looked more herself than she had all night. More real. Like the shine had peeled back just enough to let something truer breathe.

Franklin glanced over, just a flick of his eyes, careful not to linger.

“You alright?” He asked, voice low but tainted with an ounce of worry.

“Yeah.” She said after a pause. “Just… head’s loud, that’s all.” She mumbled. And she didn’t explain further, didn’t have to. The echoes of the club—its bass still thudding somewhere deep in her chest—weren’t the only thing rattling around in her mind.

Franklin gave a small nod, like he understood. He knew what that was like.

The streets out were different this time of day. Calmer. No sirens screaming past. No cars bouncing basslines off the sidewalk. Just the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of wind against the windows.

“You didn’t have to drive me.” She said after a while, her voice quieter now, and when Franklin glanced over at her, she seemed to be sobering up. He blinked before his eyes moved back to the road. “Didn’t feel right lettin’ you call some random car. Not this late. It the least I could do with Lexie going off with my boy Leon.”

She turned her face toward the window then, like she didn’t quite know how to hold that kind of care in her hands. Like it was something fragile and unfamiliar.

“People will talk if they see me gettin’ outta your car this time of night.” She said after another mount of silence between them, letting the heavy truth slip from her lips in a tipsy haze she was still feeling.

Franklin’s jaw ticked, just slightly at that. But when he spoke, his voice stayed level. “Then they talk.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t mean it’s true.” He said, not even looking her way.

“They don’t care what’s true.” She murmured.

And that sat heavy in the air between them. Long enough for both of them to feel it settle into their bones.

Franklin then pulled up to the curb in front of her home. The street was dead quiet, like it was holding its breath. A single porch light flickered two doors down, the bulb threatening to give out at any moment.

He shifted the car into park but didn’t kill the engine. Let it idle there, soft and steady. His hand tightened around the wheel, thumb tapping once before going still again.

Kimora didn’t move. Didn’t reach for the door.

She just sat there, the hum of the engine filling the silence where neither of them seemed ready to say goodbye.

She then blinked slowly, the moment cracking just a little as she reached for the door. “Thanks for the ride.” She said, looking over and connecting eyes with his, his gaze already locked upon her.

He gave her a single nod, quiet. “Anytime.”

She stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement again. But before she shut it, she turned back.

“You have a good night, now,..Franklin.” She uttered softly. Franking blinked, subconsciously licking his lips as he darted at her. “You have a good night too, Kimora.” With a small smile to her, the door closed softly.

Her heels clicked quietly as she made her way up the walkway, a steady sound in the still air. Franklin watched her the whole way—not because the street was dangerous. Not because he didn’t trust the neighborhood, hell, he lived directly to her left.

But he watched because he didn’t trust the world not to twist whatever this was into something it wasn’t.

Or maybe, deep down, he wished it was something.

She got inside the home with ease, knowing her mother left it unlocked after discovering she wasn’t home. The place was dark and still. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. Just stood by the door, breathing.

Then, slowly, she walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside with two fingers.

Franklin’s car was still there. Engine humming low, headlights off. He hadn’t driven off yet for some reason. He was just sitting there. Still.

Kimora watched him, heart knocking gently against her ribs. She didn’t know what she wanted, and she knew she couldn’t blame what she was feeling on a drunken haze she was barely feeling anymore. She knew it was all an excuse to express something she desired for a while but felt shame to admit.

After another moment, the car eased away from the curb, disappearing into the garage of his own home next door. So she let the curtain fall.

In the bathroom, she stripped off the night slowly—unzipping the dress, peeling off the heels, wiping off her makeup in slow circles. But nothing she did could scrub away the sensation that still clung to her skin. That feeling of him in the air. Of his body against her when they made contact. Of the things they didn’t say but could feel below the surface, things that held other meanings.

She crawled into bed in just a tee, pulled the covers up, and stared at the ceiling.

Next door, Franklin sat still in the car for a moment longer, the engine finally cut. The silence inside was louder than anything else. He didn’t move right away—just rested his head back against the seat, eyes closed, like maybe he could stop the thoughts if he stayed still long enough.

Eventually, he made his way inside.

The house was quiet, lights dim, everything exactly how he left it. He peeled off the night piece by piece—kicked off his sneakers by the door, shed his dress shirt and tossed it in the hamper, ran cold water over his hands like it might wash away the heat still sitting in his palms. He walked down the hall, passing Lucia’s room and glancing in to see the room empty.

His room was across the hall, drenched in a low light and a figure protein from the mattress. He let out a small sigh before he pulled on a pair of sweats and climbed into bed. No music. No TV. Just the creak of the mattress and the steady whir of the fan overhead.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling while Lucia slept. Too aware of how close she was, but not the woman next to him.

She was further away, but not far at all. Mere feet.

And still—it wasn’t close enough.

@notapradagurl7 @onlyrealjoy @frank1nsaint @kindofaintrovert @glassmermaids @ohshesamonet @sweaterblog @orchidwonder @b-m-scott @imsohappyilovekbop @thisaintnai @theghostbusterbitch @capricornrizingheaux @wonderlustwrites @jazziejax @blkandchic @jazzieinthefuture @lotuswritesworld @daelynnnn @kinkymami @vile-harlot @honeipot @niahxo @vampwns @hxneyclouds @borednblk @angel-bx @aldallure @susanhill @dariequeen @333symone @aphroditesdaughter222 @dolldial @earth2niyah @fairy-cores-world

[circinuus]

"Hey, Yoichi."

"Yeah?"

Isagi watches you grin. He can already piece the puzzles. Something is going to go very, very wrong.

"Come sleep on my lap."

He was right.

With a jolt, the poor boy grows frazzled. Wide-eyed and mouth agape. His cheeks redden like the blush of dawn you worry lest he overheat and plop down on the warm grasses.

Years of acquaintance with his sweetheart—his everything. Isagi corrects himself—don't seem to be enough to prepare him for this. For you. Call the boy the master of being adaptable, but there's something about you that never fails to surprise him.

"Aw! Come on~"

Pat pat.

You tap your upper thigh. No skin is exposed, no. But with you sitting on your knees, the light fabric of your midi skirt did nothing to shield the outline of your-

"Absolutely not!" he splutters, hiding the blooming blush with the back of his hand. The spring wind blows a gust of dandelions. Then he remembers that you were enjoying a nice picnic and each other's silence, just now. Him watching people—and stealing glances at you. A little—while you munch on a butter sandwich. Just now.

"Why not?" the sandwich is now long gone in your digestive system. And of course, you'll find something out of pocket when you have nothing in your hands.

"I saw some couples doing it on social media, isn't it cute?"

"I mean," he coughs, "it's really sudden, but.. if you're okay with it..?"

"Yes yes!" your hands clap, "Besides, you've been working so hard. I gotta spoil you, my little precious!"

Just like that, his face reddened again. Eyes flitting from your face, then to your lap. Then like a boy caught stealing cookies, they drift hastily to a space behind you. It's difficult to imagine. This is the same boy who throws violent insults on the football pitch like Santa giving presents on Christmas. Get you a man who can do both, they say.

"Well.." Isagi hesitates, but scoots closer all the same.

Pspspspspsps!

"Here! Here!" You pat your thighs again, perhaps a little bit too eagerly. With the spring tide clouds rolling by, Isagi finally rests his head on your lap. His hair slightly tickling you through the fabric of your skirt.

He was tense, yes, the sweet boy. But you slowly thread your finger through his dark locks, caressing the crown of his head. Who was he to resist against your touch? Isagi soon melts in your hold and relaxes his head in your cradle.

You close your eyes, content, and once again you both enjoy each other's silence. Another gust of dandelion seeds flew by. Your other hand reaches for his as you hum a small tune. Your thumb rubbing circles in the back of his hand.

"(Name), you're very pretty."

And then Isagi took his turn to surprise you, this time.

Looking down, gone was the bashful boy with a skittish gait. His eyes are of a deep shade of blue like the prettiest sapphire you could ever find. And he dons the expression of a boy who might be stricken by a deadly case of young lovesickness.

Maybe he is. Because he reaches for your cheek as you are both lost in each other's eyes. And maybe you too. Because you smile at the sweet words and let him guide your face towards his, enough for your lips to...

"Mwah!"

-Reach his nose!

Isagi blinks. He received a perfect little Eskimo kiss!

"You're such a tease!" his laugh melds with yours, still in the comfort of your hold. Then you make another of that radiant grin. The one that Isagi really likes.

"Only to you," you said. And the lovesick boy can only wonder how the universe has given someone as perfect as you for him.

Turns out he was wrong, after all. With you, things will always go very, very right.

I feel rusty it's been a while since I wrote something 😞 also first bllk fic in this blog :') things are getting out of hand and now im attached to these football nerds.

and isagi he is uhh canonically a thigh type of guy so...

[purplequay]

put this in my drafts 7 months ago ( january 15th ) but never posted it because i kept thinking i should finish another piece first and then post them all together. never did that though, so fuck it ! posting these now cuz i still adore these <3

also i drew these as covers for my mini playlists for these guys based on a specific rp. here are the songs that were in there (spotify links)

belos 🍁

the silent — the tragic tantrum kiss me, son of god — they might be giants achilles come down — gang of youths i'm gonna win — rob cantor hell's comin with me — poor man's poison bird song — florence + the machine ария змея — дайте танк (!) the consequence of imagination is fear — junie & thehutfriends a sadness runs through him — the hoosiers rule #4 - fish in a birdcage — fish in a birdcage passing through (can't the future just wait) — kaden mackay

collector 🌘

drift away omnichord — trillian aura — ghost and pals nobody likes me (think i'll go weat worms) — abc kids friend like me — dimie cat prince ali — annapantsu amedama — pepoyo icosa — oliver buckland lancer — toby fox the midi skull song — glasys entropy (2014 original) — awkward marina world bowser — qumu burn him down! — kitsch club

[aahanna]

"A carefree girlhood moment: waking up on a lazy summer morning in a charming midi gown, followed by a refreshing routine of brushing my teeth, skincare, making my bed, and creating a to-do list. Then, I savor a nutritious breakfast, invigorate my body with a cold shower, and indulge in a rejuvenating beauty nap at noon. The evening is spent reading books, pursuing my passions, and sharing dinner and conversation with loved ones. As the night winds down, I prioritize skincare once more before drifting off to sleep, feeling content and fulfilled."

[ratethisalbum]

#194) That We Can Play

Games

Suggested by: @hithergreenchapel

-

Spotify ~ Youtube

(Remember to listen first, then rate!)

-

Tracklist:

Strawberry Skies

Midi Drift

Planet Party

Shadows in Bloom

It Was Never Meant to Be - Remix

Strawberry Skies - Gatekeeper Remix

[sapphos-wife]

Thinking about wearing a midi skirt or a long dress without any underwear.

I can walk around outside while no one but you knows I'm not wearing anything underneath. And the only reason you know is because you find my underwear in your purse, or the pocket of your jeans.

We're out at a party and your eyes drift to me wherever I'm standing or dancing and you know it could be so easy... but even when I come over to you and sit on your lap you can't slip your hand under my skirt without everyone noticing because it's too long. So you have to sit there while I talk and laugh with my friends, adjust my seat and smile to myself because I know how much you want to lift up my skirt.

You can try and steer me toward the bathroom or a quiet corner but I won't let you. We'll be right in the middle the whole night and you'll watch me dance and think about sticky my thighs must be by this point because you know I get wet knowing how close and yet far your hands are. But you won't get to get close to my thighs until I get home and maybe even then I'll sit you down and tell you to be good for me while I finally get off the skirt and explore how wet I am. And all you can do is watch until I finally let you touch me.

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

clarifying really quickly: we won’t use our signoffs all the time (especially if we’re blurry) and tend to only apply them on posts we ourselves make. we use signoffs mostly to show who's in front, but we've started to drift to using it in a more who wrote what way. if you wish to address a certain question to a specific sysmate, don’t be shy to do so!

all signoffs will be (name): text (pronouns) [e.g. #death: text (he/they)] (side note: we’ll specify if need be, like if the pronouns don’t all fit within the tag word limit.)

as of roughly june 7, 38 sysmates are dormant. their names have been all been moved to the bottom. the currently active sysmates are:

eevee - eev/vee/eevee

feliks - paw/mrrp/purr

ivy - they/she

lulz - he/bun

moon - she/it

nine - any/all

noob - he/fun/confetti/pop

three - he/him

v1 (vivi, verity, vesper) - zx/xe/wav/midi

everyone else is below:

ace - he/him

blizzardfang - he/him

chance - he/they/luck

condie - it/its

das - he/they

death (thirteen, thirteeny, tt) - he/they

denver - he/him

dragon - he/him

five (harper, spencer, piper, pip) - he/they

flies - he/him

four - any/all

fluttershy - she/they/candy/sugar/fae

great ice dragon - they/it/ice/shiver

hewitt - he/they

juice - he/him

kirby - any/all

larimar - they/it/blue

leafpool - she/they

mabel - she/her

mark - he/she/xe/it

max - xe/xem

mya - they/paw/she

moonwatcher - she/they/void

nan - he/they/it

nathaniel - they/he

nyancat - it/paw/meow/rainbow

ottilie - she/her

owen (buttons, phoebe) - hi/plush/soft/heart

parker - he/him

reader - they/them

rodnet - he/they/it/net

seven (lucky, wya77, sony) - it/se/lux/shinx

siffrin (sirius) - he/they/shy

ten - she/her

therm - he/him

trip - they/them

wy8 - they/it/robo

1x - he/she/they

marketplace (mark2) subsystem tag: marketplace deals

[ladychandraofthemoone]

Traintober Day 3: Twins

“Hads you some Scottish twins angst”

“Thinking about my au and how Donald’s and Douglas entire story would work and I’m still not sure if adding this but in honor of traintober day 3:twins here it goes so here since my au is following more of sos storyline but still has rws/tv series tidbits the same thing still happens the twins flee to sodor scratched off the numbers but since it’s instead mr.Zorro and Mr.Starr, who are in charge has the two companies have not been melded together yet and despite mr.Zorro gruffness even he wouldn’t sent them back to a uncertain future and after talking about it with Mr Starr and within their respective engines they both agree on taking one of the twins for each of their respective companies Donald goes with nor’easters while Douglas with the midis.

So despite both twins being eventually purchased and thereby saved, they still end up “separated” from each other yes they can see each other it’s not forbidden but their coworkers fierce rivalry between each other separate company among other reasons slowly but surely begins to influence the twins themselves douglas is caught up in more criminal activities even with a guest nearly gone wrong (sorry Colin!!) and as a result of his coworkers toxic influence (diesel, Adam, Stanley mainly) the latter two who were against having him for personal reasons he began to like the independence forming bonds with those from similar origins/railway(Emily), those giving him a warm reception (Lily, Colin) or just those who welcomed him regardless of the whole rivalry(Peter, later Reginald).

Both receive praise and attention though I feel like Douglas more so felt a slight need to become one of the midis thanks to his coworkers’s attitude towards him like yes he’ll defend himself but it’s better to make friends than enemies when you’re the new guy with Mr.Zorro having favoritism and watching your every move combined with some rather unpleasant encounters from the nor”Easter’s side (mainly James who also unintentionally stains Donald rep but doesn’t say anything on it) I feel like a fight would come when Douglas come in painted blue as a reward where he is finally accepted into the midis where slowly but surely the cracks begin to show from when their visits to one another become sacred, withholding secrets (mainly on douglas’s side cause let’s be real I’m pretty sure no one wants to tell anyone you’re involved with criminal activity) just drifting apart from the brother you once thought you knew your entire life until it all eventually comes crashing down.

of course this is still a work in progress but this idea would be quite interesting. Reference:

[trevlad-sounds]

Intro. 00:00 Hanna Lindgren-Imagine Sleep 00:55

Binaural Space-End Good All OK 03:12

David Cordero, Rhucle-Beyond the Horizon 03:58

Chapter 1 08:22

Jay Chakravorty-Maps 11:02

Rachel Palmer-Accretion 14:47

MLO-Birds & Flutes 19:13

Jonathan Fitoussi-Edream, Pt. 4 23:59

Mort Garson-Cathedral of Pleasure 25:43

The Central Office of Information-Windows Over Warminster 31:40

Chapter 2 34:33

Mark Ellery Griffiths-Lakeside Picnic 1966 36:12

Warrington-Runcorn New Town Development Plan-Busway 37:41

Moskva-Kassiopeya-Utopia - Part II 40:44

Time Rival-Activate 42:56

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard - Dreams - Yu Su Instrumental Mix 45:23

Panama Fleets-Polynesian Drift 50:23

Chapter 3 53:26

MiDi BiTCH-Take You Away 55:07

Helios-A Familiar Place 1:00:19

Kosmischer Läufer-Morgenröte 1:03:59

Xuxurlatu-Maitagarria 1:13:31

Future Children-Unplug the Medicine 1:15:40

Fabio Borgazzi-Nenia nenia 1:19:39

Chapter 4 1:21:38

Polypores-Angel Spawn 1:23:14

Nacht Plank & Futuregrapher-Music For Kettle-SigEnt Mix 1:27:16

Bryan Rohmer-Thirty-Five 1:31:24

Fulgeance-Leaving 1:33:56

Rickard Jäverling-Introduction 1:36:10

Felipe Ayres-Fantasma 1:40:13

Chapter 5 1:44:57

Warm Binary-Yin Yea 1:46:39

Shuta Yasukochi-Ripples 1:48:46

Outro 1:52:55

[anosci]

selected albums ive listened to in 2024

this year I'm just posting the highlights so itll be shorter

[1] [2]

January

1/ VHS Head - Phasia (2023) first new album of '24 for me! "Strange Food" that zap pew beat is a delight! title track is p good, floaty. "Phocus" this is very vaguely leaning into…funk? i really like it. possible highlight? wondering why it shares the title of a different album.

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4/ VA - FM Synth 2 (2017) yeah i love fm "Mach 5 Fusion Force X" is a god damn tour de force. insane! "Work Without Rules" second fav of mine for its smoov smoov swingy wobs

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7/ Skee Mask - C (2024) first 2024 album in the list! dusty, crispy, chillout. analogue. deep bass when needed, never too thick of a presence. delightful chillout music. at worst, its a bit varied, as if it were an anthology. probably because it is. highlight: "Bassline Dub"

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12/ (all OCRemix posts from 2017) all over the place ofc some insano selections: "Multi-track Drifting" N R G!!! "Big Room Gobi" funny but in a goes hard way also: Star Salzman's Katamari mix!!! i keep coming back to that in particular

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15/ VA - Adventure Time, Vol. 1-5 (2019) they have extended versions of some sc cuts!! "Party With the Chief" esp(!) the biggest thing I noticed overall: this soundtrack is so…wack. meandering. ADHD in control of a quirky ensemble. continually amazed that this's from a hit show

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16/ Diverse System - JAPAN 2 (2023) a mostly rly good grab bag of bangers with a japan flavor! i adore the koto mixed in with tight electric beats. big big standouts with "灯火" !!! and the much more electric "Amatsu"

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17/ Patricia Taxxon - Bicycle (2024) laid back (mostly) textures n vibes. instant fav in "Frat Claws" and "I Do" specifically! i really like the FEEL within the sounds. i keep coming back to "Chipshop" and "Boys". visceral.

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23/ Aleksi Perälä - Starlight 1 (2018) surprisingly solid, albeit a bit all over the place much love for the smooth sounds of "UK74R1823040" much love for the stepfiltered "UK74R1823090" not as much a fan of the techno flavors this time but still!

it's hard to recommend this artist in general but ive been listening to a lot of AP music. just give those two highlights a try and see what you think.

---

February

25/ BT - The Secret Language of Trees (2023) THE GOOD STUFF Producer's Cuts especially!!! "k-means clustering"……. the clicks in "Time Moves So Fast"…. if you ever wished ppl made more music from 2007, here it is. a return to the binary universe.

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40/ Tom Bragl - Regainable (2024) a few crunchy niceities, but just a few imo. "Klamra" f.ex. feels very 2007, which IS a delight. for anyone who wishes they made more music from 2007. here it is. funny it's marketed as "80s esque" lol. i hear it tho.

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43/ µ-ziq - 1977 (2023) mike has a very distinct style that stands out from a lot of his peers imo. i wasnt sure about this but the reverbed minimalist drum machine in tracks like "4am" and "Belt & Carpet" win me over. I think those two and the weirdly hazy house of "Houzz 13" are my favs. "4am" especially, with those ethereal (newage?) chopped vocals

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44/ Autechre - 2005-4-15 Glasgow (live set) apparently there are some old soundboard recordings laying around!!! this is super good. quaristice stuff. i love love love the multiple variations of chence9! the fast version of IO is rly good too. ez fav but still.

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March

47/ STAFFcirc vol. 9: MIDI MODULE FANATIX (2024) oh hell yes, midi AND rompler!!! "Thunder and Strawberry Wine" is otherworldly. i get how it was made but also. How? ooooghhh… "30 Domcaster St" delightful ooooghhh… "Cascade rev.2023" authentic zest "Yakumotatsu" god i love this trend of pushing msgs midi to the max "tunnel7_r35b" listen i love chimeratio and he brought his slapping

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57/ Fields Of Mist - Biospore Farmers (2024) try not to compare to boc challenge: impossible. it's lush damnit. but the perc is way way more analogue drummachine. its wall to wall good. that opening track would have blown my mind in 2007. they dont make it like that anymore, except i guess they do!

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60/ pilotredsun - Achievement (2016) an album misplaced in time. pristine early 00s bedroom musician vibes.

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[dustedmagazine]

Henry Kaiser — Mahalo Nui (Metalanguage)

John Fahey was 27 years old when he recorded Requia. While parts of it play as a sincere ceremony of remembrance for people who meant something to him, it was nonetheless the work of an ornery young man. That provenance showed, especially on the spectacularly trollish, side-long musique concrete composition, “Requiem For Molly.” Henry Kaiser knows all about Fahey, guitars experimental music, and Requia in particular. He’s recorded a couple albums of his own using that title, and posed for one of them in a visual homage to Fahey’s record. But Kaiser’s also managed to live a longer life than Fahey, very different but no less astounding. He has been able to carry on a career as a boundary-straddling guitarist who gets to play whatever he wants with pretty much whoever he wants and also to work as a research diver with a specialty in under-ice video work.

Several tracks from this projectstarted out as a COVID-era project, when Kaiser included among the regular YouTube videos that he posted from lockdown with shout-outs to recently passed musicians, such as Steffen Basho-Junghans and David Lindley. Over time, the partings tend to proliferate. Kaiser found himself with ten mostly-solo tracks that shared two criteria: they memorialized fellow travelers who adventured with him upon or under the ice, or who made music, films or musical instruments; and they continued Kaiser’s decades-long determination to do more with the guitar than it previously had been able to do. These became Mahalo Nui.

Born in 1951, Kaiser has now lived long enough to know loss in ways that Fahey could not when he recorded Requia in 1967. Across its two sides, Fahey dug deep into sorrow and respect, and also let fly some ill-focused antagonism. You’ll some sorrow on Mahalo Nui, particularly on the sole non-solo performance, a slide guitar trio in honor of David Lindley. But you’ll hear a lot more joy and gratitude; the album’s title translates from Hawaiian as Thank You Very Much. “Hard Time Killin’ Spoonful Requiem For Paul Hostetter” mashes up Derek Bailey and Skip James gestures with more glee than rue; perhaps Kaiser assembled the performances from licks that the late luthier loved? The glistening tones and complex timbres of “Antarctic Requiem For Liz Sutter & Bija Sass,” which is named after two of his fellow Antarctic travelers, evoke a state of drifting wonder and weightless solace.

In 1990, I caught a Kaiser solo concert and came away as impressed with the looming height of his effects rack as I was with his music. He’s never been afraid to indulge the possibilities of technology and technique, and there have certainly been times when they have gotten the better of him. That never happens on Mahalo Nui. The occasions when he foregrounds technical interventions, such as the school of psychedelic blurs on “Mysterious Requiem For Paul Plimley” and the real-time combination of scything slide guitar and MIDI-controlled piano notes on “Some Of The Great Ancestors Inside My Guitar,” pay off real musical dividends. This record makes a strong case for both the technical and emotional aspects of Kaiser’s art. One caveat for those who prefer physical formats; if you go to Kaiser’s Bandcamp page, this title is only offered as a download. However, it is also available as a CD if you’re willing to search a bit.

Bill Meyer

[hellbloomer]

day7: nitewind ⋆ midi drift

a small world on tape in the 80s

design challenge from the end of ‘23